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amethystpath-writes · 3 years ago

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A Lesson Learned

(NOT A PROMPT)

Hello :) Could you write a piece where the extremely flirtatious villain notices that the hero isn’t taking care of themselves and tries to get them to and promises not to do anything (capture them, etc), but (surprise!) then they do? Haha sorry if it’s a bit specific, adore your writing!

******

“Why, doll,” Villain cooed from behind the bench which Hero sat upon. The bench was old, wood in the process of rotting. Speaking of rot- Villain rounded the park bench, coming face to face with that once-handsome, now-perished face. “Don’t you just look like you sprang from Hell? Yeesh.”

Hero shrugged, not even caring that Villain was here to taunt him yet again- to pick at him with compliments. Usually, anyways. Now, she was insulting him. Did he really look that out of it? Hero felt like it, so it shouldn’t have been so surprising to him. “Don’t feel great- get out of here.”

“And do what? I’d miss the grumble in your voice too much. Come now, my dear, tell me what has that pretty hair of yours so tangled.” Villain’s hand grazed the locks atop Hero’s head, fingers skimming his scalp. She hummed her delight. “How pretty,” Villain whispered into Hero’s ear. “Even if it is greasy.”

“Look, I’m really not in the mood for this.”

Good God, what is that stench? Villain could gag- not could; Villain did gag on the smell. “When was the last time you showered, sugar?” Hero certainly didn’t smell like sugar, but it was in Villain’s nature to shoot a flirt at him anyways.

“Don’t know. Would you get your hand out of my hair?”

“You don’t know?” Villain sighed, dropping her hand and rounding the bench until she came to the front, facing Hero and his abnormally large eye sacks. “Oh, darling…” you have jellyfish beneath your eyes. “You should take better care of yourself. I could help you, you know?”

Hero’s eyes grew as wide as they could with eyelids made of lead. “Help me do what? Bathe?”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t mind helping you do that- think of how close we would be, my sweet doll.” She sat beside the broken-beyond-repair hero, dragging a fingertip along his dirtied pants. Villain sighed, slightly bored of this game of chess. Her flirtations were slipping away like a wet bar of soap. What an ironic comparison.

Villain said, “What I meant is this; I’ll give your handsomeness a break- or your ugliness, rather. You need to regain your looks, hence the break.”

Ignoring the insult, Hero said, dead-panned, “And I’m supposed to believe you.” A soft tut.

“Have I given you any reason not to? On this pretty night?”

“Beyond the not-so-subtle insults,” Hero thought aloud, and finished with, “I guess not.”

With a scoff, Villain said, “I wouldn’t call those insults. I could have said much worse- and anyways, you know I’m a tease. I feel even more concerned that you’ve forgotten such a vital detail about me. More reason to leave you alone. Right, my love?”

“I still don’t know if I believe you.”

“Why would it matter what I did or didn’t do when you don’t even care to look after yourself?”

She makes a good point. Still… “What would you do then?” Hero didn’t particularly care to have this conversation right now, but- well, he was a hero. Even if he were too exhausted to take care of himself, it was still his responsibility to protect the people. Just because Villain was saying she’d leave Hero alone didn’t mean she’d leave the citizens alone.

“What would I do? Sulk, mostly. I’d miss your pretty little face while I sat alone on my couch.”

“Right. Because I always sit on a couch with you.”

“There’s a taste of that precious fire. You’re beautiful when you’re sarcastic- and healthy.”

Hero sighed. It didn’t matter what he said, did it? He could tell Villain she looked like a horse’s rear-end mixed with a jackal’s paw and she’d continue sticking around. “You said you’d give me a break.” Of course, Hero still didn’t believe Villain’s words. It was her one and only nature to torment him with pointless compliments- and harmful insults apparently.

As if I didn’t already know I look like crap. I’m tired; that’s all. No motivation to do anything but sit on the park bench. He didn’t even feel like getting up to stretch his legs, despite knowing it needed to be done. Hero would rather deal with the aches of standing than to be forced into using so much energy while sitting. How draining it was- standing up from his position now. That’s why he stayed put, even with Villain’s hand circling in his hair once again.

This time, the hand in Hero’s hair was actually soothing. The tender scrape of Villain’s nails against his scalp. The gentle pull through the hair as her fingers caught on tangles, though the larger knots were a tad painful. Hero hummed his delight at the two former feelings, finding himself leaning into the arm which offered such relief.

On a regular day, one not so adorned with absent motivation and sourness, Hero would have slapped Villain’s hand away- would have told her to go find a dog in the park to pet. Naturally, he would have regretted saying it, thinking that Villain might claw its eyes out instead of petting it. Okay, maybe she wouldn’t do something that serious, but she might have stepped on a puppy’s tail, making it screech- if only to horrify the owner.

“Isn’t this a nice break, sugar?” Villain asked, but, of course, there was more to it than this scalp massage. When Hero fell asleep, with his head on Villain’s shoulder, she would give herself a break- not him.

******

Eyes still closed from having just woken up, Hero pulled his shoulder back against the hard- hard? I thought I was in- His eyes cracked open.

White ceiling. Or, mostly white, at least. There was some water damage that Hero could see even through his blurry and freshly woken eyes. The yellow and orange stains did not belong on his ceiling.

He shifted slightly, body still stiff, but he wasn’t willing to stretch yet- just in case there was…a certain someone…paying attention. Damn Villain, Hero thought, because who else’s home could he be in if it weren’t his own?

It was with this thought in mind that Hero sat up. No use in lounging around. Better off to find a way out before Villain-

“Nice to see those starlit eyes of yours.”

Great. Turning his head, he saw Villain casually sprawled across a couch.

Well, one thing was for certain; Hero had the motivation to get up and run again. At least he could thank Villain for something, even if it were simply the desire to escape.

Sitting up, slowly and stiffly, Hero said, “A break. You were supposed to give me a break. It’s what you said, what you told me you’d do. You would give me a break to take care of myself and you would sulk.”

He could almost imagine Villain’s voice answering with an easy lull, ‘I didn’t say what the break would entail, love.’ Love. Darling. Doll. My dear. Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting.

“I gave you a break. Two of them, if we’re being technical. The massage and the shelter. Actually,” Villain smiled at him from her couch cushion, eyes closing just slightly as her cheeks gathered higher and higher. “I might call it liberation- instead of a break. Infinite freedom versus periods of mass depression and showerless nights.”

Hero felt his jaw tick. “What are you talking about?” he asked, voice low- just the way Villain liked.

He wasn’t helping his case any, now, was he? Being all cutesy. It only allowed Villain to enjoy this whole situation more.

“You wake up in your stalker’s home and don’t even think to check your body for modifications? What a pity you are sometimes,” Villain giggled. She meant it as a compliment; it was her way of calling the hero cute and favourable.

Stalker. Well, Villain might as well have been considered as such. She showed up just about everywhere Hero was, only to hold hostages for no other reason than to have control over someone, to hear the fear in their high whines- and to see the fear glistening low in their eyes. Villain was wicked, and she was wicked always in Hero’s presence. Stalker- maybe that’s what the news would start calling her if they, or Hero, ever managed to stop Villain.

Villain grew impatient with Hero’s procrastination of observation. “Explore yourself, won’t you?”

And Hero did now. He looked down his arms, torso, legs, anything that was in his perspective, but there was nothing out of the ordinary, except- “Do not tell me you actually washed me.” His arms were speck and dead-skin cleaned.

“A wet rag against your arms and legs, nothing else.”

Hero simply took her word for it, trying not to imagine how he’d feel if she were lying. How horrendous.

Then what is it? Nothing- absolutely nothing- was irregular, so why was Villain going on about…Hero’s fingers skimmed something along his neck- one of the few things he couldn’t see with his own eyes.

No…no. Not just along his neck. There was something inside of Hero’s neck. “What did you do to me?” His voice came out as a horrifyingly quiet whisper, one that squeaked in the back of his throat.

“You wouldn’t take care of yourself, Hero. I had to step in.”

“I don’t- no. No. Whatever you’re doing, you- you need to- I need to go home. I need you to stay away from me and I need- I need-” Oh no. Was he hyperventilating? He couldn’t- God, he couldn’t breathe. Hero was panicking, scratching at his neck, at the irregular shaped lumps. Get out. Get. Out. Getout. Getout. Getoutgetoutgetoutgetout.

A gasp sounded in the room as Hero’s head hit the ground, trying to dodge the zap that occurred at the front of his throat, right where he was scratching so madly.

“Well, I guess that’s a lesson learned rather quickly. Darling, you didn’t even know what those were, and yet you were trying to rip them out. It might have killed you.”

“Uhah.”

Villain quirked her head to the side. “Didn’t get that, sorry. Must have fried your vocal cords- better that than you build up a bunch of infectious bacteria.” Truth be told, the zap wasn’t so bad that it would permanently damage Hero- only give him little tics and make him fret.

“You’ll be so very happy that I took that rag over your skin- otherwise you’d have woken up to your own stench while I was injecting the little stun rods. That would have been difficult,” Villain laughed, legs extending until they laid on the arm of the couch.

“Now,” Villain piped, “there is an outfit laid out in the bathroom- down this hall here��- she pointed- “and second door to the right. Get a shower, bath, whatever you want, and get dressed. I have plans and I’m not leaving you here alone.”

Swerving her legs over the arm- despite having just put them there- Villain planted her feet on the ground and placed her elbows near her knees, leaning forward, all amount of humour aside. “I’m the only one who gets to torment you, you hear me? Not even you have my permission to do harm to yourself or otherwise slack in personal healthcare. If you are in any kind of bad condition, it will be because I allowed it. M’kay?”

She stood, walked several paces to where Hero still sat on the floor and patted his cheek. “I’m making myself food before we leave and while you take a shower. Don’t disappoint me by trying to escape, my dove. You’re in my cage now.” Villain gave Hero a tap on the head as she pulled a remote control out of her pocket with her other hand. For extra measure, she held one of the buttons for three seconds, sending Hero onto his back once again, writhing on the floor- though avoiding scratching his neck.

A lesson learned indeed.

“Believe it or not, I do intend to be kind to you. I just wanted to show you what happens if you decide you’re not worth taking care of again.”

One last click of the button and she was gone, leaving a panting hero behind in the dust.

#NOT A PROMPT #request fill #A Lesson Learned #2038 words #As you may have noticed- I found a new way to answer asks without having to officially answer them.#Requests are still *only valid when sent through an ask.* I just won't be answering them with a link anymore since I've been having so much #trouble with notes. I stopped writing stories in asks because I like to have titles for easy reference (on both our ends).#Anyways. No change worth mentioning- just different formatting <3 #AGAIN- Requests are only accepted when sent as an ask (just as usual :) <3)#hero x villain #hero x villain story #hero x villain drabble #hero x villain snippet #possessive villain #possessive whumper #villain whumper #hero whumpee #evil villain #good hero #hero #villain #heroes and villains #hero and villain story #hero and villain drabble #hero and villain snippet #whump #whumper #whumpee #intimate whumper #intimate villain

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yeahimaloser · 4 years ago

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I'm Home

Hello! I'm so sorry this took so long to make! the final few weeks of school has been busting my ass, but it's almost over!

Anyways, here is part two to Come Home!

Summary: After your fight, Dabi tries to find you in order to make things right, he wants to show you how much he loves you.

Warnings: angst, tiny bit suggestive if you squint.

. . .

The first thing Dabi felt as he awoke was a splitting headache.

He grabbed his head as it throbbed in pain, shaking it painfully. He grouped around, his eyes still tightly closed from the pain, trying to feel you near him, but all he could feel were the cool bedsheets underneath his palm.

Maybe you were making breakfast? You always did know how to cheer him up after a nasty hangover.

Dabi groaned as something gnawed at the back of his mind, a memory fogged with alcohol and yelling and…

You.

He jolted up, soon after regretting it because his whole body felt like it was being crushed down. He had to give himself a moment to let his head august, but when it did, he was grabbing at his phone, looking at the time.

Eleven a.m.

Dabi felt a coldness run through his vines. There were no texts from you, no calls, no anything.

“Fuck,” his voice felt hoarse and gruff, but in all honesty, he couldn’t give two shits.

He had fucked up. He had fucked up the one thing he needed, the one, perfect thing he had.

It was one thing for him to come home drunk, he knew that maybe you would have forgiven him then. But he remembered all those things he said about you, all those horrible things he said came rushing back.

Obviously, he didn’t mean them, how could he? He loved you so much, and maybe he didn’t tell you that as often as he should have, but he really, truly did.

Except now he had fucked up, and he had fucked up big.

And he missed you, he missed seeing your face as he woke up, watching you tease him by saying; “aww look how finally decided to come out.”

To which a very hungover him would probably say; “Whatever,” and probably just start cuddling up to you.

But he didn’t get that, he didn’t deserve that.

He opened his messages to you, seeing as you didn’t even text him to let him know where you were, which he knew was ironic.

He stared down at the blank messages, hatting how the last text you sent him was from yesterday, around one in the morning.

Y/N: I love you

He growled before stumbling out of bed, he quickly realized that standing up was a bad idea.

As he put a hand to his head, trying to steady the pounding in his brain, he clicked on the button that had your phone ringing.

He waited.

And waited.

And then-

Nothing. You didn’t pick up.

Maybe it was too early?

He knew that wasn’t at all the case, you were ignoring him, and really, he couldn't blame you. He had been a dick to you last night, and all he wanted to do was apologize to you, tell you that he wanted you to stay with him.

Dabi was absolute shit at words, he had a hard time expressing himself in general. But, he knew he had to convince you to stay, somehow.

He groaned to himself, how the fuck was he supposed to find you?

. . .

You had driven far.

Far enough where you knew nothing looked familiar, far enough where you knew that nothing would make you compelled to come home. It was just you, and nothing more.

Finally, you found some shitty motel, asked for a room, and that was it.

Well, except for the fact that you cried for a few hours, only to crash out.

To be honest, you felt pathetic. Which was concerning because you had done nothing wrong. Anyone would have reacted the same, anyone would have walked away and been just as mad as you.

But you felt so miserable.

Maybe what Dabi did was absolutely horrendous, and any rational person would be upset, seeing as he didn’t even think to tell you he was ok (the one thing you asked him to tell you), and all the mean things he said? Your heart still hurt from that. But you loved him. You loved him, and it felt heavy to stay away from him, like each moment he wasn’t with you, you felt like a brick was added to your lungs, till your body felt so pressed down you couldn’t move.

For most of that night, all you could do was cry.

And then sleep.

And you slept late.

Yet, if you were honest you couldn’t care. Thinking about Dabi just made you feel sick, thinking about the fact that you left Dabi also made you feel sick, and then thinking about leaving made you feel sick like if you moved, you would break.

So you just stayed, not thinking, not moving, not even bothering to august your position when you got uncomfortable.

You just wanted to be sad, you just wanted to be left alone. To wallow in self-pity and sadness, to not think about the fact that you might have just lost your boyfriend, the one man you truly thought you deserved.

After a few, long, dragged-out moments, you heard a quiet knock at your door.

Your brows furrowed, who could that be?

