#so i wrote this to cope

[fatuismooches]

hii i really love the way you write dottore and his segments. i’m not sure if you’ve done this already, but would you write something like a really shy reader and akademiya dottore? like, zandik? i was thinking like zandik thinks shy reader is the least annoying person around the akademiya and he finds them a tiny bit cute

(//∇//)

Being in the Akademiya meant having a sufficient place to conduct research, but it was hindered by the amount of loud-mouthed, bumbling scholars he was constantly surrounded by. Peers going on and on about their superficial research... it was tiring, and yet Zandik was forced to work with them. But you, you were different.

It had taken a while for him to notice you (he tends not to pay attention to his classmates in general so that's already a feat) because no one seemed to talk to you. Were you perhaps, an outcast as well? Soon enough, Zandik found out it was not the case, you were simply shy. Someone who got quiet and timid in the presence of others. As rude as it might sound, he thought you were perfect to keep around. Someone who wouldn't rattle his eardrums the whole time!

So the next time another team project was assigned, he made his move. You rubbed your neck awkwardly, watching everyone scamper around for groups as you looked on helplessly. You always hated being left in the lurch like this, but by the time you built up any courage, everyone was already done. But that was when none other than the Outcast approached you with an unreadable look. You could already feel your heart racing and only responded with a slightly agape jaw and head nod.

In an odd way, it's a bit... nice to know you treat him in the same shy manner as you do with others. He's not singled out when you give him fluttering glances. But he is rewarded when you give him lengthier sentences and gentle smiles. Over time, he starts making excuses to keep you around more than what was required, although you're a bit confused. You'd thought he'd find you annoying by now, especially with your shyness, even more so when you compare it with his grouchy, more abrasive personality...

"Oftentimes, it's fools who have the biggest mouth that spew the most ludicrous ideas. Why do people listen to them? Because they believe that since someone is loud, they must be right. But you are different. I don't mind if you are shy. If anything, it makes your expressions more amusing."

[elsecrytt]

masochist gojo. gojo who's in love with pain, so much that it feels like pleasure, he can barely distinguish between the two anymore.

gojo who's so starved for touch. who's had an infinite space between himself and the whole world for so long, for so many years, every day in and day out.

gojo who's survived off glancing presses when a barista hands him a coffee, the rare hug from his students (who are mostly orphans) that he can't bring himself to decline.

gojo who craves more but can't bring himself to accept it except in fleeting moments with strangers or students.

his hands that long to be held. he wants it so bad that he teases a cursed spirit, laces his fingers with its own, right before he utterly crushes the being in battle, untouchable all over again.

gojo whose skin is hungry for someone else's. he hasn't felt the warmth of a hand in his own in so long. not since - since his youth.

gojo who sometimes wishes he could get hit. who sees the impact of curse techniques on his infinity and feels a wild, strange desire for them to go straight through and strike him.

he imagines it, vividly, being impaled by a long spear (inverted spear) that goes straight through him. how it would lance his flesh so cleanly.

being struck so hard, across the face, in the stomach, enough to knock the wind out of him.

enough to feel it with his whole body.

gojo who wants to be touched so bad he doesn't even care if it hurts anymore. infinity couldn't protect him from geto's betrayal.

gojo who keeps infinity up not because he doesn't want to get hit, but because he's terrified of what he might do when it happens.

gojo who got hard whenever geto sparred with him. he still doesn't know if it was because of geto, or because he had no infinity back then, no way to block the strikes.

he dreams of his youth. bruises littering his pale, pretty form like kisses, proof that he was human, there, that there was someone who could reach him.

dark purple things that turned pretty colors as they healed. he remembers pressing into them, relishing the hurt, feeling like he was getting hit (touched, reached, connected) all over again.

nothing ever touches him again. not like that. not like anything.

he never feels it. he never feels anything.

satoru gojo who wants, so very very badly, to feel something.

pain is a choice for him, always a choice. he alone has the privilege of deciding whether or not anything can touch him.

