#memes talks……. a fuckin lot

[hannahwdraws]

Just a couple of girls from The Free Marches

"I can't believe the girl I taught to weave flowers at the Arlathvhen grew up to be the 'fearsome' Inquisitor."

"I can't believe Varric didn't put two and two together sooner that we might have already known each other."

"Try not to blame him, you're so different from the girl I knew from back then."

"I'm still just a Dalish girl from The Marches"

[dan-crimes]

LMAO so funny thing is everyone knows the whole Sonic and Shadow looking alike thing is total bullshit and I totally agree those comments they try to pull in the games and show(s? I'm not technically a Sonic fan I dunno if it's multiple) make basically no sense to me but then my Mom comes in while watching Sonic Prime and says "So what, Sonic has a brother or something?" and this whole other world has opened up to me and I've seen the truth of it all

[ostriches-because-i-said-so]

I have so many thoughts and they all go to Tumblr

[name-s-are-not-important]

Someone: Feeling physical atraction is what makes us human!

Gilan:

Gilan: IF THEY SAY THAT I'M A GOD THAT’S WHAT I AM

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

cowboy like me | r. reynolds

a/n: guess who's back. haha. sorry i said i was on hiatus and then wrote this. i saw thunderbolts and made it everyone else's problem so here is a fuck of a long fic. i dont know i just wanted to put all my ideas in one so there is a lot going on in this one but yeah. uhm. no real smut because i didn't wanna write because they fuck a lottt also the entire concept is based off this one screenshot i have and i do not know where i got it (it was from some sort of meme) but yeah! warnings: SELF HARM!! no really super serious descriptions but the reader is mentally ill and so is bob and reader does hurt herself at some point and bob wraps them. lots of talks of addiction and alcoholism and sobriety. lots of kissing and allusions to sex and teasing and everyone (bob and reader) is mentally ill and, yeah. sentry and void have a conversation with bob in his brain. also book club. word count: 9.4k summary: you get a text from an old friend and think.. you could do worse than a book club.. with some benefits. pairing: bob reynolds x sober!reader now playing: cowboy like me - taylor swift "now you hang from my lips/like the gardens of babylon/with your boots beneath my bed/forever is the sweetest con."

The first text comes at 5:43 on a Tuesday.

‘do you wanna start fucking again like maybe once a week?’

You must’ve sat, staring at your phone for twenty minutes. Who the fuck..?

The second text comes at 6:32.

‘it can be like a little book club, we can read the same book and discuss’

Book club..?

You ask yourself if this is some sort of joke, and another text shows up three minutes later--

‘i also have a real bed now.’

And then you remember this meth head you used to sleep with, some Florida guy who was always taking odd jobs to fuel his addiction—Cashier, house sitter, alligator hunter, amusement park mascot.. until he got fired, which always seemed inevitable.

You suppose you have no room to judge. You had only been in Jacksonville after your last friend in New York told you no more, that they wouldn’t watch you destroy yourself. But you didn’t need them to, you never needed an audience to fuel the urge to rip every little bit of your soul apart.

You had taken a job working at a Dunkin Donuts that was right next to a liquor store. It seemed as if the universe had given you a sign. You could retire here. Nothing but part time shifts, a bottle of vodka, and a shitty room for rent from the kinkiest 72-year-old lesbian you had ever met.. You had a little bit of respect for her, a sort of ‘good for her’ attitude.

And then, you met Bob.

You met Bob at a dealer’s house.

Romantic, right?

Bob was about to take his first hit in six or seven hours, and you sat uncomfortably scrunched against the couch, trying not to think about how many fucked up things had happened there.

And he sat on the other side of the couch, Bob sat, flicking his lighter on and off while he waited.

..The girl you were with was currently.. paying for the coke she wanted. You were never a fan of drugs, alcohol was your one and only, your soulmate—you could never cheat on her. But this girl promised to buy shots at the next bar. And now you had to listen to her ‘pay’ her dealer—and you presumed Bob’s dealer in the other room.

“Hey.” He speaks first.

You give him a side glance.

“Hey.”

“Waiting for.. stuff?”

“Just waiting for my friend.”

“Oh. Cool.”

A beat.

“What’s your—“

“Alcohol.”

“Oh. Cool. Mine’s meth.”

“Great.”

A beat.

“I need a fuckin’ hit man, I don’t know what’s taking her so long to fucking pay—”

God, you wanted a drink in that moment.

“So, he’s your dealer?”

“Yeah. And my roommate. My rooms the one down the hall.”

“Cool.”

Another beat.

You began tapping your foot against the carpet.

“Oh my god, it doesn’t take that long to—”

“It fucking takes a minute, relax,” You scoffed.

“Not this long.” You caught the unspoken words.

And then, almost in sync, you looked at each other, fully turning your heads to really see what one another looks like. Your eyes flickered up and down his features. Drunk as you were, you knew you could do much worse than this guy.

But before you could say anything, he spoke again,

“Wanna see my room?”

Your ‘friend’ didn’t really seem to be finishing up her transaction anytime soon. Plus, it.. had been a while.

“Sure.” You said, and you followed Bob two steps behind on the way down to his bedroom. When he opened the door, you know deep down sober you would be mortified—well, only if the sex was bad.

His room was small, clothes laid about in various piles across the room—a few lighters, a coin or two next to the odd chip bag.. and in the corner of his room, a twin sized mattress laid on the floor, black sheets and a red blanket, one that had been clearly loved.. and a very old pillow.

You just stared until Bob grabbed your wrist, pulling you along to the bed. He sat on the bed first, tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, and gently prompted you to ‘c��mere.’ As you sat on his lap, you realized that this guy was cute enough for this to become a regular thing.

Your lips locked with his, slowly pulling him in with slow, gentle kisses as if the two of you weren’t giving plenty of time for the moment to be interrupted by the end of the transaction in the other room.

And then, your hands traced up from his shoulders, past his neck and ears, curls wrapping around your fingers.

As if you couldn’t help yourself, you found yourself gently tugging at his hair, listening as he let out this soft moan, and you couldn’t deny—you could totally get used to this. 

And after, when you laid back on his stupid twin sized mattress without a bedframe, your finger stayed twirled in his curls. Then, when he heard the other bedroom door open, he pulled on his boxers and got up, grabbing a sweatshirt as he headed to the door. He glanced back to you to ask,

“’m going to take a hit, want anything?”

“Something to drink?”

“I’ll get you a beer.” He had offered, and you found yourself smiling.

So, you came back. Again. And again. And again. And again. And then you got sober. Or at least, that’s the version you’d give your therapist when you next spoke.

When you got sober, you had gone from a smartphone to a flip phone, deleting and blocking many of the numbers from your party days.. until you had gotten to Bob. All you did was delete his contact from your phone—he still had your number if he wanted to reach out.

But he hadn’t. Not for the past nineteen months, and you’ll be honest—Month eight was such a big month for you (being able to babysit your niece by yourself for the first time, saving up for your own apartment, no roommates or family, and enrolling in a night class or two), so you had forgotten the meth head who purred when you played with his hair.

And yet..

You felt this.. tug. At something.

You found yourself responding—

“hey, i’ve been sober for nineteen months. not interested if ur still using.”

Your texting habits reflected your archaic tech.

But you meant it—Bob was.. well, you didn’t like to think about the things you felt for him, but it was enough to make you bury it as deep down as you could.

“me too”

And then, seven minutes later,

“therapy too lol.”

You glance at the time. You think about your favorite bar’s bottomless margaritas on Tuesdays, and you realize it has been a while.. it was typical for people not to date within a year of sobriety. But it had been nineteen months..

And this wasn’t a date.

It was book club..

“what do u want to read?”

You toss the flip phone on your bed and walk over to the shelf in the corner of your room. You inspect the spines of the few books you have and realize they’re not book club material.

You pick your phone back up to read the text—

“great gatsby? i never read it in school”

Neither had you. Maybe you had been assigned it once upon a time.

“okay. next thursday enough time?”

You were serious about the book club aspect of this. You know two things—

One, no mater how he answers, you’ll have to talk this over with your therapist. Maybe even your sister. You barely ever take risks, not since getting sober, and this risk scares the shit out of you..

Two—You are almost giddy at the idea of tugging at Bob’s hair. You’ve been alone for too long, but you can’t seem to trust yourself enough to download a dating app and hook up with strangers (you theorize you could become as addicted to hookups as you were to alcohol) and the idea of getting into a serious relationship makes you feel sick.. so maybe this is a good compromise.

You glance at the phone in your hand and see one more text--

“sure :)”

So, you send him an address to a coffee shop near your apartment. He asks you if three works. You say yes.

When you tell your therapist about it the next day, this huge smile grows on her face as you tell her about your dilemma—to be or not to be, to go or not to go, to fuck Bob or not to fuck Bob.

You debate this back and forth, and your therapist eventually tells you—

“As your therapist, I shouldn’t and couldn’t push you to do this. Read the book. Go to coffee. At the very least, you’ll get some closure. Or.. you could have an outlet. Remember your boundaries, and don’t pursue anything you aren’t comfortable doing. Ask him questions about his sobriety if it’s important for you to know to feel comfortable. Think about it, and we can talk about it next week before you go.”

And that was pretty good advice. You contemplated it, back and forth, bouncing a mental tennis ball off a mental wall in an imaginary room. Sometimes, there are bottles of booze in the imaginary room, and other times, Bob sits in the corner. Quietly watching you ‘throw the ball.” Somedays it’s just you and the tennis ball.

You’re very normal.

When you told your sister, she just laughed.

“So, at what point did you start seriously considering this?”

“..When I realized he had an actual bed now.”

And that’s all you can respond, because you can’t explain how curious you are. He was a meth head named Bob who had no bed frame, and yet.. you want him. After nineteen months, you think about the way he focused his attention to you in between sips, in between hits, in between fucks.

How his hand rested on your side, how those stormy eyes studied yours as you talked, asking questions about your delusional rambles—

“Right, but what does that mean?” He had asked one night.

“What does what mean?”

“What the fuck does it mean that I ‘am’ the.. hanging gardens of Babylon?” You had rolled your eyes, and the pads of your fingertips against his lips.

“They were a uh,” Your eyes flicker up and down his face. “These.. gardens. City of Babylon, a long long time ago-- They were supposed to so beautiful but there’s no archeological proof they ever existed, except they’re mentioned in poetry, so.. They may or may not be real and we’ll never know. You remind me of them.”

Bob just stared at you for a long time. He didn’t say anything but the way his eyes fixated on you made you alive.. And maybe more alive than the booze, and that thought petrified you because up until that point, drinking was your life. So, you ignored it. What else were you supposed to do?

When you’re done with therapy for the day, you go to the closest bookstore. You pick up the cheapest paperback you can find of Gatsby and then, your eye wanders, as it always done in a bookstore. You spot a book on The Seven Ancient Wonders of the world.. And you decide to buy it when you see the large chapter on The Hanging Gardens of Babylon.

///

The week passes quickly because you find yourself filling any free time you have with reading, underlining and circling quotes and words that F Scott Fitzgerald decided were good enough to convey his themes.

You barely register that it’s Thursday morning when it comes because all you want to do is reread your favorite parts over and over again while you get ready for the day. Before you know it, it’s.. time for book club.

You decide to get there ten minutes before three, hoping you’ll be able to grab a drink and relax before Bob shows up. The bell on the door of the café rings when you walk in, and there are a couple of patrons..

But you find yourself stopping in your tracks when you see a familiar face in the corner, a book on the table, as his finger traces a pattern on the cover.. absently. Like he’s somewhere else.

And then his head picks up, and he notices you. Neither of you say anything, neither of you smile.

In an instant, you’re not sure if you can do this, if—

“Decaf red velvet latte with whipped cream and cinnamon for Bob?” The barista calls, and he stands and approaches the counter, mumbling a thanks to the barista. When he glances down and notices your name scribbled on the side of a cup marked ‘half n half’ and ‘two splenda’, he picks it up and turns, handing you the cup.

“Hi.” He says, and you find yourself reaching out to take the cup, as if you just saw Bob yesterday.

“Hey.” You exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Wordlessly, the two of you sit at the table.

And there is quiet.

Until, Bob asks,

“So.. how have you been?”

“..Fine.”

“..Cool.” You remember this awkward feeling. Like right before the first time, you slept together. “Thanks for meeting with me.” He breathes after a moment, and you nod.

“Yeah.” You breathe, and then he asks,

“You’ve been sober since the last time we—”

“What did you think about the book?” You ask, reaching to take a sip of your coffee. Bob nods, taking the hint.

“I.. liked it.” He says, “It was a good first book for this. I liked that.. that Nick reflects on his life through these other characters and realizes what he does, or doesn’t, want.. How about you?” He asks.

“I liked it too,” and you find yourself wanting to just ramble about your analysis but you bite your tongue. “I think Daisy is a fascinating character too, especially in the way she seems so trapped in her situation. Like being with Gatsby is the only way she can feel alive or free or something.”

Bob considers this for a second.

“Yeah,” He starts, “But she’s.. a rich woman. She’s inherently part of the system that you claim traps her and is actively benefiting from her wealth.”

Wait.. was your awkward meth head situationship kinda.. smart?

You adjust from your rigid position and lean into the conversation a bit.

“Well, Why can’t it be both?” You wonder, “She can benefit from these systems and be miserable in them—she’s miserable, maybe because she’s benefiting from it, and her wealth doesn’t negate the abuse and strain on her marriage.” You say and go to take another sip of your coffee.

Bob is quiet.

Then, he says—

“Yeah. I think you’re right.”  He smiles a little, and you feel your heart in your throat. “So do you think the green light was actually supposed to be as important as pop culture makes it seem, or was that just..”

“I think it is as important as we’re led to believe, because it’s a symbol of what things could be.” And then, before Bob can say something that would lead you to change your mind, you say, “Yeah, I stayed sober since the last time we talked.. When did you quit?”

He inhales and then closes his mouth, and you watch as he holds his breath, noting that his mouth is sort of puffed like a chipmunk. When he exhales, he responds,

“Right after that, I guess. I joined this.. medical.. study and quit to do that.. Then, I guess I just.. stayed sober.” He says, and you laugh, so with a bit of a smile, he asks, “What’s so funny?”

“You make it sound so easy.”

Then, Bob starts to laugh too.

“Do I?” He leans forward like he’s about to tell you a secret, and he says softly, “Because some days I feel like I’m drowning and maybe meth would be the key to being able to breath again..”

“So, what do you do when you feel like that?” You ask softly, not because you’re looking for an answer but because you need to know if sobriety is as big for him as it is for you.

Bob gestures to the table.

“This. Sugar, reading—” He cuts himself off like there’s something else when he meets your eyeline. “Do you want to go to your place or mine?”

And there’s no hesitation when you answer,

“Mine.”

///

Bob spends a long time studying the details on your shelves. He notices the pictures of a seven-year-old he doesn’t recognize and you, the small lego structures in between them, and he finds a small jar next to your TV with little chips in them.

“Do you want anything to drink?” He hears you ask.

“No, thanks.” He calls back, and you appear in the doorway.

“Too much sugar in that latte you had?” You tease, and in that way you love, he just stares at you for a long time, in that way that makes your heartbeat too fast.

“Can’t help it,” he says, “No meth means lots and lots of sugar.”

“Right,” You nod.

Your fingers itch by your side, and you decide—Fuck it. You’re not getting any younger, any more sober. So you go over to him. Like a scared deer, Bob just stares at you, while you try to not scare him off. Your hand ever so gently reaches up to tuck a lock of hair behind his ear.

Then, he shakes his head a bit.

“I haven’t done anything with anyone in a while.”

“Yeah, me neither.” Then, because you think you’ll tell him to leave and never come back if you don’t, you lean forward and kiss him, and as if that is how he gets air when he feels like he’s drowning, his hands are on your side, slowly stepping so that you’re backing up towards your bedroom.

Then, you pull away,

“Bob,” You start, “I’m not really looking for a serious relationship right now,” You start, and his lips begin to leave sloppy kisses, first along your cheek, then your jaw, then your neck.

“Mhm,” is all he responds with.

“I’m being serious,” You sigh as he continues to step forward, pushing you back towards the bedroom, his mouth hot on your skin. “I’m still working on getting my shit together,” You continue.

“I get it,” he says, his voice gentle.

“Do you?” You ask, but he can hear the smile in your voice. “Because it seems like you’re trying to sleep with me—”

“No, No,” He shakes his head a bit, “I’m not going to sleep with you, silly girl,” He hums, and you never want this moment ends, “I’m going to fuck you.” He says gently. It makes you laugh, and he chuckles too.

You decide to take the initiative and slip your shirt off-- Then, he takes off the sweater he’s wearing, and you have to take a second. You really look at him and begin to smile.

