#pains him so much that he can't even pretend to be unaffected

[starpros-sunshine]

also I love this that is the face of someone who is very much not happy with anything at that moment you really can tell how much he does not like seeing the object of his affections treated like that

[poetry-protest-pornography]

Oof.

Lots of feelings about this episode. Rambly-y highlights/bullet points while I think obsessively about it to further hurt myself expand on them:

Rosé continues to be a villain, and it keeps getting worse?

She was fine with playing the game, even with her hunch that Lompran was playing the "real version" with real people's lives on the line -- which isn't a stretch, because she was fine when it was her father's livelihood, and her own future on the line, and didn't much up too much fuss about Jack being part of the stakes, either.

She had just witnessed Jack have to beg to spare the life of Auntie Jaeb, and she suggests they go "celebrate", then doubles down on the idea after learning that Jack's grandma is in the hospital. Sprinkle in a bunch of "it's just money she lost, and you can just get more of that!" tone-deaf and insanely insensitive and out of touch nonsense, and it is very clear that none of these "poor people" are real people to her. Jack kind of gets treated like he is a person, but only so far as he indulges her whims, because forcing a person who is clearly barely keeping it together to take you for drinks and dancing is straight up villain shit.

She traipses through Jack's house and is completely unaffected at having seen Jaeb and Joke threatened at gun point, only cares if Jack is ready to "celebrate" with her. (Watching Jack turn on that fake smile was painful. Watching Joke watch it happen was worse).

AND THEN she's like "oh, sorry, we didn't see a way to make money off your friend's idea, but I can try to get him hired as a servant in my house, so it's basically the same thing, right?!" And Jack is forced to agree that it is good and not insane and fucked up that she's trying to get in Jack's pants while suggesting that his friends might be good enough to clean her bathrooms.

And then there's Top.

(and have we talked about how shitty it is to name one kid "Joke" and the other "Top" and pretend like you have no influence on how those kids move through the world? Because jfc I hate their parents)

Top swoops in and saves Joke from being caught in disguise, and seems to make some genuine overtures of brotherly affection, but it's all wrapped up in his toxic view on what parental love looks like.

He's trying, and Joke is clearly surprised but cautiously happy about it. But his whole speech about how his dad "shows love" was insane. Straight up abuse apologia. Because while yes, sometimes when two people love each other, they hurt each other on purpose because that's easier than being vulnerable, but that is not how parents are supposed to be with their children.

It is not acceptable "it's so funny how you can't just talk to each other" behavior for a parent to continuously reject their kid, and then expect love and obedience in return.

That's not how it's supposed to be, and I am so grateful that Joke has had a taste of what a healthy(ish) family dynamic is, because it allowed him to call his dad out and to (kind of) tell his brother that he's wrong, and then both Ama and Jack establish that Joke is part of their family, so he gets immediate payoff for his assertion that family is supposed to talk to each other and comfort for his subsequent rejection (again).

But yeah, Top's whole speech made me so. mad.

Hoy, Tattoo, and Arun were delightful, and I loved that they were all there with Jack and Joke while Amma was in surgery. Offering support and also relationship scrutiny. It was also so cute how invested in Tattoo's project Arun was; he believes in him so wholeheartedly, it's adorable.

Anyways, let's just stare at this for a while:

[wrestlezaynia]

"Broken Promises."

Promises are made to be broken.

Warning: Must be 18+ to read under cut.

It started off innocent at first. Just two best friends exploring their sexuality, no strings attached. "You have to promise you won't fall in love with me." Kevin quips, a smug smirk gracing his lips. Sami didn't know it back then, but he was terrible at keeping promises.

Kevin took Sami's virginity, he was reluctant but Sami insisted. He wanted his first time to be with someone he could trust and there wasn't anyone he trusted more than Kevin. Their friendship was unaffected, however, Sami felt something that night. Something real, something he never experienced before...it was love. He loved Kevin.

Sami kept it a secret for so long, but Kevin could tell he was behaving differently towards him. He noticed him sighing more when they were together, the way Sami looked at him changed too. He was acting like a completely different person. He debated questioning Sami about his behavior, but quickly dismisses it, remembering the oath they took.

Right on cue, Kevin's arms engulf Sami from behind. His soft lips brush against his neck, making the hairs stand up. "God I missed you, Sami." He whispers, his breath hot against his ear. "Did you miss me?"

Sami wants to tell Kevin he misses every second they aren't together, that being away from him even for a minute feels like an eternity, but instead settles on nodding. His body starting to relax in Kevin's warm embrace, wishing he would hold him like this forever and never let go.

"I've been horny all day, fantasizing about what I'm going to do to you." Kevin breathes, slipping his hands beneath Sami's shirt to caress his muscular chest with his fingertips. "I want you so bad, it hurts."

"I want you too, Kev." Sami murmurs breathlessly. But, unlike Kevin, he didn't mean sexually. He wanted him mind, body and soul. A keen spilling from his lips as Kevin's hand ventures lower, fingers skimming over the bulge protruding from his pants.

Feeling how hard Sami is for him makes his own dick throb as he spins Sami around to face him. Their eyes connecting briefly before Kevin smashes his lips against Sami's with fervor, cradling his face.

Sami returns the kiss, hooking his arms around Kevin's neck to bring him closer, their bodies pressed together. "Kev," he whispers against his lips, building up the courage to tell him how he feels, but when Kevin looks at him his tongue goes numb and he forgets how to speak.

Hearing Sami whisper his name sends shivers up Kevin's spine as they kiss their way towards the bed, shedding clothes along the way. Both men down to their boxers as they tumble onto the mattress, lips still attached. Hands roaming over every inch as Kevin kisses Sami's neck.

Before things escalate any further, Sami needs to get this off his chest. He can't keep living a lie, it's eating him up inside. "Kev." He manages to choke out, amidst the heat of pleasure. "Kevin, stop!" His voice rising in volume as he musters the strength to push Kevin off of him, the warmth of his body still lingers. "I'm sorry, I can't do this."

Kevin looks at Sami, hurt and confusion in his eyes. "What's wrong?" He asks, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear it from Sami's own lips.

Sami averts his gaze, the pain etched across Kevin's face too much to bear. "I can't keep pretending you don't mean anything to me." He confesses softly, struggling to compose himself.

Expressing emotion isn't exactly Kevin's strong suit, but Sami is his soft spot so when Sami's hurting, he's hurting. Kevin knew he had to approach this delicately as the tears well in Sami's eyes. "Sami, look at me." He coaxes, cupping Sami's chin gently and forcing him to make eye contact. "Whatever it is, we'll get through this." He reassures him.