You hadn’t ordered any food, there was no reason the staff would be knocking at your door, so who the hell could it be?

“Coming,” your voice was hoarse, probably from the crying.

You rolled off your spot on your bed, not bothering to check how you looked, you just wanted to be left alone.

You opened up your door, and shock washed over you.

To any other person, he would look like...well to be completely honest he would like an idiot.

He had a hoodie and shades on, and a mask to cover up his scars, as well as a red cap to not draw suspicion to his hair.

But you knew Dabi when you saw him.

Dabi took a long breath before he spoke, “Y/N...Y/N I’m sorry.”

You planted your feet firmly, keeping your voice as steady as you could, “Just come in before anyone notices you.”

Dabi nodded, stepping into the small space of the motel room, shuffling around you as he came in.

You shut the door, trying to compose yourself as Dabi took off his “disguise.”

“...Have you been crying?”

Those were not the first words you wanted to hear after your fight with Dabi, a part of you wanted him to beg for you to come back with him (which you knew wouldn’t happen, he was way too stubborn). And yet, a part of you didn’t want that, you wanted him to just leave, he was the one who caused this, after all, he was the one who should take some responsibility.

And yet, the other, deeper part of you, just wanted to run into his arms, and cry. You just wanted him to hold you, to kiss you, to silently rub your back like he always did to soothe you. You just wanted your Dabi back.

But instead, you huffed, “Of course you would say something like that,” you turned your back to him, not wanting him to see the disappointment on your face.

But Dabi grabbed your wrist, “Hey, I was just worried because...well because I thought you would have been more mad than depressed. You did nothing wrong.”

Well, now you were starting to get mad. You whipped back around to him, snatching your wrist out of his hold, “Not everyone needs to do something shitty to feel upset, Dabi. You hurt me, I’m not just gonna walk away from something like that feeling all angry. I was upset because you don’t care.”

Dabi’s face shifted into one of startlement, “I don’t care? Doll, what are you talking about? I drove all the way here because I care. I won’t bullshit you, I was an ass. I should have called you and I should have come home earlier than I did. And those things I said, those were fucked up, and I don’t mean them. I-I don’t have an excuse. But I’m here now, I’m here because I’m sorry Y/N and I wanna fix this.”

You sighed, “Dabi, you really hurt me-”

“I know, and I just wanna...apologize. Y/N, that was wrong of me, I was an ass, and you don’t deserve that. I miss you Y/N, and I know you deserve something better than...this.”

Your eyes narrowed, “What can you not even say how we’re in a relationship.”

“No- that’s not what I-,” Dabi shook his head, “Y/N, I love you, and I know I don’t say that all that often because you know it’s hard. But I really can’t lose you. You’re just about all I have left,” he chuckled a bit.

A long, stretched-out moment passed between you two before you sighed and moved towards Dabi.

“I love you too.”

And there it was, that devilish smirk on his face, “I’m sorry, I don’t believe I caught that, would you mind repeating it please?”

“You’re pushing it.”

“Ok, ok sorry.”

You both paused, waiting for something to break the eerie silence that filled up in the space between you two.

And finally, it all came out.

“...Did you mean all that stuff you said.”

“No, I meant none of it.”

You sighed, “Even the part where... where you said I was better off without you? Even the part where you said I should leave you?”

Dabi visibly bristled, “Doll-”

He was silent, and you could feel the temperature in the room heat up.

“You can do better than me, I’ve always thought that that part of our relationship would have been obvious. But, if you’re asking if I want that? Then no. I want you to come home, I want to fix this because I love you, I want you to stay with me.”

You took a long, deep, pause before answering, “I do too, Dabi. It’s just, your words hurt, and I don’t know if I can magically forgive you yet.”

Dabi felt his chest tightening, “...So then, what do we do?”

You fiddled with your hands, “I’m not really sure.”

“I don’t wanna break up-”

“Neither do I,” you interjected, “I don’t wanna leave you, Dabi. that’s the last thing I want to do. I just don’t know how I can get over this.”

“Do you want some space?”

You paused.

Did you want space? A part of you knew that maybe it was the responsible thing to do, a part of you thought that maybe, maybe it would do you both good to separate for a bit.

But the other part of you, the one screaming inside, was telling you no, you didn’t want space.

You missed Dabi’s arms around you, missed the way his hands felt so protective around your body. You missed the way his lips would fall on yours, ever so dominant in his way. No, you didn’t want space, you just wanted him.

“No,” you said, “no I don’t want space.”

“So then,” Dabi started, “What do you want.”

You leaned into him, as he did the same. Your eyes meet as you both seem to have a mutual need for one another.

“I want you.”

Your lips collided with his, your breath was taken away as his hands grabbed at the small of your back. The way his body formed against yours, as you hugged yourself tightly to him.

You couldn’t help but sigh as Dabi deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding past yours as he grabbed you by your hips.

You gasped suddenly as he pushed you up on the wall of the motel, your eyes going wide, only to be met with a loud growl from Dabi.

If you were being completely honest, you loved when he got like this, so in the moment, so passionate. The way he was so dominating made your legs shake, made your stomach boil with anticipation.

You wanted more.

You gripped onto Dabi’s hair, earning a surprising moan from him, his hands flinch on your hips.

But he got you back.

His body closed up around yours, tight against you, like you had nowhere to go.

Unfortunately, you had to breathe. Which would have ended the forgiving kiss.

Well, except, Dabi decided to go exploring on your neck.

His lips were rough against your skin, but they always had such care to them as Dabi pressed them to you. Such a loving air, and yet, such a claiming one as well. A kind of way to say, “You are mine, and I will show you.”

“D-Dabi,” you hated how you stuttered. But the way Dabi looked back up at you made it worth it.

He brought his lips away from your neck, only to place them again on yours.

After a moment, he pulled back.

“So,” Dabi said breathless, “...I’m forgiven?”

“...you ruined the moment.”

. . .

tag-list

@breezybear @softkao @fandomofheroes @lovely-angst @nadaespexial @effmigentlywithachainsaw @cold-dreamy-eyes @satansgf1

I HOPE YALL DONT MIND IF I TAGGED YOU IN THE PART TWO!

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marcherarrant · 4 years ago

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"On this day, March 1st 2021, Marcher Arrant sets off for his biggest walk yet...a thru-hike of the Appalachian Trail."Here we go!!! This is so surreal, I can't believe this is happening! I'm excited and nervous! This is so much more than a walk. Every walk I do is. It is my way of life, my art, my therapy, my source of meaning, ect. But this walk in particular is something even more. This walk is the crossing over of a threshold. It is a self created rite of passage, a new beginning. As a Walker my I embrace a philosophy of becoming, of constant movement, of no beginning or ending, constant flux. That being said, there are moments of being, moments when flowers bloom. I'm in love with shows and movies in which you see people become their destiny. It's perhaps a banal example but the first show that comes to mind is Better Call Saul. I watched that with such joy seeing him become the sleazy lawyer he was meant to become. I was destined to become this person I have always dreamt myself to be, Marcher Arrant. This walk is where I become him fully. I made a real life flag as a symbol of that. I was born a Walker. I began walking more than those around me when I was in 6th or 7th grade. And my love for it has continually grown through the years and there have been countless thresholds I've crossed that have been pivotal in marking me for my destiny. It was around middle school or early high school that I walked from my house to downtown Columbus, a 4 hour walk. I later walked there and back. Years later I walked the tracks from Boulder, Colorado to Denver, a twelve hour walk. I ended up doing that walk a lot. Eventually I walked to Denver and back, walking for more than 24 hours without stopping. Then I started doing aimless 24 hour walks all the time. I moved to Paris. From there I did my first long distance walk, a month-long trip from Paris to Rocessvelles, Spain. That opened up a whole new door. I then walked the entire length of every street in Paris. And on and on and on... so many walks. In Paris, maybe 10 years ago now, thanks to my homie Curve (@thecurvazoid, forever grateful) I began toying with graff, came up with my character and name. I later moved to Spain and did many more walks. For most of my life my walking was something personal that I did not share with anyone. I thought it romantic, beautiful and pure that my art was just for me. But then I had a health scare and it was then I got the urge to share what I do online. I felt I had something unique to offer the world and I did not want to die without sharing it. I am glad I did because doing so gave my life so much more meaning. I then got into making art and books and fell in love with that. 2 years ago I decided that before I did another big walk that I would catch my art up to my life and make books and art from all my previous walks so that when I did the next walk I could focus for the first time on making art and a book while I was doing the walk instead of going back and doing it after the fact. I finished all the art and books for my past walks. This is the first walk where everything comes together for the first time, the walk, the art, the book, the graffiti. Also over the last two years I decided to set up for myself work so that I will always have a job no matter where in the world I am so that I can walk with no pause. I began an online English teaching business. It was a long road to be able to get enough students so that I could make a living from it. I have finally gotten to the point where I am fully booked. I begin my dream life now, a sustainable life where through art and teaching English I can walk forever and take care of myself. My dream is to spend my life walking the world, alternating from long distance walks to living in new cities and fully exploring those, walking every street and painting and making art. This is a dream come true, my idiosyncratic idea of the perfect life, a life I will never tire of, one that suits who I am in the most perfect way. I am in love with the writer Nietzsche who philosophy was about making your life a work of art, living in a way that ties together all the aspects of you into a beautiful whole. The work I have done over the past few years with the walking, the graffiti, the English teaching, the art and books, the travel and how they have all tied together at this moment, with this walk, I have accomplished this goal of making my life a work of art and tying all the aspects of my life into a harmony. No matter what happens in my life now, I can die happy having accomplished this. For me, it is a sort of intangible form of art, my greatest accomplishment. It is so hard to figure out who you are and what you want when there is no precursor to it. I am so fucking proud of myself for believing in my strange vision despite the fact that until very recently it never gave me a cent, never did anything to advance my life or do anything for me besides the meaning it gave to me. It is so hard to keep doing something that seems to everyone around you, to society, to be utterly useless. You have to be brave and trust your vision.

The hardest part of any walk for me is getting to the starting point. I grew up pretty poor. When you grow up poor, at least for me, everything seems so out of reach. You have this unconscious feeling that you would never be able to do so many things. This is great because when you do those things your mind is just blown and you are so amazed and in disbelief and you don’t take it for granted in the slightest. I never in a million years thought I would be able to live in another country. I thought that was something rich people do which is totally untrue but that is just the kind of mentality you have when you grow up poor. When I moved to Europe it was surreal. Every single day, for the ten years I lived there, I was in total awe that I was there. I did not have a single boring day. Every single day I could not believe I lived there and that did not lessen a single minute bit the entire time I lived there. It is the same way I feel about doing long distance walks. I was so amazed by the idea of the Appalachian Trail when I was a kid. But I thought only rich people could do it. The fact that I am setting out to do it today is absolutely surreal. I am in total disbelief that I am doing it. I keep getting scared that somehow something is going to happen so that I can’t do it. I don’t take it for granted in the slightest that I get to do it. It literally feels like a miracle to me. And there are so many to thank for it. First I want to thank my mom and step dad who let me live at their house rent free while I worked on starting my online English teaching business and making barely any money. I never could have started my business without them and saved the money I have. I thank my grandma, my dad and step mom, my sisters, my brother and all my family who have helped me so much. Thank you so so so much to the people who have bought art, books, stickers from me over the past couple years, people who have given me donations, people who bought shirts, pins ect. I never could have done this walk without that support and I am eternally grateful and forever in your debt. I take none of that for granted. Thank you for all the kind words, messages and comments, you have no idea how much that has helped me to keep on. You have no idea. No fucking idea. I could kiss every last one of you. These past two years have been two of the hardest years of my life. For the past year I worked 7 days a week, waking up at 4:30am. For various reasons I went through some horrendous depression, so many suicidal thoughts. So many times I wanted to take the money I saved for this walk and check myself into a mental hospital. All the positive words from people really helped me to keep on. Thank you so much. Thank you to my crew, the Abe Lincoln Brigade, Impeach, Hank, and Alamo. I’m so grateful and honored to be in a crew with such legends, people who I’ve always idolized. Thanks again to Curve (@thecurvazoid) for giving me one of the greatest gifts I’ve ever been given, the gift of getting me creating art. And thank you to Art Primo (@artprimo ) for sponsoring this walk with art supplies. Not only does this help financially but the fact that such a legendary company believes in what I do enough to give me supplies is such an honor and so fucking encouraging.

There are two new things that I am doing with this walk. One, is that I will be making art with the guidebook pages as I do the walk. I have already made art with maps from my walks, but I did it after I did the walk. This is the first time I will be making art as I am actually doing the walk. I am so in love with this idea. And I love that when I send the art it will be from whatever town I am in along the walk. I think that makes the envelope itself kinda a piece of art. Selling art along the way will also make it so I spend the money for my trip at a slower rate and hopefully not end totally broke like I usually do. The second new thing I will be doing is making it so people can follow my walk online. I have a gps device that also tracks me and sends that information to a website. I think that’s kinda fun and cool. It also makes it so if you want to meet up and you see I’m near you you can reach out. A lot of people have offered me a place to stay or just meet up and I am so disorganized that It makes it hard to remember all the people and where they live. Hopefully this helps to make meeting up possible. You can follow my walk at share.garmin.com/marcherarrant. Again, thank you all for everything!

#marcherarrant #walking art #walking artist

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star-killer-md · 4 years ago

Text

Actus Reus, Mens Rea

@contesa-lui-alucard asked:

Hey hey happy sleepover my friend!! If it’s alright with you, I have two prompts from the Smut list that I’d love to see you combine for... mob Kylo and lawyer reader! Oh snap!! 15 & 37, if you please. If not, no worries, I still hope you have an awesome sleepover 😁 (“Make it hurt, baby.” + “Lay back and touch yourself. I want to watch.”)

Anon asked:

hello, may i request clingy/possessive kylo,, thank you

Thank you lovlies for your requests and sorry from the bottom of my depressed ass heart that it took me so fucking long. Anyway here ya go, hope you enjoy some mobster Kylo deliciousness. I’m so excited you liked him Contesa, and I hope you’re into it as well too nonny! Sorry it got long, I truly have no control over that.

And thank you so much to @sacklersdoll for reading over this for me!

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: Angst (its me), Smut (its me), mentions of predator/prey dynamic (mostly as metaphor), possessive Kylo Ren, semi-public sex, no pronouns for the reader by they are afab, dominant Kylo Ren, some brat vibes, Kylo Ren is not nice, allusions to guns, some sorta stalking behavior

Ship: Mob Boss!Kylo Ren x Lawyer!Reader

Summary: You’ve started to take on some pro bono clients as a favor to a friend and Kylo Ren is Not A Fan™ of all the attention this guy has been paying you. After a few months of consulting on the side, you’re beginning to wonder if life working for a mob boss is something you’re really cut out for. Though you quickly learn that you very well may have passed the point of no return when Kylo shows up at your office to remind you just who exactly you work for.

“I really can’t thank you enough.”