he could try to let more strangers touch him. one night stands, discreet arrangements. he had a pretty face and a body to match. there was no shortage of willing partners.

he lets them touch him, lets them hurt him. lets them drool over his body and use it at their leisure. they tell him he's beautiful, and he believes them.

white hair, blue eyes, sprawled out with a lean, unmarred body full of bare flesh for them to bite and scratch and bruise. he finds people who will do it, do it hard, fuck him up until he's lost entirely in the feeling of being touched, having someone against him, with him, above him.

it makes him feel like a piece of meat. it makes him feel good.

or he thinks it does, anyways.

sometimes, when he's gone particularly long without sleep, when his partner has gone particularly hard, he gets a real rush.

heart racing out of his chest. a cold sweat that overwhelms him. breaths coming in labored gasps. he can heal himself, he's physically fine, so this must all be in his head.

he acknowledges that information, distantly, like it's not happening to him. it doesn't help.

it feels like part of his body has been ripped away from him, something vital and important, and it's about to get up and run away.

always, always, it happens when his partner is no longer touching him. when he lays alone in the sheets, by his own volition, because of course these partners are not meant to be attachments.

love is not a privilege, though, not for the strongest sorcerer. it's a curse.

it's the only curse which infinity cannot protect him from.

so gojo stays untouchable. distant.

but the hunger doesn't go away. never.

he likes to imagine that suguru swallowed this one last curse before he died. something sweet and bitter, like losses at the arcade, sunny days at the beach, walking together with shoko, nanami, haibara.

but even suguru couldn't have absorbed this curse. it's in his bones, deep, longing and wanting even after he's dead and gone.

gojo is hungry. he is so, so hungry. and he has nothing to eat that will not leave him just as empty as before.

touch-starved. love-starved. pain-craving.

if someone could hurt him then it wouldn't matter that he was terrified of attachment. they could latch onto him, into his heart, under his skin. bury themselves in his chest like they belonged.

they could kill a hundred and twelve people and it wouldn't matter, because he wouldn't be able to kill them.

gojo is hungry, so hungry.

please feed him.

[charon-cries]

when OTHER people try to distract or comfort themselves, they call it "coping" and "self-soothing," but when i do it, it's a "mental compulsion" and "you have OCD"

[kira-loves0905]

Zayne can pretty much have a decent memory of his drunk stupors.

but this night, it felt different. he was so high off charts he just knew that he can peacefully accept not even remembering this the next day.

so high.

so good.

so intoxicating.

she was a beauty, one that catched his eye— no, she captured his soul. gripping it tightly that it would hurt if he was far from her. Zayne can resign to his fate, he can drown in your love. he just needed you. all of you.

"you did that on purpose," gripping your chin firmly with one hand, the other on the small of your back. "bargaining with sweets."

the effect of the special treat made him woozy. his mouth slurring to a rhythm of words he doesn't use often, but when he does, you know you're done for.

though, his movements were still gentle, the same Zayne that swept you off your feet.

his grunts and quiet whimpers ring your ears. the clatter of books, the tantalizing graze of his hand on the plush of your thighs, the soft thud of your body against the window. everything was a blur with his myriad of affections.

"I can't," Zayne grips your arm, a warring battle to himself. leaning his head against your shoulder.

all this time, he stopped himself from pursuing past this. like a line he shouldn't cross.

he can't...

or won't?

but would he really let go of this moment? this tension that built up to the brim, bursting to the seams on how he kept holding back.

Zayne knew his decisions doesn't only affect himself, but also you.

how many times should he keep you hanging? to be this patient (pun intended) little lover of his, he's amazed you haven't gone mad (yet).

can he keep up the pretense of being preserved? his body won't move to what his mind screams for him, to pull away. and so, his heart finally decides what he truly desires.

it ends today.

[buttercupshands]

MHA didn't create some miracle way of helping others. It was never promised to be this way. And when it came to villains...

Spoilers for manga all the way to chapter 423.