His stomach is rounder than it was nineteen months ago when you last met. He’s.. thicker. His rips aren’t poking out of his stomach. No, thicker isn’t the right word.. He looks.. healthier.

And that is hot.

“What?” he asks, “What is it?” he wonders, and you just shake your head.

“Nothing. You were saying something about fucking me?” You wonder, and he nods.

“Right, right.” He says softly, grabbing your face and bringing you in for another kiss. Your hands trail up his neck and find his hair as he slowly sinks down, so he’s kneeling between your legs.

Your hands find his hair, and in between kisses, you gently tug on his hair, and just completely melt when you hear a soft moan leave his lips..

And old habits die hard.

So, you do it again.

///

You lay on your stomach, your face smooshed against the pillow you have your arms around. Bob is sitting up in bed, and you find yourself looking at him for a long while.

“So, What are you doing for work now that you’re sober and in New York?” You ask.

Bob plays with your sheets.

“Uh,” He lets out a soft half chuckle. “..You know the uh.. New Avengers?”

“Vaguely.” You shrug. You don’t really have the time to keep up with that sort of thing, between your job, between babysitting your niece, between being sober.. And it’s not like you have social media, so.. yeah. Vaguely.

“..That.”

“That what?” You ask, furrowing your eyebrows.

“That’s what I’m doing now.”

“Bob, I’m not following.”

His finger begins to run down your arm.

“I guess I.. sort of count.. as a.. New Avenger.”

“…What?”

“I need you to stop asking me that,” He sighed. “Do you remember the uhm.. medical study thing?”

“Yeah.”

“Something they did.. it changed me.. A serum.”

“So you’re like, some sort of superhero or something?” You wonder, and you say it like it’s funny. Bob looks uncomfortable—much more than he usually does.

“..No. I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.” He says. “I’m dangerous, I.. Do you remember last year when the.. the Void attacked New York? Right around the time that the New Avengers got announced?” He asks.

You pause.

“I mean, yeah, but I was in Jersey at the time, at a wedding.” Your first since getting sober. It was a rough weekend.

“Yeah, that was me.”

“..What was you?”

Bob wishes he could sink into your mattress and never show his face again.

“The void.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I’m not allowed to go on missions or.. get into any emotionally challenging situations..” he sighs. “Because I.. I can barely keep him.. or even the.. Sentry at bay.. I’m working on it.” He finally looks at you. “Which is why I don’t want a serious relationship either.” He says. “We.. we could just be friends.”

“Friends who fuck.”

“Book club with Benefits?”

You smile.

“Friends who discuss literature and also fuck.”

Bob rolls his eyes a bit, his lips pursing into a reluctant smile.

“Book club with benefits.” His pointer finger starts at the top of your back and travels down your spine, “Lots.. and lots.. of benefits.”

And if you could focus on anything other than how good that felt, you might’ve noticed the flicker of gold in his eyes.

///

“Decaf Caramel Frappuccino with extra caramel and whipped cream, and a medium hot coffee with half n half and two Splenda for Bob?” The barista calls, and you step forward to grab your drinks.

You hand Bob his glorified milkshake and sit at the same table you sat at last week.

“So,” You start, “Lord of the flies.”

“Yeah,” He breathes, “I.. I didn’t really like this one.” He shrugs.

“I think the concept is interesting enough.” You respond, “And it’s interesting that the group is only made up of privileged little British white boys. The horrors they put each other through might never have happened if they had been a group of schoolgirls, or if they had faced any hardship before this.” You shrug back, taking a sip of your coffee.

Bob nods as he studies the atmosphere of the café.

“Hey, do you wanna split a slice of cake or pie or something?” He asks, and you find yourself giggling.

“You’re ridiculous.” You scoff. Bob huffs.

“You’re boring.” He accuses and you just laugh more.

“I am not boring, I’m consistent.” It makes Bob shake his head.

“Coconut cream pie?” And the way he makes those puppy eyes makes you sigh.

“Fine. But you’re one piece of pie away from me accusing you of being addicted to that in place of Meth.”

“You wouldn’t.” He smirks, like he knows you better than you know yourself.

“Sure I would.” You shrug, “I’m just a concerned friend, Robby.” You smile, and then you watch as Bob gets up to get a slice of pie, ruffling your hair as he passes you.

///

“And then I said to him, I say, ‘If you want to hire spider-man to try and do your bidding, be my guess, but I—”

Bob is biting his tongue as he listens to everyone talk. He’s sitting on a chair at the kitchen island, watching as John moved around the kitchen, preparing dinner. He’s been staring at the same page of The Outsiders for ten minutes, just thinking.

Bucky is complaining about Sam, and before anyone can respond with anything, Bob clears his throat and puts his book down.

“Can I ask you guys something?” he wonders, and everyone’s head immediately turns to him. He barely talks in these group settings, so Yelena, who sits by his side, nods.

“Sure, what’s up?” She asks.

“..I need.. advice. I need to get a birthday gift for.. a friend of mine.” is how he starts.

“Not anyone in this room, right?” John asks, and everyone, including Bob, just looks at him.

“No. I know you think I’m socially inept, but I know not to ask what I should get someone while they’re in the room.” He huffs.

“Alright, who’s the gift for?” Bucky asks.

Bob wants to tell them all about you—your quirks, your laugh, the way your brain works, the way you feel wrapped around his—

But he hesitates.

“Just.. a friend.” He breathes. “From.. Book club.”

“Book club?” Ava answers, and already it feels like a mistake to have asked them but they’re his only friends besides you.

“Yeah, we.. choose a book to read every week and we meet up for coffee every week to talk about it.”

Yelena glances down to the book on the counter.

“Book club..” She nods, “And how long have you known this friend?”

“…It’s complicated.” He breathes.

“And do you hangout outside of book club?” John asks.

Bob’s cheeks flush.

“Sort of.”

“What does that even mean?” Ava asks, and he shrugs.

“We.. do some other stuff. I don’t know, she—”

“Oh, she?” Alexei finally pipes up, letting out a gruff laugh. “So you like her?”

“It’s just difficult to explain!” He snaps, and everyone pauses when the lights flicker. For a moment, no one says anything.

Then, Bucky huffs,

“So just try.” He gently prods. Bob hesitates.

“She’s.. I do like her. We started book club last month, but.. We met before.. Y’know.” He gestures around, “We..” his cheeks are red as tomatoes now. “When we’re done with coffee and talking about books, we.. we go back to her place, and we..”

Immediately everyone either groans or laughs. Bob feels like he might die on the spot.

“That is so weird,” Yelena laughs, and Bob groans as he covers his face with his hands, shaking his head.

“Never should’ve told you guys.”

“Okay, okay,” Bucky says after a moment. “You knew this girl before the Sentry project?”

“Yeah. We both were.. were addicts in Florida. We started hooking up, and I knew from before I went to Malaysia that she was moving back to New York, so I looked her up and—and you all said I needed to get a hobby!” He offered.

“We meant like,” Ava shrugs, “Knitting or—”

“Book club?” Yelena smiles. Bob bites the inside of his cheek.

“So, what should I get her for her birthday?"

“Well, what kind of message do you want to send?” John asks. “That you want to be more than.. whatever it is that—”

“..Book club with benefits.”

Everyone looks at him.

“What?”

“..That’s what we call it.”

“Oh, my god,” Yelena and Ava are giggling now.

“Okay. What kind of message do you want to send?” John asks again, and Bob hesitates.

“..That I care about her, that..” he shakes his head, “that.. I’m sorry for..” he picks his head up and notices everyone staring at him. He can hear the Void laughing at him in the back of his head.

“For..?” Bucky offers gently and Bob shakes his head. And then, he begins to tell his teammates about the last time he saw you.

///

Nineteen Months Ago

You and Bob had been sleeping together for months. Hanging out in between fucks and hits—or drinks. He had burrowed his way into your heart and taken up this big chunk of it, replacing booze in your late-night fantasies.

When he wasn’t extremely high, and you weren’t extremely drunk, you found yourself falling for him. The attention he showed you had been it’s own high, and you had let yourself become addicted to someone who you would never have a normal life with.

But he was there, waiting for you with a shot after every shift. You often helped him light up. The two of you encouraged each other’s destructive behaviors. Became each other’s self-destructive behaviors. Like the mentally ill addicts you were.

Your sister had flown down to Florida to see you.

You hadn’t asked her to. You knew she wouldn’t approve of this.. lifestyle. And at first, you wished she had never come to see you, because you did not want to stop drinking.. and then she wore you down. Your big sister always knew how to get you to do whatever she wanted.

So, the night before she was scheduled to fly back to New York, you went to see Bob. His roommate let you in, and you found him high and on his bed.

“Robby,” you said as you walk in. He smiled twenty seconds later when he registered your presence.

“I love it when you call me that.” He spoke.

You smiled weakly. You took a seat on his mattress.

“I have to talk to you.” You had said. He sat up, leaning forwards.

“Mm, All you do is talk to me,” he said slowly, and his hand grabbing yours. “Come kiss me instead—” His lips catch yours, in a soft, sweet kiss. He pulled away, and you whispered,

“Robby, please.”

And only then had he registered an important detail.

“You don’t taste like booze.”

You always tasted like booze.

“Yeah,” you nodded, “that’s why I wanted to talk to you—”

“No,” he said softly, “No, don’t—”

“Tomorrow, I’m flying to New York with my sister. I’m going to rehab.”

He shook his head, sighing.

“What.. what changed your mind?” He asked, and you shrug.

“My niece. My sister told me that.. she’s sick of having to talk about me like I’m dead. That she wants to know me. She’s six. Her names Ella.” A smile tugged at your lips. “She does dance. And she.. she loves to read, my sister said.. It reminded her of me.” Then, you shook your head, tears brimming your eyes. “I want to be in her life. I want to taste my mom’s cooking again. I.. I want to get better.” You cleared your throat.

“I’m going to Malaysia tomorrow.” Bob said, and your eyebrows furrowed.

“What?”

“I got fired from my job, so they gave me my last paycheck.. So I spent it on a plane ticket. I’m going to Malaysia with.. thirty bucks in my pocket. Maybe I’ll find the answers. Or, at least more drugs..” He shrugged. “Come with me.” He had offered.

You just shook your head.

“No.”

“No?” He scoffed, “What do you mean no?”

“No. I won’t go to Malaysia. I’m going torehab..” You started, and you inhaled before you asked, “And you should come with me.” You offered.

Bob let out a humorless chuckle.

“You..” He shook his head. “You’re just like everyone else.” He sighed, and you shook your head.

“Robby,” You whispered. “Please come with me. Get clean. Be.. be with me.” You said quietly, and when you leaned in to kiss him, he tilts his head away from you.

Oh.

“You should go.” He huffs. “I need to pack.”

You nod.

“You’re right. I should go.”

You stand, and make your way to the door, wiping your tears as you go.

Bob doesn’t say anything.

You stopped in the doorway, turning around to look at your sweet boy with no bed frame one last time.

“I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.”

And then, as if you weren’t soul crushingly and devastatingly in love with him, you left. And you hadn’t seen him again. Not until you started book club.

///

“Decaf vanilla bean macchiato with whipped cream and cinnamon and a medium hot coffee with half n half and two Splenda for Bob?” Bob grabs the drinks today, and when he sits across from you, you start—

“So. Frankenstein?”

Bob sighs.

“I liked that it’s the first ever sci-fi novel, and it was written by a young woman. It’s interesting.” He shrugs.

“Yeah.” You nod, and you open your mouth to say something but Bob beats you to it,

“I mean, I don’t.. I don’t know. Victor is just.. so stupid but also so.. self-centered. He’s— He’s the one who created the monster, why can’t he take accountability for it? Why is the monster doomed to always.. be a product of his creator?” He sounds frustrated, so you gently shrug.

“It is bullshit. But I think the person aspect of him, the human aspects of the monster are all him.  The best parts of him comes from the work he does on himself.” You shrug, and Bob knows this conversation has strayed from Frankenstein. Kind of.

“Yeah.” He sighs softly.

A beat.

“And I agree.” You shrug, “Victor is a fucking idiot.”

Bob just smiles, and then asks,

“Wanna split a chocolate chip muffin with me?”

///

Bob calls you on a Saturday afternoon between book club meetups.

“Hey,” You say into the phone, “Everything okay?” You usually don’t talk except for your weekly meetups.

“Yeah,” He says into the phone.

“Okay.” You smile. “Do you.. need so—”

“Come over.” He gently requests, “I- I mean, You don’t.. you don’t have to, I was just wondering if you wanted to—I guess..” He breathes.

“Robby, it’s not even Thursday.” You tease.

“I don’t.. care,” He breathes.

“I..” You start, “Would.. really love to, but I gotta do laundry.”

“Do your laundry here.” He offers.

“Bob.”

“What?” he whines, “I..I just need.. to see you.”

You bite your tongue, but it would be nice to see him. To see his new, full bed. And you know that if he has a washer and dryer, it would make laundry a lot less frustrating than doing it in the laundry mat down the road from your apartment.

“Okay,” You sigh. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.” You promise.

Bob meets you in the lobby of New Avengers tower, watching as you walk in, holding a bag of laundry as you make your way to him.

“This place is crazy,” You tell him, and Bob just smiles awkwardly.

“It’s.. just a tower.”

“Yeah, but like.. It’s definitely not just—” You cut yourself off when you realize how out of his element Bob looks. “Where’s this awesome new bed I hear so much about?” You ask, and it seems like it’s enough for him to relax.

“Come on, I’ll show you upstairs.” You follow him into the elevator, and when the doors close, he says, “So.. You’ll.. probably meet the team, or at least some of them.”

“Oh, I get to meet—” You clear your throat and wipe the smirk off your face. “That’ll be nice.”

Bob just looks at you for a moment.

“They’re.. kind of.. intense.” He breathes.

“Bob, we were addicts in Jacksonville, I can handle a couple of.. teammates.” You shrug.

Bob gives you an awkward smile.

“Yeah, sure.” He sighs. The doors open, and you follow Bob out, looking around the apartment. Like he’s looking around for trouble.

“Bob, seriously I—”

“Heads up!”

You and Bob duck at the same time when a football comes flying towards your head.

“Sorry,” a voice says, and you see.. The US Agent and The Red Guardian, coming to retrieve their ball.

“Ah, Bob,” The Red Guardian says, “Who is your girlfriend?” He smiles. Your cheeks flush.

“Uh, She’s.. just my friend. Who happens to be a girl.” He says.

“Right, right.” He nods.

“We’re in a book club together,” you start and both men start laughing while Bob looks intensely embarrassed.

“Oh,” One laughs, “You’re the book club girl.. I’m John. This is Alexei, are you staying for dinner?” He asks.

You glance to Bob, who looks back to you.

“Uh,” He shrugs, “I don’t.. maybe.” He breathes.

“Maybe isn’t—”

“Too late, we’re doing laundry, Bye!” Bob says, grabbing your hand and pulling you along. You just smile and bite back a comment about how jealous he seems.

“They seem nice.”

“They aren’t.” He grumbled, and you just laugh.

When you’re done putting on your laundry, Bob takes you to his room, and you can’t help the smile that stretches across your room. It’s a little messy, but there are books here and there, cozy blankets, warm lighting, and.. no meth. No booze.

You jump onto Bob’s bed, stretching out with a soft laugh, this stupidly large grin on your face.

“Oh, My Robby situationship has a real bed now, how divine,” You hum, and Bob just stands in the doorway with a soft smile on his face.

“I missed you.” he says softly, and you shake your head.

“Well, I’m here now,” You offer. He scoffs and walks over to the bed, finding his place on top of you as you lay back.

“Not really good enough for me,” He confesses.

“Needy Robby.” You jest, but before you can tease him further, he kisses you.

Your fingers find his hair in familiar movements, and Bob deepens the kiss further, his tongue slipping past your lips. His fingers dip under the shirt you’re wearing, and a soft shiver runs down your spine as he scratches up your sides, and when you moan in response, it seems to make him more confident in his movements.

Your fingers curl around his hair, tugging just barely on his hair. In between kisses, you mumble,

“Need you,” And he just catches your lip in his teeth, tugs a bit, and goes back to kissing you. And kissing you, and kissing you—

Until you hear the shatter of a glass on the nightstand. Both you and Bob pull away and your heads turn to look at the pile of glass and the water dripping off the nightstand.

“Did you..”

Bob’s face flushes.

“I-I didn’t mean to, I just—”

There’s a brief knock on the door, and then it opens, and a short blonde woman walks in.

“Bob, is everything okay, because—Woah,” She stops, noticing the compromising position the two of you are in, just as Bob takes his hand out of your shirt. “Oh, this is what happens at book club, huh—”

“Yelena!” Bob snaps, his cheeks red with embarrassment. Your eyebrows furrow when you see his eyes flicker gold.

“I was just trying to make sure you’re okay! The lights were flickering..”