Sami leans into Kevin's touch, gazing deeply into the familiar silver blue. They're so beautiful, he could stare into them forever as he releases the breath he has been holding. "I've been wanting to tell you for so long." His voice wavers, on the verge of tears. "That night you showed me a side of you I've never seen before and I-"

"Say it, Sami." Kevin breathes, his heart pounding in his chest.

Sami's breathing becomes more labored, his chest rising and falling as he struggles to find the words. "I'm in love with you, Kev." He whispers softly, the tears he fought to suppress now trickling down his cheeks as a wave of relief washes over him. "I'm sorry Kevin, I know we made a promise not to develop feelings for each other, but-"

Sensing the panic in Sami's tone, Kevin captures the redheads lips in a tender kiss, one that is sure to stifle his aimless rambling momentarily. Their lips part, but they remain close, foreheads touching. "You drive me crazy, you know that?" Kevin asks, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. "But I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world." He softly adds, tucking Sami's hair behind his ear. "Je suis amoureux de toi, Sami."

[titlemewickedwonderland]

The Manager (Ghost Fic) Chapter 10

Summary: The Ministry announces an outsider coming to be part of the congregation to help with the Ghost project as a tour manager; little did the Ghoul know; she is nothing like they pictured her or how she'd affect them all.

Request Board

Workshop

Chapter 9

Warning: Sexual content!

The Mass hall was bustling with the usual sounds of clinking cups, murmured conversations, and the soft hum of background music playing overhead in the speakers. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and whatever was on the breakfast menu for the day fills the air, adding to the familiar atmosphere Ari was so used to. It had been two weeks since the end of the tour and they had returned to their usual routine at the Abbey. Still, everything was not as routine as it had been - hell even the siblings had noticed the tension when the band returned making Ari feel as horrible now as she did away; she knew they would be talking behind her back wondering what had happened and she didn't blame them. Her career had felt like it was soaring in the beginning and now she felt as if she didn't know where to go from here. Dewdrop had ignored her since they had gotten back home; going so far as to pretend she wasn't there or ask someone else questions that could be asked to her directly - like some kind of middleman.

In one corner, amidst the chatter of the siblings of the Church, Ari sits at the Ghoul table nursing a cold cup of coffee; a cup long past cooled off from its usual hotness the longer she sat there brewing in her own thoughts. Phantom, who sat across from her had made it his mission to never let her be alone when she got this broody. The pained expression etched on her face and her eyes that were slightly red, a sign of her recent tears and troubles that has become the norm to those with keen eyes; no amount of makeup or sleep could hide the turmoil that roared inside of her and for a quintessence ghoul like him; he hated to see his friend looking like this - hated to feel the emotional heaviness that seemed to engulf her.

Across from Ari, Phantom looks concerned and attentive as he watches her; she had been sitting here for the last 3 hours barely even touching the coffee he'd brought her when he caught her heading this way a few hours before in the hallway that very morning.

Softly, Phantom reaches out to gently grab her attention with a hand on her arm. "Ari, I can see how much you're hurting. Do you want to talk about it?"

Her lips turned up into a wry smile as she shook her head and stared down at her coffee. "There isn't much to say anymore. Dew won't talk to me and if he won't...I can't fix things." she blew out a breath.

"Makes me wonder if it's worth sticking around. I can't sleep properly, I'm messing up at my job, and I know Copia is trying to be supportive but even he is getting stressed out from the lack of professionalism I usually show and I just...I just don't know how much more I can take, Phantom." her tired eyes lifted to meet her friend's.

His face softened even if she couldn't tell behind his mask as he gave her arm a squeeze. "Oh sweet pea, it'll get better. I promise, Dewdrop is hard-headed and for a while he and I never got along when I was first summoned but he's just hurting too...he doesn't know how to feel about any of this but I promise you he's not as unaffected as you think. You really need to try to talk to him again." he advised softly.

"I can't Phantom! He won't speak to me! He won't even hear me out! Like what the hell am I supposed to do if he won't even try to listen?! He won't even look at me!" she asked as her voice rose sharply; gaining the attention of a few siblings at the nearby tables.

Phantom hushed her gently and shook his head. "We'll work it out. love. I promise you, we will. I and the others will help...look, if he doesn't talk to you on his own terms then we need to force his hand." he stated seriously.

"We can't watch you just...turn into a husk and wither away like this." he added sighing softly.

"Oh? And what do you expect to do? Lock me and him in a room together?" Ari snorted leaning away from him; as if tucking herself away from even his hold that had been nothing but comfort to her even if she wouldn't say it out loud to him.

"If that's what we got to do, then yes." Phantom scowled tapping the table with his fingers. "Enough is enough Ari. If you still want to fight for him then yes. Whatever it takes." he replied staring her down.

Ari stared back at him. Trying to see his expression through his goggled mask but she couldn't. But what other choice did she have if not to trust him? Just leave and regret it for the rest of her life? Her shoulders slumped as she gave him a curt nod.

"Okay." she finally replied. "Okay, Phantom. It's in your hands, my friend." she conceded wondering just what he was going to get up to; how was he supposed to get her and Dewdrop in a room together without him getting pissed off at her?

"Good." he took her hands and placed a kiss on her knuckles before rising from the table. "Meet me in two hours in the Green house." he told her before he was striding with purpose out of the room while Ari watched with a worried expression on her face as he disappeared.

She didn't have to wait too long afterward to see what he was up to. When the two hours were up she went out to the Greenhouse. The sky was looking kind of gloomy with dark clouds threatening to downpour any second so she rushed her way through the garden where she spotted Phantom and Mountain standing outside waiting for her.

"Okay...what's going on?" she looked between the pair but they said nothing.

"Okay, guys what-" she began but Phantom suddenly grabbed her and as Mountain opened the door to the Greenhouse she was shoved in before the door was slammed shut and the audible click of a lock fell into place.

"Oh those son of a bitches did not just-"

"The fuck?" Ari spun around to find Dewdrop standing further in the room with a bag filled with some green buds.

It only took her about 3 seconds to realize what was going on; this was Phantom's brilliant plan - to literally lock them in a place that only had one entrance and exit. Mountain must have bribed Dewdrop to come here without telling him what was going on under the guise he could pick some of Mountain's special weed he was growing and then lock them in here when she arrived.

"Well, looks like that oddly worked," she muttered crossing her arms before speaking louder. "I'm sorry Dew...this was the only way they saw that you would talk to me." she murmured.

"I'm not talking to you." Dew spat

"We have to...if we don't Dew..." she swallowed looking at the floor. "Look. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I ran away from you pretending it was because of morals. I'm sorry that I brushed you aside thinking it meant nothing..." she closed her eyes a moment to breath.