The only way to get anything in life in MHA was to be born "normal" like everyone else and that way of thinking never left Izuku with Toga getting the same treatment she did before from everyone from her family to her "normal" classmates. It was Ochako who helped Toga even if just a little by lifting the weight of all the feelings that Toga had.

She couldn't save Toga the way one could save a civilian by saving them from harm. If it worked that way Dabi would've saved Toga even before Ochako could apologize for failing to notice Toga. She was so lazer focused on saving everyone else, that she was just another villain to stop, not a human.

Even if by the end of it Ochako helped Toga to deal with her grief, acceptance as it was wasn't something possible when a quirk makes you want to drink someone's blood from jealousy.

We got a bittersweet ending with Toga, in which she probably died from blood loss just like her double did in MVA. If it wasn't for Twice she would've died back then.

Giving away her blood for Ochako wasn't a redemption or a way to save Toga in the end, more as it was her being true to herself until the very end.

Just like Twice chose to stay with the League even if Hawks offered him a way to survive that battle. He refused and died protecting his friends who accepted him instead of choosing to betray them and accept Hawks' offer.

After Twice's death... It was a matter of time that more 'active' LoV members would join him as well. As sad as it is, we now can return to Izuku.

Who, after his time OFA-AFO quirk space, now wanted to help a "crying boy" he saw in Tenko just as before with Katsuki in chapter 1. He didn't forgive Tomura and didn't excuse the way he chose to solve his problems.

It didn't mean that Tomura would survive in their battle, even if Izuku didn't see killing others as a way to solve problems. He didn't understand Tomura, but he still wanted to try, and try he did.

The rest of this post was nothing more than a contextual prologue to understand that it's not the first time a hero failed to save a villain and in Twice's case we know that he died and his death was the reason Toga started thinking about her own possible death and Dabi finally revealed himself as Toya.

The goal of saving a "crying boy" never was an end-goal for Izuku in the Final arc, since helping Tomura deal with his feelings just left him hollow with a goal that clashed with Izuku's. As being a hero for villains meant destroying the world for them to help them live freely.

But that was before AFO resurfaced.

Sadly after that Tomura who was talking about making his own choices for a while now stopped doing that. Even if he still had a goal of helping villains and only villains, Tomura was almost gone. And his goals were now unreachable.

Izuku helped Nana who in turn kept Tomura from fading away entirely. In MHA there were countless situations where Izuku's help affected people by helping a different person to keep hope, All-Might being the first one and Nana being the last one at the moment.

Hollow after Izuku helped him to get rid of his hatred Tomura could do the only thing he did - accept the situation as it was.

Accepting AFO as his Sensei, accepting Stain's ideals and Overhaul's deal was the way he solved his problems. Just like Izuku had a problem of understanding something outside of his norm, Tomura was accepting too many things, which lead to his downfall after accepting AFO's quirk.

Just like Twice could've given up everything that he had for his friends so did Tomura.

With Izuku helping as much as he could let Tomura to finally rest as he wasn't really living ever since waking up in the hospital. With his body now affected by AFO's wishes instead of his own until the end.

In a way Izuku didn't succeed in his wish for Tomura to stop ever since PLF war arc. As he "kept fighting to destroy" no matter how hard Izuku tried to stop him.

The only thing he succeeded in was changing Tomura's mind about himself, instead of viewing himself as a monster he accepted that he was a human just like Izuku said. A "crying boy" who couldn't really destroy Izuku's hands in the end.

For a group of Villains who weren't supposed to get profiles of their own at the start of the series, League is slowly fading as the most memorable group that there was in MHA, getting backstories, their own Villain themed arc all the while being as human as anyone else.

As sad as their story is they were not "unlucky", they didn't need a happy false ending where they would need to change to be normal - they chose to live this way and they lived it to it's fullest.

[nonbinarylesbianherb]

guys so overall we know there’s going to be 9 episodes, we’ve already (supposedly) had the trials for jen, alice and agatha, which leaves rio, teen and lilia, which is 3 more episodes, our last one was 5 so it means the trials end at episode 8,

leaving us one more episode.