Bob groans and rolls off of you.

You just smile awkwardly to Yelena.

“He’s fine, we were just..” You shrug. “Uh..” You chuckle awkwardly.

“Right, just.. Tell him to relax whenever he comes back down to earth,” She says, and then steps forward and holds out her hand, “I’m Yelena, it’s nice to—”

“Okay,” Bob stands suddenly, walking towards Yelena, “I’ll see you at dinner, okay?” He says, and she just smirks.

“Have fun at uh.. Book Club.” She says, turning to leave. Bob closes the door behind her and then glances back to you, and then groans, covering his face with his hands.

“Bob,” You grin, a soft laugh lacing your words, “Baby, it’s really not that bad.”

He looks at you when you call him that.

“It’s not..?”

“No.” You smile. “Come back to bed..” And then, you try, “Please, baby?”

Bob moves like lightning to kiss you again. It’s actually impressive. Not as impressive as breaking the glass or turning off the lights because he was just too.. needy. But, his speed is pretty impressive.

///

��Decaf pumpkin spice chai with extra cinnamon and a medium hot coffee with half n half and two Splenda for Bob?” You take the drinks from the barista, and slide into the seat across from Bob, glancing over to him.

“So,” You start, “1984.” You sip your coffee.

Bob gestures to you.

“Go for it.” He smiles gently.

You begin to talk about the political implications of the novel..

And Bob becomes slowly lost in thought. It starts out simple enough.

He notices how gorgeous your hair looks. You’re always so pretty.

We could take such good care of her, a voice says in the back of his head, She should know everything we could offer her.

Or..

No, Bob thinks. It’s bad enough that the ‘Sentry’ wants a piece of you, he wouldn’t be able to stand it if he entertained any thought of letting the Void out.. especially if he wanted to get anywhere near you.

Why not?, the voice asks, you could help.. We could help. She wouldn’t have to worry about her sobriety or any of her silly thoughts.

He’s right, The Sentry agrees, and Bob feels like he might be sick, How could you even know what she wants if you haven’t asked?

Because, Bob thinks, you don’t even want him. Why would you want either of these—

Because I’m better than a God, The first voice tells him, And he’s..

Everything you aren’t.

Exactly.

Shut up, Bob thinks, She wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t at least a little bit into me.. right?

You’re so naïve, Bobby, He could hear the Void mocking him, and it was even worse when Sentry cut in—

She could get a fuck from anywhere, and let’s face it, you’re not particularly tal—

“Let’s go back to your place,” He says suddenly, cutting your rambles off.

“Everything okay?” You ask, watching as he stands, grabbing his jacket.

“Uh.. Yeah.” He smiles awkwardly, “I’m just..” He shrugs, “In a.. a giving mood.” His cheeks flush when he says it, and the tips of your ears go red when you realize what he’s saying.

“Okay,” you nod, “No, like—pastry or brownie or—”

Bob clears his throat and inhales like he doesn’t want to regret what he’s about to say,

“I’ll have something sweet real soon,” He says. Your ears get redder.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

You stand up and take the last sip of your coffee.

“Okay.” You say, throwing out the cup on your way out the door.

“Okay.” Bob smiles, following you to your apartment.

///

“Decaf caramel dolce Frappuccino with cinnamon and extra whipped cream and a medium hot coffee with half n half and two Splenda for Bob?” Bob takes the drink from the Barista and slides into his usual spot.

He hands you his drink, and then you start,

“I cannot believe she married Rochester!” you whine, tossing the book down on the table. Jane Eyre was the book selection for this week—well, two weeks, it took you guys some time to get through it.

“Yeah,” Bob breathes, shaking his head, “I.. I mean—”

“Do not defend the man who kept his mentally ill wife locked in an attic and got with a nineteen-year-old,” You start, and Bob smiles a bit. He stares at you for a long moment and then you ask, “What’s wrong?”

“Uh, no-nothing.” He shakes his head. “I was just..” He shrugged, then he clears his throat, “She got a family, right?” You sigh.

“Yeah, she did.”

“And yeah, it would’ve been.. nice for her to end up with someone her age, but..” he shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s really good for her.” You just look at him. “Or maybe he died tragically young and left her his money.” You smile then.

And after a moment, you say,

“I guess everyone deserves a second chance, right?” You wonder, and he nods.

“Yeah.”

Bob feels like he can’t breathe.

You notice he looks it too.

“Wanna split a brownie?” You ask, and Bob smiles.

“Yeah.”

  ///

1:32 A.M.

You’re not sure if this counts as relapsing. You twist your phone in your hands and try to focus on breathing. In and out and—who should you call?

Your therapist? Your sister? What would you even say? ‘Sorry, I know you’re usually worried about me drinking but I just couldn't fight off the compulsions or the depression tonight, so can I come over so I don’t do what I just did again?’

You open your stupid fucking flip phone and dial Bob’s number.

“Hey, everything okay?” You note the lack of sleep from his voice. He must’ve already been up.

You inhale to try and answer, but you hesitate. You don’t want to start crying.

“Can I come over?” Is all you can say.

“Sure,” he answers immediately. “Do you want me to pick you up?”

You do. You want to see him as quickly as possible, but.. you have this insane thought that you don’t deserve the comfort, that you must wait to see him.

“I’ll walk,” And if Bob notices the distant tone, he doesn’t say anything.

“Okay. I’ll see you in ten, I’ll meet you in the lobby.” He says gently, and you nod, even though he can’t see you.

“Okay.”

You get up from your place on the bathroom floor, but you don’t hang up, so after a moment, his voice comes through the other end of the phone,

“Everything okay?” And you wish he would stop asking it.

“Mhm,” Is all you manage as you get your shoes on. You make your way down the stairs, the phone pressed against your ear.

Maybe he knows something is wrong, so he asks,

“Have you started reading The Hunger Games yet?” He asks. It was for ‘book club’ this week, and he just needs to hear you talk so he knows you’re still there.

“Yeah,” You breath as you walk down the stairs, the movement down the stairs more instinctual and second nature than conscious movement, like your brain is fixated on the fact that if you can get to Bob, you’ll be safe—safe from what, you do not know.

“What did you think?” He asks, as he slips on his own slippers, trying to think of anything else he can ask.

And in your daze, in your foggy brain that you try to stumble your way through, as you walk down the streets of New York, the cold air sending goosebumps up your arms, the breeze even stinging the fresh cuts on your arms. A group of girls about your age come down the street past you, drunk and giggling and you think about how alone you feel.

Your feet stop in front of a bar, and you take a moment to just stare at the neon sign, thinking about how easy it would be to get a drink. Another breeze plucks you out of your spiral. You wish you had brought a sweater or something.

Your head turns and you can see the ‘new’ Avengers tower just a few blocks away. So, you keep walking. You can make it there. Bob is waiting for you in the lobby.

“I like that the first thing we learn about Katniss is that she loves someone,” you say, walking towards the tower now. Your hands are beginning to shake. “We don’t know anything about her, her name, her place in the world, or even anything about the world.. we just know that she loves someone.” And when you say ‘someone’, your voice cracks. You can see the doors of the tower now.

“Yeah,” he says on the other end of the phone, and as you get closer you see him there, a small smile on his face as he stands there, and it registers in your brain that he is smiling as he’s talking to you. It registers, just barely. “Sometimes I.. I can’t believe how smart you are.” He says, and it makes you feel almost.. anxious. Like he’s lying.

You hang up as you walk through the doors, and Bob’s shy, isolated smile falls when he sees you. When he sees your arms.

“Holy fuck,” is what he says, and that does not make you feel better.

“I’m sorry,” you say, your tears now falling freely, and not because you’re sad, but because you’re ashamed, and because you feel bad that Bob has to deal with this and because..

This definitely counts as a violation of your ‘book club with benefits’ agreements.

“It’s okay,” he starts, “it’s alright, we can handle this,” He says, but you hear the shakiness in his voice. You know he’s pushing through his own terror in this moment.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, taking a step back from him, but he shakes his head as you continue, “I.. I shouldn’t have come here,” And you go to turn but you feel Bob’s hand grab yours.

“Yes, you should have.” He says, “Because if it were me and I didn’t call you, and I just let myself spiral further, you’d be so mad at me.”

You know he’s right.

“You shouldn’t have to take care of me.”

“But I want to.” He says gently. “So let me.”

And you nod, because you know the path you’re on. You know what letting him in leads to.

So does he.

You don’t say much else, but you let him lead you upstairs, his hand clutched around yours.

The ride up the elevator is quiet. Bob just keeps his grip on your hand and then he asks,

“What else did you.. like about the book?” He asked.

You search your brain for an answer. You know he’s trying to keep you distracted.

“I like Peeta. He’s a sweet character.” You say gently. And then, before you can stop yourself, you say, “He reminds me of you.” Your hand shakily comes up to brush a lock of hair behind his ear. You notice the way a small smile tugs at his face. His head tilts and he kisses the palm of your hand.

The doors to the elevator open, and Bob’s fingers lace with yours.

“Let’s..” he nods towards the door, and you nod in return. He walks just a step ahead of you, but you notice the way he takes the occasional glance back. Both of your heads pick up when you hear footsteps approaching, and there stands Yelena, in these plaid pajama pants and a big tee shirt for some beer company. She looks half asleep but she smiles when she sees you two.

“Oh look, book club meets late now, how—” she stops, her face growing concerned when she sees your arms, “What did—” But she stops when she sees Bob shake his head. Instead, she glances back to you and in a way that leaves no room for argument, she says, “You call if you need me.” And without another word, she turns and makes her way past you down the hall.

You and Bob find the bathroom. “Take a seat,” he gently says, and you decide to sit on the edge of the tub. He shuffles through the supplies and pulls out some bandages and some antibiotic spray. He takes a rag from off the counter and soaks it in some warm water. Then, he turns back to you. “Can I see?”

You just hold your hands out, and Bob starts by just looking at the cuts. There’s not a ton of them, but there are enough for him to notice. He gently cleans them with the warm rag and then sprays your wrists with the antibiotic spray.

“When did you learn first aid?” you ask.

Bob shrugs.

“When.. when you’re the standby in a team of superheroes..” he shrugs. “You pick up on a few things.”

“You’re a hero too.” You say softly. Bob doesn’t respond, he just wraps your wrists with the bandages he holds. He doesn’t want to tell you that he’s no hero, that he’s hurt so many people that he thinks he’ll be repenting for the rest of his life.

He turns around to put the spray and bandages away, and when he turns back, he sees you sitting on the floor, leaning against the tub. He sighs and sits next to you on the floor. Then, he asks,

“Do you want to talk about it?” You shake your head. “C’mon..” he says softly. “It’s just me.” He reminds.

“I..”  You sigh. “I haven’t.. self-harmed like that since.. middle school. I just wanted to feel something, anything that didn’t feel like I was drowning.” You confess. “I’m sorry I bothered you, I don’t know—”

“Stop,” he says softly, “We’re..” He sighs. “I meant it. I want to take care of you.”

You can’t stop the tears from falling as you shake your head.

“You wanna know the worst part?”

Bob’s voice is genuine when he says,

“I want to know all of it.”

Finally, you turn your head to look at him.

“I’m falling back in love with you.” You tell him. He nods.

“Can I tell you a secret?” He asks softly. You feel a smile tug at your lips, and it makes Bob smile too.

“Sure.” You answer.

“I never stopped.” He said, “When I saw you again, it was like..” He shook his head. “I should’ve gone to rehab with you.” He whispered. Your heart aches. “I never.. never should’ve went to Malaysia or..” He frowns. “I could’ve built a life with you. A real life, not just.. One where I have to pretend like I don’t.. like I don’t want to ask you to stay.”

Your heart breaks when you see tears brimming his eyes.

“Robby,” You whisper, even though it’s just the two of you in this bathroom. The lights flicker just a bit, so you lace your fingers with his.

“I.. I was so.. so stupid.” He shakes his head, “I never..” His eyes meet yours. “I really screwed it up, and.. I’m sorry. And I love you.” He confesses.

“What about uh..” You sniff, “What about neither of us wanting to be in a.. serious relationship?”

“Fuck that.” He says, and his confidence in it takes you back, “I’m tired of.. of not seeing you everyday. A week is too long to go without seeing you.” He confesses, and your free hand comes up to tuck a curl behind his ear.

“I love you too.” You tell him. You lean your forehead against his and then say, “So ask me.”

“Ask.. Ask you what?”

“Ask me to stay.” You whisper, “And maybe I will.”

“..Just.. Just maybe?”

“Guess you’ll have to ask and see.”

“..Stay.” He says softly. You can’t help it, so, you say,

“That’s not really a question—” Bob stares at you for a long time, a smile making his glare much less intimidating.

“Will you stay? Here, with me?” he wonders, “Be with me.” He requests.

You kiss him, but there’s no expectation in this one. You don’t expect him to want to fuck, to want to sleep with you. This kiss is pure, with no strings attached. No benefits.

When you pull away, you nod.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll stay for as long as you want me to.” You promise, and Bob smiles a bit, looking down to your intwined fingers.

“That’s.. nice.” Your awkward Loverboy responds, and you’re shocked when he asks, “Do you.. uhm..”

“Do I..?”

“Do you.. wanna watch.. Star Wars with me?” he wonders.

You can’t help but smile.

“Which one?”

“The best one.” He shrugs. “Revenge of the Sith?”

“Sure. That sounds nice.” You confess.

Halfway through the movie, you would fall asleep right on top of him, and Bob would realize that this was always where he was meant to be.

///

For your birthday, Bob hands you a small present, wrapped in paper decorated with sprinkles. When you open it, you find a copy of The Great Gatsby.

Only this copy is bound by leather and has this beautiful dark blue and gold cover on it. It must’ve cost Bob—well, it wasn’t cheap, but It’s gorgeous, and inside, you find a note scribbled onto the title page—

“I found what I was looking for.

Love, Robby.”

[yermes]

Getting coffee with the ghost of your past 🫐

Music:

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Pick a meme

123

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Disclaimer: please take what I say with a grain of salt and not as the gospel. I just want to share some ideas of practicing and giving advice using the medium as often as I can with school, work, and my own personal studies and practice. But I am working on sharing my notes soon so that will be exciting! Liking and sharing does a lot 🥰

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Feel free to stick around for a while **⋆**

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The cards 🃏 

Queen of swords 🗡️

The wisdom is now gives you the ability to cringe at the past, cringing means growth. however, you need to do dumb cringe shit to learn from your dumb cringe shit. The thing is, your brain is in a state of constant development. Its really true that you are dumb till you are old and it is a blessing because some miserable people will refuse to grow up and drag everyone else down and make you feel awful and miserable with them. Cringe at the prospects of being awful and miserable, because you have the option to be so much more than what the standard person may limit themselves to be. Bask in the glory of growth, relish in your new found wisdom bless unto you by your 2016 emo years. Be thankful you have the opportunity to grow from the cringe because many are rotting in the truest cringe: being dumb and shitty. Being yourself at any age: is not cringe. You are developing as an individual who is learning to exist in this world from scratch.

Queen of pents 🍽️

The only person who thinks your younger self is a villain is you. And they still are very much a large part of you. Like a small body in the Russian nesting doll of your being. It’s honestly okay and quite natural. We all struggle with the small deeply buried facets of our personality which we hide from the light scared to show to those who may behold it. Its okay, we all change we all grieve for the loss of the person we once were, we feel the crushing weight of nostalgia and the longing for a past and a lifestyle which can now never exist in the present. We really had it made when we were 5, we had the freedom to be bad babies. But now we have to take what we had, grow, and nurture and adult who is doing their best.

Strength 🦁

Fuckin’ hang in there bae. When you are at your lowest you are given the opportunity to show how strong you are. Which is an awful, tiring, and scary thing to do. When you have been strong the entirety of your childhood to the point where you had no childhood. It is odd when you have a sudden softness and a sudden fear to take on the next obstacle. You will be okay! You can start disentangling and slowly start to take care of your younger self through your more current struggles. Its a process! Being young and old isn’t a one step process its a multistep mind fuck which will take you piece by piece till there is nothing left if you let it. You can accept and start talking to your younger version of yourself and bridge gaps. Its okay to be unhappy, scared, or to cry. Do not deprive yourself on the ability to feel hard feelings.

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Extras: 🌾

Personal/ updates:

I went on a 20 mile hike day before chem final and got the highest grade in the class, I also bought the best book ever plz look at the beautiful cover

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[thewertsearch]

TC: all my life i believed at a fuckin paradise to come what held the most baller, darkest of carnivals to join. TC: AND A PROPHECY TC: to tell all about a band of rowdy and capricious minstrels steeped in the good harshwhimsy. TC: THE MIRTHFUL MESSIAHS WERE FORETOLD TO BE CRASHING THAT FUCKING PIE STAND AND BRING THE HOLY RUCKUS. […] TC: I'M TALKING ABOUT THE VAST HONK, YOU BLASPHEMOUS MOTHERFUCKER.