"I never meant to hurt you." she confessed

Dewdrop snorted shaking his head and turning to go back into the greenhouse further to drop his stash on the workbench and began rummaging around drawers to see if Mountain had any papers to roll up a blunt.

"Dew please talk to me! I'm trying here!" Ari called pursuing him. "Even if it means you shouting and cursing at me at least talk to me please!" she was practically begging now.

When Dewdrop still said nothing her shoulders slumped and she shook her head. "That's it then? You'll continue to just ignore me? I'm not here trying to talk to you as your manager...I'm trying to talk to you as Ari, as your friend!" she insisted.

Dewdrop started to roll up a joint and Ari just watched him with sad eyes; the clouds outside finally letting loose the rainfall from above making loud pattering sounds overhead and casting the place into darkness since the lights weren't on; as if they were affected by the storm inside of her in that moment. How many tears had she shed for this man already? How many hours had she lost in sleep because of him? She was trying goddamn it! Why couldn't he just talk to her?

"Dew...if we can't work this out...I may have to leave...Find another job or something. Because believe it or not, I do care about you. And if this issue between us continues to be like this then I won't work right...having a good relationship with you guys is important and if you and I can't have that...it'll screw everything up."

She didn't realize as she spoke that Dew's shoulders seemed to tense up when she mentioned leaving the Clergy. She turned her back to him and walked over to a window to stare out through the raindrops rolling down at the gloomy weather outside wondering how much longer Phantom and Mountain planned on keeping them locked inside; where they watching them or listening in somehow on what was going on? Or were the pair locked in here for a certain amount of time? She didn't know, but the air inside was stifling; mixed with the scent of greenery and potting soil.

She stared out unaware of the shadow that lurked behind her; Dewdrop had risen from his seat and approached her on silent steps until she shuddered when she felt the ghost of his breath against the back of her neck but she didn't turn around, afraid that if she moved then he'd leave again and close off. So she stared out of the window with her heart pounding in her throat - something she knew Dew probably heard with his inhuman hearing. He couldn't be so stupid not to hear the thunder of her heart.

The phantom touch came next, featherlight along her shoulders as if he was too scared to actually touch her. Just the gentle brush of fingertips that slid down her arms until they reached her hands and she felt his unearthly heat as his fingers slide oh so slowly between her own until she felt as if he was enveloping her just by holding her hand alone; having him this close after so long felt almost unreal as if she was dreaming and if she turned around he'd disappear.

"You wouldn't leave." his voice came soft near her ear. "You'd regret it."

Licking her dry lips she turned her head slightly to look up at him; the lights from outside the greenhouse casting a array of shadows from the raindrops on the window along her face as if reflecting her inner tears.

"Yes, I would regret it; I'd regret it more than anything in my life, Dew." she whispered staring up at his unmasked face; etching the details of his angular features in her brain.

"So give me a reason not to make that mistake." she said softly searching his face before her gaze dropped to his lips. "Give me a reason to stay."

"You've made it clear you didn't want anything from me, Ari." his eyes glued to her face as he spoke making her skin flush under his hard stare.

"I'm here aren't I?" her lips curled up slightly into a sad smile. "I don't want to leave Dewdrop. So, make me stay. Give me a reason not to walk out that door and never look back." she challenged; an almost desperate edge to her voice as she looked up at him.

His grip tightened on her before suddenly his touch was gone and before she could think she was spun around and her back slammed against the window pane before a hot mouth was pressed against hers.

His mouth was hot and hard against hers as if he was taking her anger out on her; whether anger at himself or his anger to her. She didn't know, but she wasn't going to let him leave. Her arms wrapped around his neck to hold him against her as he devoured her mouth. Teeth clanked against each other and a small sting on her lip registered as his sharp fangs piercing the delicate part of her lip - not that she cared.

Her head was fuzzy again whether from lack of oxygen or from the magnitude of his presence; her breaths coming in deep pants as he finally surrendered her mouth to stare down at her with glowing eyes like the flames of hell themselves staring down at her - his face morphing into something she couldn't recognize.

"Tell me to stop." his hand snaked up her chest to wrap around her throat; his touch was light and seemingly unthreatening but the look on his eyes promised far more.

"Tell me you changed your mind. Because if you don't Ari...You won't be leaving anytime soon." he muttered in a voice akin to a growl.

her eyes stared up half-lidded into his face and her tongue flicked out to lick the smear of red from her lip; an action that caught his attention and made his eyes darken into something far more primal than she'd ever seen.

"I'll gladly burn in hell with you Dew." she whispered before wrapping her hand around the one cradling her throat and tightening her hold around his.

He growled and yanked her by his hold back into him to kiss her again. Giving no room for her to fight or to get away as he kissed her as if he'd never kiss her ever again. His hands left her throat and instead started yanking at her clothes; there was the sound of something ripping and she gasped pulling her mouth from his.

"Dew! This is my favorite shirt!" she chided him breathlessly as his mouth latched onto her neck; surely to leave as many hickeys and bites as he could as he fully yanked off her now ripped shirt from her body leaving her in her jeans and bra.

"I'll buy you a fucking new one!" he snapped as he yanked at the confinements holding her breasts hidden from him. The humid air of the greenhouse felt clammy on her heated skin as she was spun around and pressed face-first into the glass; her hands slamming with a thunk against it as she braced herself.

Dewdrop's mouth was hot against her shoulder as he placed little bites there while his skillful hands yanked at the buttons of her jeans and as his hand slipped inside her knees went weak causing him to wrap an arm around her waist to hold her up against him.

"Shit...how are you this wet already?" he hissed against her ear as he pressed two long fingers as deep as they could go inside of her; pumping slowly causing her to whimper as she bit her lip to keep as quiet as she could.

"You're practically soaking my hand, huh?" he chuckled feeling her tremble against him while he worked her over.

But before he could fully claim her let alone take himself out of his confinement of his tight jeans the door suddenly unlocked and swung open revealing Phantom and Mountain standing in the doorway.

"Hey, guys are you okay? we heard-" Phantom paused with his jaw slack at the scene in front of him.

Ari tensed at being caught red-handed and Dew hissed as he covered her with his body while glaring at his packmate but otherwise didn't remove himself from her body.

"A little busy here Phantom. Fuck off!" Dew snapped.

"Shit! Sorry!" Phantom slapped a hand over his eyes and spun around as he shoved at Mountain's chest to hurry him out of the doorway. "Come on come on!" the quintessence ghoul hissed feeling his face burn with embarrassment as he slammed the door behind them casting the pair back into the darkness.