You shook the woman’s hands and returned her smile. Her son stayed quiet, looking at the ground, but mumbled his thanks as well. He was a good kid. Just pissed off the wrong neighbor. One of those ‘get off my lawn,’ ‘good ole American dream’ types who thought welfare was a sign of the devil, and had it out for everyone in the lower tax brackets.

“Really, it’s no problem,” you walked them to the door, leaving her your business card. “I’ll see you both at the courthouse on Monday.”

Evan was waiting in your office when you returned. His patent leather shoes rested precariously on the corner of your desk and you knocked them off with a huff.

“See you’ve made yourself at home,” you said, crossing your arms and staring down at him in your chair.

He shrugged and stood under your scrutiny, moving around to take the seat across from you. Evan Goodman was an old friend from undergrad. You often got the impression he was still that same cocky frat boy in the head. Still flashed the ‘my daddy has more money than you’ smile on occasion when he really wanted to get under your skin. With his slicked back hair, unnervingly straight teeth, and his annoying prosperity despite never putting in much effort it was somewhat shocking the two still spoke. He was simply not the type of person who had ever needed to try. Success came naturally to him, and much to your dismay.

“What can I say? You’re a very gracious host,” he mused and leaned forward on the desk. “So, how did it go?”

You sighed, “They’ll be alright, might get saddled with a fine but the charges aren’t that serious.”

“Good, Rosa’s an old friend. I would have helped her out myself, but not really my deal ya know?”

“Yeah, Mr. Tax Attorney, I get it.”

Evan was kind of a dick, but he was also the kind of friend who would sit on the bathroom floor with you, hold your hair back and sing horrendous parody versions of ABBA no matter who heard. So you couldn’t hate him entirely. That also meant that when he came to you with cases like this, a favor for a friend or whatever the situation may be, you had a hard time refusing.

It was also a convenient front for you not-so-legal legal work you’d been invested in for the past few months.

“Seriously, I know I’ve been asking a lot of you recently,” he flashed you that god awful grin and kicked his feet up again. “You can tell me to fuck off if it’s too much.”

He had been coming to you for pro bono work with increasing frequency, especially over the past month or so, but again, you didn’t wholly mind it. You went into this kind of work for a reason. Though, you were starting to get the feeling that a certain, brooding, less than lawfully abiding businessman did not feel the same.

Kylo Ren dealt frequently with the shady, black market underbelly of capitalist society, but you were less accustomed to his world and not completely ready to throw yourself to the hounds just yet.

You had already missed more than a few meetings and canceled on dinner tonight to meet with Rosa. To be fair, it wasn’t as if he’d made any indication this ill-defined whatever-it-was going on between the two of you was anything serious. And you were only his consultant, for now, so this took precedent anyway. At least that’s what you tried to convince yourself of. Definitely not a way to avoid thinking about fucking your boss who also happened to be in with the mob.

Definitely not.

“I wouldn’t have agreed to help if I couldn’t manage it,” you yawned softly and stood to collect your things.

It was late and you were beginning to fantasize about how soft and warm your sheets would be. If you got back in time you could pop them in the dryer and get in an episode or two before bed.

“Hey, let me at least buy you dinner or something since I kept you out so late,” Evan parked his skinny frame in your path to the doorway.

“You’re going to apologize for keeping me out late, by keeping me out even later?”

“Do you want free food or not?”

Pursing your lips, you stared at him for a few moments. He really did know all your weaknesses. You had skipped out on meeting with Mr. Ren—or Kylo or sir or whatever the hell you were supposed to call him now—already tonight, however, Evan was sure to take you somewhere nice and it wouldn’t be so morally repugnant if it was just as a ‘thank you….’

“Okay, fine,” you conceded and let him lead you out to the parking garage, locking the office up behind you.

***

The next morning you stumbled past reception in a haze. Both from lack of sleep, and the bitingly cold winds battering your building despite the neighboring high rises blocking the brunt of the gale. The young woman at the desk informed you tersely that a Mr. Goodman was already waiting for you in your office and that you should really get here on time if you were expecting clients this early.

You agreed that, yes you probably should but, you know, “trains and all that mess,” and tried not to judge her too harshly. After all, she was the barrier between you and the hundreds of calls this place received daily.

Before slipping through the door with your name plate, you hung your coat on the rack and switched your phone on. It’d died on you last night amidst the allure of fancy, late night dinner and your sleep deprivation riddled brain had not cared enough to plug it in before bed. Fuck Amazon, but thank god for its speedy delivery of portable charges.

You chewed your lip as the lock screen came to life. One missed call and a text. Both, of course from the most anxiety inducing sender, Kylo Ren. Because why would it be anyone else? His name menacing even typed out in standard black font.

The text read:

Meet me at 8am.

It was very much like him—a command with punctuation and absolutely no details. The message receipt showed it was sent two hours ago, and it was already half past eight. Shit. Your fingers shook as you pulled up his contact and called. Every interaction left you coursing with adrenaline. Even now, miles away listening to the dial tone was nerve-wracking. Your heart pounded, hands slick in their grip on your phone. Maybe it was because you were never sure where you stood with him. Maybe it was because he was handsome and he knew it. Strong and he knew it. Intimidating and mysterious and closer in some ways to a Greek god than a man. He was all encompassing, and filled every available space in any room he occupied.

Sometimes you thought you might choke on his presence.

It rang once, twice, three times before cutting out completely. You stared down at the blank screen, biting your lip and shooting off a quick text. You were sorry, something important had come up, you would meet him the second it was convenient.

Evan slapped you heartily on the back when you came into the room. He was holding a bouquet of flowers, evergreen with small white blossoms.

“So, how many hours did you manage last night?” he asked, smiling his shit eating smile and seemingly unaffected despite the fact that he had to be running on just as little sleep as you.

“I’m not even sure at this point,” you groaned as you tossed your bags down behind the little metal desk. “Time ceases to exist when you take trains past midnight.”

“Fair enough. Hey look,” Evan waved the greenery in your face, “courtesy of Rosa’s shop. She insisted I bring you something as thanks. I figured you could put them out in the front or something to brighten things up.”

“They’re lovely. Please tell me you’re only here as a glorified delivery boy.”

His shoulders slumped at your lack of amusement, but before he could quip back the landline in your office rang. You answered, holding a finger towards Evan and leaning against the edge of the desk. It was the receptionist, Jess was her name? Maybe? You could never remember, someone else always addressed the holiday gift cards anyway.

“There’s someone here to see you at the front desk,” she clipped, almost more exasperated than before.

You told her you’d be right there and hung up. Evan grabbed his coat as you headed out, holding the door for you and following into the hall.

“I’ll leave you to it if you’re busy, but give me a call after Monday and tell me how it goes,” he continued rambling as you came out into the front.

You had a smart comeback prepared, something about how simple the case was, he should have more faith in you, he was the reason you were busy in the first place, etc…but every word turned to ashes on your tongue when you saw him.

Kylo Ren, standing right there at the desk and glaring at your receptionist. His suit was dark blue and ironed to perfection. Each leg was creased perfectly down the front and the jacket sat flawlessly on his wide set shoulders. He was a wall of unimaginably expensive fabric and what looked concerning like barely contained rage. You could see it in the twitch of his eye, the set of his jaw, and in the way his gaze landed on you the second you walked in.

The way a predator immediately hones in on its prey.

You froze just feet from him in the lobby, floundering like a fish on a hook.

Evan, for his part, seemed not to notice the tension at all and continued to say his long winded goodbyes, placing the flowers in your hands and completely unaware of the slow, measured tightening of Kylo’s massive hands into fists at his side.

“I’m free on Monday evening so we should—”

“She’ll be busy.”

Evan frowned, turning to face the man standing before him, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Kylo’s voice was a dark thing, low and rumbling, “She will be otherwise occupied.”

His words were punctuated by a step towards you, one paw of a hand easily gripping your entire jaw. Lucky he did too, otherwise it would have dropped straight to the floor when he shot one last cobra strike glare in Evan’s direction, and pressed his mouth to yours. Right there. In the lobby. For everyone to see.

The absolute bastard.

His lips were pillow plump and softer than the silk lining of his suit—and even through the surge of shock and embarrassment and more than a touch of anger—you felt your heart throb at the way he licked into your mouth.

The flowers tumbled from your hands onto the floor as everything in you went limp under his touch. This was nowhere near the first time you’d tasted him, but it was like this every time. Like drinking ambrosia. An otherworldly experience.

But that didn’t stop the sharp pain of his crushing grip on your arm, the way he nearly lifted your feet off the floor when he pulled away to drag along behind him. You could hear Evan spluttering in the hall behind you, the receptionist going back to clacking at her keyboard as if nothing had happened.

When Kylo opened your office door he just about threw you inside. You tripped as he tipped you in, stumbling and catching yourself on the edge of your desk. The power behind his hand alone was undeniable. You shuddered at the thought of the array of purple fingerprints he would leave behind. It made your mouth dry and your heart sink. Confusing and delicious.

And left you seething nonetheless.

“What the fuck was that?!” you were not calm, so you didn’t attempt any semblance of it.

“You didn’t answer me,” he said, level as he always was.

The quiet before the storm and all that.

“About the meeting? I tried to call, my phone died—”

“Because you were out catching trains at all hours of the night, I’m aware.”

You paused, glaring at the wall of muscle between you and the door, “How did you know that?”

“So you’re not denying it?”

Kylo stalked towards you like a beast in his tailored suit and polished leather shoes like talons. You could hear your heartbeat, hear the blood rushing in your ears. Just like a rabbit in the sightline of a hawk, you were clearly being hunted.

“Why would I deny something I’m not trying to hide?” your voice came out horse as he caged you between the desk and his chest, arms on either side to block any route of escape.

“No you are certainly not adept at subtlety,” he said and you couldn’t take your eyes off the way his tongue moved behind his teeth. “This is the fifth time that idiot in the hall has distracted you from work.”

“That’s not an answer,” you tried to spit the words but his eyes were boring into you. The honey of them spilled down your spine and made you shiver. “How did you know? You are not entitled to any information pertaining to my personal life, regardless.”

“Watch your mouth,” he growled. “Entitlement has no part in this.”

You were entering dangerous territory, though stopping curiously did not occur to you.

“I don’t think you have the right to be throwing out commands right now, not after that display.”

“Have you forgotten who you work for?” Kylo hissed at you, hands wrapped around the metal of your desk so hard you thought it might warp under his fingers.

“Of course not,” you desperately tried to keep your voice down lest anyone get even more a spectacle.

“Then what is this?” one hand left the desk and pulled a phone from inside his jacket.

The screen lit up, and you looked in horror at pictures of yourself. Pictures of yourself from last night. Pictures of yourself from last night at dinner with Evan, interspersed with shots of you crossing the street, waiting on the train platform, and stumbling back into your apartment. Each was clearer than you’d expected, presumably from some insanely expensive surveillance equipment. You had been out for hours, and you had been watched the whole time.

You narrowed your eyes, flicking back and forth between Kylo’s face—the graceful bridge of his nose pointed down at you—and gaped.

“You had me followed…” you breathed the words into the slowly shrinking space between your bodies.

He simply nodded, as if, somehow, you were foolish for not having considered this before. Perhaps you were. Perhaps you had no idea what you had gotten yourself into. Perhaps you had signed on for much more than a paycheck when you agreed to work for Kylo Ren.

“I can’t have my employees getting distracted.”

Kylo slowly drifted ever closer, shoulders bent so he was eye level with you. He pressed further into the desk, pinning you between his body and the hard surface that bit into your ass. Something long and thick and hard nudged your thigh.

“I don’t know why you though having me followed was necessary—”

“You’re an arrogant little slut who needs to be reminded of your priorities,” his hand snatched your leg and wrenched it open so he could stand between them, “ I am not something you do on the side.”

You could hear the way his teeth grit out the words, the way they formed as a growl deep in his beast’s throat. The hand still settled on the desk, skimmed up your hip and chest, his fingers

biting into your jaw.

“Do you understand me?”

Your lips were shut tight in a thin line, eyes wide and staring up like the prey you were. The silence only provoked him more. Snarling, two thick fingers wrenched your mouth open, pressing hard on your tongue and making you gag around them.

“Answer.”

Kylo Ren almost always spoke in commands. Having power did that to people, and rarely did it ever compel you, but his words sunk deep into your bones. Dredged up some dark, instinctual need to obey. To submit to this show of control.

“Yes,” you mumbled around his fingers in your mouth, drool slipping past your lips when they moved.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

You watched him suck his teeth, grabbing your face tighter and dragging you close so he could spit directly into your open mouth. He slammed your jaw shut, nearly taking off the tip of your tongue and hissed into your ear.

“Swallow.”

Again, you did without a thought. And it was disgusting, but invigorating, sent off some spark in your stomach with how easily he bent your body to his will. There was no man like him, you decided. And maybe this was simply because Kylo Ren was not a man. That term alone would never do him justice.

In one shockingly smooth motion, you found yourself flat on your back, ass hanging off the edge of the desk with his hands on your hips. He ground himself against you, the throbbing of his cock evident even through the layers of clothing. That feeling on its own had you soaked through, thighs sticking with liquid excitement.

“Remember who you work for,” he growled into your neck, licking a long stripe up your throat and sucking at the exposed skin.

But it was very clear to you what he really meant.

Remember who you belong to.

You slapped a hand over your mouth as he bit down on the skin just above your shoulder, laving his tongue over the stinging flesh. Kylo pulled back, frowning down at you and yanking the hand away from your face. One held both your wrists in a vice lock while the other ripped your panties straight down your legs and left the dripping fabric discarded on the carpet.

“No, they’re going to hear you,” he grunted, and pulled one of your hands down, pressing it to your slit and running your fingers through your slick. “Go on, touch your fucking pussy and let them know what a little whore you are for me.”

It was something about his voice. Something in the way it left him, its timbre, its wonder, unquestioning. You could never refuse him.

So, with a small nod you parted your folds, head resting on a stack of files as you drew slow circles around your clit with a shaky hand. His eyes never left your cunt, tracing the movement of your finger and the trail of wetness that seeped from you to the desktop. Softly, you gasped as the familiar placement of your fingers made you clench and arch up. Kylo’s rubbed small circles into your inner thighs with his thumbs, kneading the flesh there.

When the spark was there, the lovely pulsing in your nerves alight, you dipped down, teasing and slipping inside, grinding down as best you could on your hand. It wasn’t enough, but nothing ever was since you’d been ripped open on Kylo’s cock.

Evidently he did not find your work sufficient either.

Another finger joined yours, stroking your lips and circling your entrance. His touch made you whine, the promise of hands that were not your own never ceasing to illicit a new gush of pleasure.

“I said,” he murmured, his touch so terribly feather light. “Let them hear you.”

He was like a gunshot, sudden and forceful and almost instantly had you screaming. Kylo slammed his fingers into you, so full and so deep, curling hard against that lovely spot inside.

“Kylo, god, please—” you moaned long and low, your face burning with the knowledge that the walls were barely thick enough to keep your phone calls private, much less the shameful noises he pulled from you.

“What was that?” he panted, adding another finger and pumping them deep into your cunt. “You can do better.”