I suppose I have to take Gamzee's cult a lot more seriously now - which means I should probably at least try to figure out what it is they actually believe.

It appears as if their doctrine is centered around some sort of prophecy, concerning a group of legendary figures known as 'mirthful messiahs'. They're fated to release the Vast Honk - and, in doing so, create some sort of Juggalo paradise.

We don't know any lore about the Vast Honk, but its name sets up intentional parallels with Gl'bgolyb's apocalyptic Vast Glub, as well as the Vast Croak, a holy sound emitted by newborn Genesis Frogs. Both of these sounds accompany enormous, galaxy-shaking cosmic events, so the Honk is presumably no different.

Alternia's First Guardian was 'corrupted' by a genome of the same name, presumably changing him from a standard Sburb NPC into the English cultist we all know and tolerate.

Could the Vast Honk be released by someone corrupted in a similar manner? We already know that Jade's Genesis Frog was spliced with some unknown DNA; it's terrifyingly plausible that said DNA was planted by Scratch, Gamzee, or English himself. There's a very real possibility that the Vast Honk will come from the mouth of Jade's frog.

TC: BUT NOW. TC: because of you. TC: BECAUSE OF ALL YOU AND YOUR FUCKING OUTRAGEOUSNESS. TC: you stole up all my miracles away by revealing at me how the wicked shit was really kicked. TC: LIKE SOME FILTHY FUCKING SCIENSTIFF WHO AT OLD TIMES WOULD BE RULED UNFUNNY WITHOUT EVEN GETTING HIS FUCKING TRIAL ON. TC: and now i don't know what to think about the spiritual fantasies i had.

Anyway, Gamzee can’t seem to reconcile his worldview with this pair of alien rappers who seem to cruelly parody his beliefs.

He’s always been dimly aware of his fictional nature, and as his mind begins to clear, it is forced to confront the possibility that this is all his religion ever was. A viral video and a meme.

For once, he doesn't think it's a very funny joke.

TC: I HAVE THE IDEA THAT YOU PUT IN MY PAN TO SIT THERE. TC: that the paradise planet TC: IS A FUCKING JOKE. TC: and the miracles TC: ARE FAKE. TC: pure fiction. TC: FALSE FAKEY FRAUDY CON JOBS FROM A BUNCH OF UNFUNNY NINJA HARLEQUIN BULLSHIT ARTISTS.

It would be remiss of me not to bring up the possibility that ICP are non-trivially involved with Homestuck's plot. I mean, Betty Crocker is now a key figure in multiple characters’ backstories, so fucking anything is possible at this point.

Joseph Bruce and Joseph Utsler could literally be the mirthful messiahs, and I have no idea what that could mean. I might actually have to listen to their albums to understand the comic.

[ll7esxs]

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶

Use the phone + Text you!

Characters: Logan walker, hesh walker, keegan russ, kick, merrick.

X GN! reader!

notes: idk it's safe.

Logan walker:

Not big on texting—he's more of a "call if it's important" guy.

He doesn't even remember how he got the phone.

Old but reliable Samsung Galaxy S21 (won’t upgrade unless it literally dies).

Phone case? Just raw-dogging that phone like a menace. The screen is cracked as hell, but Fix it everytime.

The lock screen of his phone: A stock wallpaper of mountains because he never bothered to change it.

He put it On vibrate 24/7. If it makes a sound, he's confused.

But ofc he feels it when you call or smth.

Battery is always at 5-10% even though he don't use it so much but the battery gone low by itself😔.

He forgets to charge it and just borrows Hesh’s charger.

One-hand texter—his replies are short because he hates typing.

Probably doesn’t have social media? He would have whatsapp, messages and instagram! you told him to make but he just leave it and never enter the app💀

But has Google Maps and a weather app for no reason.

If he texts you, it's short but meaningful:

"You good?" His way of saying he cares

"Will Be home soon." Which could mean in 3 hours or 3 weeks

Will shock you, because you were kinda hesitated to send him a meme, so when you did send him a meme, he'll react with either "😂" or "?" depending on if he gets it.

This shocked you asf cuz you didn't know he understand memes.

This gave you butterflies.

Doesn’t use emojis, barely types full sentences.

You: "Did you eat?"

Logan: "Yeah. You?"

You: "What did you eat?"

Logan: "Food."

You: "Curse you i just asked."

Logan: "Y/n I have been eating for my entire life why i wouldn't now?"

Takes accidental blurry pics of stuff he finds interesting (like a cool sunset or a random stray dog).

You get unintentional thirst traps of him sweaty after training.

If you compliment him Logan: "Didn’t mean to send that."

You: "Sure you didn’t. 👀"

You sent him cupcake remixes songs.

If you call, he picks up but doesn’t talk much—just listens to your voice."Mhm. Yeah. Miss you too." (He smiles but doesn’t say much)

He shrugs when you asked him if he will come back "Yeah, of course! Where i would go anywhere else?"

Hesh walker:

IPhone 12 Pro Max (YEAH FIGHT ME FIGHT ME👺) – Upgraded because he needed better battery life for all his texting.

Clear case with a germa shepherd on the back. Super protective case because he’s broken too many phones.

Homescreen: A Ghosts team Logo

Lockscreen: A picture of Riley sleeping ("He looks majestic.")

Ringtone: Something dumb like "Danger Zone" or an old classic rock song.

Sends way too many gifs and voice messages If he is lazy.

Has a million notifications but replies to you instantly.

Somehow has 100 unread messages from people he doesn't acknowledge them but they know him since he is kind of famousin the field but replies to yours instantly.

Camera roll? 90% nature pic and riley, 10% squad pics, and a secret album of cute pics of you (you don't even know abt it he is like so cool abt it too).

The most normal texter in the squad. Fast responses, actually uses punctuation.

Sends dumb jokes, random pictures, and voice notes of him teasing you.

"Dad just gave the longest speech ever, send help."

[Pic of Riley napping] "He stole my seat. Again."

Uses his phone for music, probably has a playlist of classic rock and hype songs.

Definitely texts you mid-work if he’s stuck waiting for something "Low-key bored. What are you doing?"

Yes he uses social media, especially whatsapp, insta and massenger!

Has a lot of messages from other people He doesn't even know.

You’re his favorite person to text.

"You won’t believe what I fuckin' just did—Dude I tripped over Riley’s toy and tried to act like it didn’t happen in front of logan."

"Mission sucked. But thinking about you made it better."

Sends selfies, pics of Riley, and random squad candids.

[Sends a pic of himself in gear] "Your man looks good today, huh?"

You acted like cupcake's remixes😍🙏🏻.

[Sends a pic of Logan asleep on the couch] "Took this at my own risk."

If you don’t reply fast or didn't send him morning or evening messages he would go with: "Helloooo??? Where’s my daily appreciation text??"

Calls you before and after missions."Yo, just checking in. You good? Need anything?"

When he’s tired, his voice gets softer: "Wish I was home with you right now."

His phone charge getting like 85-70% but then logan ruined his charger since he use it so much but hesh never complain abt it.

Keegan p russ:

Google Pixel 8 Pro Minimalist, good for low-light pics (probably why he picked it).

Black matte case, no design. Practical, sleek, untraceable vibes.

Homescreen: Dark-themed clockLockscreen: A night sky "It’s calming."

Ringtone: Default Pixel tone, but it’s always on silent.

Turns off read receipts and disables typing indicators.

Only 5 apps installed: Messaging, maps, camera, notes, and WhatApp.

Camera roll? Basically empty except for surveillance photos and one random blurry pic of you.

Doesn’t use his phone unless necessary when you call so much. Half the time, it’s either dead or on silent.

Dryest texter ever."Ok."

"See you."

But once he shocked you with a message showing he cares through text, i mean he is like logan save his emotions in real life!.

He really cares about you, you get slightly longer texts:

"Stay inside tonight. Got a bad feeling."

"Be safe." Sent at 3AM, no explanation.

If you call him, he might answer, but expect a "What’s up?" and then silence while he waits for you to talk.

Responds hours later but it’s never on purpose. Just forgets.

You: "You alive??"

Keegan: "Yeah." 6 hours later

You: "That’s all I get?"

Keegan: "Been busy."

Never takes pictures but if he does, they’re surprisingly nice candid shots of you when you’re not looking.

"Thought you’d like this." (It’s a picture of the night sky because he knows you love it)

If you send him a selfie, he just replies (after hours) "Pretty."

THEN ASAP SAVES THE PIC.

Phone Calls: Rare but deep."You don’t have to talk, just stay on the line with me."

He say this if he got a brooding feelings inside.

If he’s on a dangerous mission, he’ll call you before it and just say: "Don’t worry about me. Just wanted to hear your voice." yeah he was desperate.

Thomas merrick:

Huawei Y9 bye.

Black leather case—very executive and no-nonsense.

Homescreen: A Ghosts insignia

Lockscreen: A motivational quote like "Discipline is freedom." (please yall tell me you see the vision)

Ringtone: Loudest default ringtone that woke up the whole base (so he never misses a call cuz he use it for job!).

Prefers calls over texts. If you text him something long, he’ll just call, Doesn't do small talk over text but prefers actual phone calls when he has time.

Very formal texter—uses punctuation and full sentences.

Camera roll? Mostly mission photos, but has one saved picture of you (doesn’t talk about it).

Barely touches his phone. Work comes first.

If he texts, it’s super direct and practical.

"Landed. Safe."

"You need anything?"

If you text him something dumb, he’ll just leave you on read.

Might check his phone once in a while but never during briefings.

You’ll never catch him scrolling through social media. Ever.

Straight to the point, but sometimes softens up for you cuz once you notice he never eat like usual so you remind him.

You: "Don’t forget to eat."

Merrick: "I won’t."

You: "I know you’re lying."

Merrick: "Fine. I’ll eat. Happy?" he didn't lol.

Doesn’t take pictures unless you ask. If you ask for a selfie, he would be confused and stuff cuz here never did take a selfie telling you he will come back anyway.

But when he come to your house, he takes pictures of you, not himself.

Like i said her prefer phone calls especially when he is free.

His voice is calm and steady, but you can tell he relaxes when he hears you.

"You alright?" His way of saying he cares

If you’re upset and wanna yapp, he stays on the phone until you calm down. No rushed words—just listens.

Barely on his phone unless he’s checking mission reports. If you text, expect a reply in 2-5 business hours.

Kick:

What if i told yall he's got the money to buy iphone 15 pro max😔?you wouldn't believe me.

GUYS GUYS GUYS!, I know yall would come to me saying "GIRL WHO BUY IPHONE 15 HE'S BROKE IN THIS HALF APOCALYPSE WORLD"

Guys think abt it's 2027 there could be IPHONE 17!! SO kick broke ass bought IPHONE15!!

The only reason he chose it because he think ios is the safest program

fully jailbroken (probably has custom security software on it).

Some shockproof tactical case "Gotta be prepared." (for what😭)

Homescreen: A digital clock widget with a custom UI.

Lockscreen: A sci-fi looking interface with data widgets yes he was excited abt his phone that he organized it.

Ringtone: Custom-made—probably a futuristic beeping sound made the gang looking around smoothly thinking they got into space or smth.

Has two phones—one for work (Some random old galaxy) and one personal for you and other contact (the iphone)

"Yall don't deserve to be talked by this masterpiece".

He has all the social medias, talking with people he knows! but not that active.

The tech-savvy one. Probably has all the best apps and knows how to use them.

Can type ridiculously fast. His texts are fast and efficient but lowkey sarcastic.

Camera roll? Mostly encrypted files, but has a high-quality photo of you looking cool.

50% memes, 30% gym pics, 20% pictures of you.

Texts fast but types like a hacker—always looks like he’s in a rush.

"KICK STOP COMING ONLINE THEN OFFLINE THEN DO IT ALL OVER AGAIN!!" that's because he answer you but then disapper then answer you again like he leave the app so many times.

"ETA 5 min. U good?"

"Saw this and thought of u [sends a random gadget or meme]"

You know memes like a lot, but him, he send you stuff that u will never unserstand it.

The guy who helps fix everyone else's phones when they break them.

Lowkey a gamer. Might send you a "Wanna play something later?" text when he actually has time off and bored.

types in perfect grammar but all lowercase because he’s too lazy.

You: "What are you up to?"

Kick: "fixing some encrypted comms. you?"

You: "Being good ig."

Kick: "confirmed. always lookin' good"

Takes the best photos of you. Angles? Lighting? Perfect.

You: "Why do your shots look so good??"

Kick: "Not my shots cuz you're fint shyt"

Sends gym selfies like "Should I flex more? Nah, already flexing too much."

Again...cupcake remix.

"Don't have to say this, But be careful out there, okay?❤️"

Super chill over the phone. Probably calls you when he’s working on tech stuff just to have company.

"Talk to me while I work. Keeps me focused."

"There is no way..."

"way."

[willowser]

you had only to look at me—

part one.

bakugou x f!reader

wc: 7.4k+

tags: nsfw (18+), childhood best friend bakugou, oral (f!receiving), m!masturbation, lots of "first time" talk, more angst, more virgin bakugou.

even before i was touched, i belonged to you; you had only to look at me. — the burning heart, louise glück.

this is a repost.

you and bakugou avoid each other just like you did in middle school, only it's a little too easy this time around.

he's terrible at texting back in general, and because you're not initiating any conversations on your own — or sending funny memes or bringing up all might in some capacity — the radio silence draws ever on and on.

the closest you come to interacting with him is getting a snapchat from his mom, his figure in the background at their kitchen table. all you can see is the floof of his hair and the outline of his shoulders, but you're so bothered by the fact that he's home and didn't tell you that you don't even respond.

it officiates things in a bad way; he's really, actually not speaking to you.

and it's — fucking annoying.

at least in the past the distance was mutually and wordlessly agreed upon; you didn't talk because you were busy or didn't have time or anything new to say, but whenever he's come home — because he so rarely does — bakugou has always made his usual, god-honest attempt to irritate you.

and he still is, but this time he's doing it all wrong.

you go through the five stages of grief rather quickly, jumping from denial to anger overnight. several times, you type out something to text him, each message different than the last:

i know you were at your mom's jackass ☠️

it's really not a big deal and i think we should just forget about it, if that's what you wanna do ?

if i crossed some kind of boundary with you then i'm sorry and i won't say that again so you better call me before i put your baby pictures on the internet. i'm serious.

you're my best friend and i don't think it's weird that it happened. if you're being dumb because you're embarrassed, then don't be because i thought it was really hot

unsurprisingly, you don't send any of these and instead just stew in your own aggravation. lunch with him after the whole thing had been just as empty and awkward, and you think he chose the place near your apartment just so you could walk home and he didn't have to spend another second with you.

three months go by, which isn't long compared to other stints you've spent not talking to one another, but this one drags. like a lot. the only good that comes from it is that you graduate from anger to acceptance, finalizing a future without him in it.

except for the few times he invades your brain like a little parasite, red-faced and shuddering, gripping you like a lifeline, and then your stomach flips so hard that you feel sick and it takes genuine effort to check out of that daydream and back into a bakugou-less reality.

and then he shows up at your apartment, uninvited.

his mom hosts a sunday dinner that you don't go to, for several potential reasons. one would be that you'll have to see bakugou and pretend like nothing's happened even though you're still a little peeved; two is that you'll both ignore each other, and that'll reverse all your progress because he's been ignoring you already.

three is that he might not show up, and then you'll have to pretend that it doesn't bother you all night long.

none of that sounds better than watching trash television and falling asleep on your couch, so you tell mitsuki that you're very sick and very sorry, and that you'll make it up to her later.

because of this, the first thing bakugou says to you after you swing the front door open is, "you're supposed to be fuckin' dead."

suffice to say, you're surprised to see him; still outfitted in his hero costume, mask shoved up his forehead so that his hair is wilder than usual. there's kohl smudged around his eyes, messy, and they look brighter and harsher because of it.

there's also a family-mart plastic bag in his right hand.

"what?"

he just grunts, eyes snapping over your figure, dressed down in a too-large sweater and athletic shorts meant for running even though you've never done so in them.

in his hands — still gloved — the plastic crinkles obnoxiously as he holds it out. "old hag told me to bring this to you."

a can of low sodium soup, two apples, gatorade, and something over-the-counter for nausea. there's something else at the very bottom that you don't get the chance to inspect before he interrupts with his big, fat mouth.

"y'look fine to me, so why the hell didn't you go?"

you frown at him and — don't know what to say. clearly, it seems he's going the pretend-it-never-happened route, which is infuriating because he could just as well have done that months ago. even still, he won't hardly meet your gaze, staring for only a moment before rolling his eyes and huffing, sticking them anywhere else. if you peek close, real close, you'd say his ears are a little red, but maybe you're just looking for — something.

you shrug. "didn't feel like it."

he shakes his head like that's the stupidest thing he's ever heard, eyebrow arched. "why the hell not?"