"Dew..." Ari stammered as she tried to push him to get off. "Maybe we should -"

The fire ghoul sank his teeth into her earlobe at the same time he thrust his fingers hard a few times into her heat causing her to let out an embarrassing little noise and buckle against him again; her grip on his arm like a vice as she throbbed at the motion.

"I'm not finished with you yet princess. I got to give you a reason to stay don't I?" there was an evident smirk on his face even if she couldn't see it.

"Y-yes but..." Ari moaned softly "The others..." she swallowed.

"Fuck them. They don't change shit. Now shut up and let me make it up to you." he withdrew his hand from her pants and idly watched how his fingers glistened in the dim light making her hide her face.

"Turn around." Dew guided her back around before lowering his hands to begin to undo his jeans.

Ari swallowed turning around and watched breathlessly as he undid his pants and shoved them down his thighs along with his boxers allowing her to see all of him.

"Shit Dew is that going to fit?" her eyes widened slightly looking up at him.

"Trust me." Dew's grin was a little feral as he playfully yanked her leg up around his waist. "We'll make it fit."

~

Chapter 11

[bexalex]

sometimes alex wonders why it's so hard to get over sarang. other times, like now, it's abundantly clear. it's the way sarang doesn't quite let go of him; even if there's no physical contact, the way he looks at alex, the way he speaks so tenderly, fixes the man in place, his legs suddenly useless even though it'd be wiser for him to simply walk away and find something else to do. i never forget your kisses, sarang says, and alex feels the binds tighten painfully around his heart. it's a different kind of pain, one he had never experienced before he met yeom sarang. it takes his breath away in this moment and aches terribly when he forgets not to think about it any other time. love is a curse, he thinks to himself. he would say that he regrets ever meeting yeom sarang, but he can't even bring himself to entertain the thought; he doesn't, he couldn't ever regret having once held someone so beautiful so close.

"stop," he closes his eyes, pretending that if he can't see sarang, he won't be able to feel him. he knows it doesn't work that way, he knows that when he opens his eyes again the other man will still be looking up at him with that same perfect face. in fact, he sees it too clearly in his mind's eye for his shut lids to even make much of a difference. "don't say stuff like that to me. not anymore. not right now." is he so pathetic? is it nothing to sarang to say such sweet words, entirely unaffected by alex when alex is still very much affected by him? sometimes he wants to get mad about it, accuse sarang of just playing with his feelings like some sort of game. but that never feels like the truth either; no matter how upset alex gets, he can't bring himself to raise his voice in anger at the other man.

"you know what i mean." is all he can say, perhaps a bit more strained than he'd like to be. "or maybe you don't." curse his loose, drunken tongue; alex speaks without thinking, unconcerned with the consequences of his words until after they've already slipped from his lips. "you don't know what it's like, do you? 'cause i know, for me, i loved you last year and i still love you today and i've tried to just be your friend but that feeling didn't fade at all. i don't know... i don't know what it's like for you, i guess i hoped you felt the same way at some point. but maybe it was easier for you to move on." he didn't mean to rant, though his voice never became raised or heated. as the final words tumble from his lips, he once again realizes he regrets it. is that just the theme of the night, alex regretting every interaction he has with sarang?

"sorry," he rakes his hand through his hair, jaw tight. "forget all that too, if you can. i'm fine. i've got other friends here i can crash with if i need to." he sighs again. "i should go, though. sorry."

there's an admittedly large part of sarang that regrets pushing alex away from him, and that's painful for him to realize. for a millisecond, all he wanted was to lean into him and indulge in the beauty of their past. maybe it's overly sentimental, but he remembers every kiss they had; how alex, through his actions alone, could make him feel so wanted and special. it was something unlike he's ever experienced before. being a rather verbal person, sarang shows love and affection through his mouth. he's abundantly generous with compliments, sweet nothings, and affirmations, and he's perfectly fluent in the language of romance. as a master wordsmith, he puts his dulcet imaginings into mellifluous statements effortlessly. however, having someone who expresses their heart through primal motions alone excited him, and he loved learning how to convey his own emotions through his body, too, as opposed to his mind. the exchange of their differences was something he loved, and still loves.

that's why when alex apologizes for kissing him so suddenly, it breaks sarang's heart. he doesn't want him to feel sorry for expressing himself with honesty. if anything, alex's candor is one thing that sarang adores about him, so hearing him be regretful over what just happened is out of character. it tells sarang that alex isn't telling the truth. he frowns, but tries to conceal it by pursing his lips together; limbs beginning to shake with tension and nervousness. it seems that he isn't being his usual self either. "i don't think i can forget that it happened, alex..." his voice is soft, barely audible even, but loud enough to be heard. "i never forget your kisses."

completely disarmed, the mask alex rightfully accuses him of wearing cracks; exposing fragments of his raw being. having grown so comfortable not pretending around the other man, it's difficult for him to remain composed, but he's hanging on for dear life. "w—what did you forget?" he asks, hoping that his question won't be dodged. "and it's okay, alex... please don't regret it," as the words leave his mouth, he's not sure if they're ones he should've said, but he means them, and that's something he can't deny. "d—do you need help getting home? i can walk with you..."

[mihai-florescu]

Hand over all your Tsumugi Headcanons asap. If you dont have anny hand over all the lore insted

Ive been in a bit of a slump creatively lately so i feel like i forgot any and all headcanons i ever had. I hoped i'd get better, i didnt, and having an unanswered asks bothers me so i'll be very boring in my reply.

Tsumugi's easy to misinterpret. He's clumsy and caring, but he also never lets any task he starts unfinished. He can be surprisingly cold, i think, because he sees himself as unaffected by what's happening around him.

Backstory wise, we know his mom falls prey easily to scam organizations (i believe it was mentioned theyre religious in nature, but i have to double check, it was definitely in Element). This lead to her losing money, a divorce, having to close the dance school she had where Tsumugi and Natsume met as kids. Tsumugi has an older brother who is distant from the family, presumably because of his mom's actions.

Despite all of this drama, Tsumugi doesn't resent his family. It was also a miscalculation on Eichi's part when he assumed Tsumugi was his friend cuz he wanted money to distance himself from his mom. Which was never the case. I personally would love more Tsumugi family lore, i want to meet his brother in the future, but alas, this is what we know so far.

When you think of the war, you condemn Eichi and Keito, but overlook that Tsumugi was just as much involved in scheming as the rest. He didnt start the war, but he was invested in seeing the plan finished, even after he got cast aside, he never neglected his duties down to the burning of the documents. He admits multiple times he sees what they did as a necessary action and never regrets it. But because he believed so much in Eichi and didn't want to acknowledge that it was a contract based friendship, you can't help but feel bad for Tsumugi. You're more willing to forgive him and pretend he was just manipulated by Eichi. Even Madara seems to have fallen for this and to be on good terms with Tsumugi now despite the animosity he holds towards the people who actively participated in the war.