Your teeth dug so hard into your lip you thought it might bleed, but you couldn’t take much more. The ledge was approaching—Kylo Ren knew it—and he was determined to push you straight into the fire.

You choked when his deliciously thick fingers were ripped from you, walls fluttering around the awful emptiness. Your head lolled back as you listened to him work the buckle of his belt and slacks open, and when you did glance down your mouth watered at the sight. Kylo—impossibly long cock throbbing in his hand—stood between your legs, stroking himself from root to tip. You watched little pearls of precum bead at the head while his thumb swiped across to smear them along his length.

“You are insane,” you hissed through gritted teeth.

Did you need to keep this position? No, technically you would be more than well off on the salary Mr. Ren so graciously provided. However, you could not mentally deal with being terminated for getting dicked in your office during work hours.

Kylo smirked, the edge of his perfect cupid’s bow cocked back and aimed straight at your chest. Without warning, he sunk into you, straight to the hilt and threw his head back as you sobbed with the sharp sting of being split in two on his cock.

“This is what you do,” he growled into your ear, hands on either side of your head as he worked his length back out only to pound into you again. “You work for me and you take my cock and don’t ever fucking forget that.”

Your legs were wound so tightly around his waist that had he been any other man, his ribs would have cracked under the pressure. His hair, falling in black, satin waves, was gorgeous even in the sterile office lighting. You threaded your fingers into it at the roots and held him while your body rocked against the desk. It’s metal surface pinched at your sink and made your back ache, though that was nothing compared to the burn of Kylo’s thrusts, sliding against your walls. You felt him in your throat. You always did. That was simply the way things were with him. He filled you painfully, thoroughly, took over all of your senses until it was just him.

And, strangely, it was the most alive you’d ever felt.

He was unlike anyone you’d ever known.

You couldn’t scream for him, but you could still let him taste the desperation, the willingness in your body to mold against him. So you kissed him, dragged him by the hair to meet your lips and licked past his teeth, gasping and moaning on his tongue as you sucked it hard and cried into his mouth.

And he drank you down, picking up a punishing rhythm and breaking blood vessels where his hands gripped your hips. One drifted lower, thumb pressing down hard on your clit as your cunt clenched around his length. The desk was lifting off the ground with every thrust, the room filled with the wet sounds of your bodies and you were quickly melting under him.

Warmth was spreading, growing, building out from your pussy, igniting in your veins. He was right. This is what you did. This is what he did to you. This toe curling, lip biting, bone shattering kind of pleasure.

Oh you were so royally fucked.

“I—oh shit—Kylo I’m,” you pulled back just enough to pant out a warning before the wave took you.

So hot, it washed over your skin and made your legs shake and your hands leave his hair to dig your nails into his chest through the crisp white button down he wore.

“Feel that?” he grunted as you convulsed and shuddered under him, “Feel how this pussy was made for me.”

You nodded, buried your face in his neck and held on as he worked you through your climax and straight into his own. Once, twice he ground his cock deep in you, feeling how tight you were around him until he was spent and spilling hot, thick ropes of cum that coated your walls and dripped out around his length.

He panted, lazily rolling his hips, fucking you slowly until finally, he came to a halt with his softening cock still sheathed inside you. Seconds past, or maybe hours, you couldn’t tell. Kylo tended to have that effect on you. Time slipped away so easily in his presence, like there was never enough of it.

When he did pull away, you stayed with your back firmly planted amidst the mess of scattered paperwork and manila envelopes. He rose to his full, towering height and tucked himself away, straightening the wrinkles in his suit and eyeing you only once from the side. You admired his profile, you never understood until now what the meaning of the word “regal” truly was.

Under the dictionary definition, his picture surely would be there, staring at you down the bridge of his marble carved nose.

You sat up on your elbows as he stalked towards the door.

“Was that all you came for?”

Kylo paused, broad back still facing you and leaving the room feeling irrevocably empty with just the intention of his absence.

“We’ll reschedule for five tonight,” he said, filling the door frame completely. “Don’t be late.”

The door clicked shut behind him and the sound of it made you collapse back onto the desktop. You laid there for a moment, leaking your combined spend and aching. The throb of him settled in your muscles and festered. But the worst part was the other ache, the pain of being without. And maybe you had been a bit avoidant. Maybe this work really was so you didn’t have to see him. Because if you saw him you’d end up fucking him—which was fine, which was good, which was great actually—but then he would leave. And you couldn’t decide which wanting was worse. The wanting before or the wanting after.

Maybe it didn’t matter.

You had more important things to think about anyway. Like securing the receptionist an incredibly large holiday bonus, assuming you still had a job here at the end of the day.

Maybe that didn’t matter either.

It might be high time you made a commitment to whatever the hell kind of mess you’d stumbled into. Kylo Ren was an enigma in the best kind of way. Maybe you should stop running from it.

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren smut #mob!kylo ren #lawyer!reader #dr. b writes #requests #adcu fanfic

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alwaysthevictim · 3 years ago

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I am literally just going to dive in headfirst.

Me and X have been friends for many many years, and we dated at one point. We stayed closed on and off for almost 12 years now and always end up making it back to each other somehow. We are complete and total opposites in almost every way, and it confuses me how much different we are and still get along but the arguments are something horrendous that I absolutely hate.

I brought up a celebrity that I just got merch from, because I was so excited about it. He has not liked this celebrity at all, in my opinion he barely gave them a chance but this point no longer matters. I was excited and told him I got my merch and was so happy about it, and he responded in a joking way that I took as condescending. I even said “cause i’m assuming that was condescending” and he said it wasn’t.

I didn’t think, since he made the joke light heartedly, he was against hearing what I said next. I gave him the context of the shirt and showed it to him, because it doesn’t make sense without the context about why i’m so excited about it.

He proceeds to blow the fuck up and accuse me of “you’re really trying now”, of me trying to convince him to watch this artists content. We have been in small arguments like this and I dont understand why some famous people I enjoy make him so irritated or angry that he refuses to even hear their NAME said. I had tried to get him into this artist, multiple times, and occasonally I make jokes like “i’m gonna put y on” and him saying “i’ll literally leave”, so it’s not shoving it in his face.

Clearly this has bothered him for a long time if this small little thing caused this huge blowup. Im so confused because I have went on rants and raves about this persons art and how I think him, as an artist himself, would enjoy it. He can have a discussion about why he doesn’t like the person, or, whatever the reasons are which is fine, and civil, and over within a few minutes usually. I was even using joking meme pictures of the artist and he didn’t care at all.

The argument starts where I tell him 3 times during this argument how I saw this happen and it was a big overreaction; I said I got my merch, he made a joke, I took it condescendingly, he said it wasn’t, so then I showed him and explained the context of my new merch. I have went on RAVES about this artist before and he has not blown up like this. Ever. I told him I was confused and wasn’t trying to convince him to watch anything, I was simply giving context to why I was so excited.

Then the hurtful messages start, and me having severe anxiety and depression, I decide to put the phone down, to not look at the messages on my mac, to calm down because I was getting upset and a migraine was starting (still have it it btw) and am trying desperately not to “stew” in this situation. It’s not easy but I have to distract myself somehow.

So I began to write, but my carpal tunnel makes that painful so I decided to do what I do best actually; type. Because then it just flows. So here that is. I dont know what this will be and I doubt anyone would ever give a shit but I do and it’s for me. That’s all that matters, right?

#anxiety #depression #celebrity #jealousy #social anxiety #general anxiety disorder #diary #journal #tumblr diary

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rpmemesbyarat · 4 years ago

Conversation

RP Meme from Netflix's "A Series of Unfortunate Events: A Bad Beginning: Part Two"

I'm sorry to say that the alleged entertainment you are watching is extremely unpleasant.

From the beginning of this miserable tale to the last melancholy scene, I cannot think of a single line, a single word, that does not chill me to my deepest bones.

"Why?" you may ask.

Do you know what the question I'm asked the most is?

Will you please leave the premises?

Why do I do it?

Why respond to the siren song that the Spanish call 'El Theater'?"

For fame and fortune?

For the costumes!

Where are the costumes?

Stay in the car.

Well, we've got to reach them. Try Peru.

I'm keeping an eye on things best I can

I present it to you now in the hopes that the police inspectors, concerned citizens and television executives might finally leave me alone.

I have an appointment for a haircut right now.

Well, in that case, we're going to need a map of the city.

You'll never get away with this.

I already did get away with it.

Put some elbow grease into it!

Who knows what would happen to us on the street?

At least here we have a roof over our head.

Can I warm that up for you? And also give you some very bad news?

When I was a little boy, I would have given my eyeteeth to be raised by an actor.

I have terrible friends.

It sounds like Latin.

Now, I'm sorry if I have to usher you out posthaste, but I've got work to do.

I'll have my new secretary give you a ride home as soon as he's finished typing up that report.

Shall I let them off the hook?

I spent all morning making these cupcakes for you.

They're store bought!

Aren't raspberries delicious?

I'm afraid I may have acted a bit standoffish.

I want you to participate in my next play.

It tells the story of a very handsome and good-looking man, played by me.

A pretty girl like you shouldn't be working backstage.

It's a very important role

What did you call me?

I'm not sure I'm talented enough to perform professionally.

I would prefer it if you participate voluntarily

The point is, I can order you to participate, and you must obey.

I can't stand looking at you anymore.

Killing us will do him no good.

I have never been married myself.

Are you here to continue your research?

I have quite the interest in theater, you know.

I would give up every last wig just to wear a costume.

I'm actually considering a career in law. I find those books quite fascinating.

There are countless types of books in this world, which makes good sense because there are countless types of people.

[NAME], what's happened to your face?

No, no, no, it should be delicate! Fetching!

I just think, even in changing context, that marriage is an inherently patriarchal construction

Are you leaving?

Oh, there we go, sweet girl.

Does that mean what I think it means?

It means you're going to be a star.

You have got the star quality necessary for a small walk-on role

Now, you can see it.

It's a very important part, although you won't be listed in the program.

All my life I wanted to be a bride

It's almost too good to be true.

Spend some time with your new father.

Seize the children!

I have three kinds of butter cream icing here for you to sample. One's vanilla, one has a hint of nutmeg and the other's a little lemony.

I told you never to say that word.

We'll order takeout.

Let me eat cake.

You can't just keep us in here.

What do you think will happen to you then?

I'm gonna stay up all night with a book.

The book was not at all interesting. The book was long and difficult.

What are you doing here? You're supposed to be in your room.

I was in my room all night, and I know what you're up to.

Me? I'm just having my morning coffee

If you use fancy-pants words first thing in the morning,

you're going to end up a very lonely man.

I figured out your scheme.

You don't know the difference between figuratively and literally, do you?

I'm leaping in the air because I'm very happy.

I'm so happy I could jump for joy, but I'm saving my energy for other matters.

This play won't be pretend. It'll be real and legally binding.

A man like me can acquire any number of beautiful women

What's in it for me?

Can you name me a language that was spoken by ancient Romans and is still spoken by very irritating people today?

Whatever will we do?

I guess that proves reading really is fundamental.

But I'm not old enough to get married.

It certainly is so strange to find a child missing, and one so small, so helpless.

When did you see her last?

Did you hear that? It came from outside.

Oh, you're not looking in the right place.

Oh, don't look so down.

Let her go. She's done nothing to you.

Please, she's just a baby.

Just don't harm her.

I would never, ever marry you.

Any animal owner will tell you that a stubborn mule will move toward the carrot because it wants the reward of food and away from the stick because it wants to avoid the punishment of rump pain.

Would it be so terrible to be my bride, to live in my house for the rest of your life?

You're a terrible man.

I may be a terrible man, but I have concocted a foolproof way of getting your fortune.

What have you done?

I wish I had an inventor here.

You came.

You sent for me.

Things are disastrous. Everything's gone wrong.

What went wrong?

Why would anyone listen to a consultant?

Are you free Friday night to attend the theater?

But what shall we do until then?

Could you cut these ropes for me?

You should get some sleep.

It's my turn.

I didn't help us.

You just didn't finish the job.

Let me keep my promise.

Having a brilliant idea isn't as easy as turning on a light.

But just as a single bulb can illuminate even the most depressing of rooms, the right idea can shed light on a depressing situation.

It's so wonderful that, in addition to your many talents, you have a marvelous eye for fashion.

Tell me if this is too much.

How pleasant that you could join us.

What are you gonna do with me?

It was a grappling hook.

I understand she's yours.

I'm not his bride.

You know, some people say that the hardest job in the world is raising a child.

I'll touch whatever I want.

What happened? Why are we up here?

It's so high. You must have been terrified.

I'm sorry it didn't work.

The invention worked fine. I just got caught.

You're gonna need to flip it a couple of times, like, okay?

And don't touch the baby!

Do you think you could invent something to help us escape?

I am certain that over the course of your own life, you have noticed that certain rooms reflect the personalities of the occupants.

If we had kerosene, we could make Molotov cocktails with those old wine bottles.

What are Molotov cocktails?

They're small bombs. If we throw them out the window, we could attract attention.

It's time for the big event.

Taking the role of a handsome man is certainly a brave choice.

Is it a stretch for you?

I think live theater is a much more powerful medium

than, say, streaming television.

Evil plot?

The wedding will be around 10 PM, followed by champagne toasts, reception with cake and finger food, then the after-party at the Mexican place.

All my anxieties are put to rest.

Don't distract me with idle chatter.

Get it absolutely right.

Change of plans. Sit here. Don't distract her.

Don't suppose you know how to play poker.

Would you like to deal?

I am very handsome, but I am only one man.

He's so handsome.

If I can't have him, my heart will literally break.

That can't be true!

But that piece of paper's not an official document.

I think you'll see that it is figuratively real.

I'm afraid this marriage is entirely binding.

This is absolutely horrendous. I won't allow it!

I'm afraid there's nothing you can do.

You were easily tricked!

It was child's play, winning this fortune.

You promised to let her go!

You idiot! What are you doing?

So, you escaped, you little dishrag.

Well, that doesn't count.

You're just being a sore loser and trying to ruin my special day.

You should never be afraid to admit that you don't know something.

This is a very complicated case.

It would take a formidable legal scholar to solve it.

It was thoroughly impressive and utterly convincing.

I'm even considering firing your associate

I was kidnapped

I'll get my hands on your fortune if it's the last thing I do.

You have to capture him! You have to go after him!

You let the authorities worry about that.

Sorry, but the children must come with me.

Some things in life are difficult to understand, even after years and years of thinking about them while wandering alone through desolate landscapes, usually during the off-season.

The world is quiet here.

As with so many unfortunate events in life, just because you don't understand it, doesn't mean it isn't so.

Things are worse than we thought.

Then we don't have a moment to lose.

What's a woman like you building in a place like this?

Leave no stone unturned.

#rp memes #rp meme #roleplay memes #roleplay starters #roleplay meme #a series of unfortunate events

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illegiblewords · 5 years ago

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Emet-Selch: Illness and Accountability

I’ve seen some posts where people are trying to argue that no compassion/sympathy/remembrance should be paid to Emet-Selch because of the total annihilation of multiple worlds he participated in.