"because, bakugou, i just didn't feel like going, i don't know what else to tell you." you huff, shrugging again when he doesn't say anything. "thanks for the stuff. is that it?"

his lips twist as he thinks, giving you another once-over before sighing. under his tank-top, you watch how his chest expands, the grimace that ripples over his face as he reaches a hand to lightly feel at his right side. "need your help with somethin'."

now you're just being petulant; you snort, raising your eyebrows as his eyes narrow at the sound. "me? are you joking? you need my help with—"

he groans loud enough to drown you out. "y'gonna let me in or y'just gonna run your mouth?" and so you step aside to wave him in wordlessly.

the backpack on his shoulder dumps to the ground by the door and he strolls into the kitchen like he owns the place, despite the fact that he's never been here before. you've lived in the unit for a year, but meetups are so infrequent and showing it off to him was never considered — until now; watching him shuffle through the bag on the counter, your nerves spike at the reality check.

alone together, again. in your apartment. well after dark.

that image of him is so — invasive, sweeping in at the worst times: between your legs, face as red as his eyes, the little moan he kept trying to swallow. how embarrassed he seemed when you asked if he felt good, if you felt good, and the fact that he still admitted it despite everything.

your entire body blazes like a flame to gasoline, and you try to focus on what else he's taking out of the bag, oblivious.

does he think about it at all? the way you have? at the root of the situation, that's what has been most bothersome: is he grossed out? simply embarrassed? does he feel taken advantage of? did he enjoy it and just doesn't know how to say it? the not knowing is driving you insane.

"i got—" bakugou awkwardly angles his body, gently touching at his side again. in his hands is a simple pack of first-aid supplies, like a wound wash and bandages and medical tape. "need you to change this shit for me."

"oh?" is all you can manage to say, still distracted, and whatever is obvious in your voice has his eyes snapping to you from across the kitchen, adam's apple bobbing. you clear your throat, struggling for normalcy. "the hell did you do?"

he's — going to take his shirt off. clearly, by the way he stretches out his shoulders and then slowly reaches behind himself to grab the material by the back, carefully pulling it up over his head with a low, stinging hiss.

bakugou's always been a lean kid — guy — but pulled so taut like that, after years of working out muscles you didn't even know he had, he looks — stupidly shredded, and the slow reveal of his tight stomach is not helping you to focus.

you just never realized how hot it was, because you never looked at him like that. until recently.

his mask comes off with his shirt and he tosses both onto the kitchen counter — again, as if he pays the bills here — and his hair is a mess and he usually doesn't care, but he runs a hand through it several times before finally looking back at you, eyes outlined in black.

"y'gonna help me or...?" he shrugs, trying to appear impassive — but it's too obvious; something's shifted, for the both of you.

you don't trust your voice anymore, so you just shuffle over to him, frowning at the dirty, worn bandage that's already unsticking from his skin. with his teeth, he pulls off his gloves and it's a wonder why he even wears them, really, because his hands are filthy underneath, covered in soot and black-stained grease.

standing like he is, arm slightly raised, you can see all his sweat, muscles shifting under his skin as he breathes, and his hairy armpit is staring you in the face and you don't know when he stopped being 12 and started being 20 and when he became such a man. it's not fair, that he should suddenly be so — attractive.

"you're disgusting," you tell him — and mean it — and it's met with such hot and irritated surprise that you have to keep talking before he explodes. "you should probably take a shower before putting on a new bandage."

it's road-rash up his right side, still shiny and wet and blood red. still raw. just looking at it is enough to make you cringe.

bakugou huffs, exasperated. "okay, gimme a towel then."

"i didn't mean take a shower here!" you squawk, taking a step back as if to further yourself from the suggestion.

detonation imminent; bakugou curls his hands into fists and the same muffled warning you've been getting your whole life crackles. "okay," he says, voice thin and razor sharp. "you're coming back to mine then?"

your whole life flashes before your eyes — or at least the few minutes it took for him to lose his shit between your legs. "what? no, why would i?"

"i need your help with this, dip-shit!"

"you're saying there's no one else that can—"

"if you want me to fuck off, just say so!"

things go silent, startlingly so. totally still, except for the rising flush across his face, one that you used to read as annoyance but are now translating into something else you never could have expected from him: embarrassment. it's starting to give you whiplash, how much you're discovering despite knowing him all your life.

"closet is at the end of hall," you say in surrender. "bathroom will be on your left."

bakugou mutters a quiet, angry little "jesus" before stalking back to the front door to get his bag, and then he's disappearing into the dark of your apartment.

you slump down on your couch and — struggle. watching the tv and absorbing nothing; it's a rerun anyway. the sudden, overwhelming urge to cry washes over you as the shower spray sounds in the background, followed by a low-timbered swear and the clatter of several bottles against the tub.

it's easy to butt heads with bakugou. you don't think there is any other way to interact with him, really, because he's so argumentative and that used to be okay, but now things are — off. you don't know what he's doing, what he wants, why he's here and in your shower when he could be at home or getting patched up at his agency. all the conclusions you can come to are frightening, a little, and they're hard to fathom; is he — does he want more?

is this just because he's a guy that got some action and is looking for a second round, or is this because it's you?

this stupid situation has only added an unnecessary amount of drama to your life, and you think maybe the pretend-it-never-happened route is the smartest path, even if you can't stop thinking about him and the strength coiled in his biceps, in his shoulders, and how tall he's become and — when did he lose most of the baby fat in his face, and when did he get such a sharp jawline?

how much is he working out, to get his body like that? he used to be a skinny, scrappy little thing and now — he can probably lift a truck over his head. must run all the time, though he's always been active, and you've never looked before, but you wonder how nice his ass is.

what he looks like under the shower, soapy and wet.

furiously, you blink out of your daydream, feeling like a foreign body in your own skin; if someone would have told you only a handful of months ago that you'd be having weird, sensual thoughts about your best friend, you would have laughed so hard you'd cried. or puked.

but if anyone else stands in that picture with him, your heart squeezes painfully. traitorously. already, you've shared so many memories with him; the start of elementary school, learning how to swim, giving each other equally bruised faces, staying up all night to study for important exams, tackling middle school graduation side-by-side, him making himself at home in your first apartment, just as you had done in his.

the devil on your shoulder asks: what's a few more firsts?

it seems like the shower stops in record time, but when you hone back in on the tv, the episode has changed and new drama is settling in. distantly, the rattle of the doorknob is more aggressive than it needs to be and when the echo of a swung-open door trails down the hallway, your heart suspends in your throat. never have you had to think this much just to be around him, and it's bothersome.

clean and relaxed, he's — softer; you spare a quick glance at him when he comes to stand beside the couch, distracted by the show on screen, and his hair is damp, starting to stick out again the more it dries. his muscles aren't made of marble anymore; still there and rippling, but he breathes calmly and his skin is baby smooth, tender. you eye his tummy and the line of fine hair running down into the waistband of his sweats, and do your best to ignore the sudden desire to kiss right above his belly-button.

"since when are they talking again?"

just as he looks at you, your gaze shoots back to the screen, eyes narrowing as you try to rapidly remember what's happening in the day-to-day for stay-at-home, pro-hero wives.

"uh," you blink, distracted — and he notices, "what do you mean? they've been hanging out, like, all season."

bakugou watches the tv in silence, occasionally glancing down to the bandage in his hands as he carefully spreads it out, as he dampens the towel with the antiseptic and dabs at his wounds. 

"even after she hit on whatshername's husband?"

"yeah, that was a misunderstanding," you frown at him but he doesn't see it. "remember when they went to that dinner party and all hell broke loose because—"

his flat look serves for a rude interruption. "they go to a lot of fuckin' dinner parties."

"i know, but," you scoff, annoyed, "have you even watched this season?"

bakugou scoffs, mocking and over-dramatic, "yeah, as if i've got all day to sit on my ass and watch your stupid girly—"

"you're watching it right now."

"because you've got it on!" he huffs when you sink into the couch, resolutely trying to ignore him. “start it over then, if you’re gonna cry about it.”

you gape up at him, going as far as to pause the show so that maybe he’ll acknowledge you and all your annoyance; he doesn’t. “start it over? this is, like, episode 26!”

“so? got a hot date or what?”

he’s not at all interested in the answer and that’s obvious when he spins around and holds out the bandage expectantly, staring down at the scrape — glowing red and angry, a mirrored wound you can feel scabbing across your own skin; itchy and irritating. 

finally he looks at you properly, frowning softly and — you see him then, can feel the tension lining his body as you carefully tape on his bandage. trying to hide how uncomfortable he is, though you he’s never had to do so with you in all of — forever. it’s nauseating, and again you're struck by the image of him, only now it's of the horror that had been on his face afterwards, at what you’d done.

it pushes everything over the edge; quietly, so that your voice doesn’t expose anything, you say, “you haven’t spoken to me in three months.”

silence weighs in the air immediately, heavy, and you watch him try to appear unbothered, shrugging as he stares back at the unmoving tv, jaw tight. “phone works both ways.”

“yeah, but,” your hands drop as he steps away to pull on a loose shirt, and you curl your fists into your own. just as he has. “i’m always the one having to reach out—”

“so why didn’t you?”

“what?” frustrated, you massage your temples, trying to soothe the nuclear headache threatening to incinerate you. “are you seriously trying to—”

“what’s the big deal?” he huffs, slumping down into the far corner of the couch before cringing, swearing as he gently touches at his bandage. “you’ve gone longer than that without talkin’ to me, so…”

the tone of his voice is infuriating, as if this is somehow all your fault — and maybe it is, because you shouldn’t have crossed such a boundary with him, but — he can be such a dick.

“it’s not just me bakugou, you could have just as easily picked up the phone, too!” your teeth grind when he shrugs again, leaning his head against his fist as he looks anywhere else. it almost looks like guilt that's dragging his expression down, but you know better than to assume he could feel such a thing. “you always—”

“jesus, if i always do this—”

“shut up for a second, damn!” and then because you can’t stand the stupid look on his face, you kick him in the thigh for good measure; it garners a warning glare, his teeth bared.

he easily catches you by the ankle when you try to kick him again. "tell me what the big fuckin' deal is."

"the big deal? oh, you mean besides the fact that you totally came in your pants?"

it stuns him for a second, eyes wide and face pale, before he's yanking you across the couch, narrowly avoiding the knee aimed for his gut. "you—fucking—!" a smack lands across the back of his head when he ducks and he plants a heavy hand over your face, forcing you to close your eyes and turn away.

"you're gonna blow my head off!"

"if i wanted you dead, you—" he intercepts the hand you blindly reach up with, crossing it awkwardly over your chest so that you're pinned down like a wild animal. "you would be!"

"kiss my ass, katsuki." you snark, and it does something to him, your use of his first name, because he's still for a moment before sitting back and collecting your wrists correctly, to hold against the couch arm above your head.

"you're such a fucking—" he swoops in so low that his nose almost brushes yours and he grabs the front of your sweater with his free hand, like he's gonna shake you down for some lunch money. "fuck, i could just—" and then he groans long and loud, so annoyed he can't find the words.

"yeah, well—"

"shut up," he lightly knocks his forehead into your cheekbone with another dissatisfied sound, letting out a heavy sigh as he sinks his face down into your neck.

all your muscles tighten on instinct, waiting for the sharp bite that's due any second — but his fingers only uncurl from the material of your sweater, slowly slipping around to tangle into the hair at the nape of your neck. his pull there is a little tight, enough for you to know he's got you, but not so much that you're head is aching; you can't imagine you have a sensitive scalp, anyway, after growing up around him.

you want to say something — which is an annoying realization because now you feel like too much of a talker — but you just focus on the heave of his chest over yours, the breath that moves through him. the minute jostle of his hips as he settles further into the space between your legs, almost comfortable. the slight swell of something unfamiliar against your inner thigh.

bakugou presses his face a little further into you, warm, and the tip of his nose drags along the column of your throat. successfully sedating you, distracted by the feel of his parted lips against your skin.

your body is hot all over, very suddenly; the sweater now feels like a death trap and hopefully you don't smell weird, though it's never been a worry before, not around him, and your adrenaline is rushing and you're kinda tired of acting like you don't know why that is.

fuck pretend-it-never-happened. it's been a long three months.

he's almost entirely pressed against you, but there is a small gap of space that closes when you open your legs a little wider, hitching them around his waist as his breath stutters against your neck.

it's happened so quick, so effortlessly yet again; you give a purposeful roll of your hips upward and are lost in him all over.

only — it's different than it was before because straddling his lap hadn't done much for you, but now the weighted outline of him is right against your center and the pressure that drags across you sends tingles up your spine and has your toes curling in your socks. when you let out a tiny gasp at the stomach-flipping sensation, tension coils in every curve of his body and the grip around your wrists and in your hair only tightens.

you can't help it; you let out a "katsuki" in the same heady tone as you did in his apartment and it has him falling easily into the slow grind you've been unable to stop thinking about. what shifts across his face is obvious, against your throat, like the scrunch of his brow and the slow drop of his mouth. he tries to muffle his breathy "oh" into your skin, but it echoes throughout your entire body, has an ache beginning between your thighs that he's already soothing.

the nip comes then, teeth sinking gently into your neck as you weakly cry out in surprise, but it's only for a moment before his tongue — wet and heavy and wide — is tasting over your jugular, lips closing around your skin as he sucks experimentally. you let out a proper moan then, squirming against his hands and up into him so that the pressure doubles for the both of you.

katsuki finally relinquishes your wrists, carding his hand down your body before coming to squeeze your hip, your thigh, locking your leg tight around his waist. "yeah," he rasps, voice deeper than you've ever heard it as he presses his forehead into yours. "how do you fuckin' like it?"

being bitten, he means, vengefully, but you're spread open beneath him and he's rutting the hard length of himself against you roughly, eagerly, and panting open-mouthed and you tighten up at the aggression in his tone and in his hands and his very being and —

"fuck," you gasp, loud and wanton, "fuck, katsuki—"

and then you are kissing your best friend.

the boy from down the street that always ruined your hair and taught you where to place your thumb if you were gonna throw a punch. that used his empty pen cartridge to blow spitballs at you and mocked you for losing crane games, even though he ended up giving you the stupid stuffed animal anyway. that had to be king of the castle, with his stick-sword and cardboard shield. that demanded you be his queen, weeds he picked for you woven carefully into your hair by his hands.

katsuki kisses like he's shy — another term you've never thought of in relation to him and all his fire and brimstone; it's slow and a little delayed in comparison to what his hips are doing, as if he's in his head too much and is trying to figure how to move his lips and when. tentative and chaste, until you run your tongue along the seam of his mouth and pry him open a little more.

it's making you hungry; that possessiveness from before is creeping back in, eager to have him in ways nobody else has. you arch into him, biting at his lips and sighing into his mouth as goosebumps break out across his skin.

with a slant of his head, he deepens the kiss and you can feel his nostrils flaring, the fingernails scratching against your scalp, the bruises he's probably leaving on your thigh. he lets up only to breathe, panting into your ear when he begins to bite and suck on your skin again; your earlobe and neck and even the cut of your jaw. like maybe he's hungry, too.

you fist a hand into his shirt just to tug it up his body, feeling the strong contract of his stomach when your fingers ghost against him. katsuki gets the hint quickly, rising up to his knees to tear the material off — much more harshly than he did before, which has you eying his crinkled bandage — and you move fast to take advantage of the new space.

it gives him pause when you yank down your shorts, pulling your legs back to slip them off and fling them somewhere across the room. his face goes red again, and his heaving chest, too, and his eyelids flutter as he takes in the sight of your flimsy, damp cotton underwear. you start to pull the sweater up your stomach, but he's watching so intently — so ravenous — that you get shy, without a bra underneath the too-hot fabric.

in any other situation, katsuki would have grabbed onto this moment, your hesitation, and held it over your head to come back and poke at. cataloged this little weak spot for future arguments, but now —

not once has he ever been gentle with you in anything; it's enough of a surprise that that's even a possibility for him, for the two of you, but he presses his body back into yours and kisses you deep, calloused fingers tracing over the new skin exposed to him. he doesn't try to push the sweater up any further, but one hand slips up your back, to splay between your shoulder-blades like it had before, and he's so close and you've never known him to be this — careful. with anything.

"y'r so—" katsuki rolls his hips again and groans, whispering against your lips. "fuckin' soft."

his sweatpants are still on and you don't know why, but when you reach down to help tug them off, he grabs your wrist before they can go too far.

he presses the heat from his cheeks into your own, like he wants to share it. "you done this before?"