Tsumugi adapts easily. It's part of his objective "i dont feel pain" persona he puts up. The main role he plays is that of bluebird of happiness, at first for Eichi, then for everyone else as a way to make up for the pain they've caused in the war. And this just makes him seem trustworthy and pleasant to talk to, it's why he has so many connections. He also seems to know a lot of secrets because of this persona. The younger characters see him as a caring older brother, but the rest just see him as inoffensive. Rei in particular is known to just. Share random secrets about other characters with Tsumugi.

Idk if anything im saying really matters, let's go in speculation territory. I cannot provide answers in the form of headcanons as requested, but i can provide questions. Im very curious how the story wouldve progressed if Tsumugi had been part of Valkyrie instead of Fine. Cuz we know he was in the handicrafts club, he stopped attending cuz it became more of a Valkyrie hangout spot, we know he adapts easily if he believes in a cause; i think he couldve followed Shu's demands if he could get himself to care for their artistic goals. And I really dont think the war wouldve been won by the student council if this had been the case. Shu and Natsume would also not have been part of the oddballs. Idk im not really going anywhere with this train of thought, im just saying Tsumugi was essential to the war and the narrative to progress as it did.

[sweetescapeartist]

I watched Saiyan Scholar's video "Could Vegeta BEAT Android 18 if he wasn't a SUPER SAIYAN Fanboy"

Here is my rebuttal.

There's a point Saiyan Scholar makes that No.18 dodged Vegeta's attack instead of tanking it. He expresses that 18 dodged because she isn't all that much stronger than Vegeta. I disagree because 18's main reason for dodging is because she didn't want her clothes to get torn up. That's Toriyama's joke. 18 was just toying with him.

Then Saiyan Scholar says that 18 is only as strong as 2 Super Saiyans and a Namekian combined without counting Krillin & Tenshinhan. He got this idea because No.17 said that 18 can't fight all the Z Warriors on her own. My issue with this statement is that Krillin & Tenshinhan have techniques that could assist the others on their team. Its not only about power. Krillin could use Solar Flare on her (like the weaker Cell used on Poccolo), Tenshinhan uses the Tri-Beam to temporarily slow her down (like he did with Cell), then Piccolo, Trunks, or Vegeta could use a deadly attack and finish her off. Power is important but being overwhelmed is important too when it comes to battle. The Androids are aware of the Z Fighters abilities because of the data they have on them. This is why 17 said 18 can't handle all of them. Plus this version of the Z Warriors are much stronger than their future counterparts.

Next, Scholar says that stamina is the main reason why 18 defeated Vegeta. Then, he uses an analogy of 2 cars both going 200mph but 1 can maintain that speed infinitely while the other can only maintain top speed for only 5 seconds. A more accurate analogy would be Car#1 maxing out at 300mph, while Car#2 maxes out at 100mph. Car#1 can also maintain that speed infinitely, while Car#2 can only max out for 5 seconds. His example was an attempt to make Vegeta appear stronger than what he actually was. The video is to appease Vegeta fans, so I understand why. But this is MISINFORMATION.

He then mentions that 18 could not defeat Vegeta with raw strength because Vegeta was on par with her power. He believes 18 had to resort to wearing Vegeta down to exhaust him in order to win the battle. He is 100% wrong. Trunks joins in and 18 effortlessly blocks his sword that Trunks put everything into to kill her. (He skips over that part.) This means 18 was barely trying when fighting Vegeta. The heroes & Vegeta just aren't strong enough currently. Trunks even says these androids are much stronger than the ones in his timeline & he still can't defeat his own androids. They all literally stood zero chance, even after training & having an additional Super Saiyan to help.

Before Vegeta began losing stamina, 18 & Vegeta both stopped holding back. 18's headbutt clearly hurt Vegeta, then Vegeta responded with a powerful punch to 18's stomach. 18 was unaffected & even smiled because the attack didn't hurt her. Then 18 kneed Vegeta in the stomach, as to which Vegeta showed pain. VEGETA WAS WEAKER THAN 18.

Later, after Vegeta trains in the Room of Spirit & Time, 18 wonders if Vegeta was pretending to be weak. This gives more evidence that Vegeta was much weaker than 18 & he didn't stand a chance. 18 literally said Vegeta was weak when she fought him.

He then compares Piccolo vs 17 to Vegeta vs 18. Terrible comparison. Vegeta and other Super Saiyans stood zero chance until they went into the RoSaT, & Piccolo stood zero chance unless he merged with Kami. It is what it is. Vegeta stood no chance against 18, Piccolo could fight equally with 17 until he got tired AFTER Piccolo got stronger. Saiyan Scholar implies that Vegeta's mindset is the reason why he lost. This is only partially true. Both Vegeta & Piccolo had the mindset to kill the androids. Mindset, power, stamina & skill have much to do with victory. Vegeta only had the mindset while Piccolo had 3 our of 4 to win the battle.

Underestimating your opponent is a problem but that isn't the only reason why Vegeta lost & continues to lose in the future. It's underestimating his opponent, lack of power, & lack of skill. Look at Krillin on Namek. He was the 2nd most skilled fighter and the 4th most level headed fighter (Goku, Piccolo, & Freeza), but he was the weakest out of the main fighters there. Despite the power difference, he survived for a long time and was even the first to greatly damage Freeza. (Yes, he did almost die to 2nd form Freeza, but he was sacrificing himself so Dende could live. Go read the chapter again.) When Vegeta fought 18, he was not level headed & he lacked the power. But Vegeta was a more skillful fighter 18. Vegeta's own skill combined with 18 holding back are the main reasons why Vegeta didn't get defeated much sooner.

The hypotheticals that Saiyan Scholar uses of how Vegeta could have defeated 18 would be the same as me saying that Krillin could have defeated Vegeta & Nappa with his Scatter Kamehameha if the Saiyans didn't put their gaurd up.

Although Krillin nearly killed Nappa & Vegeta multiple times later, so its not the same hypothetical because Krillin stood more of a chance of winning.

Another would be that Krillin could have defeated Freeza after blinding him. This one is not likely because Krillin used most of his energy when he threw a barrage of Destructo Disks at Freeza. This is why Krillin asked for Vegeta to finish Freeza off for him.

But Krillin could have killed Freeza with his first Destructo Disk if Freeza didn't barely dodge outof the way. So again, Krillin had a better chance of winning than Vegeta did against 18.

When Vegeta fought 18, he had little to no chance of winning. The most logical way for him to win would be to blow up the planet.

This is just another example of Saiyan wanking. More accurately, Vegeta wanking. Simple as that.