“episode 9 will be the episode that ties it all together that’s why there’s no trials left for it”

WRONG!!

episode 9 is actually just an entire filler episode of agathario going at it for 30 minutes TRUE!!!

[xdacted]

not here

Pairing: Reader x Carlos Sainz Jr.

Warnings: pure 100% fluff, nothing but fluff, the tiniest hint of angst, but mostly fluff

Word Count: 500

Status: Completed

Carlos didn’t get to see her as often as he wanted. 

He didn’t even get to see her as often as he needed. There was always something pulling him away. Always a phone call to be taken, an autograph to be signed, an interview to be helped - always something. 

But not now. 

Not here. 

Not in the quiet hours of the morning, just before daybreak, the sun resting below the horizon. The moon cast pure light through the windows, moonbeams dancing across their sheets, stars twinkling beside them. Her arms curled around a pillow, legs tangled together. He didn’t know where he began and she ended, but he liked it that way. The lingering night breeze brushed against his bare skin, sweeping through the windows. The world outside fluttered awake, but Carlos had her here. 

Pressed to her back, arms tucked around her waist, buried in the thicket of her hair. Carlos couldn’t see her face, but he had memorized it. Each shadow, each line, each curve - each beautiful feature was committed to memory. The soft sound of her snores filled their room, her heartbeat steady against his skin. 

Not a thing could reach them here. 

He liked it that way. 

Carlos leaned down, pressing a chaste kiss to the exposed skin of her shoulder, “Hermosa.”

His voice was too quiet to wake her, but he liked to see her nose twitch at the sound. 

Beautiful. 

Moments like these, where the world seemed to still for just a second, made the distance agonizing. Separated by oceans, miles of land, hours of the day - it was painful. Race weekends were filled with exhilaration and adrenaline. Race weekends were also filled with a clawing sense of breathlessness. 

He couldn’t breathe. 

But here, laying beside her without a care in the world, he breathed. 

Carlos breathed. 

Inhaling the scent of her shampoo and the dying hints of her perfume, she filled his lungs.

He breathed. 

She turned in his arms with a heavy sigh, burrowing into his chest. Carlos couldn’t help but smile, tightening his arms around her. 

He didn’t see her as often as he wanted, but she was here now. 

Behind him, the sun began to rise, warmth trailing up his back. Soft rays crawled up the sky, spilling across her skin, and coiling in her hair. Carlos leaned down, pressing another kiss to her cheek and neck. She groaned, scrunching her eyebrows together. 

A gentle laugh rumbled from his chest, dropping another kiss to her nose, “Hermosa…”

“...stop watching me sleep…”

Her voice was scratchy and unused, the corner of her lip quirked to reveal the smallest hint of a smile. 

“But you’re so beautiful,” He whispered, nuzzling into her neck, “How can I help myself?”

A giggle fell from her lips like wind chimes singing together - beautiful. 

“It’s creepy,” She stretched, arms winding around his neck, “Better only be for me.”

“Of course,” He said, “No one but you.”

After all, not a thing could reach them. 

Not here. 

_____________________

A/N:This work has been cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. All are under the name XDACTED. Thank you for reading and feel free to request fics about any of the drivers <3

Also this is my attempt at trying to get out of my writing slump, it's short, it's sweet. I like it, so pls enjoy

[charlescoded]

pairing: lestappen word count: 1.3k rated gen. shapeshifting. charles turned into a cat. post-austria 2019. pre-relationship

“Sorry baby,” Max says, and Charles’ chest feels tight. “I want to rewatch the race from last Sunday.” He explains.

-

Max finds a kitten after Austria 2019, he doesn't know it's Charles.