"have you?"

he frowns at your non-answer. "i asked first."

you have. three times, technically, though a phantom pain echoes in your stomach at the memories, and you feel an odd emptiness in your chest that makes you really glad to have the sweater still on. your answer leaves you a little ashamed, under his gaze, and you purposely turn from it. "would...that bother you?"

before, you wouldn't have cared, didn't care, nor were you even thinking of him when it happened. wherever he must have been; u.a, probably, getting ready to make his lifelong dreams a reality while you trusted a boy that didn't look at you the way katsuki is now. that didn't hold you and touch you and kiss you the way your best friend has.

he scoffs, though it doesn't sound as careless as it usually does and he squeezes his eyes shut so you can't read them. the truth that's hidden there. "no," he lies, "why would—" but he doesn't finish, just sighs.

"it was awful anyway," you tell him, offering a small smile when he peeks down at you. he doesn't say anything, so you kiss him once, twice, until his tension is melting away. "should have been you."

the grip on your thigh turns almost painful and he grinds into you so roughly that you both gasp, loud in the tight, barely-there space between you. "yeah," he rasps, sucking another bruise into the hollow of your throat. "fuckin' should have."

you try to imagine it; eighteen and nervous, naked in front of him for the first time since you were seven and got into paint from his mom's workshop, when she made you both strip down in the same room, furious. how different he might have been with you then, how much more unsure. kinder than your ex, without a doubt, even for katsuki, and he probably wouldn't have even gone through with the whole thing, considering how uncomfortable the first time is.

or maybe it wouldn't have been, with him; maybe he would have looked into it, taken the time to wind you up the same way he is now so that you were eager and wet and ready. looking down at you with his wide, almost-black eyes in the dim light of a table lamp. another first to share.

"if i'd have just," he huffs, allowing his sweats to slip down past his hips. shoulders trembling when he makes you moan out his name again. "fuckin'—grown a pair 'n told you—"

the weight of him becomes more obvious, the straining bulge he's rocking into your core, and seeing it is — really getting to you; wearing such tight boxers, you can tell just how close the pink tip of him is to his waistband, nearly peeking out from just how hard he is.

it takes a shrug to get him out of your shoulder, so you can press your lips back to his. "can still be you, katsuki," you breathe, biting on his bottom lip until his tiny frown is gone. "if you want, it can still be you."

for a minute, he indulges himself in the greedy kiss you're giving him, testing strokes of his tongue against your own as his hips stutter out of rhythm — but it's when your fingers brush through the hair at the base of his stomach, trying to slip a hand into his boxers, that he's gasping into your mouth and pushing his body up and away.

determination settles over his face then — along with his vibrant flush — and he doesn't say anything as he grabs you like it's nothing and scoots you up the couch so that your back is pressed to the arm, propped up. once he settles between your thighs, he just rests his face into the plush of your stomach — which is humiliating and has you squirming, but the firmness returns to his hands; holding your hips so that you'll still, so that he can kiss right above your belly button, just as you wanted to do to him.

heat flares in your own cheeks — and down your chest and in your ears and searing on the back of your neck — when you feel the first puff of his warm breath against your underwear, where you're sensitive and slick and aching.

this is completely new to you; your ex-boyfriend probably never considered tasting you here, certainly not with the same desire that's painted across katsuki's face. you have to slap your hands over your eyes and bite your lip, embarrassed, suddenly, at how desperate the simple press of his mouth to your underwear makes you.

"hey, hey," katsuki grunts, pinching at your hips until you peek at him through your fingers. the highlights of his cheeks are crimson and his eyes are black, glaring with an intensity that makes you shiver. "it's my fuckin' turn."

to make you fall apart, he means, just as he had.

at the first hot drag of his tongue against the material, you squirm, leaning your head back so that your expression is hidden. another grunt comes from him, you think in dissatisfaction, but he continues, laving until your mouth is falling open and the fabric between you is drenched.

he's gone just long enough to be replaced by the ghost of his thumb, touching you much too-gently. hunger has you stealing another look at him, watching behind your hands as he stares, blatantly, at the mess he's already made of you, stroking the pad of his finger against the sodden material in interest.

discovering; a curious swipe over where you're aching has you sighing and trembling and his eyes jump back up to your covered face, open mouth curling into the faintest smirk as he does it again and again and again. it's bullshit — how quickly he's figured you out, almost as if your body was meant to be unraveled by his hands — but then again, it didn't take you long either, did it?

"katsuki," you hiss, digging a hand into the hair at the crown of his head, tugging on it until his smile is dropping and his eyes are lidding. your body is on fire and your legs are trying to close around his head, hips squirming as he toys with you, like the little brat he is.

deadly serious, he grabs your underwear and holds it tightly in his fist so that you can wiggle one leg free, and then he's tugging it out of his way and devouring you whole.

it's sloppy, the mixture of spit and slick as runs his tongue through you, wet and wide, and you're so sensitive that you squeak out in surprise, fingers tightening. a groan punches from deep in his chest and your hips buck at the vibration of it, drawn so tight already.

"oh my—" you gasp, dropping your other hand from your face to grip the couch; eyes closed, you're somewhere else entirely, lost in the clumsy swirl of pleasure between your thighs.

katsuki raises his head to breathe, reaffirming your grip in his hair by wrapping his fingers tight over your own. at the shiny sight of his mouth, you can't help but to whimper with a needy roll of your hips, until he's simply sticking out his tongue and allowing you to ride it, to use it as you need to. it's embarrassing, how desperate you are, but his eyes are knife-sharp and trained on you and you've never experienced anything like this.

he moves then, slipping one hand further up under your sweater, cupping your breast carefully as his lids flutter — and the other is shoved between his hips and where they're pressed into the couch. you tighten up at just the idea of him rutting into his hand while kissing your messy slit, moaning openly, head falling back as your eyes start to roll.

this is — fuck — you've never been so turned on in all your life and it's driving you crazy; at one point in time, the thought of bakugou like this would have grossed you out, but now you think it's only like this because of him. anyone else wasn't right, not the way he is, and he's maybe a little impatient and unwieldy, but it's katsuki. between your legs with his mouth on you — something he wanted — and his fingers are brushing over your nipple and the other is down his pants, wrist flexing and —

"fuck, oh fuck, i—" you try to sit up, chasing blindly after the high, but he forces you back down. a long groan is muffled by your skin and when he lifts his chin just a little, a glob of spit falls off his lips and the sight makes your toes curl before he presses back into you and sucks.

everything goes blank as you free-fall into him and you cum quietly, muscles so taut in your body that your voice can't even squeeze out of your throat. the minute you're able to breathe, he's biting a mark into your thigh and yanking you back down under him, lips slick against yours.

tasting yourself on his tongue has you coming out of the heady haze, ravenous; katsuki helps you to shove his boxers down, though he can only gasp tightly when he grinds against you, coating himself.

"'m not—" his soft hair tickles your face when he shakes his head, arms trembling beside your head. "i won't be able to—"

"keep going," you breathe, smearing your mess over the tip of him and down his length as he groans. "i don't care, keep going."

he smashes his lips to yours, though he's only able to meet the pump of your hand a few times before dropping his forehead to your shoulder, spine curling, fingers digging into your hair. katsuki swears long and low, eventually letting out a soft sound you wouldn't have expected from him as his entire body tenses and he spills onto your stomach.

"goddamn it," he moans into the fabric of your sweater, weary, after a long moment. "now 'm fuckin' tired."

and for some reason that makes you laugh, though the lust is dissipating and your nerves are trembling at the memory of how this ended last time. katsuki pulls away suddenly, making your stomach drop, and he doesn't look at you as he detangles himself, awkwardly shuffling away from the couch and out of sight.

you frown down at the mess on your stomach, the way it's pooling in your belly-button — and you'll be damned to let him leave you like this, but just as you finishing reciting over and over what you want to say, he appears, towel in hand.

it's still damp from his shower and you tense on instinct, waiting for him to start twirling it with that stupid grin on his face, but katsuki only arranges your legs so that he can sit between them, carefully wiping you off as his cheeks burn. and you just watch him, the way he runs a hand over your skin to make sure he got it all before helping to finagle your underwear back on properly.

then he just looks at the tv, unmoving. if he's trying to appear casual at all, it's a piss-poor job — but he's never been able to keep his fat mouth shut for long.

the look he gives you lacks its usual heat, though you can't tell if that's just because he's drained or if he's withdrawn for another reason. "what now? six months, a year before you talk to me again?"

and you're annoyed all over again.

"what?" you return his weak glare, sitting up properly so that you're right in his face. "are you kidding me? you didn't talk to me either."

"the hell did you want me to say?" he scoffs and — you could slap him, for ruining everything so quickly. wipe that stupid look off his face with your fist. "'sorry i busted a nut, you free for dinner?'"

"yeah!" the shrill tone of your voice makes his eyes widen, and you throw your hands up in the air, incensed. "that sounds wonderful in comparison to coming home and avoiding me."

"i didn't avoid you," he mutters, though his eyes drift back to the tv. "just didn't have shit to say."

"bakugou," you slap your hands over your face for the second time, though this one is much worse than the last. "how is that fucking fair? what did you want me to say?"

and now — his eyes are full and furious, mouth curling down into an ugly frown that you've so rarely had the pleasure of seeing on his face; every time his mother made you go home and when you told him you weren't gonna try to test into u.a. when he overheard your girl friends teasing you for liking an older boy in your school.

when he was losing you, you realize.

"'m not doin' this shit with you," he mutters, definitive, before swiping his shirt up off the floor and standing. "not doin' this bakugou shit."

"oh my god," you groan, rising, too, because your stomach is twisting at the thought of him leaving again, no matter how angry he's making you. "what does that even mean?"

you trail him as he stomps into your kitchen to grab his work shirt and mask from the counter, trying to interrupt him at every turn, and the scowl on his face only grows when you shoot to stand in front of the door, just as he reaches for his bag.

"you can't—"

"this," he seethes, gesturing to you and then himself before gritting his teeth so hard that they should shatter. "this is why i didn't wanna fuckin' talk to you."

you knew he didn't. the minute lunch ended and when you made out his shape in mitsuki's snapchat: you knew. but hearing it from his mouth is as much of a confirmation as it is a kick in the gut.

there's more he's struggling to say, mouth shifting as he chews on the words and the skin of his lips. his gaze jumps from you to the door to something on the counter before he's swallowing again, staring down at you with brand new eyes.

the light in the kitchen makes them shine, angry and sad. "i can't—" he sighs, nostrils flaring like he's mad at himself for struggling. "go back to bakugou, not after—" a vague hand waves toward the couch. "maybe this is just, i don't know, whatever to you, but i — fuckin' can't."

tell me what the big fuckin' deal is; earlier, he'd demanded it of you, why the silence mattered so much this time when it didn't seem to matter before. in the midst of your anger, you didn't think twice about his wording but now —

he wanted you to say it. katsuki wanted to hear you say that it hurt to be without him for so long, and he kept his distance because he was afraid that you wouldn't.

"you're so stupid," you mutter it quietly, and his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, enraged, but before he can get another dumb word out, you loop your arms around his neck and just — kiss him.

not crazy or wild or lust-driven, just your lips to his, slowly working him out of the shell he's tried to hide behind.

the bag in his hand hits the ground with a soft thud and then his arm is wrapping around your back, tugging you to him as he finally breathes and opens his mouth — and lets you in.

when you cup the sides of his neck, katsuki inhales sharply through his nose, pulse jumping under your fingers, and his lashes flutter against your cheeks as he opens his eyes. he pulls back enough so that you can stare at each other and you realize that eyeliner is still clinging to his lids, making him seem sharper than usual.

you're a little stunned, then, at how beautiful he is. 

"i can't go back to bakugou either, dumbass." gently, you knock your forehead into his, smiling at the pout on his face. "you've totally screwed that up for me."

"yeah, well," he huffs, "about time. only took you all my goddamn life."

"sorry i'm late."

"what else is new?" he rolls his eyes and you squeak, indignant, before sticking your tongue out at him, patience worn thin already.

you expect a bite or a pinch to the cheek or another rough violence that falls along the lines that have made up your relationship thus far — but instead there is only something soft that reflects in his eyes and the shy kiss he presses to your lips, something that he's kept safe just for you, guarded, with his stick-sword and cardboard shield.

[bts-trans]

[KOR/ENG LYRICS] Groin by RM

ots of annoying bastards in the world

어쩌라고 뭐 가던 길이나 가라 What do you want me to do? Just walk in your own lane

세상엔 알 수 없는 새끼가 많아 There’s lots of bastards you can’t understand in the world

부딪칠 것 같으면 난 더 세게 밟아 If I think I'm gonna crash, I accelerate harder*

I just fuck it up (Fuck it up, bitch)

Everytime you know I fuck it up

(Fuck it up, you dick)

이렇게 번번이 또 망치고 말아 I mess it up like this all the time

난 스님은 못돼 I can’t be a monk

타인의 말은 내게는 언제나 오해 Other people’s words, they never come to me right

Not a fuckin’ diplomat

이제 좀 살만하니 뭔 책임을 떠넣네 Life just got bearable, so you’re here adding responsibilities

내가 뭘 대표해 What am I supposed to represent?

나는 나만 대표해 I only represent myself

홧병나서 죽기 전에 할말은 하자 Let me just say what I wanna, before I die of anger

맘 안 드는 놈한테 난 무조건 빵상 To those who don’t like me, I’m always speaking alien

빵상, 빵상, 무조건 빵상 Blah blah, blah blah, always blah blah*²

내가 뭘 하던 이제는 못 말려 방상 Whatever I do, you can’t stop me now bang sang*³

I see what I see (me)

I be what I be (me)

I’ll set you free

Can’t tell me nothin’ I’m so far

What it do just come

Get yo ass outta trunk

Get yo ass outta trunk

Get yo ass outta trunk

Your face, I’m like “Fuck, bitch!”

Get yo ass outta trunk

Get yo ass outta trunk

Get yo ass outta trunk

Don’t care what yo talk, bitch!

Get yo ass outta trunk

Get yo ass outta trunk

Get yo ass outta trunk

You walk like a duck, bitch!

Get yo ass outta trunk

Get yo ass outta trunk

Ass outta trunk

Ass, ass outta trunk

세상엔 재수없는 새끼가 많아 There’s lots of annoying bastards in the world

어쩌라고 뭐 가던 길이나 가라 What do you want me to do? Just walk in your own lane

세상엔 알 수 없는 새끼가 많아 There’s lots of bastards you can’t understand in the world

나는 더 세게 밟아 그냥 더 세게 밟아 I accelerate harder, just accelerate harder

Yeah I fuck it up, I fuck it up

증오는 해롭지만 I suck it up Hate is harmful, but I suck it up

이제는 거꾸로 더 절벽으로 Going backwards now, closer to the edge of the cliff

산얀 형과 함께 어머니 속썩이러 With San Yawn*⁴, on our way to annoy our mothers

어쩌면은 법 위로, 아니 그건 never, no Perhaps above the law, no not that, never, no

난 착하게 살 거야 하지만은 you never know I’m going to live righteously, but you never know

눈은 좀 깔아줘 그러니 자극하지 마라 좀 Stop staring and back off, don’t provoke me

친구가 되고 싶다면 걍 술이나 좀 따라줘 If you want to be my friend then just pour me a drink

You dig?

I see what I see (me)

I be what I be (me)

I’ll set you free

Translators’ Notes:

* References the line "If you feel like you’re going to crash then accelerate harder, you idiot" from ‘Intro: Never Mind’. However, the lyrics in ‘Intro: Never Mind’ are written in the passive form, where the subject is being crashed into. On the other hand, the lyrics in ‘Groin’ are written in the active form, where the subject is the one doing the crashing. 

2. ‘빵상/bbangsang’ comes from a Korean meme and is meant to be a form of alien speech but is understood as gibberish. 

3. The meaning of ‘방상/bangsang’ is unclear. It could potentially refer to a Buddhist practice of planting trees or setting up rocks as a form of defence. Another possible interpretation is that ‘sang’ is being used as an honorific. ‘sang’, while not a Korean honorific term, is often used as the Korean spelling of the Japanese honorific ‘-san’. 

4. San Yawn is a member of Balming Tiger, who RM also worked closely with on this album.

Trans cr; Annie | Spot Check cr; Aditi & Faith @ bts-trans © TAKE OUT WITH FULL CREDITS

[nozhdyved]

we think we know you - p.z.

contains: 1234 words LOL, patrick zweig timeline, mentions of suicide, artashi being massive patrick haters, slurs, so much patrick slander it's crazy, odd formatting uhh, patrick zweig NEGLECT, he deserved better

notes: i've been thinking abt writing this for a while... i feel like this song just suits his life really well. the formatting on this gmfu but i genuinely had so much fun making it that way. uhh enjoy and plz cherish your patrick zweigs while u still can

taglist: @girliism, @imperishablereverie, @faiztsheap, @musingsofheaven, @yardofbrunettes, @forgetmenotnympho, @sweetheartfaist, @sweetestfaiszts, @hangels . click here to be added !

listen while you read

[The following voice messages are the last ones left on P. ZWEIG’s phone as of today’s date. They have been played through. Sent from unknown numbers. Keep secure for evidence.]