Vegeta gets stronger soon afterwards anyway, so there is no point in giving him this "hypothetical" victory over 18. I know what the point of videos like these are tho. This one in particular is, MAKE VEGETA LOOK LIKE HE COULD HAVE WON AGAINST 18. THIS WAY WE CAN ERASE ONE OF VEGETA'S BIGGEST EMBARRASSMENTS. THAT IS... "VEGETA LOST TO A WOMAN" (an innocent woman that Vegeta kept disrespecting and trying to murder).

When certain Vegeta fans or Vegeta sympathizers/appeasers constantly try to make it appear that Vegeta could have won battle he had no chance of winning, they are unknowingly saying that Vegeta sucks. If he could have won so many battle but lost them, despite being more skilled or smarter, then he sucks at combat. If Vegeta is almost as strong as 18 & she is a very inexperienced fighter, that means Vegeta sucks because he lost to her.

If Vegeta is just outmatched by a great power gap, but trains later to surpass his opponents, then he isn't a terrible fighter. He was just temporarily weaker & overconfident.

[rebuildeds]

fortnas:

he wishes she'd been there. or doesn't, really, but thinks that this would all be easier if she had been - words escape him more often than ever, these days, and ned would appreciate any EDGE that he could get. what happened to lucius malfoy was horrifying. he knew that. he's not so gone as to miss it, not so void as to think otherwise or to be so wholly unaffected by what he'd witnessed to pretend. but in not wanting to dwell on the image or spend any more time than he has to unpacking what it means, the fresh horror the death eaters are unleashing, the fact that if they're so willing to employ such a curse on one of their OWN then the next one to fall could be any one of them - well... that's the problem. he's closing up, again, same as he always does, and he knows that, too, but the only way she could understand ( at least as far as he's concerned ) is if she'd seen it with her own two eyes and she didn't, so here they stand : her distress an obvious thing, his impassiveness damning.

he wants... he doesn't know what he wants. can't even bring himself to step out of the danger zone as she approaches, doesn't even fight it when she reaches for the glass and takes it from him, can't find the words of accusation that would give him that temporary sense of triumph he chased for so long, when they still lived together. he wants everything. to have his cake & eat it too ; win the argument they've been stuck in for so many years, emerge victorious, and have her look at him with something more than the pain he causes her, for once. that's probably part of the problem. if he could just set aside that need to be right that had governed his every, mistaken step...- his expression is guarded, lips pressed in a tight line, and he winces. it's only a small thing. he's had much WORSE, so ned has framed the wound in such a way that even when he had actively been bleeding he was boxing the hurt of it away, but that involuntary twitch and the way his eyes glaze, just a bit, will tell her everything. he's at war with himself & his own miserable instincts, his frustration so poised to always get the better of him, even when what he wants...- he exhales, shakily, his gaze downturned. "what if...-" ned swallows, thickly, voice cracking when it matters. he brushes the thumb of the hand held in her own against hers, his chest aching, and mumbles, in spite of himself, "what if that isn't what i want to ask for ?"

clementine can't help the leap in her throat when she reads his micro-expressions and her instincts are borne out. it's equal parts distressing and comforting to know that this part of him hasn't changed, is still an open book waiting for her to thumb through the pages. there's always anger and aching : you never did ask for that, either, and it's too little, too late is on the tip of her tongue – but the weight of a hundred past arguments along the same lines push against her jaw at the last second. why would this one result in anything different? she hadn't enjoyed the last fifty conversations that had started that way, after all. she notices, offhand, the crack in ned's voice and the way his eyes drop : it gets filed away in a small, secret, romantic part of her brain to overanalyse later like a lovesick teenager.   “ somehow i don't think that'd help your arm, soldier. ”   clementine ventures instead, smile teasing and tone light. she squeezes his hand when she feels the thumb along the back of her own, the ache in her chest singing out a sad, lonely lullaby. 

“ right. ” the word echoes in the space between them.    “ shirt off, let me see it. ”     it's the firm but fair, stern but caring tone she'd had to employ on more than a handful of difficult patients who only ever seemed to respond appropriately to the tough love approach. it's the tone she's had to use on him before. then, after an absurd moment of silence when what she actually said settles in her brain, she laughs a small, short, breathy laugh. clem steps on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek, trying to communicate in that one gesture that the laugh isn't at his expense but her own, moving away with one last squeeze to his hand, reluctantly putting a step's distance between them. “ i mean – merlin. at the least – roll up your sleeves. ” it always feels like a loss to let him see how much he still can fluster her, so clem dips her head in the hopes it'll make the heat on her cheeks a little less obvious.

[dontjudgemeimawriter]

Character Intro: Mika

My-kah

Medium brown skin, straight and thick dark hair. Hair is usually done in a braid or ponytail, and she dresses mildly preppy, an unassuming style.

“I don’t relish in every detail of a murder, thank you very much.”

-

“You going to tell on me?” She raised an eyebrow. I think she worded it childishly on purpose, to discourage me.

-

“And okay, I get it. Nyp, like okay. Zachary does the same thing, keeping his guard up. Honestly, most people do. But most of the time, even with him, it’s subtle. I still get a feeling of them, there’s just a suppression of some kind. But with you it’s like a freaking wall.”

Mika is a combination of petty and mothering. Unaffected, she feels all emotions very deeply, meaning when she's angry she's very angry and usually not afraid to tell people what she thinks of them. But for people she cares about she is deeply loving and protective of-- something that really does go hand in hand.

I say "unaffected." Mika, like her twin brother Raymond, is a Nyp, with powers over the mind. She's most in touch with emotions and is able to manipulate both other's and her own.

Although in actuality this is not true, this is how Mika knows things to be: both she and her brother were taken in by, manipulated by, and trained by Zachary, though Raymond always got more attention. Mika was used to following her brother's lead as a child, used to him getting more praise-- he was a natural at most things, but she never resented him for it, because they were always partners. Her caution balanced his determination.

But then Raymond made a decision on his own. When he decided he could no longer do what Zachary wanted him to do, he risked his own life to save a target. He did survive it, but with the betrayal came the punishment he seemed to accept: death. Leaving her there, alone.

Should she follow his lead? Is he a better person for dying for his morals, while she keeps her head down and does what is asked of her to survive? (And to protect her younger brother, but I may take out that character).

Sometimes I wonder, am I just too weak? Too scared to resist that I can’t do what’s right? I hate myself whenever I twist someone’s mind, taking their pain and extrapolating it. And everytime it comes back to Raymond died because he couldn’t stand to do this. 