[mcondance]

cw creampie, period sex, bad ending

sighs… creampies from hobie.. thick loads of white cum… hobie breeding you deep as he can, cause he knows that’s rlly all you want right now. fucking his cum deep into you, fat tip leaking white against your cervix, your sore thighs pressed up against his heated chest, legs thrown over his shoulders, your hands thrown around his neck. his hand caressing your hair as he makes sure to rut against you, makes sure you feel every drag of his cock against your sensitive walls, makes sure you feel the base of him slide against your achy entrance, makes sure he ruts his hips against your achy vulva, your lower bodies a mess of cum and blood.

“i know, love, i know. i’ll make it feel better, swear.” and he does, grinding his dick into you until all you feel is white hot pleasure, pulses of ecstasy streaming through you. hands moving from your hair, he swipes his thumb over your puffy clit, pushing his hips into you firm and deep, coasting you into another orgasm that you hit with a gritted moan, head thrown back into the pillows, shaking and trembling in his grasp.

“cum in me, please hobie, i need it.” you almost cry, pulling him closer like he’s not already on top of you, like he hasn’t already filled you up once. he lets you, nodding against your lips, seating himself as deep as he can. slurring, “i got you baby,” he cums pressed against your cervix, fulfilling everything you needed from him. he kisses you as you both come down, lowering your legs to the side of him, gentle lips moving softly against yours.

[electricbathsalt]

It’s starting to feel like the vagueness of Chisaki’s story is in of itself part of his story.

He was a child surviving on the streets after whatever event it was that liberated him from AFO’s care. We don’t see any of that, though—we cut forward to him being taken in by Pops. It shows that Pops is “kind” and “generous”, how he helped Chisaki. How Chisaki got involved with the Shie Hassaikai, why he’s so attached, to the point of doing all he did.

The only parts of his past we get to see where he’s not in the presence of someone else, are the ones that are relevant to someone else’s story (him using rats to figure out Eri’s quirk, him being in the orphanage which we now know was shown to foreshadow the Decay-Overhaul reveal, and his side of that is not touched upon at all).

We’ve all talked endlessly about how short and unclear Chisaki’s backstory is. It’s like they made it as perfectly concise as possible, only what was necessary to push the plot forward and explain what’s going on.

Maybe it’s that the actual point of Chisaki’s story is that his story is not meant to be told, because that is his “tragedy”. Chisaki was never meant to be witnessed in his entirety. His story was never meant to be his own. He will always serve as a tool to someone else’s.

[crow2222]

Two Darry x Paul fic wips I'll probably never finish 💔

———————————————

"Paul. Paul get up, you were gonna drive me home."

Darry shook his boyfriend's shoulder until the other smacked his hand away with a groan.

"That was yesterday. Leave me alone."

"If I come home and everyone's awake, I'm as good as dead."

Paul turned around in the bed then, rubbing his eyes open. "No shit? I thought they weren't strict."

"Well, not really." Darry pulled the covers off Paul, who weakly grabbed at them, before kicking it under the bedframe. "I mean it, I gotta get home- and I ain't walking, no way."

"Okay, okay! Let me find my pants at least, God."

Darry took one last glance at Paul’s bare ass before walking off to Paul's very own car. He'd wished for his own long before his dirty shoes could've even reached the pedals with his toes, but his family could barely afford the one truck they got now.

He wasn't dumb, but maybe a dreamer. A wisher? Darry wasn't quite sure how to describe himself, and that applied to everything.

The car roared to life as the two of them jumped in at the same time. Despite the rushing Darry had done, he was nervous for Paul to be behind the wheel. Was he even aware that he was awake?

Not that Darry had a lot of time to think about that, as the were speeding down the road in record time.

Christmas came and went as per usual, the decorations left behind even into the next year shining bright on the perfectly manicured lawns of the Soc neighbours.

These holidays always felt like it was Darry's. It was his time to shine, even if winter was his least favourite season. Christmas was his. And Paul's. Seeing how his birthday was only a bit before Christmas itself.

Candy canes, stupid sweaters, presents, elves and Santa. Theirs to take and kick down in town. Each cardboard stand and figure, every single one destroyed or stolen for their own pure selfish sake.