People gonna feel how they’re gonna feel lol, but my opinion has a bit more gray I think. Buttloads of analysis and some psychobabble under the cut, spoilers up the wazoo.

- Obviously causing apocalypses and encouraging the worst qualities in people to that end is evil, unacceptable, and had to be stopped. Imo even if that ends in his death. That level of tragedy is horrific.

- Amaurot’s tragedy is still immense, and the nature of Amaurotine society and the stunted nature of its inhabitants (being unequipped to deal with loss, their own/humanity’s evils, or other forms of suffering) only further ensured that the unsundered would not be mentally or emotionally capable of dealing with the aftermath of that loss. A regular person would have been devastated. Amaurotines were left with zero ability to cope.

- Tempering makes it SIGNIFICANTLY worse. Emet-Selch is pretty blasé about it yeah, but he is not a reliable source on this subject. Consider that when lesser primals like Ifrit, Leviathan, or Titan temper people they need to be killed without question. They often aren’t even considered themselves anymore. Zodiark is to them what the sun is to idk Mars. Wouldn’t go so far as Mercury but it’s still an insane difference in power, intensity, etc. Lahabrea shows indications of being more heavily effected than Emet-Selch and Elidibus but honestly the only reason they’re not going “your words are my bread” 24/7 as per Ifrit thralls is probably specifically because they’re unsundered Amaurotines. That doesn’t mean that they aren’t hugely warped.

- Imo Emet-Selch has absolutely been driven insane. Not hallucinations necessarily, but honestly he’s right at the brink of that level. He has the ability to more or less take things from his head and materialize them externally, and he’s gone full throttle with that for Amaurot. He has a fake place where he can make believe things are still okay and his friends are still alive and he still has a home to go to. He also vomited out his PTSD nightmares and sometimes subjects himself to that experience again. It would not surprise me even SLIGHTLY if pre-Scions showing up he’d used that dungeon to try and figure out from his memories if there was anything he could have done differently, anyone he could have saved. The whole area existing basically indicates he’s developed a level of masochism. He’s been doing this for at least several hundred years if not more, if the Ondo are to be believed. EDIT: I may have misremembered and have timeline questions about this now. Need to investigate further to determine how long fake-Amaurot existed and in what degree of completion. Emet-Selch might be good about covering this up in conversation for the most part, but that doesn’t make it any less real. My opinion on very specific kinds of insanity, this one included, is that responsibility is somewhat alleviated and it becomes more the product of the illness/situation rather than a person being horrible. None of that means that the results are less terrible or that the person shouldn’t be stopped by whatever means necessary. It just means that the personal judgment on the perpetrator is different from what it would be if they were in total control of their faculties.

- All of the above said, the posts circulating where fans call him a little bitch and fantasize about saying they won’t remember read a bit like kicking someone when they’re down to me. Fictional situations yeah, but honestly there is not a single person in the scenario who isn’t suffering in horrific ways and doing that helps none of them. To me it reads kind of like an extension of revenge fantasies that seem to be popular these days, and honestly the revenge mentality is something I’m pretty exhausted with. This probably comes a lot from me having seen more angry people around in-general (not mainly FFXIV), and it just kind of makes me sad. Seeing how many fans were able to find compassion and mercy in them for Emet-Selch was a huge relief for me in light of that. It’s probably in part because of how obvious it is that he’s depressed out of his mind and dealing with several millenias worth of PTSD. The sleeping thing screams it pretty loud in a way I suspect a lot of people recognized.

- I seriously, seriously think that part of what was going on with Emet-Selch was on some level being aware that he’d become a monster and what he was doing counted as murder. The reason his reaction at the Ladder was shown and important is because it exposes his process of recognizing the reality of sundered people still counting and needing to actively remind/convince himself otherwise. It is way too neat and convenient for him to know that the way to get his world and people back is to sacrifice countless sundered through rejoinings, but none of those people are real anyway so it’s not a difficult choice.

The reality is way more ugly and horrifying, and my theory is he’s unable to deal with the weight of it. Knowing that not only were all the lives he ended real, often innocent people--they were pieces of his own beloved people would 100% destroy him past functioning. If he doesn’t have that denial mechanism in place he isn’t going to be able to survive, much less save anyone.

Another fan explained it really brilliantly imo with:

He probably has a mantra he repeats to himself, every time he feels himself starting to form an attachment to one or more of these pitiful, ephemeral beings: "They aren't truly alive, they aren't real. Things will be better when they are whole - better for THEM, even. This is for the good of us all..." Especially NOW; the sunk cost fallacy is STRONG. To stop now would be unthinkable. Even if they were willing to acknowledge the murders they've committed, if they were to cut things off all those murders would have been in vain, cruel sacrifices for no purpose. Eight worlds full of life extinguished, and that doesn't even include the horrendous loss of life on the Source with each Rejoining. They may feel they OWE it to those lost to see things through - and each new murder is another obligation on the pile...

- Sometimes situations can just be fucking tragic and sad for all involved. Anger is usually easier because it feels powerful, directed, and simpler while sadness tends to come from a more helpless, hopeless, and uncertain place.

- Even if on the off chance that Emet-Selch was totally sane, not compromised, and just plain evil with zero gray involved that would warrant sympathy... the people of Amaurot were innocent. Why be like “I’m not gonna remember shit :)” on those people? Imo heroes should remember ALL of the innocents lost... and the villains who couldn’t be saved too. It’s tragic when it comes to loss like that. Necessary sometimes, but still tragic.

- Separate but slightly related, I am side-eyeing the people who try to go “X is a stand in for Y real world genocide group and if you have sympathy for X you support Y you monster” SO HARD YOU HAVE NO IDEA. Not every evil empire, even the totalitarian and fascist ones, are stand ins for specific real world regimes. Understanding doesn’t equal agreeing with or endorsing. Having sympathy for individual suffering, especially in fiction, also doesn’t mean that you support the person’s ideology and goals. As a society we desperately need to remember the difference between understandable versus justifiable. :/ And for what it’s worth, Garlemald specifically has bits and pieces of MAAAAANY different real world authoritarian governments using a range of strategies and positions.

Disclaimer I got no ill will toward people who been jumping on the “IDGAF” train but I disagree and needed to get my thoughts out haha. Didn’t want to go into full-debate with people who might not be looking for that in the post itself and don’t want to discourage others from exploring their own interpretations! Just figured airing my opinions this way might be aight. Like I alluded to I’m also coming from a place where I’ve dealt with really intense moral policing by fans in the past (not within FFXIV), so that definitely shapes my perspective some.

#emet selch #ascians #amaurot #final fantasy xiv #shadowbringers

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rottenhaze · 5 years ago

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TW; suicide, trauma, self harm, EDs etc

I am going to kill myself. I’m not sure when, or exactly how but it’s going to happen sooner or later. I’ve had this feeling for years. When I was a young preteen I had no intentions or belief that I would ever make it to 18 years old, much less 21 and now 22 coming up. Suicide has been an option in the back of my head for a very long time. Yes, I have good moments, sometimes entire good days, but they don’t come without the absolutely horrendous, streak of bad days. Or even weeks, sometimes months. Days where I can’t seem to keep my eyes open because being awake is too difficult to cope with, even with my trauma nightmares and whatever other horrors visit me in the night. I am forever, perpetually exhausted. A lot of people would say that that’s normal. That’s life. It’s not. It shouldn’t be. Not to the extent that it is for me.

To anyone that might stumble upon this, if anyone at all reads this, don’t listen to that shit. Life is a lot of things, and yes the fact that bad and good days will come in life is a fact for everyone. That is so incredibly different when you are mentally ill or otherwise neurodivergent. When you have C-PTSD/PTSD, or depression or anxiety, or DID, or an eating disorder etc etc good days come so few and far between. Almost to the point where we start to feel like having a good day is a reason for punishment; a punishment that would mean the following of some pretty harsh lows.

I’ve been in the worst state of mental health in the entirety of my life. I have severe C-PTSD, atypical anorexia, agoraphobia among other issues and it cripples me. I can’t be intimate with someone i’ve loved for almost 3 years now because everytime I do, I get flashbacks and regress shortly after dissociating. I can’t leave the house because i’m terrified of men. I’m afraid of strangers looking at me, talking to me, standing too close to me, touching me. I’m afraid of what they’ll think of me, or what they don’t think of me, whether i’m noticeable because i’m someone they’re attracted to or someone whose fat or ugly or look like they should be in a psych ward because of their self harm scars. I’m afraid of being seen as attractive for fear of their advances. I’m afraid of being seen as unattractive because i feel like no one will love me if i’m not.

I am sitting here after a flashback and panic attacks that had shocked my body so harshly that i became so weak and numb that i toppled over in a heap on the floor, unable to move, breathe, see or hear anything except for static. I am numb. I am sedated, thanks to emergency medication. I am tired.

I’m so tired of being this fucking damaged and broken beyond repair. Every step forward is followed my 3 steps back and I am going nowhere. My psychologist has said that I am mentally unfit to work at this time while in treatment because i am unable to cope just waking up every day. Yet i am being pushed and pushed to get a job. I AM trying. I have gone to interview after interview, had panic attack after panic attack, and have had no luck.

My self harm has gotten more severe. My mindset is shifting and I can feel it. It terrifies me. The impulsivity and constant stream of intrusive thoughts screaming at me in my head is enough to make me want to mutilate myself to the point where i need stitches or Ill simply bleed out and die. I’ve planned a means to kill my self. I intend on following through with it, I don’t know when, but it feels like it might be soon.

I don’t know how much more I can cope with. Things are going to get worse, I know they are. I’m too exhausted to explain everything, but I know for a fact they will when certain things start happening. Everyone I live with is better off without me, i’m a massive burden to everyone, especially my boyfriend. He deserves someone who isn’t so shattered and fragile as i am. He deserves someone strong who can look after themselves AND him, because god knows he needs support as well.

I feel like this is going to be it for me. I am going to overdose at some point. I know I will. It’s only a matter of time before I snap, and I feel like I can’t tell anyone because no one will take me seriously.

I need help. I wish someone could just fucking help me.

#tw selfharm #tw cptsd #tw trauma #tw suicude #tw #ptsd tw #suicide #selfharm #trauma #cptsd #ptsd #actually cptsd #actually ptsd #actuallytraumatized #personal rant #vent #personal vent #rant

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wonderfulworldofmichaelford · 5 years ago

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Michael After Midnight: Natural Born Killers

Long before Joker taught us that we lived in a society… there was Mickey and Mallory Knox.

Natural Born Killers is a satire that focuses on the relationship between crime, media, and pop culture, and how the latter two make the former a hugely exacerbated issue. This movie is from 1994, mind you. In 1994 a movie came out talking about how the media sensationalizes murder and violence to the point where perpetrators become household names and counterculture icons years before Columbine happened, years before the internet made it horrendously easy to find access to gruesome true crime stuff, it was just a film that was absolutely ahead of its time! And yet… as is the norm for works like this, some people take it at face value, because no matter how blatant or obvious a satire is (and trust me, “subtle” is one thing this movie IS NOT), some people take things too far. The thing is, in this case, “too far” translates to “actively committed horrible murders in twisted tribute to the main characters of this film.”

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves; let’s look at the actual substance of the film, first and foremost.

The movie is actually an altered version of an exploitation screenplay written by none other than Quentin Tarantino, Mr. Foot Fetish himself. Tarantino has gone n record as absolutely loathing this movie due to the extensive rewrites and unlike the other screenplay he wrote but did not direct, True Romance, he refuses to acknowledge this as part of his Tarantinoverse. Here’s the thing, though: I honestly think whatever Tarantino had planned for this would not nearly have been as memorable as this movie is. Yes, this movie is over the top and really beats you over the head with its message, but I think the performances and surrealism really carry it, the latter in particular being something I think Tarantino would not have utilized well. Tarantino does a lot of things well, but he doesn’t do surrealism, at least not to the extent Oliver Stone does in this movie.

Perhaps the best example of this surrealism is the sitcom-style flashback sequence, which shows our leading lady Mallory’s shitty home life before she met Mickey and began her career as a serial killer. There’s a laugh track, an offbeat corny vibe, and Rodney Dangerfield is even here playing Mallory’s dad! Haha, so wacky! He’s a rapist who abuses his own daughter and is absolutely horrifyingly creepy! It’s actually a brilliant use of an actor playing against type; it kind of reminds me of how they used Jon Lovitz in Southland Tales, except this movie is marginally less insane and is legitimately good rather than hilariously bad. The entire sequence, and numerous other chunks of the movie, feel like an insanely bad trip, and that’s exactly what I appreciate about it. I’m a big fan of surreal movies in general (I love Lynch’s Eraserhead and unironically love Death Bed, for instance), and the fact that this one has such a solid message underneath it all helps a lot.

Of course, the surrealism only gets you so far, and Rodney Dangerfield is only in a small part of the movie; who’s carrying it the rest of the time? Well, we have our leads played by Juliette Lewis and Woody Harrelson, with Harrelson in particular defining his career for the next couple of decades with this role. Gone is the lovable idiot from Cheers, here is the crazy gun-toting violent loner we’d see in just about every role he’d play after this.Even to this day, this is still one of my favorite roles of his. Rounding out the rest of the cast are the likes of Robert Downey Jr., Tommy Lee Jones, and Tom Sizemore, all doing the jobs they need to do excellently.

So overall, this is a very good movie, with a great cast, lots of surrealism, and a message about how the media just loves to glorify murderers that resonates strongly today. Still, there are some problems with the movie, such as the lack of subtlety. I get that with a message like this it might be best to not hide it behind smoke and mirrors, but I really feel like Stone could have reeled it in a little bit and still made an effective movie. Sure, I think Tarantino is a moron for hating the sitcom sequence, which is absolutely the highlight of the film, but seriously, some of this could have been dialed back, particularly the ending bits which do drag on a fair bit and at the point they occur are kind of beating the moral into the ground. I also feel like the fact Mickey and Mallory get away with everything is a bit of an awkward ending, especially since an alternate cut has them killed by another killer, but at the same time it might be surmised that Stone may have done as many audience members did and just liked Mickey and Mallory too much to kill them… ironically falling prey to the very thing his movie is raging against.

Ah, but now comes the elephant in the room… unlike movies like Joker, which journalists seem to really want to inspire shootings and violence, this movie ACTUALLY DID inspire killings perpetrated by sickos who decided to emulate the characters in the film. Most of it was done by teenagers, which means yes, there are a lot of school shootings tied to this, and yes, the Columbine cunts are one of the copycats listed on the Wikipedia page. It’s honestly depressing this movie inspired so many sick fucks to commit murder and become glorified for doing so that it warrants an entire Wikipedia page. Again, though, I really don’t want to put a lot of blame on the film here, because the movie is so relentlessly in-your-face about what the moral is that it kind of baffles me how anyone could misconstrue it so badly as to see it as an endorsement for murder. Maybe it just worked a bit too well at highlighting the problem of sensationalization of violent crime in the media, and when twisted minds see a movie saying “This is bad that the media does this!” they end up just hearing “...the media does this!” and from there go to horrible extremes to achieve the very fame the movie is telling you is disgusting and abhorrent.