But also? He left us for his morals. And I don’t know if I’m mad at him for it or admire him. But I’ve decided. I’m not too weak, I’m sticking it out, I’m not going to leave Cecil behind. Not until he’s safe. I can’t hate Raymond, though. I get it, I get him. I understand him better than anyone else, and being a Nyp makes it so I understand everyone really well.

Mika is greiving her brother, battling between anger and sadness. While her powers over emotions still give her value to Zachary, she hates what she does for it, but surviving is worth it. Rather than rebellion, she numbs herself to it-- turning off her own emotions when it's too much.

Raymond had hated when I did, after all. He said I’d left, that he missed me. And you know what, Raymond, I miss me too, but you left me alone here, where I have to pretend I’m okay, where I don’t get to be me anymore. Because being me, feeling things, it’s a weakness here. I can’t show it. Not to the person who ordered your death and the person who executed it. 

But okay. I won’t numb myself, not just because I hated you, but because I don’t have any other way of keeping you in my life. And I so want you in my life. 

She doesn't trust those around her, surrounded by her brother's killers and suck alongside them. But she's not trusted either, which frustrates her. Someone always watching her, partially because Raymond betrayed them and she never lets them think she doesn't hate what they have her do. Zachary doesn’t trust she's going to do what she's told. Terran doesn’t seem to trust her either. Mika grew up in a loving home where she could depend on others and now no one trusts her and she can't relax around anyone. Is it for the same reason no one trusts Nyps, because of what Raymond did, or something else, something about her? But why does she even care-- no one here is worth trusting because when it comes down to it none of them have any morals.

But can she really say that when she's doing the same thing? Does openly hating it really make a difference?

Sometimes all you can do is mess with other's plans in a way that keeps you out of it, keeps you from being the threat. No one here really deserves the kindness of keeping things to herself. Being angry at them is so much easier than questioning if they deserve it, so it's the best way to operate. Be annoying, get under their skin, reveal their secrets, make their lives more complicated, because it's their fault hers is.

Mika is aroace! Doesn't really come up much but she is. I think if she ever let herself get close to someone outside her family she may want a qpr, but no one in her life would be a partner for that and Mika's focus is on escape. She's prepared to live on her own, and may not be able to trust anyone else anyway.

Picrew

[madefate-a]

it was easy to fend off harrow. pretend his grief matters more. she can't do that with gren, and there is something in how he looks at her that gets right into the cracks of her composure. "i don't know what to do now," she signs, her hand shaking. she admits it to him before she can think better of it: "i wish it was me, not her." she presses her armoured fist against her mouth and cries, a choked, low-pitched, ugly sound she can't hear. "i'm so sorry. i should be stronger than this."

       Just because he knows that this must be the way of things, now, does not make it any easier to weather. But that is -- understandable. That’s the way of things, in the wake of tragedy. It’s not meant to be easy, so he does not hide the way his expression softens so much more than he allows in public -- does not hide the way he watches and waits when he returns to her side. It would take an unfeeling heart to remain steady, unaffected, by what has transpired, and Gren knows how deeply and profoundly the General feels. 

       But knowing what will happen and that it cannot, should not, be easy does not make it any less staggering to watch Amaya’s composure tremble into pieces when they are alone. For a moment, his breath catches in his throat and it’s a dizzying thing, to realize all at once that seeing her grief so viscerally means that her pain must be vast enough to fill the great ocean -- that she trusts him with it, and the rush of sorrow and uncertainty and the kind thing in his chest that burns with how she has given him the privilege of allowing him to be here with her -- his throat locks. 

       It’s a good thing he doesn’t need it. 

       He did not know the queen as well as wished he had been able to, and yet he still knows enough to think the world darker for the loss of her light. But even if he feels aching in his bones that the solution is never one life for another -- that the world would be just as dark without amaya’s light -- that is not the point of what she is saying and this is not the place to argue. Not with that. 

      Gren waits just long enough to know that she is looking. His own eyes well unabashedly -- moved by the loss of someone whose presence radiated throughout the kingdom, the loss of someone that someone he cares for so deeply loved so fiercely. By the sight of his General, his champion, his friend, in so much pain. But his hands are firm with conviction as he tells her, ❝ This is also your strength. ❞ 

       If she wants him to explain, he can, at length. That her kind heart and her love are strengths. that her ability to trust in the throes of grief is strength. But he doesn’t wait for her to ask before crossing the distance between them, taking one of her shaking hands in his, then pulling her into the circle of his arms. 

// send me things & accepting & @largehearts

[thoughtdumpshitposts]

Emotional Breakdowns Lead To Passably Poetic Ramblings

26.06.21

word count: 2.15K

I never write because I need everything I write to be evocative. I need it to be painful. What's the point of writing something if the reader doesn't hurt? It hurt me to write this, and I hope it hurts you to read.

I've always imagined putting my thoughts into words, but I don't know if I want them to be on paper or my phone. Digital is easy, it's good, it's clean. It's easy to edit, to navigate, to save; it'll probably live on forever. It won't erode and disappear like the writing journal I had for six years, eaten away by the same termites who ate my entire closet from the inside. His name was Reggie, and he deserved better. I'd kept him safe in the closet, but I learnt too late that nothing was safe in the closet. Nothing physical, existing is ever safe from the World and it's beasts – Man or insect.

But paper is personal, it's real. It's beautiful. Sure, sometimes my brain and heart think of words faster than my hands can keep up, and the words are barely legible and my hand-writing's not pretty anyway, but that's the beauty of it. That's what makes it mine. But someone I know can stumble upon these words and read the truth of my existence. But maybe I want them to stumble upon it, one day. Maybe I want them to find my words and understand, really understand, who I was and what I am and what I kept locked up inside of me. That I wasn't some selfish, ill-mannered brat. That I really loved them, but sometimes it was hard. My mother always tells me no one can ever trust anyone but family, that even if she screams and shouts and scolds at first, at the end of the day she'll always have my back, and I know that's the truth.

But my cousin molested my other cousins and I, and she cried when she found out after years because she had to hear it from the other side of the family, and she cried because she'd told me so many times that she'll always have my back if something like that happened to me and she keeps saying family and family and family, and trust and trust and trust and how family is my parents and brothers and that's all we can ever trust but how do I tell her that the reason I said nothing when my cousin did it was because I was used to staying silent when my brother did? It's all so funny because I was blessed enough to have been born to parents who would never blame me for being abused in a society in which the blame- and shame-game is prevalent, but what do you do when the victim is your daughter and the abuser is your son – your firstborn, the first "nawasa" in the family, your pride and joy, the prince charming. You've loved him for seven more years than you've loved me. I understand. You don't deserve to suffer the truth. I saw how you were when you found out the truth about the cousin, I remember the things you said about family and trust. I know you have your own issues. You don't deserve to suffer. You don't. I love you all. So much. So so much. I won't let you suffer. I won't let you be the collateral to his sins. I'll protect you, and you'll never know.