Darry suddenly looked down, he was wearing Paul's sweater instead of his own, and when he turned to look over at Paul, low and behold was his sweater. He looked good in it. It's hard to pick up clothes from the ground in the middle of the night with no light.

Maybe this little mix up wouldn't hurt anybody.

Not any more than last night did, laughter bouncing off the walls in Paul's room as the two of them grew tired. They ended up holding each other under the covers, Paul nuzzling up to Darry's chest, adding a pressure down on him that helped sleep come easily.

Darry tugged at the front of the sweater and sniffed, only to find that he can't. Like how you walk into your own home and never notice the smell of it, unlike the times you visit others.

"I don't think you're sweaty enough to make that fresh sweater smell just yet Dar."

———————————————

Wip no2

———————————————

Paul twirled the little brown strand of hair that stuck out.

He tugged on it gently when it's fully wrapped around his finger, prompting Darry to open his eyes. The man, in turn, is met with a gorgeous sight - his boyfriend laying down next to him, with the morning light from behind him casting a holy glow to his golden curls and lion-like arms.

That's all that was beautiful in his life in that moment, because in the next, he sat straight up like an arrow and started coughing up his lungs from whatever lingered in them during the night.

Paul must've sat up too, for the pounding that struck Darry in the back, which sent him into an even worse coughing fit that even turned into gags by the end of it.

"Shoot, you got something for that cough of yours somewhere?"

Paul wrapped an arm around Darry to keep him upright, who had vaguely registered that he had been swaying.

"Maybe. I'll be fine don't worry, it's my house afterall." He didn't want to mention how he didn't want Paul running around, messing up his organisation and all. Not like he had much of an organised system in the first place.

"No bother at all. Stay in bed, and I'll find something." And he did leave, after a peck on the cheek and a tuck back under the sheets.

[the-daiz]

Blue-light incantation | Speed-o’-sound Sonic

Genre; fluff

Pairing; Speed-o’-sound Sonic x reader

Tag(s): third person POV, gender neutral, established relationship(?)

Synopsis; You kiss his back. (Basically)

A/N; midnight drabble, can’t see straight, going down

His hair cascaded down his bare back, a few strands weaving over his shoulders with a sharper gleam than usual. Tonight, the moon did not fail to emit its radiant light, filtering through the mesh curtains and framing his lean build with precision.

What a ninja he was. Sitting with his chest exposed in someone else’s abode, no tension or apprehension defined on his being… Perhaps a little tension, but not the vigilance required for someone of his affiliation.

He sat on the edge of the bed with half-cast eyes, back slouched and elbows propped against his thighs. He didn’t flinch nor did he allow himself to shudder as he felt their fingertips brush against his nape. They parted his hair carefully and draped the heavy locks over his shoulders. He felt them pause for a moment before their fingers began to trace against his shoulders then over his defined spine.

Their movement was languid, unhurried, drawing over his frame as though they had no other purpose but to memorize him with every flaw and feature he carried.

They leaned forward, the soft sound of rustling sheets paired with steady breathes following them as they pressed their lips against the curve of his neck, then moved to brush their lips over his shoulder blade, where a ragged scar lay.

Their fingers continue to glide over him, pausing and feeling over each of his scars. Sonic shifted slightly, muscles undoing more.

They let their lips softly linger on a deeper scar on his shoulder while their feather-touch fanned over his arm. He felt their warm breath on his spine as they moved to rest their forehead against the back of his neck, stilling there.

He tilted his head forward in a rare show of vulnerability, letting the deliberate circles being traced on the small of his back riddle him to unwanted tranquility.

Yes, there truly was no Ninja like him.

[rozesmiana]

Every so often his existence activities some part in my brain and then I have to draw him

[erytherion]

Reading the webtoon and…

Does this imply that Kim Dokja also tried to write a questionnaire for her to fill in since she wouldn’t speak to him, that either he 1) never gave her in the end (especially if he couldn’t find her after she was released) or 2) gave it to her and she STILL refused to answer?