Beep. “Patrick, Oh my God! Um, heyyy, you remember me, right? Oh my God, it’s been, like, forever! I can’t believe you’re all, like… famous and stuff now. You were a scrawny kid at Rebellato, remember? Haha! Um, how are you? I feel like I’ve been, like, so lacking in our friendship. I mean… we never, uh talked, but, I feel like that was what made our friendship so special, right? Anyway, you should totes come to this party I’m throwing with my college friends, total rager, it’s gonna be off the chain-hook! Um, I’ve been telling all my friends about how good of friends we were, ya know? Like, besties! I mean, besides you and Art, or whatever. He’s married now. Isn’t that crazy? Are you married? Gah, I’m getting too ahead of myself, haha! God, I just… I’m so excited to catch up with you! I haven’t seen you in fooooreverrrr, I’ve really missed you! Anyway, I’ll send you the deets for the party, make sure you pull up ready to sign some boobs, hah! Um, okay, byeee! Text me!”

[Caller identified as HAILEE JOHNSON. Fellow student in 2006 at MARK REBELLATO’S TENNIS ACADEMY. Witness from school states that JOHNSON did not interact with P. ZWEIG. Follow up at her location before the week ends.]

Beep. “Mister Zweig, how you doin’? Good? Ah, I’m a coach, big time, coached, uh, Courier, Lendl, uhh… big names, big names… Federer? Anyway, I’d love to sign up to be on your team– you’re very powerful, very passionate, I could represent you well. Somethin’ we gotta work on, though, is that serve, my man. It’s just… I mean, uh, it’s not workin’ for you. It doesn’t match the rest of your plays, and we just… gotta fix it before it gets too bad, ha! Just kiddin’. For real, though, watch that serve. It’s gonna mess you up, people don’t respond to it well. Oh, and another thing– up your social media presence. Trust me, I’m doing you a favor. You’ve got great playing, and, uh… really great stats for the season. But it doesn’t matter, you know? You could be playing bottom of the barrel, but the Patrick Zweig brand will still be alive if you post a meme every once in a while. That’s what it’s all about, yeah? Your brand. You cool? Um, you can call me back at this number. Alright, think about it!”

[Caller identified as CHRISTOPHER HARRISON. Coaches primarily in Florida and Georgia. As far as records show, he has not coached for Courier, Lendl, and definitely not Federer. This message was left two months ago, and it seems like P. ZWEIG did not hire him or reach out again. Follow up in under a week.]

Beep. “Hey fag! Haha. Ha… Man. How you doing, bro? You’ve changed, man. You’ve changed a lot. I mean, I never knew you, but, uh, my sister’s friend’s brother-in-law went to that faggy tennis school with you. He said that, like, you became a total fuckin’ asshole once all this tennis stuff started workin’ out for you. What’s your problem, man? You think you’re better than everyone because you can hit a ball with a racket? Hah. My frat bro, Kenny, he hits his balls with rackets every day. Does that mean we gotta give him trophies and shit too? Nah, we call him a dumbass. And you’re a dumbass too, bro. I mean, like, whoa, this fuckin’ guy can play tennis, oooh! Shut the fuck up, fag, fuckin’ elementary schoolers play tennis better than you, prolly. Don’t get all depressed and weird when you hear this, I’m just bein’ honest, man. You need someone to give you a reality check. You’re a loser who can’t do shit right, which is why you’re an athlete. Hah. I bet I could outbench you, fag. Anyway, call me back if you wanna buy some weed!”

[Caller identified as MATT SMITH. He did not have any personal connections with P. ZWEIG and we are unsure as to how he got the number. Should be top priority for following up on.]

Beep. “Bro. I heard that you, like, totally homewrecked your friend’s marriage. That’s fuuucked up, man. Bro. Bro. Not cool, even if that Tashi chick is smokin’ hot. Crazy how she looks so good after pushin’ a baby out. You can’t just cockblock another man like that. Hah, or maybe you were pussyblockin’ her, since I bet your faggot ass wanted that dick, ayyy! Haha. Anyway, just wanted to let you know that now I know you’re an asshole. We think you’ve changed, bro. Man. Fucked up.”

[Caller identified as previous caller M. SMITH. Sent a few hours after paparazzi pictures of P. ZWEIG and T. DONALDSON (NÉE DUNCAN) were released to the media.]

Beep. “Hey hey, Zweigster! Haha, a branding idea for when we start working together. You, uh, still haven’t reached out about that yet, but I’m sure you’re busy, so I’m just leaving this message for ya. I know you may have some doubts, but I promise you that we know best. We being, you know, the coaches. Um, of the world. Call me back, Zweig!”

[Caller identified as previous caller C. HARRISON. Sent one week after previous message.]

Beep. “Hey, asshole! Thanks a lot for showing up! God, you made me look like such an idiot in front of all my friends– You’re such a dick, Patrick! You know, I always thought that you were too good for Tashi, but obvi I wasn’t gonna say that to her face. I’m fine sayin’ it to you, though! Fuck you, man! I’m, like, actually so pissed right now. Ugh! You suck! I need a fuckin’ smoke.”

[Caller identified as previous caller H. JOHNSON. Sent three days after the previous message.]

[On today’s date, P. ZWEIG’s body is still unable to be located. P. ZWEIG left little belongings to his name– his car, his rackets, and this phone with the password written on a paper next to it. He entitled ownership of his belongings to A. DONALDSON and T. DONALDSON (NÉE DUNCAN), who have not responded to our inquiries. Please follow up with them if they do not reply in the next week.]

[P. ZWEIG was last seen in the parking lot of his motel, walking towards the beach and smoking. Please review CCTV footage to see cars that pass by him so we can find more witnesses.]

[Please reach out to P. ZWEIG’s publicity team for a statement on his death and/or suicide. Something of substance must be released soon to the public. (CONFLICT: P. ZWEIG DOES NOT HAVE A PUBLICITY TEAM.)]

[On today’s date, P. ZWEIG’s body has been found along the banks of HUDSON BEACH. He has been taken to the morgue and a statement is preparing to be released about his suicide. A. DONALDSON and T. DONALDSON (NÉE DUNCAN) still have not replied to our messages. Please follow up in person so they may retrieve P. ZWEIG’s belongings.]

[Case closed. A. DONALDSON and T. DONALDSON (NÉE DUNCAN) never responded. We are granting P. ZWEIG’s belongings to his parents. Funeral held in two weeks time. As of today’s date, PZ2022 is officially closed.]

[arrayoflightarchives]

Brave as a noun by AJJ is soso Melanie King coded in this essay I will-

No, but fr I'm going to in probably a very unserious way bc this is the best translation of the little autism creature in my brain who comes up with these ideas:

"I could go off the deep end / I could kill all my best friends" -> Peak Melanie in her meme breakdown I fear but also adding in her trying to keep calm for everything but there is a lot of built-up rage (which is part of what attracts the bullet) which is why the first line

"I could follow those stylish trends / And God knows I could make amends / But I've got an angry heart / Filled with cancers and poppy tarts" -> woahhhhh so Melanie core my god, her whole monologue abt how her anger is important to her and her life post bullet when she's talking to Jon pls my god I love that monologue and these lines really capture it in my mind

"If this is how you folks make art / It's fuckin' depressing" -> it's giving her view on the institute and the archives in genal and how everyone else just seems fine with it

"And it's sad to know that we are not alone / And it's sad to know there's no honest way out" -> Finding out abt the entities and the control that the eye has over the institute and the fact that they can't leave and the whole Elias business with her tryna kill him to get out of the grips of the institute (this is a repeated line so I will add to it later trust me)

"I'm afraid to leave the house / I'm as timid as a mouse / I'm afraid if I go out / I'll outwear my welcome" -> Now while this obviously makes me immediately think of my boy Martin K Blackwood, I think it can also be applied to Melanie when you think of how she actually has had to push against a lot of things 'outstaying her welcome' just to get to where she is because she is a woman and I see this as almost this is how people perceive me (which we can see she gets rightfully annoyed at canonically when she's like ik the archives is your little boys club but I work here so deal with it basically) I hope that was coherent if not well it makes somewhat sense to me so that's what ur getting

"I am not a courageous man / I don't have any big, lasting plans / I'm too cowardly to take a stand / I wanna keep my nose clean" -> okay so similar to the last part of this verse, it's giving this is how everyone perceives me bc I am a woman and I still have to abide by that (like putting up with bloody Andy for the sake of her channel and then when she actually lose it at everything, she loses it all so as much as she is angry and feisty, she knows that she needs to try and put that down because otherwise she knew what did end up happening where everyone left would happen

"And it's sad to know that we are not alone / And it's sad to know there's no honest way out" -> Now that we're further into her story, this line changes to being even her colleagues are turning into the monsters they keep talking abt wanting to stop, and then Jon tells her that she can leave, but it involves blinding herself for the rest of her lif,e and she can't just leave without doing something incredibly painful and life-altering, but this one is more resigned as she knows that she is going to do it no matter the other consequences

"In this life we lead, we could conquer everything / If we could just get the braves to get out of bed in the morning" -> She starts the job both with GHUK and at the Institue with the hope that she can do something good with them and entertain people or now that she can't do that outside of being a meme, that she can at least learn more about these things. But it then turns out that there is nothing that she can do to change the events that transpire, she gives up on working at the institute and is just there because she can't not be there and she has lost a lot of the drive she once had, especially once the bullet is removed even without her permission, she literally has lost all of her drive to do anything until she leaves the institute which is where I think this song takes her to because after that she starts to heal. Like the bullet is removed, and she realises that she has to heal, and then once she leaves, she can then focus fully on that, and at that point, she has outgrown the song because she has moved onto healing and trying to be away from anything to do with the institute.

[katyspersonal]

For the purpose to the ask meme because idr if I sent one already, but *clears throat*

Messmer

( @izunias-meme-hole )

Yeah..... you suuuure didn't ask anything else... -_-

(Ask from this ( x ) meme)

Favorite thing about them:

I am a little self-conscious when I use character's relation or relationship with another character as a favourite thing, but.. I just can't help it: the complexity and depth of his relationship with Marika made me really appreciate the character! It was the start that got me peer deeper into him, and I talk about it a lot!

He crashed / is responsible for crashing all her statues as a Goddess across the Shadow Realm, but kept one untouched, of her as a Mother, in his chamber. He asks her forgiveness before removing the seal, but he curses her upon death. He knew she was hurting and decided to "solve" her problem by offering to take upon Crusade for her, but he lives in hatred of abandoned child. He allows Miquella to go for it with trying to make a better world than she created, but he believes he knows what is better for her Order than she so he insists on still obliterating her "awaited Lord" (which is what he believes Tarnished is). She tried to heal him, she also fears all manners of fire and he could not be an exception. He hated his fire, he also was wishing to be feared by others as her weapon. She loved him, but Godwyn was manifestation of the world she always dreamed about - perfect, golden, uncursed...

There are things about them visible in the lore, and things that are fair to assume. But, in either case, this is insane how interesting it is! That being said.... no matter who I describe Messmer with, I go on the rant about conflicting feelings. Rellana and Queelign are similar. So, I suppose, I love this trait about him? He is not plain and not so easy to understand, maybe not even he understands himself fully!

Least favorite thing about them:

Honestly, while diving into the way he wages genocide against everyone spurn of her grace, including what he believes is a Lord she is waiting for, and seeing how he is the type to incinerate all traces of someone's culture and history since preserving specimen and ruins was the wish of his Knights.. he genuinely scared me. So did the fuckin Furance Golems. I have to remind myself that he is not even absolute about it (for example, Gaius, an Albinauric, is the leader of all his military forces), as well as how this mindset comes form Messmer himself being graceless. He is just a really convincing fascist. Granted, I also love this, because writing a villain who genuinely gives you sense not of lust but of dread is a very high skill!

Favorite line:

"O lightless creature... Embrace thine oblivion, as shall I." God, that sounded really intimate. He wants to take us down with him...

brOTP:

I suppose Gaius must be his best friend, all things considered! @val-of-the-north said if Moonrithyll is Rellana's braidsmaid, then Gaius would probably be the best man, too, and of course ride into the room on his boar! XD Honestly, very valid friendship, although I feel as though it developed a sad turn after there was no Radahn anymore. Without being united by caring about his reckless ass a lot, what left between them was being bound with feeling like abominations in Marika's perfect world. A lot of their conversations are bittersweet and nostalgic, but it is not like they're in the right conditions to develop happier topics and healthier things to bind over.

I can't not mention tho: his SNAKES!!! Absolutely the best creatures! They can feel his emotions like their own, without particularly becoming just part of his body. However, they can "betray" him a little, like hiss at someone irritating Messmer if Messmer himself tries to keep composure, or wrap someone close into embrace towards him if Messmer feels too shy to do so. They love him unconditionally, not believing in "healing" or "uncursing" him but living as natural counter-balance power to Base Serpent! Destruction is also part of life, it should just be kept in check, but it also can't be avoided forever! I jokingly call them Phobos and Deimos all the time XD Not their legit names ofc!

OTP:

Messmer x Rellana is canon, and a ship that I like, of course! I talked about my vision of the ship in this ( x ) post more! Granted, this post is from before I learned the 'bridesmaid' bit, but the VIBE still holds up! XD

To summarise, Rellana saw some higher meaning of returning to how things should be, believing that Fire and Sky must be together, be it stars or be it moon! She also knew that "not even brilliance of the moon could heal him", so... she knew of his serpentine nature, no less than Fire Knights, but stood by him unlike Andreas and Huv! Messmer values this a lot. They are contrasting! I see Rellana as energetic, a bit of 'smug but loveable asshole', that can also be a bit vulgar but becomes red like Messmer's cape if approached sentimentally and romantically! He is, of course, gloomy and full of self-loathing that can infect anyone else and requires a lot of patience to be close with, awkward with anything sexual but loving romantic gestures and not stingy with words of affection for those who deserve them!

I really like him and Queelign too, which I already wrote about here: ( x )! A lot of conflicting feelings on Messmer's side, as Queelign feels like reflection of the version of Messmer that he suppressed and killed in himself, but also the one he wishes he could live. He cherishes him a lot and wants to guard his "naivety" from anyone, even from himself, whereas for Queelign Messmer is like, one person he cares about beyond just his loyalty to Marika.

nOTP:

Not fully a nOTP, but something hard to work with! Messmer x Tarnished character would need loops for me to accept. Messmer is not someone who can be "fixed"; even if he has some sort of change of heart, he crossed events horizon with his war crimes and "ideology". So, it would need to be "I can join him" rather than "I can fix him"! The Tarnished character also must be someone not very morally sound themselves, to at least approach his level and lift up the weight of the fact that Messmer considers graceless people unworthy of existing! Something about the Tarnished that would made them unable to call Messmer out lest they are a huge hypocrite! Otherwise I'll feel like this:

Random headcanon:

I might revisit it later! But I think despite being 'lightless', Messmer is still a legit Demigod and as a child of Marika, has a Rune within Elden Ring associated with him! Basically, he could have claimed his shard, had he been still in the Lands Between!

It hit me that if both Godrick's and Morgott's runes are 'Anchor Runes', that could mean they then both use the central ring for their Runes, leaving the fourth, upper ring 'vacant'! Elden Ring already had the Rune that is now Marika's before Marika was even born, so it is possible that other stuff stored in Elden Ring could get "assigned" as well!

This is to say, I had a random headcanon that one of Messmer's Knights was able to escape with the purpose of finding a shard that was resigned to him by herself, to bring to him! She never told anyone, but believed that if Messmer had a shard, he'd be allowed to return in the Lands Between and to Marika, considering how dire things have gotten! However, whereas she succeeded, she loved it so much that she didn't want to let go of it.. so she never returned, jealously guarding it. From Messmer's perspective it just looked like betrayal, since he never knew where did she go. Again, might erase the idea later, but Vyke and Bernahl each had two shards that we never got to see, so might have been one of them as well?