I still definitely think this movie is good, and if you can stomach intense violence and preachiness that would make Parker and Stone blush and turn away, and you also have a taste for surrealism, this is a really solid film, one I’d argue is one of the best films of the 90s even. It does a lot well, but I feel like its legacy was unfortunately muddied by the very worst kind of fan you could possibly have, which has led to the movie having a weird level of obscurity where it isn’t unknown, but I hardly ever see it talked about on the same level as other 90s films. It’s definitely not a film that teenagers or anyone who hasn’t fully developed their moral compass or critical thinking skills should watch, but it’s definitely an underappreciated classic, albeit one whose underappreciated nature is understandable due to the numerous tragedies attached to its name. It isn’t the movie’s fault at all, but when the Columbine cunts are citing you as inspiration… it’s hard to ever really detach yourself from that.

#Michael After Midnight #Natural Born Killers #NBK #Woody Harrelson #Oliver Stone #black comedy #satire #sensationalism

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welllpthisishappening · 5 years ago

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All the Subliminal Things (3/3)

Emma Swan does not believe in soulmates.

Or so she says. Because if her soulmate did, actually, exist, he should have shown up by now. So, she must be a fluke, a broken cog in a system that really doesn’t make much sense anyway. It is, she figures, why she agrees to meet David’s friend before Regina and Robin’s wedding. This guy doesn’t believe in soulmates either.

She’s intrigued.

Until she hears him talk. And everything flips after that.

—–

Rating: Teen Word Count: Still around 5K’ish AN: The kissing! It’s here! As always, I cannot thank you guys enough for reading the words I throw at you and for saying nice things about those words. It’s the best. As is the completely unplanned coincidence that this fic finished posting on the same day the Jonas Brothers released an album. (It’s really good. I listened to it four times while I was driving across most of New York state today.) An also very loud shoutout to @resident-of-storybrooke and @cssns for being fantastic.

Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam.

—–

“What kind of music is this?” “Good music.” Emma shakes her head, slumping further into the passenger’s seat. She rests her feet on the dashboard, fully expecting the eyebrow arch she gets. From both eyebrows. And Killian’s lips twitch. She may, admittedly, be picking a fight.

So his lips will twitch.

She may be staring at his lips.

She slept so well the night before.

“This is not music,” Emma argues, lolling her head to the side. Killian’s eyes flit towards hers, not taking his gaze completely off the road, which is probably for the best, since there’s a surplus of weekender traffic and the Long Island Expressway is starting to look a bit like a parking lot. “This is...I don’t even know.” “Your points are really astounding, love.” Emma can’t help the smile that splits her face. It makes her cheeks cramp and leaves something in her stomach that may be butterflies, a warmth and ease and--”What kind of appetizers do you think they’ll have?”

“Locksley mentioned something about a cocktail hour and a fish course.” “Wow,” Emma says, a low whistle that draws a laugh out of Killian. She’s still staring at his mouth. And the fingers that flutter on the steering wheel, not sure if he’s keeping time to the music she doesn’t really dislike all that much or doing his best not to reach for her.

She hopes it’s the second.

She should tell him the truth at some point. Maybe after the wedding.

She doesn’t know what happens after the wedding.

“I hate seafood,” Emma adds, and that time his laugh is a little louder. He reaches for her hand.

“Tell you what, Swan, you can eat all the baked mozzarella--” “--Baked mozzarella?” “That’s apparently what Cora is calling it, because fried is too offensive or something.” “Ah.” “So you eat all the baked mozzarella and I’ll make sure it looks like you’re an actual adult who’s actually willing to try and eat new things.” “This is getting a little opinionated, don’t you think?” Killian shakes his head. “Not at all? We got a deal?”

Emma considers it for a moment -- the sound of her pulse in her ears beating in time with the music. “We’ve got a deal. But you’ve got to eat, like, at least four shrimp.” “That’s fair, love.”

He squeezes her hand and they stay exactly where they are. In the middle of the world’s largest traffic jam.

The whole thing is a little overwhelming.

That is a lie. Little is a gross understatement. The castle is a castle in a fairy tale sort of way, rented out for the weekend because Regina’s family may actually be royalty and Mary Margaret looks a little embarrassed by the whole thing.

Emma keeps sending photos to Ruby.

If only to show Killian her responses. It makes him laugh. And linger in Emma’s space. She’s a crazy person.

Cowardly and a great, big giant liar, kind of petulant, just sort of a jerk, so goddamn depressed she’s positive she reeks with it, an incredible overpacker and maybe a little clingy.

And they’re hours into the day, traffic long forgotten and whatever Killian wanted to talk about never discussed because there was an accident by exit 37 that kept them at a standstill for a solid forty-five minutes and Emma’s not worried about it.

It hasn’t lingered in the back of her brain all day, making it difficult to pay attention to a rehearsal dinner she probably shouldn't have been a part of anyway. David kept shooting her and Killian furtive looks from the other side of the hall.

This was the kind of castle where the dining rooms looked like halls.

So, Emma grabs two glasses of champagne for herself, finds a spot outside where she can see some stars and takes her heels off. She makes it through half a glass before she hears the footsteps. It makes her smile.

“You trying to run away, love?” Emma downs the rest of her champagne, holding the other glass up over her shoulder. “Nah, just trying not to scream with all that romance in there.” His fingers are warm when they brush over hers, pulling the glass away and sinking onto the bench, close enough that she swears she can feel the warmth radiating out of him. There’s a pulse to it, as if it’s trying to get Emma’s heart to match up with its rhythm and that’s far too romantic a thought, particularly with all the things she’s already run away from and, maybe, running towards and--

“What did you want to tell me before?” Killian tenses, breath catching audibly. “Oh, uh...that’s--”

“--And, as a follow-up were you in Boston at some point?”

“Yeah.” His voice is clipped, cautious and something else that sounds a bit like the absolute fear Emma can feel in the pit of her stomach. She needs to tell him the truth. She’s not sure how that’s going to end well.

She can still hear the music coming from the hall.

“When?” “That’s uh...that’s kind of what I wanted you to talk about.” Emma blinks, neck aching when she nods as slowly as humanly possible. Killian’s tongue darts between his lips. “So, uh...I know David told you I didn’t believe in soulmates, but that wasn’t---I told you my mom died when I was a kid. And Liam couldn’t afford to take care of me, so I went into the system until I aged out and followed him. Navy,” he supplies when Emma’s face presumably does something vaguely confused. “Served for awhile. Until--”

He lets out a shuddering breath, eyes falling towards his lap and Emma reaches out instinctively. She squeezes his hand, a tight smile on her lips. “Did Liam die?” “Badly. As if there’s a good way to die. But it was...well it was a mistake and there was lots of paperwork, but then he was gone and it was over and I didn’t really--I left, Swan. Ran, honestly. As quickly and as far as I could and I ended up in Boston the day after the funeral with no plan and no idea and I…” “What?”

Emma hates the way the question shakes out of her, but she’s got half an idea and an inkling of hope and Killian tugs her hand up towards his lips before he answers. Her heart stutters. “It was like the Earth flew into a black hole or something. Like I could feel everything and want everything and I was standing on a T-platform in Beacon Hill and I swear it was--it was like waking up. It was the best thing that had ever happened to me at the worst moment in my life.”

She blinks. It’s a pretty lame response, really. She can’t come up with another one.

“I don’t…” “I met Milah three days later.” Oh. Oh. Damn. God damn. God damn, fuck, shit damn.

“Right,” Emma mumbles, trying to pull her hand back to her side and it doesn’t work. He’s holding onto her too tightly. There’s probably a metaphor there. It’s probably depressing. “Right, right, well...that’s good, then, huh?” Killian gives her a rueful laugh, half a smile. “I don’t think you’re supposed to watch your soulmates die, love. That seems wrong, don’t you think?” “You watched her die?” “Car accident. All the tragic high points of wrong place, wrong time and she’d only just left her husband, which...soulmates probably shouldn’t have other husbands to begin with, right?” “Probably not. Is that…?” She nods towards his hand, fingers ghosting over the plastic.

“Yeah, yeah, the whole thing was incredibly horrendous. Twisted metal and I can remember things being on fire and I was in the hospital for a small eternity. It kind of...you said before I was a little bitter? It’s more than that, Swan. That night changed everything, left me with nothing and no one and I thought Milah was my soulmate. Was sure of it, couldn’t come up with a scenario where she wasn’t, but…” “But?” Emma prompts, not sure she wants the answer.

“I don’t think soulmates really exist. There’s no way. Not if I felt that and then got it pulled away and this has been--” Killian shakes his head, another laugh pressed into the bend of Emma’s knuckles. She can feel him smile. “I’m not faking it, Emma. I like you and I like spending time with you and I--”

She doesn’t let him finish.

She should. She should tell him that he’s her soulmate and she’s been thinking about his voice since she was sixteen, but the words get caught in her mouth and kissing Killian Jones is better than anything Emma imagined.

She imagined it quite a bit.

His lips move over hers in a pattern that is impossibly familiar, tilting his head until they’re practically occupying the same space and whatever noise he makes as soon as her fingers fly into his hair will be branded on every one of her memories for the rest of her life.

She tries to arch up, but that only ends with her climbing onto his lap and they’re half a second away from public indecency. At a castle.

They don’t move. They don’t even try. They rock against each other, falling into a rhythm and a bit of momentum, both clearly desperate for any kind of friction and Emma is certain the stars she was looking at a few minutes before explode as soon as Killian’s mouth drops to her collarbone.

He laughs.

“Asshole,” she grumbles, but it’s an endearment and he knows it and maybe she can work with this. Maybe she’s the worst. Maybe she just wants to be greedy for a moment.

She wants to be wanted. At least for the night.

“Yeah, that’s definitely the sentiment I was going for,” Killian grins, another kiss to her skin and more goosebumps. “You cold, love?” “Oh my God, I’m going to strangle you.” “You’d mess up your nails.” He knows she got a manicure two days before. Her nails had looked like shit from guns and criminals and that second one wasn’t really an excuse, but Emma was irregularly hopeful and she really can’t think when he kisses her.

“That’s frustratingly practical,” Emma mumbles, dragging her nails down the back of his neck. He makes that noise again.

That’s why she did it.

“You want to be anywhere that isn’t here?” she asks. She yelps when Killian stands up. With her. “Jeez, neanderthal. I can walk on my own.” He hums, still kissing her and it’s kind of messy and decidedly not practical and Emma has no idea how they get back inside. They stumble and trip, hands moving quickly and slowly, a weird give and take of emotion and feeling and everything Emma isn’t telling him.

Cowardly and a great, big giant liar, kind of petulant, just sort of a jerk, so goddamn depressed she’s positive she reeks with it, an incredible overpacker, maybe a little clingy, and exceedingly selfish.

She gasps when her back collides with a door, head bouncing slightly. Her hair’s fallen down her back, strands threatening to poke her in the eye, but then Killian’s fingers are brushing across her cheek with a reverence that makes Emma wonder if time itself hasn’t paused to let her linger in this moment.

She wants to put up camp in this moment.

She wants to hoard it and think about it and it’s still not the moment. That’s...that’s weird.

“I like you too,” Emma says, and it’s not nearly enough, but it might be as good as she’s going to get and she really wants him to know. His answering smile makes it seem worth it.

Killian ducks his head almost as soon as the words are out of his mouth, tongue brushing across her lips and hand still cupping her cheek. It’s a mix of heady and not, of absolutely normal and the complete opposite and Emma never has any idea how they get the door open without falling over.

They leave a trail of clothes in their wake, shoes thrown without much thought to their direction and the rush of feeling that moves from the top of her head to the tips of her toes as soon as Killian hovers above her is enough to change the course of the universe.

Like a second Big Bang.

Or fireworks. Of the metaphorical variety.

She wakes with a start, breath catching in her throat and if everything exploded a few hours before, then the debris is suddenly landing on Emma's head.

It's painful.

She leaves. It’s stupid. She hates that she does it. She does it anyway, sunlight creeping in through gauzy curtains and she gets ready with Mary Margaret because Emma doesn’t have her own room.

She’s there with Killian.

As fake soulmates. Real soulmates. Kind of. It’s not going to work.

She’s an idiot.

And Mary Margaret doesn’t look all that surprised when she opens the door. “C’mon,” she says with a softly smile. “I’ll do your hair.”

She tells Mary Margaret. Mary Margaret’s eyes widen.

That’s the only reaction.

Emma can’t decide if that’s good or not.

Her dress is very red.

It is genuinely unfair how good he looks in his tux. It’s well-tailored and he should probably never return it and Emma nearly bites her tongue in half sitting in a chair that’s getting more uncomfortable by the minute, listening to vows and promises and Killian tries to meet her gaze no less than eleven times during the ceremony.

Emma ignores him every, single time.

Because there are soulmates getting married and the whole thing is probably one, monumental joke the universe is playing on her and there was never a moment.

Not the right one, at least.

It doesn’t make any sense.

She ignores looks twelve through sixteen too, each one getting a little more concerned and pinched, the mark between his eyebrows likely going to become permanent at some point.

And she’s so busy doing whatever it is she’s doing that Emma barely hears Mr. and Mrs. or kiss the bride, just glances up to find look seventeen staring at her with enough feeling that she has to dig her nails into her palm to stop herself from moving.

“Swan,” Killian calls, a few minutes later with the crowd mulling in the lobby and a camera shutter snapping in the background and he’s already tugging his tie off.

Emma plasters a smile on her face, well aware of how fake it looks even without Killian’s arched eyebrow. “Swan,” he repeats, a hand landing on her hip. “Hey, where--where did you go before? I--David texted me that you were there and--” “--That’s where I was.”

“I kind of wanted to talk to you.” “Didn’t we do that?” Emma asks. “And not talk?” His tongue flashes, the tip of it lingering in the corner of his mouth and that’s only slightly distracting. “Yeah, that’s true. Still doesn’t explain why you went to Mary Margaret and David’s room. You could have woken me up, you know.” “I had to get ready.” “Your stuff was in our room.” That word bounces around her brain with the memories and the wants and, probably, some more misplaced hope. She nods. She must. Her hair moves, at least. “Swan,” Killian sighs, and this is only getting worse. That’s almost impressive. Or it would be if it didn’t suck such so much. “What is going on? If it’s--listen, I know last night was--” “--Last night was not something we should do again,” Emma interrupts. “It was...well, it was a mistake and this has been--we’ve been pretending, right? To get David off our collective and individual backs and get drunk? Did they open the bar yet?” “What? No, I--Swan, I told you yesterday. I’m not faking anything. You said you weren’t. You said--” “--I know what I said,” she snaps, and one of them should be able to finish a single sentence. Killian’s shoulders slump. “I know. I just...maybe you had a soulmate. I don’t want to--”

“You’re not.” “Killian, c’mon, let’s be honest--” “--I am being nothing but honest with you, Emma. The whole truth. My whole…” He inhales sharply, hissing the air through his teeth and there’s a glossiness to his gaze that wasn’t there in the last seventeen versions.

Emma’s nails are going to cut her palms.