Because that is so so so so awful. It was already bad but if he tried so many ways to get her to speak and she still gave him no response, regardless of her reasoning… isn’t that still directly choosing to cut herself fully out of his life? Why in the hell did she lie for his sake and allow him to visit her if she wanted to never speak to him again?

I know everyone claims Kim Dokja is just like her in sacrificing himself for loved ones, but at least he tries his best to stay with them and to keep them in his life. He still chooses sacrifice, but it’s not because he intends to never return. He always returns (even if much later than planned).

The only time this differs is with 51%, when he STILL tried his best to stay with them - at least as much as he could.

I sometimes like Lee Sookyung, but I am mostly still SO mad at her for completely ignoring her child since he was 8 years old. Especially when he must have looked like shit any number of times from being mistreated and bullied by family, friends, army, employers.

But maybe that’s just the fragment in me being eternally pissed with her. She DOES love him, but like he says in the webtoon in this chapter - maybe such truths are painful enough to be false anyways, because they’re just SUCH bullshit. That’s not how affection should work, if you actually care about someone and want them to be happy.

[silentmouthpiece]

I hate to say it, but i might as well.

It would be so easy to become a Jimmy. Hell, there are Jimmy's everywhere, but no one wants to admit or even realize that it would be easy to be just like them.

A problem we have as a people is that as soon as someone commits a horrible or unforgivable act we dehumanize them call them monsters. I'm guilty of it as well. It makes it easier to separate them from us, to believe that no real human could commit such acts. The thing is...they are human. They are like us and we are like them.

Jimmy is human. A severely fucked up one who's gone unchecked to the point of catastrophe, but he's human like us. He sounds and acts like a human, and his actions are very fucking human. His issues that spiraled so out of control are so very human that when I look at them in a certain way I see my reflection in the mirror. I see Jimmy in the ways some people walk and how they talk, but no one ever wants to see Jimmy within themselves. I wish I could say I'm nothing like Jimmy, but I can see all the ways I'd turn out like him if just a few things were different.

If I were a man, would I have absord the toxic masculinity of the fathers and guy friends in my life and all that entails? If I was less empathetic, would I let my resentment at the state of my life control me to the point I can only see the worst in others instead of force myself to maintain a sliver of compassion and optimism? If I wasn't desperate to be self-aware, would my crippling fear of failure and lack of self-worth blind me to the reality that I allowed them to hollow me out and leave me with nothing to be proud of? If a younger me didn't convince myself that I can only punish myself for anything that happens, would I have turned my anger and listlessness into a blade that cuts others instead of turn it inwards or share it with my friends? Would I inflict pain on others once I realized I could fullfil a need by doing so? I could go on.

I am also ashamed to admit that one of my knee-jerk reactions to hurting someone badly (albiet unintentionally) or realizing I was increadibly wrong about something is denial. It doesn't last forever but I will obsess over it for a long time afterwards. It's a nasty feeling and it's an instinct that literally feels like a chain yanking my brain to follow it. Primal fear feels like that as well, and it rears it's ugly head when I'm faced with confronted with reality and consequences of my actions.

I want to go back to college, but whenever my mother brings it up I get locked into a state of primal fear, insecurity and hopelessness because I crafted a reality where I have no skills, goals or ability to pursue a higher education or a life that suits me. Confronting that reality sends me spiraling down a very strong wave of depression that often debilitates me, though I've gotten better at climbing out of it so I can at least focus on my job. It still feels like I'm being compelled to enforce that reality, and that instinct overrides all better senses. It's an unchecked issue that controls my actions.

When I talk to my friends all I can see is that they have something they're skilled at or passionate about, and that they're doing what I told myself I can't. I never thought I was a jealous or envious person, but I think that's because I never resented anyone for what they had. However, I see so many instances and depictions of resentful and malicous envy/jealousy that I know they are typically linked. In a world that's more competitive than I ever was, these emotions drive people to harm each other all the time for any reason one could think of. The worst part is those people can also happen to be friends and family who love each other deep down. It's so damn common that it must be human.