Unpopular opinion:

He is not just "another boring Marika's marionette", he is a grown man that can make his own choices. 😔 He knew of his mother's trauma and festering wish for revenge, yet his response was to deliver Crusade for her sake, not like, to try to help her to heal and move on or something. Their relationship maybe were not so healthy, but he was not obligated to do all this. He had a choice. 😔

Song I associate with them:

Favorite picture of them:

I've made this stupid fucking ass meme before the DLC dropped:

I am super mad at how it somehow aged both like milk AND like wine fhdhfhsfd But you may have the brain damage from it again XDDD

[saltpepperbeard]

Poison into Positivity: A List of What I Liked in OFMD S2

Hello hello everyone! Things have been a little rough around here. Even away from the more heated takes, I've still seen a few "down in the dumps" murmurs. To which, I'm giving y'all big hugs, but also offering up some little bits of warmth! I wanted to share quite a few bullets of the things I enjoyed about this season. Maybe it'll serve as a reminder, or maybe it'll just serve as a chaotic, silly little read as per usual PFFF.

But I invite you to read along, and even add some of your own points should you feel inclined! Also, this might not even be my full list; these are just the ones that came to me quickly/off the top of my head. Still, let's dive on down like a fantastical, dazzling goldfish, shall we?

All the callbacks/parallels. My goodness. When I tell you I'm a SLUT for metaphors/parallels/callbacks/etc etc. Seeing so many things and being able to just *Leonardo Dicaprio pointing meme.* I know people might not share that same opinion because some might view it to be excessive, but I personally LOVED being able to point at my screen and be like "oH EYYYYYYY!!!" Maybe because it makes for such immaculate gifset/meta material <3 SJKJDLHSK

The costuming and makeup. WHEN THEY TALKED AT ECCC ABOUT EVERYONE GETTING HOTTER, THEY WERE NOT KIDDING LMAO. EVERYONE LOOKED SO, SO GOOD. and listen, i am on my knees begging for them to give ed with his hair up back to us. i need Her back,,,ALSO, SOMETHING SOMETHING COMPLICATED EMOTIONS TOWARDS STEDE'S LATTER HALF LOOK, BUT ALSO...GOD DAMN, MR. DARBY,,,,,,

Speaking of Mr. Darby, the acting in this season. The ACTTTINNNGG. Everyone acted their ASSES off. Everyone put their entire piratussies into this season. Though, I'm PARTICULARLY impressed with Taika and Rhys, because again with their "oh we're comedians lol so idk drama can be Difficult Difficult Lemon Difficult." MMMM I THINK THE FUCK NOT, MY GUYS LMAO??? They both did SO well with all the drama and painful moments. The acting in episodes 2, 3, 6, and 7 in particular like...God. GOD!!!

I loved so many characters in this season, and I'll of course have to give two individual shoutouts to my two favorite new ladies, but man. LET'S GO FRENCHIE!!! ALWAYS A DELIGHT!!! FANG/KEVIN MY ABSOLUTE SWEETHEART. JIM SERVING ABSOLUTE FUCKING GENDER THIS SEASON. OLU OLU DARLING OLU. PETE NEVER MISSING WITH HIS ONELINERS. LUCIUS BEING SO THEATRICAL AHDJKSDK LIKE NATHAN PLEASE YOU KILL ME. ROACH MAKING ME LAUGH OUT LOUD NUMEROUS TIMES AS HE DOES. WEE JOHN AND HIS KNITTING AND DRAG!!! AND THEN OF COURSE MY DEARLY BELOVEDS, ED AND STEDE. I JUST LOVE THEMMMMM!!! But okay okay okay-

Zheng my beloved. I just love this badass pirate queen with her sweet little pigtails and her IMMACULATE LINE DELIVERIES SDHJKSKL. A lot of my favorite deliveries from the entire season came from her quite honestly. Please see: "Girl, how ARE you?" and "Hiiiiiii. I KNOWWW it's been a day" and "I've killed mediocre men. I've killed exceptional men. But you're the worst kind: a mediocre man who thinks he's exceptional."

AND ARCHIE MY BELOVED. She kills me because I remember seeing like, those ~*~audition tape whispers~*~ WAY back in the day, and subsequently thinking she was going to be quite a different character. Only for this silly goofy bubbly energetic darling to pop up and snag my heart. HER deliveries kill me also, like when she goes "Like...STEDE Stede?" and the whole "I was IN the fuckin' snake!" also hhngngngngnershkfhslkds tattooed ladies Hot :(

Speaking of which, the comedy. THE DELIVERIES. THE WAY I LAUGHED OUT LOUD NUMEROUS TIMES THROUGHOUT, EVEN WITH THE DEEP UNDERCURRENT OF DRAMA/ANGST. The whole bit where Stede is in hysterics over his cursed coat is just hsjkdhsklds; it will NEVER not make me wheeze. And then, like I said, almost EVERYTHING Pete says this season kills me; another thing that will never not make me laugh is "a doggie...?" weird little pirate show with weird little humor my beloved

The ROMANCE??? I genuinely was going into the season with the expectation of getting maybe like, one or two Gentlebeard kisses. Imagine my shock and utter delight when we ended up with FOUR, AS WELL AS AN INTIMATE SCENE, THE LETTER SCENES, AND THE LOVE PROFESSIONS. Like, one of them dropping a legitimate "I love you" felt like an unrealistic expectation--the HIGHEST dream tier really. And then wouldn't you know it. And that doesn't even account for all the rest of the couples either! The murder wives having their chaotic little moments of fucked up affection??? LUCIUS AND PETE GETTING ENGAGED AND THEN MARRIED??? HELLO??????

The sets! I know people have pointed out that the world felt a bit simplified this time around, due to budget restraints and what have you. But I still loved what they did with the world even with the various constraints. The market in episode 6 is a PARTICULAR favorite of mine; it's just so lush and colorful. I also love what they did with The Revenge during episode 6 too!

Also, this might be an unpopular opinion, but I really actually liked that they filmed on location. First of all, love that the Kiwis got to be right at home in Aotearoa. Love that they have an even more special connection to the show now. But second of all, I just like when scenery is...actually THERE? It feels way more TANGIBLE. Don't get me wrong; that hugeass wraparound screen that they use to film a lot of sets is a technological marvel. But I'm a sucker for practical.

The deeper and more complex dives into character motivations/trauma. Like, homie lol...When I tell you episodes 6 and 7 utterly set my brain alight in the best way possible. I was CHUGGING through thoughts. You know those gifs where someone is walking around and ranting/passionately talking,,, yeah. Yeah. Maybe because a lot of it "struck a chord" with me indeed, but I love love LOVE getting brain food like that.

Speaking of brain food, in PARTICULAR, the deeper dives into Ed's self-loathing and into Stede's troubles with confidence and masculinity. A lot of Stede's choices were fueled by those two things, and it was SO friggin fun to catch all of them, put them in a jar, and shake them around. I've seen a lot of people fearing his actions in the latter half were out of character, but to me, I don't see it that way. I just see a man who has been so spurned, so left behind, and SO deprived, a man who is stuck thinking he has to be someone else to mean something. And I think that plays a lot into even the EARLIEST developments we saw in season 1, so it was just so intriguing to watch everything messily play out.

THE INNKEEPER. THE INNKEEPER MY BELOVED. SO much about that episode absolutely has my heart. All the different developments, the stakes, the pacing, and the payoff at the end. Not to mention that I had a FEELING that mysterious figure in the trailers was Hornigold, so it was so SO validating to see him pop up PFFF. And also, all those dream/gravy basket sequences were so so good too. I don't know if it's the chemistry between Taika and Mark, or the deeper symbolism, or the lines that have become vocal stims for me SJKDLS (please see: ooOOoooO eddie eddie eddie...you're laying some heavy shit on me, bro), but man. MAN.

And this one gets its own bullet because of course it does: the fucking mermaid scene. Like, are we kidding. ARE WE KIDDING. THE ROMANCE OF IT ALL? THE FANTASTICAL-NESS INDEED?? THE WAY IT WAS ALL FUCKING PRACTICAL AND RHYS SWAM DOWN TO TAIKA AS A BEAUTIFUL LITTLE GOLDFISH AND THEY HAD TO THROW HEART EYES AT EACH OTHER UNDERWATER??? WHAT THE FUCK!!! And don't even get me started on Kate Bush lol. This Woman's Work might easily be one of my favorite songs, if not my FAVORITE song from the season. And man. Man. The whole meaning behind Ed seeing Stede as this beautiful, sparkly being, and not some hypermasculine/extraordinary thing. He fell in love with Stede for who Stede really is. And so I ADORE that acknowledgement.

Speaking of songs, the MUSIC!!! Absolute bangers all throughout. And I loved how there seemed to be even more intermixed within the episodes. Like God... "These are the kids..." 🗣️ HELLO MY LOVE I HEARD A KISS FROM YOU 🦗🦟🦗🦟🦗🦟 . And all the beautiful classic piano pieces and NINA SIMONE AND JUST HSJKDHSFJKLHSKD????

Okay, I've always had and STILL have complicated thoughts and opinions on Izzy, but man, seeing him interact with the Revenge Crew was really something. Seeing Stede's influence come over the lot of them like a warm blanket, extending its welcoming and familial hands...It was just lovely. I love seeing our little sea family care for each other so much. They've probably all hurt so so much in different ways, so to see them all being a collective heart is just so nice.

Speaking of which, the queerness of it all, the queer celebration of it all. The way the whole crew is just...a representation of queer people finding each other, and subsequently finding love and family in each other. Like, when the whole world wants to cast you out, you pull each other in. When no one else wants you, you take refuge in each other. And just...the joy, beauty, and wonder that can be found in that.

And speaking of which x2, the overall care that was put into the entire thing, the effort that was put into the entire thing. I know Max fucked us over with the budget, which subsequently fucked things like the intricacy, the amount of characters, and especially the pacing. But, I don't know; I personally could still tell everyone involved was trying so so hard to deliver for us. Based on the little details, the little callbacks, and the little moments that felt so catered to us, it just seemed so...gifted to us. Not to mention of course, the way they so deliberately chose to end on a hopeful note in case we never get a third season. They care about us. They've always cherished our excitement and passion, so it just...idk; it feels so special to have a bit more of an intimate connection like that. I've never been involved with a piece of media that so avidly SEES its audience, and celebrates along with us. So, despite everything, despite any sort of troubles, despite any sort of lows, that's a big part of what has me clutching all of this so closely to my chest. And I really hope they can still see that love, because I want nothing more than for them to see this beautiful story through.

Also, getting to enjoy this with everyone. Getting to ride the wave from the beginning of filming, all the way through the finale. Getting to see all the excitement, all the theories, all the art, all the fanfiction, all the gif sets, all the meta, and everything in between. It has carried me through some nastiness in my personal life, and has subsequently served as a very welcomed distraction. It's been such a pleasure getting to delight in this new content with you all, and I hope we get to do so into the future. <3

[sparkel-dog]

I only just now listened to that fan Mimic Jackie’s Box song, which everyone was memeing on for being bad. I had avoided it because “I haven’t read the book, spoilers”. I was RIGHT to avoid it because yes there is a spoiler in the song (I thought it would be fine since I got 2/3 of the games endings but no I still got spoiled. grrrr) but whatever

People are right it was funny song with… insane choices? for the line deliveries. But also it fucking reminded me of GROUNDBREAKING. a person who made a toooon of fnaf songs like 10 years ago, back when the series was brand spankin new. And everyone liked their songs (Hell i enjoyed a few of them as a kid) but like. Have you ever relistened to those songs once youre past the age of 12? because its the same exact fucking vibes as whatever the hell i just listened to, only the jackies box song had admittedly way more chaotic energy and also edgy swearing. But like. groundbreaking had lyrics that were annoyingly simplistic just describing the character very basically. “my name is bonnie, im the big purple bunny, i play guitar in a band, dont you forget who i am”. or otherwise making up random headcanons about the animatronics and slapping it into their songs (like. mangle having this weird verse about how they apparently dont feel the same way as foxy or the other animatronics, and not really knowing about the guy who made them hurt… which makes no sense because mangle has a child spirit in her too? Or the chica one needlessly putting two bad bitches against each other by having og chica sing about how shes better than toy chica when they’ve never really interacted, lol)

Not to just needlessly bully some fans for having less than stellar fanworks (really these people have thousands of subscribers and are fine though) it’s just interesting to talk about. Fnaf fan songs sometimes get a bad rap and i feel like its because fnaf is so POPULAR and it really sort of introduced a new wave of people making fansongs for games. Before that, there were minecraft parodies, but fnaf was really one of the first examples I can think of people making ORIGINAL songs for. It isnt a coincidence that a lot of the same people who made old minecraft song parodies kinda helped to popularize fnaf fansongs too (like tryhardninja or natewantstobattle). Of course living tombstone really popularized it, but after fnaf i feel like it became a lot more popular for people to make fan music about other games they loved too, especially similar indie dev horror games like bendy and the ink machine or stuff like that.

And because fnaf was so popular and a lot of people were first dipping their toes into the art of creating music, especially kids and teens… of COURSE a lot of fnaf fan songs arent masterpieces or are overly bland/mediocre lyric wise. It makes sense that a lot are just kinda trying to capture the fnaf vibe by describing a character or something instead of having lyrics that make you Think. And thats fine! this is art we’re talking about, it just needs to be created and exist and it doesnt have to be a masterpiece

….but also dont let that kid you into thinking that all fnaf fansongs are garbage or bland. there are soooo many artists who have fantastic fnaf songs, either lyric wise or because they do something interesting with the instrumentals. I wont mention living tombstone because theyre so popular everyone knows them… but My favorites were nathan sharp/natewantstobattle’s music (Made fnaf music for years and always had interesting lyrics, especially as he made more songs and started Connecting the lyrics of the songs together. My favorite by him was stay the course, which has a verse where they parallel lyrics from his first song mangled which is cool) ,Dagames has songs that are so badass legit metal that are fuckin earworms (moving up in the world is my favorite fnaf song of all time, even being one of my favorite overall songs of all time. Fantastic mashing of 8bit 80s retro funky vibes with cool rock. or check out close to home if you just want the coolest song hes made) and dhuesta is really addictive especially when it’s dhuesta’s music paired with dawko’s angellic singing voice lol. You would never believe me if i told you that “the dawko self insert oc songs where his indulgent self insert character gets possessed by glitchtrap are fucking BANGERS” but they are. same for any of their fazbear frights songs (Into the pit, out of stock and fetch are SO GOOD). I want to keep rambling about fnaf music i love but will call it there lmao.

anyways. i lovd fnaf and i love music and i love fans expressing themselves through music, whether its badly done or a masterpiece 👍

[joeyisaprincess]

Just read your Migraine! Gojo blurb and it was magnificent. I would love to humbly request:

Migraine! Gojo X Migraine! Reader (they're soulmates) 👀 🩷

LET'S FUCKIN GOOOOO

Gojo's home is perfect for somebody who gets a lot of migraines. It's a lot of mild scents, warm lights, and muffled noise. You aren't sure if he did it on purpose, or if he just changed things slowly as he realized these things made him more comfortable. Either way, you're reaping the benefits.

Please make him take his medication. He doesn't want to because he thinks he can, "beat the migraine." He can't. You aren't sure what he's trying to accomplish.

One of the more annoying aspects of trying to bond with Gojo over this chronic pain is coping with how stupid the man is. He will be in agonizing pain, brain foggy as hell, but he won't sit down unless you make him.

It's not easy to make him sit down.

He tends to sit still if you offer him a massage. Gojo literally dreamed of cute massages from his lover, before he met you. This is all he's yearned for!

... What he ends up getting is mild a beatdown. It's not very cute, but it gets the job done. You walk on his back, most of the time. He lays face down on the floor and promises that it won't hurt him, no matter how much you weigh. You can't step on his neck, but you will hold his head and dig your elbow into the tense muscles. It looks violent; his fair skin turns an angry red, and you can literally see his muscles jumping. But he looks happy, so...

All the grief is worth it, because once he's really down for the count, he's... cute, really. He clings to you. He likes resting his head in your lap and having you gently press your hands over his eyes. He wants you to carefully massage his scalp. And you're happy to do so, because it's rare to see him so docile.

Gojo may be horrible with his own migraines, but he tends to dote on you. You want an ice pack to rest on your head? Gojo's got you. Are you craving anything? He's already digging through the kitchen to get it. You need him to lay on you like a weighted blanket? He's more than happy to oblige. Don't even think about trying to push through the migraine. He's got a mean pout, and he will bat his long lashes for added guilt-tripping.

... Hopefully, you don't need total silence. Man is a yapper. He'll do his best to be quiet, but he may still browse his phone and whisper to ask if he can talk yet. If he finds that you can't handle talking, he's sending a million texts to you so that, "We remember to talk about this meme when you aren't dyin' on me."

His fingers are strong. If you also get tension, he's happy to dig those long, bony fingers into your muscle knots. He knows all the good spots, because he's massaging where he would want to be touched.

If you're both having one at the same time, you probably just lay in bed looking like car crash victims.

It's really hard not to laugh at him when he's sitting there with giant eyes, completely spaced out. It's... endearing, to see the strongest man in the world in this state. He doesn't look like he knows he's alive. Take some pictures, you earned them.