And I'm okay, so why would I say anything? When we're happy and whole and great? Why would I say anything when I'm actually, genuinely fine and unaffected? Why would I ruin us? How could I say anything? And I'm fine, I really am. I'm okay. And I know my friends think I'm gaslighting myself when I say that I'm fine and it hasn't effected me much and it wasn't that bad because I was never actually physically hurt, but it's true. I'm used to laughing and loving the people I hate. I'm used to hating the people I love without an ounce of real hatred. I know what it sounds like, but it really isn't that way. It's okay. I'm okay, and no one should worry, even if sometimes I want everyone to worry. Even if sometimes I want everyone's pity and attention and love and sympathy, and I want them to hurt for me, like I hurt for the people I love. Sometimes I just want validation, I want people to know everything so they understand me. But everyone wants to be understood, so that's nothing special. I'm okay, and that is the only thing what matters.

I wasn't raped; I was molested. There's a difference.

I wasn't raped, and honestly I only remember a few instances with clarity. Everything else is a blur – it's all just snippets and flashes of memory spun together to make a vague, dramatic montage. But I wasn't ever physically hurt, and of course I know that it was still terrible and horrible and I didn't deserve it, but understand that it wasn't as bad as it sounds. I'm fine and genuinely, actually okay and I'm only affected when I have a mental breakdown, but that's almost always because I'm pms-ing. And it hasn't happened in a while now. It stopped. I think it's been four years? And it happened for five? six? I was 9 or 10 when it started? And he was 16 or 17? Okay, that – Oh, God oh fuck that sounds bad doesn't it? I'm 18. My younger brother is 10. I couldn't imagine– I can't. God.

But it actually wasn't as bad as it sounds. I was asleep – of course I wasn't asleep (but I think sometimes I must've been? I don't know) – but I was "asleep" when he did what he did. And he did do a lot, to be honest. His hands, everywhere on me. His mouth – everywhere. His–

Why is it so hard to write? I think it's harder to write than it is to think and speak of it.

But I don't know what happened to me. I don't know. I don't remember what happened. I wish I'd kept a better record, but I didn't. Oh, I remember a lot of things that happened, but I don't remember it all. I wish I did but I really don't. I wish I could read and revisit and do a shitty psychoanalysis of him. But I can't, and now he's the only one who knows what really happened, and I'll have to live with it.

There were no words. Never any words, never any pain. So again, I'm fine, and I'm okay. And he's great and fun and funny and I love him and I care about him and I'm always joking with him and he's a terrible person and I hate him and I wish I knew how his brain works and what he was thinking and still thinks and I'll never forgive him, but it's okay. It's really okay. As long as I was the only one who suffered. As long as I'm the only one who continues to suffer for my silence.

I think the only reason I still think about it so much is because I never got closure. I never got an explanation. I never understood why. I don't know if he's an irredeemable monster or if he at least feels guilty. I don't know what he was thinking, because there were never any words. And I'm glad there weren't any words and I was "asleep" because it makes it easier to interact with him and pretend it never happened, that it was someone else and everything's still okay.

But there were never any words, so I don't have anything to work with. Nothing to draw conclusions from, nothing to psychoanalyze him with. I don't know what he was thinking, I don't know what happened. I want closure, I want to understand. But I'm scared of whatever will lead up to the conversation, and the conversation itself. I'm scared of the acknowledgment and how it'll change everything irrevocably. I'm scared of getting closure, but I need it too. I need to understand.

Did you feel bad? Did you think of how it'll hurt me? Did it hurt you? Or were you indifferent to it all? Did you just not care or –fuck–was it some big joke? Was it funny? Was it amusing? Do you feel entitled to me? How fucking dare you? How could you? How fucking could you? You loved me. You were great to me, you still are sometimes. You're my big brother, man. I loved you. I love you. You were supposed to be my hero and I fucking swear to God you were. What the fuck happened to you? What made you this way? How could you do that to me? How could you do that and still look at me in the fucking eye? How? Why? I deserve to know.

But please don't tell me. I don't know what I'll do if I find out the extent of your monstrosity. I don't want you to fall even lower. I like to think you can't, but I know that's not true. Especially after what I learnt about Z- There's always room to fall.

But anyway – Reggie. I'd been brave enough to write a chapter of my life for the first time in that journal. It was the last story Reggie got to know. I'd never been brave enough to actually write about how I'd been hurt. I could never even write his name when I tried to make a record of what I went through – I was always smart (or sentimental?) enough to try and and keep a record, some proof, dated and organized. I was smart enough – but not brave. Maybe because my coping mechanism was pretending he was two different people, or maybe because writing it would make it real; I'd lived long enough without acknowledging it (even more so without understanding it), maybe if I ignored it long enough it would just go away. But the story I wrote in it wasn't even about that exactly. It was an older story; It was about how all of it might've been my fault. About how maybe I was always a fucked up child. But the story also brings me comfort – it reminds me that I've always been me, that the person I am today is because of the person I always was. That there was no influence that made me this way. I am what I was.

The termites consuming Reggie also reminded me of the old Islamic story about how the Boycott of Banu Hashim ended – the parchment holding the banishment declaration by the Meccans had been eaten by termites, except for the word Allah – the name of God. I thought it'd be interesting if this was God's way of sending me some message I have yet to decipher.

But I don't believe in God. Maybe life would've been easier if I did; if I could have found peace in He who I could not see, could not touch. If I could've found the same relief that my friends and family find in His words, His presence.

But I never felt His presence. I tried, I really did (maybe I didn't, maybe I should've tried harder?). During my last try, I made the resolution to offer all my prayers one Ramadan. I thought if I manage to nail down all the worship obligations, actual faith might follow somehow.

I lasted two days. I cried on the prayer mat during Fajr both times, like my mother does all the time, but I doubt it was for the same reasons as her, or lead to the same result. I did not feel at peace, and I did not feel seen and heard by the Creator; I had never felt more alone, more abandoned. My heart did not feel a little less heavy; it had never felt heavier.

I cried because I was desperate the cycle wouldn't repeat. I wanted to believe there was someone who could make it stop, someone who could make sure that others didn't follow in his footsteps. It did stop, eventually. But I think that's just how it was supposed to be – not because some deity cared enough to make it stop. He doesn't care about us, but if you don't agree with that, I envy you. I wish I believed what you believe.

But I'm also glad I don't. So I will just exist, till one day I don't. And you won't remember me, and He won't care, and no one will greet me at the Gates of Heaven or throw me in the depths of Hell, because neither exist.

I hope.