I don't understand the need to force myself on anyone for pleasure or control, so I can't relate or speak on that. It's happened often enough that others can speak on it and that's terrifying, and what I see is so beyond my ability to comprehend as an actual thought process or mentality but it's still very real and human. Animals do it to and humans are animals, but we're not talking about that. I suppose the closest I can get is the callousness I can feel sometimes when I'm absolutely out of patience with someone.

All that to say is... I think I get Jimmy and his inability to accept responsibility and the cognitive dissonance of wanting to be seen as good and capable as he destroys everything and everyone he touches. I get his resentment and jealousy of Curly and that it's so tied deeply with his love for him that it twists into something noxious and all-consuming. I get how his warped perception of others didn't stop him from caring for others (mostly the guys), but it affected how and how much he cares for them. I get the casual cruelty he can dish out and I understand being locked in the worst mental autopilot to avoid the fallout of your reality that you made because couldn't accept yourself.

I hope that all made sense. Jimmy really got me thinking.

[fishhateme]

maxiel(ish) drabble pt 1

Daniel's sigh was so loud he wasn't even surprised when Sassy looked at him, perched atop one of Max's book shelves ("Why do you have so many, Maxy? It's not like you actually read" raised eyebrow, thick lips parting for a beat before quirking up shyly "Shut up" "These days you just meow on livestreams, right? Busy schedule" a full smile then, pink tongue darting out to wet his full, chapped lips, so wonderfully feminine "Shut up, Dan" "Is it like when you bought that Hermes bracelet and you just never let it go? Is it about being all fancy? Maybe we should ask George for some vocab tips" a full laugh, head thrown back against the pillows and crinkled corners of his eyes "I think it makes perfect sense, no? Why would I not have bookshelves. They're classy, and the cats like them. Who doesn't have bookshelves?" oh, okay, his voice is more nasally in the morning, it's more noticeable when he says more than two words. Yeah, it's been years and Daniel knows this already, but he could still drown in the raspiness of it, suddenly back to day one and awkward chuckles in hotel rooms "Who meows on a livestream?" "Shut up, Daniel"). The way Sassy looked at him wasn't even concerned, it was mostly annoyed. And, sure, Daniel hated dogs - er, hated, was terrified of, had been chased by back home, same difference -, but there was a certain autonomy about cats that unsettled him. Those lucky bastards didn't need attention like a wilting, desperate plant needed fresh water, like Daniel needed love to breathe. Enchanté, nice to meet you too, did I tell you I'm jealous of my boyfriend's cats? No, I don't go to therapy anymore, how did you know?

Ugh. Daniel scowled at himself for that shitty self-pitying monologue. He briefly considered calling his therapist again, but he didn't like feeling like he needed a crutch, and he wasn't as distressed and hurting as he was back in the McLaren days. He could manage, really, and he'd rather that than going through the shameful motion of crawling back to his therapist after assuring (read, lying) to her he could cope perfectly fine on his own, with his stupid little journal (abandoned shortly after Belgium, because everything was blindingly bright in his future and he'd get to write it down later, now he just wanted to focus on the feeling of being on top of the world) and his stupid little breathing techniques. He was fine, really. He was just... ugh.

He sighed again, still staring at his phone screen, prompting Sassy to send him another one of her patented annoyed looks. Her feline eyes, already perpetually displeased as if inconvenienced by the existence of her owners (oh, we only feed, shelter and pamper you, I'd be annoyed too, you expensive little brat), seemed even more judgy in the stuffy Mediterranean heat of the afternoon. The living room was so poorly designed (as was most of Monaco, because money couldn't buy enough space to build a decent apartment when every single millionaire on Earth decided to cram themselves in the same five or so blocks) that Daniel was beginning to run out of air in his lungs, but maybe that was because of his own... shit ("Yes, of course I'll remember my breathing techniques, I'll be fine, besides, you'll be late for your next client. I promise I'll be fine").

It came so easily to lie, sometimes.

part 2