“I meant what I said,” Killian finishes. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I think this is--”

He nearly growls when someone coughs behind them, less-than-polite and a little familiar and Emma knows Cora doesn’t remember her. “Mr. Jones,” she says cooly. “And guest.” “Emma,” Killian hisses. “This is Emma. She’s friends with your step-daughter.” “Oh, yes, of course. I thought I recognized the face. Did you two come together?” “Yeah,” Emma mumbles, several thousand emotions clinging to each letter and all of them might just boil down to disappointment.

Sad.

That’s the word for it. All-encompassing and all-consuming and she’s sad.

The tear that lands on her cheek seems a little pointless.

“Swan?” Emma shakes her head brusquely, but the tears don’t stop. If anything, they fall quicker, like they’re trying to prove a point and she should have told him from the start. She doesn’t understand why it hasn’t happened yet.

Maybe she’s just crazy.

That might be better.

“Together,” Cora echoes, either not reading the situation or, simply, not caring. “Interesting. And soulmate as well, I’d assume. You look rather close.”

Emma squeezes her eyes shut, praying to a variety of Gods she isn’t sure actually exist that she can disappear. She doesn’t. She feels Killian’s arm wrap around her instead, pulling her flush against his side and his cheek brushes over her hair when he nods. “Yeah. Soulmates.” Cora’s smile looks less than impressed. “Good for you. Always so wonderful when two people are able to find each other like that.”

“Would you excuse me?” Emma asks, voice rough and there are tears falling off her chin now.

She doesn’t wait for a response, just uncurls herself from Killian’s arm and marches down the hall with a purpose she absolutely does not have. A soulmate without a match and an orphan that no one wanted and, really, magic can go suck it.

Her legs stop moving about three-quarters of the way down the hall, dim lighting and a horribly patterned rug that she can’t believe Regina didn’t demand be removed and Emma’s dress bunches under her thighs when she slides down the wall.

It takes Elsa two full rings to pick up.

“Bad?”

“Yup,” Emma says, popping her lips on the word and the soft sigh in her ear is comforting in an end of the world sort of way. That feels melodramatic and kind of exactly what’s happening, something about the Earth and its previously affected rotation.

“Did you tell him?” “I can’t.” “Em,’ Elsa chastises. “You’ve got to tell him. What’s the worst that could happen? You’ve been together almost non-stop for more than a month. Even if he doesn’t believe in soulmates, this could still--” “--No, no, you don’t get it,” Emma cuts in, and eventually she will stop crying. Maybe in the next ten years. Whatever magical feeling she’d been feeling the night before has disappeared though, leaving an echo and an emptiness that feels as if it’s taking over her entire being.

A black hole.

She thinks that’s how the science works.

“What don’t I get?” “He doesn’t believe in soulmates--” “--We knew that already, that was part of the pitch.”

Emma shakes her head. Elsa can’t see her. She’s in a castle hallway. “He doesn’t believe in soulmates because his was killed. Tragically. And horribly. When he was in Boston, right after his brother died.” Elsa doesn’t respond immediately. Emma blinks. Twice. And one more time. “Thoughts,” she says, dragging the word out cautiously.

“Several thousand, honestly. But mostly...he was in Boston? At the same time you were in Boston? Like, maybe the same days, even?” Emma will promise for the rest of her life that she doesn’t freeze. And she doesn’t really – she’s blinking almost hyperactively, breath coming in pants and the fist she makes at her side causes her fingers to ache. She doesn’t freeze. She does everything else. Because she doesn’t have an answer.

And the thought hadn’t ever crossed her mind.

“I don’t--” she starts, jerking her head up when she hears cautious footsteps and he doesn’t move any further, standing stock-still with his tuxedo jacket gone and his hands in his pockets and the ghost of a smile lingering in the corners of his mouth.

“What day did you get to Boston?” Killian asks.

“What? That’s---I don’t understand.” Elsa’s saying something in the phone. Emma hangs up. She’ll apologize for that later.

“The date, love, please,” Killian says, and he still hasn’t moved. “Or the month. What month did you get there?” “What day did you get to Boston?” Emma challenges. His smile wavers, turning into something almost incredulous. Emma understands that. She can’t believe she’s asking for qualifiers, more misplaced hope lingering at the base of her spine. “Did David tell you something? Some crazy idea of this working and happily ever after? Because it doesn’t add up. It doesn’t. I’ve, well, I’ve been here for two years. It can’t--it’s not what you think it is.” “And what do I think it is?”

Emma glares at him. “Stop it. This is--” “--How long were you in Boston? A straight answer, Swan, it’s not that hard.”

“Yes, it is! It’s--” She shakes her head, jumping up and her phone crashes to the ground. Her skin is cracked. That’s probably a sign. “And it’s so stupid because soulmates are just forced love and expectations and I hate it. I hate the whole idea of it.”

Her whole body sags as soon as her jaw snaps shut, completely pitiful and just as sad as advertised. She’s crying again, tears blurring her vision which is probably why she doesn’t see Killian until he’s crowding into her space, an arm wrapping around her middle.

Emma’s hands move to his chest.

“It’s so stupid,” she repeats. “But I knew. I knew as soon as you walked in and you ordered that stupid coffee. I’d heard you before. When I was sixteen. I’d just been dropped off at a new group home because the last thing had been a disaster and it was like getting struck by lightning and--I knew, Killian, I knew.” She pulls in a deep breath, trying to regain her bearings but that’s admittedly difficult when Killian’s fingers lace through hers. “That was the moment. But it wasn’t for you. There was no--”

He doesn’t let her finish.

It’s incredibly cyclical.

One second she’s stammering out explanations and tears and the next his lips are back on hers and she’s pushing up on her toes to meet him easier and she should arrest herself for self-inflicted torture.

It’s better than it was the first time, more metaphors to be made about space and probably something about gravity and Emma briefly wonders if there are magnets in Killian’s hair.

It makes her laugh, the sound bubbling out of her. She can feel his smile, the arm around her waist tightening and she genuinely can’t believe she didn’t realize before.

She should have known as soon as she saw the world’s ugliest carpet.

Killian pulls away, dragging his mouth against her jaw instead and Emma’s back arches when he lands on her neck, tracing across skin and that spot behind her ear and she refuses to be held accountable for whatever noise she makes as soon as she hears the words.

Her words.

In her voice.

“It’s you, Emma.”

And just like that, it’s as if everything has settled. The world takes a deep breath, everything calm and normal and perfect in the way that nothing has ever been before and couldn’t ever hope to be again. “This whole time, Emma,” Killian continues, “it was you.”

“How?” “How? Did you just ask me how? What do you mean how?” “Exactly what that word means,” Emma mumbles impatiently, and that should not be an adverb she’s using in this situation. Her calves are starting to ache. “Ok, ok, I’m very confused. You don’t have a soulmate anymore. That’s...that’s right, right?” Killian shakes his head. “When did you leave Boston?” “Um, it was...December. It was freezing cold. It had snowed the night before, some kind of record-breaking thing that probably had to do with the water or whatever.”

“Record-breaking,” he repeats, a mix of disbelief and something Emma refuses to acknowledge in his voice. “December 20th? Did you leave on December 20th?” Emma clicks her teeth, trying to pinpoint dates and frustration over a moving service that blamed the snow for showing up three hours late. “Yeah, I think that’s right, actually. Where are you going with this?” He kisses her again. A little bruising and a little determined and as if he’s very certain of the next few words that are going to come out of his mouth. “I got to Boston on December 19th. I was supposed to get there the next day, but I couldn’t stay in Norfolk anymore and I just...I got in my car and drove and I was in Beacon Hill when I felt it. You.” Emma gapes at him. She’s doing that weird breathing thing again. “But, I--you said you met Milah three days later.” “I did. And I was very sure of a lot of things for a very long time, Emma. I really did love her. That--that hasn’t changed, but it was...I didn’t think I’d ever be able to feel what I felt in that moment again or even believe in much of anything after I lost her. Until you.”

She should respond without kissing him. She doesn't. He doesn’t seem to mind much. And they are very good at it.

“But that’s,” Emma starts, and part of her soars when Killian makes a noise as soon as she pulls her mouth away from his. “Ok, ok, hold on. So, I have my moment when I’m sixteen. You have yours two years ago and we’ve just been--” “--Idiots? Yes, I think that’s blatantly obvious. Why didn’t you tell me?” “About the moment?” Killian hums, and maybe he can actually see the pattern he’s following on her back. Something magical, probably. “Because it happened a lifetime ago and I’d been through so much shit and the Neal thing blew up in my face and I--David said you didn’t believe in soulmates.” Emma blinks when the realization slams into the back of her head. “Oh. That’s why. It hadn’t happened for you yet.” “I don’t understand. What hadn’t happened?”

Emma swallows, nodding at the arm still wrapped around her middle. “I couldn’t feel anything,” she whispers. “There was--” “--No hand, huh?” “I’m so sorry.” “That’s not your fault, love,” Killian says, brushing a kiss over her hair. “That’s...well that’s the world and I--well, you’ve been here for both of those things, Swan. Even if neither one of us realized it.”

“What do you mean?” “You never did ask why I decided to come to New York.” He does something ridiculous with his eyebrows and it takes Emma half a second to realize he’s having fun. She’s having fun. It’s exciting and ridiculous and, well...fun. “And I wasn’t going to,” Killian continues. “But Locksley was adamant and it was a good opportunity and all the hype. I just...I didn’t really decide to come until I got in my car and started driving and I knew it was right.” Emma has no idea what sound she makes. A laugh. A cry. The pure sound of complete and utter joy. “You knew?” “It felt like I was supposed to. That this was where I needed to be.”

“But wait, why didn’t you say anything? Did you realize it was me when you got here? Or feel something? And what did David say to you?” “Several very pointed things in the last two minutes, actually. But mostly that I was an idiot and that it was obvious how much I was into you, which is very true, just for the record.” Emma bites her lip.

“Anyway,” Killian continues. “He said he knew about Milah, but had been thinking about it and wasn’t it interesting that you and I might have been in the same city at the same time before?” “And you figured it out just like that?” “I’m very perceptive. Plus, I’d, well...I’d been thinking things. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I felt it again, that pull and the want and we were sitting on my couch and it was as if I’d only just realized the sun was still rising every day. I was sure I was going insane, but I figured even if we weren’t soulmates, it was--I would have followed you anywhere, Swan.” “That’s stupid romantic.” “Yeah, that was the goal.” They really are exceptionally good at kissing each other. They linger in each other’s space for awhile, more than content to press lips anywhere they can reach and she’s not sure which one of them makes what noise when another set of footsteps join the fray.

“Go away,” Killian says, not bothering to move his mouth away from Emma’s. She laughs again.

She can’t really help herself.

David does not, in fact, go away. “Did I do something good?”

“Are you here to gloat, Detective?” “I mean, a little? Was I right?” “Oh man,” Emma groans. “Were you following some kind of lead here? Was this just an exaggerated hunch?” “Not at first,” David admits. “But I did follow the overwhelming evidence that you two were spending nearly all your free time together and I knew you were both faking this date to get me off your back.” Killian scoffs. “Were we faking this, Swan? I’m not sure that we were.” “Nah,” she says, grinning when David rolls his eyes. “Probably not. Hey, you want to go on a date or something? Like...tomorrow.” Emma is very proud of the flush that forms on Killian’s cheeks immediately. “Tomorrow?” “Yeah, or like...today. Dates end with kissing, right?” David mumbles a string of increasingly creative curses, Killian’s eyebrows doing something impossible and the butterflies in the pit of Emma’s stomach feel strong enough that they could very easily plan world domination.

“Yeah, they do,” Killian nods. “C’mon, love, let’s go critique alcohol options.” They don’t wait for David to say – or curse – anything else, Killian tugging Emma down the hall with smiles on their faces and her phone still on the floor. She assumes David picks it up, shouting something that sounds like “I knew you’d do that” at them.

He dances with her.

She’s never danced with anyone before.

Emma can’t stop smiling, spinning and twirling and she’s never thought the world twirl before in her life.They dance and they drink and, at some point, someone asks Killian if he’s there with his soulmate.

His answering smile could probably power whatever machine this piece of garbage DJ is using.

Emma can’t believe Regina’s wedding has a DJ.

“Yeah,” he nods, the arm around her waist tightening slightly and it’s difficult to understand the words when they’re pressed against the top of her hair. “I am.”

Mary Margaret’s answering squeal can probably be heard on the moon.

She calls Ruby. In the middle of the reception.

Ruby’s answering scream is piercing.

“Can’t keep a secret to save her life,” Emma mumbles, but then the music shifts and they’re moving again and she can’t seem to catch her breath. “Hey, um,” she adds, glancing up and she’s fairly certain he already knows what she’s going to say. She says it anyway. That’s a nice feeling. “I love you.”

They keep moving when he kisses her, an impressive show of balance and romance and really sticking it to the whole soulmate trope because Emma’s fairly certain she’d mean it without the labels or the names and--

“I love you,” he says, mumbled against her lips and the curve of her jaw and the bridge of her nose. Over and over. A repeat and return and some kind of joke about rhythm that’s appropriate with a really shitty DJ in the background.

It’s perfect.

And they don’t actually do much except sleep later, curled up in the middle of a very expensive hotel room bed because it’s still a castle and Killian mentions something about liking the color of your dress, love and Emma closes her eyes with a smile on her face, certain, for the first time that she can hope for everything.

And get it.

They go to Disney World two years later.

After they elope.

No one is surprised.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #all the subliminal things #there's a lot of kissing in these five thousand words!

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sevenhorns · 4 years ago

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Thank you, Taylor

I’ve been writing bits of this for the past few months, unsure as to whether I should actually post this. I don’t usually express myself online and, truth be told, I don’t really express myself massively in real life, either.

I do have a very active internal monologue, though, and on this subject, it’s been such a strong one that I’ve felt compelled to write it down - and now, to publish it. So here goes.

* * *

Over the past few years, I felt myself changing. Becoming more reserved. Feeling sad about things. Finding it hard to cope with seemingly insignificant moments. These were all aspects of my personality that were already there, but as I progressed towards the age of 30, were becoming considerably more amplified. I figured it was just a part of getting older - or at least, that’s what I told myself. There’s been so much talk about mental health and the efforts to destigmatise it (especially among men) that I figured I was associating with symptoms of depression because I was more aware of them, not because I actually had them.

I was kidding myself.

To cut a long story short, I had a breakdown while working at a very public event and realised that something was very wrong with me. Even then, I tried to push it to the back of my mind, thinking that because I knew and accepted there was something wrong with me that it would somehow ‘cure’ me.

Obviously, I was once again kidding myself.

When work asked me to attend a similar event, I had another breakdown and realised I had to take action. I took time off from my job (who were incredibly supportive) while I took steps to combat my anxiety and depression. I went to the doctor, joined a gym, and found a therapist. For the first time in ages, I felt genuinely optimistic.

The feeling was short-lived. The pills my doctor gave me did nothing, the gym couldn’t fit me in for an induction for two weeks, and the therapist I saw was awful. He listened, but he didn’t hear what I was saying.

At the time all this was happening, Taylor Swift released Lover.

* * *

My journey to becoming a Taylor Swift fan was a slow burn. I wasn’t much into chart music in the late 2000s (I was far too busy being some sort of edgy emo/goth/rocker hybrid) and, being a Brit, Taylor’s music took a while to filter over here. But the moment I heard Love Story, I knew it was right up my street. Over the following years, I heard (by chance, rather than because I’d sought them out) YBWM, The Story of Us, and a couple of others. By the time Red came out, I had to accept that maybe I was just a massive Taylor Swift fan, so I bought all her albums - and loved pretty much all of the songs.

Ever since, she’s been my absolute favourite artist, both because of her talents as an artist, and the fact that she just seems like a genuinely lovely human being. But I digress

* * *

When 1989 and Reputation released, I listened to them the moment I could. I’d pour myself a nice drink, stick on some headphones, and just listen. It was a new ritual, but one that I was nevertheless looking forward to doing with Lover. But I was in such a mental funk that the album sat on the shelf in its cellophane untouched. I just wasn’t in the mood to get excited about anything - even a new album from my favourite artist.

It was an odd time. I was signed off of work for mental health reasons, but none of the steps I was taking to improve things worked. While I was waiting for my gym induction and an appointment with a new therapist to open up, I was just spending days at home on my own with all this free time... and absolutely nothing to do with it. Wake up, have some breakfast, watch daytime TV, wait for my partner to get home from work, have dinner, go to bed. The breakdowns and anxiety attacks I’d had sucked, but the monotony of sitting around and waiting with nothing but my own broken thoughts for hours on end each day was horrendous. Wallowing in self pity had become a dreadful hobby.

One day, I was sitting at the computer, wasting time doing absolutely nothing productive, when I noticed that the early evening sun was really quite pretty. As I felt its warmth on my back and saw the long shadows being cast across the room, I had a brief moment of motivation: this seemed like as good a time as any to listen to Lover.

* * *

Good decision. I Forgot That You Existed was a solid start, and then came the absolute bop that is Cruel Summer. As that fantastic bridge hit, I couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony of how much I was enjoying a song called Cruel Summer when my own summer was being pretty cool to me, too.

By the time I hit Paper Rings and Cornelia Street, I realised I’d had a genuine grin on my face and energy in my body. It was the first genuinely positive emotion I’d felt in weeks that was wasn’t the double-edged sword of relief or security. I was happy for the sake of being happy.

By this point, I’d stopped faffing on the computer and was just sitting, watching the golden sunset out of the window. As Daylight finished up, I wiped the moisture from my eyes and played through the whole thing again - not just in the hope of prolonging my happy feelings, but because Lover is quite simply an incredible piece of work.

* * *

I know that saying ‘music cured my depression’ isn’t exactly an original position to be in - and I’m glad of that. I’m glad that music can be such a powerful tool when it comes to mental health that has helped many people. And I wouldn’t say that Taylor Swift and Lover cured my depression - mental health is an ongoing battle that requires some degree of constant effort to maintain and I’m not sure if it can ever truly be ‘cured’ - but it was absolutely a key moment it helping me to turn things around.

Whenever I listen to it, I get the same feelings of happiness and joy, and all the great feelings of the love I have for my partner, and of how fortunate I am to have such an unbelievably loving and supportive family.

Most of all though, it takes me back to that sunny afternoon. It reminds me of the moment when I made a tiny bit of effort to improve my mental health - and it actually worked. After weeks of trying to help myself and failing each time, this action actually succeeded. It gave me hope that as long as I did the right things and put in the effort, maybe I could get some way back to being me again. That although I felt weak in my mind, I still had enough strength to fight my way out of the hole I found myself in. I was still in there somewhere

No matter the song, the time, or the place, Lover has managed to form a deeply personal connection to me in a way that no other music has ever come close to doing.

* * *

Nine months on and I’m like a different person. No, wait, that’s not right. I’m a different version of the same person.

The second therapist has turned out to be an absolute gem. I still have low days, but thanks to her, I know how to help turn things around. I know where my fears and anxieties come from, what’s likely to trigger them, and how to try and manage my depression.

I fell in love with the gym. As a guy who used the same weak excuse for three years at school to get out of doing PE, I never saw myself as someone who’d voluntarily exercise, let along enjoy it. I’ve lost 40 lbs since September and no longer feel ashamed of the person I see in the mirror.

I’m not going to say that it’s all thanks to Taylor, because that would be doing a great disservice to the friends, family, co-workers, and health workers who have all been actively brilliant. Also to myself - forgive me some self-indulgence, but I’m also really proud of myself and the part I’ve had to play in improving as a person, and the truths I’ve had to admit (which, as a notoriously stubborn guy, wasn’t always easy!).

But in creating an album so beautifully crafted that it reminded me what happy emotions were, Taylor has been a significant part of my journey. I know the chances of her (or anyone else on the zero-follower blog I created as an output for these thoughts) seeing this are astronomically tiny.

But on the off-chance that she somehow stumbles across this, I’d just like to say a wholehearted thank you.

Thank you so much.

Not only for inadvertently helping me, but for consistently creating such wonderful, expressive, and intelligent music; for speaking out and standing for important social issues; and for being a role model that so many people of all ages and cultures can look up to.

As a 30-something white bloke from the UK, I feel slightly awkward putting something like this out into the open... but then again, why should I? It’s OK to not be OK. It’s OK to be a man with vulnerabilities and emotions. It’s OK to like whatever you like - if it makes people think differently of you then that’s their problem, not yours. Embrace and share your passions and life becomes all the richer for it.

I really hope I’m able to make one of Taylor’s concerts one day. If you’re at one too, and you see an awkward-looking bloke quietly standing there, struggling to hold back happy tears during Afterglow, that might just be me. Feel free to say hi.

#taylorlurking #taylor swift #swifties #lover #taylor nation #usertaylornotices

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theorynexus · 5 years ago

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In Number 63, we’ll see if I feel any less depressed than 62.

Not likely, but I’m feeling slightly optimistic.

I don’t know, man. I’m sure robots can wear clothes just fine. (Yay for me being right about his intention to do so, I guess. Hooray~)

Doesn’t mean the old memories will have any less meaning-- especially any time soon. Gosh, what a controlling doof, and horribly rude cynic. I would just like to note that while I vaguely appreciate what he might be going for, especially given his next statement about being able to live on for millennia, I just really continue to hate the guy. More than I was disgusted by Gamzee sometimes, despite the fact that I also found him quite amusing and recognized his importance as a servant and part of Lord English. Whatever good intentions he has, and whatever hopeful outlook he is pushing to, these seem to be massively overwhelmed by his twisted ego.

I really do appreciate this from her. I am quite curious as to what particular location he intends to head to, now. That strikes me as the most important thing, and a great piece of the puzzle that might sort out and explain many of the horrible and twisted decisions he’s made, at least a little. (Also, I’d just like to say that his apparent motivation of thinking of people as lesser, unimportant playthings on his way to attaining a higher place in the cosmic order, if correct, is very similar to LE’s, except semi-reversed, given English thinks of himself as already being there, and to some extent, already was, truthfully. I say this not in the least because I know it would annoy Dirk.)

I quite like this behavior and/or attitude from Rose. It makes it very much sound like, despite his possessiveness of her, and his attempts to possess her, generally, she maintains her independence and spirit. That is one gleaming little gem amidst the darkness.

***makes an anxious, “Hnnnn...!” in response to the gradually progressing effect on her***

Sounds suspiciously like you’re going to stop her from having a chance at coming with. Fricking tool. At least give her the choice of which option she wants to devote herself to more--- her wife, or her people. It would be cruel, but at least having the choice is fair. Your perspective and lack of care for matters of love are sickening, and besmirch Heart players in general by proxy. Which includes me--- thus, even more reason to hate you, now. Gah... . Not to mention that your previous statements that Rose won’t even care about her time there, and that what you’re bringing for her doesn’t matter... it is just absolutely HORRENDOUS, especially given the symbolic connection between Fashion and Kanaya. UGH, it’s like you have no heart at all, Dirk Strider! Have you so internally destroyed yourself with your princely ways that that’s the truth, now?!

***clenches my hand so hard that it feels like it’s going to explode, and my fingernails cut into my palm for the first time before I stop myself and take a moment to try to calm down***

***seethes in rage so badly that I’m beginning to hyperventilate, and it suddenly occurs to me that if he were decapitated a thousand times, it wouldn’t be enough punishment for him*** ... I was having a great deal of difficulty not screaming invocations of damnation upon him, so I took a break, just now. I’ll try reading it again in a moment. Oh, and I am not sure if he’s just being speciesist toward Kanaya, here, if he truly even believes that she is/was not good enough for Rose, or if he is just, as he was with Jake, slamming up the emotional factor so hard that it twists their state of being away from the one that they had been formed into for significant extended periods of their life, under the pressure of Dirk’s soul-destructive assault. Regardless: I hate either possibility. It is especially unfair and cruel to Rose, too. Even if she finds her way back to Kanaya, this could mean that the same fear about herself that she had (that she’d turn out a different person on the other side of her ascension) could end up being true for Kanaya. Any sense of love or care I get from Dirk toward the ones he supposedly cares for ends up slashed and torn, as if he’s gone insane, finally broken under the pressure of this change--- not coming out of this as strong or stable as he’d like us to think. Almost enough to bring one to laugh.

***grabs at the arm of the couch and digs my finger nails into the leather*** I hate everything the bastard has twisted this world into saying, and I’m not going to dignify any of its corrupt douchery with even pictures.

#Anger #Homestuck Epilogue #Meat Epilogue #Homestuck Liveblog #Homestuck Spoilers

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a-woman-apart · 5 years ago

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It Never Goes Away

Crisis text line (U.S.): 741 741

I’ve had to fight really hard to push my way back up to “sane.” I dealt with psychosis, severe mania, debilitating depression and yearly hospitalizations before I finally decided to become medicine compliant. It took me 4 years before I began to fully comply with my treatment plan. I began attending groups under the guidance of a case worker. I began seeing my psychiatrist regularly so that I could make sure that I was on the proper medication. With my case worker’s help, I moved out of my parents’ home. I had to challenge myself to embrace the rules and structure provided by the group home manager.

Managing my mental illness, integrating into society, and becoming more independent were not choices that were easy. It wasn’t easy to work and go to school, to keep track of appointments and to try to manage a social life at the same time. These things are not easy for anyone in today’s climate, but they were compounded for me because of my mental illness. There was one year of community college when I slipped almost totally into dysthymia (low grade, chronic depression) and ended up bouncing from antidepressant to antidepressant in an attempt to cure it. These were ineffective; I am now antidepressant free and handling negative emotions better than before.

As I have said so many times before, there are people who do not understand my rigidity, adherence to structure, and perfectionism. Next to medicine compliance and proper sleeping habits, routine is a part of the essential trio of things that are crucial for me to maintain my mental health. Taking my medicine at roughly the same time every day helps me to enforce regular sleep and waking times. Going to work isn’t just important for my being able to pay for a car, utilities, and an apartment, but it gives me something to do so that I do not absolutely lose my mind. Scheduling study and leisure times and planning out events well in advance help to reduce my anxiety.

There are times, though, when being overly regimented can lead to lack of stimulation, boredom, and monotony. We all need a little spontaneity in our lives, at least a slight variation in routine, and the ability to tolerate change. Two recent changes in my life have forced me to embrace more flexibility in my life: working from home and starting a new relationship.

I work for a small company owned by a close friend of mine, and I need to check in with her every day before I clock in, because my schedule is variable. I am disciplined and self-motivated, but at first, I was very nervous because I am used to explicit direction on what to do, and instead I got a very loose managerial style and a higher degree of freedom to make my own decisions. My friend and I had a pre-established level of trust and so I think that went a long way.

As for my boyfriend, he and I have a lot in common, but we also have completely different operating procedures in some cases. He can go to the store without a list and then shop based on whatever meal he has in his head to craft and the store sales. On the flip side, I go with a pre-written list that is ordered based on where everything is in the store so that I can traverse it without any deviation or backtracking. He used to stay up all night and sleep half the day, and I had a strict midnight-to-morning sleep cycle (all-nighters put me at risk for mania). He deals with chronic understimulation and I get overstimulated extremely easily. Overall, everything is much looser and undefined for him; he’ll do things spontaneously, whereas I’ve declined invitations to go out with people strictly on the basis of the invitation being short notice.

Changing jobs and starting new relationships can be extremely stressful, but they can also be exciting and inspiring. Every week I now have something new to look forward to, and even after the feelings of novelty have worn off, I will still be forever grateful for making these changes. There is a lot of instability in our world, and I have discovered that having a sense of purpose and strong interpersonal relationships are key towards surviving in these changing times.

I am learning a lot. As I alluded to earlier, anxiety has hampered me in that I need time to “psych up” before big social events, public speaking, concerts, or conventions. It is no secret that my anxiety has been rearing its ugly head more than it ever has before lately, but I am learning to deal with it one day at a time. Having undiagnosed, largely untreated GAD (Generalized Anxiety Disorder) in addition to a mood disorder is frequently hellacious. I have had a lot of close calls, but I have not given up hope.

I had been told by various doctors that there is no real cure for what I’ve got, and now I am starting to indeed believe that “It never goes away.” It can only be treated and managed. Proper management of illness—especially medicine compliance—can be the difference between life and death for those of us with these disorders. Even for those of us with severe symptoms, there are periods of euthymia—or “normal, tranquil mood”—that exist between our episodes. Feeling stable for a while does not mean that the illness is gone, but it can give people a false belief that they are cured. The discouragement that comes when the illness “returns” can be so devastating for some people that it drives them to self-destructive behavior.

The bottom line though, is that things change. Things can get better. It takes an amazing amount of work, and you may need a lot of help to make those first steps, but if you do, it can make all the difference. Don’t give up. I know the holidays are hard. To make matter worst, the current politic, environmental and socioeconomic conditions of our country are completely whack, but we have the opportunity to make meaningful change. The personal progress that we make as individuals has a ripple effect on the greater society around us. Even if we are unsuccessful in our efforts, it is certainly worth trying.

In fact, the idea that any of us—mentally ill or not—will arrive at some hypothetical form of perfection where improvement is no longer necessary is a fundamentally flawed concept. If we stop growing, we start dying. We must continue expanding mentally and emotionally in order to stay alive. Stagnation breeds decay. Life is less about the destination and more about the journey.

I know no one really reads these. These notes are as much for me as much as anyone else. I know that I am probably going to go through some objectively horrendous times sooner or later, and I am going to need to be reminded that I have a chronic mental illness, that while not curable, is subject to improving with treatment. I am going to need to be reminded that despite what the static noise in my head says, there are a lot of people who love me and still want me around. There are people who still want the best for me even when I cannot want it for myself.

It never goes away, but it doesn’t have to. I’m determined to fight.

#it never goes away #living with mental illness #living with depression #living with anxiety #schizoaffective disorder #GAD #generalized anxiety disorder #undiagnosed illness #the struggle #holiday blues #bipolar disorder #coping skills #hope #existential crisis #comorbidity #being flexible #spontaneity

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