#trying to convince myself i either Am or Am Not on the verge of having a Stroke or some shit

[monster-noises]

Ahahahahaaha love love Love getting Medical Anxiety triggered by over hearing something at work and fucking Finally feeling normal by the end of the work day only to come home and Remember It

Best time

Good vibes

My insides are vibrating at a daaaaangerous frequency and it's Not Helping

[side-vermin93]

Series FINALE?! (And what this might mean for you)

Hey folks, HOLY CRAP I WAS NOT EXPECTING MD TO CONCLUDE ON SEASON 1, I WAS EXPECTING / HOPING FOR A SEASON 2 AND ANOTHER YEAR AT LEAST

Ahem.

So, what does this mean for the MD Fandom?

For the artists, writers and fan animators who might be panicking and suspecting that the fandom is on the verge of imploding now that MD is going to end, DON'T PANIC! Fandoms as large as MD can survive LOOOONG after the show or media ends through fan content alone, there's always gonna be a group of dedicated fans creating, writing and animating content and there'll always be a group of dedicated fans who like that fan content.

Fanfiction, art, music, animations, if you make it, there's always gonna be folks who see it and like it, doesn't matter if the show is concluded or not, they will come if they like the cut of your jib and you will be the frontline troopers keeping the fandom chugging along (I'll be there too, ain't no way in HELL am I leaving the fandom)

So yeah! I'm firmly convinced that the MD fandom isn't gonna implode after the finale, so as long as folks keep making fan content and folks keep their interest IN said fan content, then we'll be A-Okay!

For casual fans, those who haven't dabbled in the mystical arts of fan-content (music, fics, animations, shitposting etc), you folks are gonna be eating GOOD, no need to worry about the show "dying" or anything, just support your favourite artists, shitposters, writers and fan-creators and we'll keep on trucking for years to come.

(I'm saying all of this to myself as much as I'm saying it to y'all, but hey, if other shows and fandoms can survive YEARS after their conclusion or years after it goes downhill, then so can we, except we WON'T be going downhill)

Now, that's all I gotta say for the greater MD fandom! For those of you who have heard of me and what I write on AO3, here's a message for you beneath the line.

Alright, so! For some OTRP stuff...

Managed to post a brand new chapter today (got some massive scheduling issues and just straight up forgot to send the chapter to my editors and beta readers to proof-read lmao) so that's up! But I got a bit of a heartfelt question for you folks.

I know the greater fandom will survive, but OTRP is still a long ways to go before the end, and I know that the current Colony arc is gonna drag on a bit (mostly focusing on stuff like slapping the Workers back into fighting shape, helping Doll finally move on from her parent's death, sloooowly uncovering and hinting secrets etc) and I totally admit that I wasn't expecting the arc to get this big or even for MD to conclude before I'm finished.

So what I wanna ask is this:

Even with MD ending, will you folks stick with me until the end? Will you still be motivated to read OTRP even if my upload schedule is dogwater and I forget to reply to comments? Will you stick around to see how Uzi, N, C and V win?

We've got a long ways to go, and while MD might end, OTRP will keep on trucking until I either finish the fic or die trying, I aint leaving no matter what. (/silly)

[infernalmelancholy]

enjoy these two idiots being idiots :)

“You think this is easy for me?” 

Dazai rolls his eyes. “Is that what I said?”

Chuuya’s rage goes from simmering to explosive in an instant, runic red lines climbing like vines up the skin of his arms as he breathes with purposeful rhythm in an attempt to suppress it.

“You’re sure as hell acting like it.”

Dazai scoffs. He doesn’t look up at Chuuya, knowing there’s nothing that’ll sting worse for him than cold dismissal.

“I’m acting like your life isn’t difficult? Do you hear yourself?”

“Oh, I hear myself perfectly fine. I think you’re the one having trouble comprehending the shit you’re saying.”

“Am I?” Dazai asks with a brow lifted in mock curiosity.

“I should’ve known you couldn’t even argue like a normal person,” Chuuya says with a cruelty he can’t have learned from anyone but Dazai. “I guess it’s my fault, expecting Mori’s puppet to act like a human being.”

Dazai glares at him. Chuuya’s face splits with a twisted grin.

“Oh, now he’s mad,” he sneers. “What? Don’t like being faced with the fact that you’re nothing but an obedient little errand boy for the very man you claim to despise?”

“Shut up.”

But Chuuya isn’t one to follow orders. No. He swiftly invades Dazai’s space, their faces inches apart as one word after another leaves him doused in mockery.

“You don’t get to run me into the ground and then expect me to lean up for a kiss. You want care? You want me to be kind and gentle? Earn it,” he hisses. “But if you wanna act like you don’t care about anything and me bending myself over backwards for you means nothing, I’m more than happy to play along.”

“Shut up.”

Chuuya’s rage is horrifying when paired with a smile.

“No, I don’t think I will. See, what I wanna do is get you to step down from your pedestal for five minutes and realize your dismissal of other people doesn’t make them stop existing. You can pretend I don’t have feelings. You can pretend I’ve never stood on a ledge and been one vile thought away from taking the plunge. Be my guest. Drown in your misery and I’ll take mine somewhere else if that’s more convenient. But don’t try to convince me that your twisted little fantasy world is somehow more real than mine.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that you talk too much?” Dazai bristles.

 “Better than never saying anything.”

“Is it that I never say anything, or that you never actually listen to me?” 

“You’re the one who doesn’t listen!” Chuuya shouts, verging on desperation. “Do you ever actually take into account anything I say? Anything I feel? Does any of it matter to you?” 

He pauses, his next breath rattling out of him. 

“Do I matter to you?”

“Nothing matters to me,” Dazai says, his own anger quickly dissolved by the resignation which settles in Chuuya’s eyes, making them appear dull. He only wishes their roles could have been reversed, that this time spent together could have made him more like Chuuya and not the other way around. But Dazai’s dejection seems to be contagious. He’s seen it in Oda’s eyes, sees it in Chuuya’s now. He wonders if he’ll let anyone close enough to be infected by this curse ever again.

A door slams to signify an ending.

The rest of the night is spent in a lonesome routine.

Dazai closes all his blinds and curtains before shedding only his coat. He crawls into bed, head falling heavily onto the pillow.

His hand tugs absently at the bandages around his neck as he drifts off slowly, swaying thoughtless in the realm between wakefulness and sleep.

The unbreakable darkness that surrounds him isn’t the same one he feels hunting him when he spends too long staring at the city at night, when he’s on the other side of a window, bathed safely in light.

That darkness is one he fears he’s made angry, a darkness watching, licking its teeth until it drags him back into its clutches.

The dark in his room is a different creature.

Through it he can see nothing and therefore, like a child, he believes nothing can see him either.

What’s invisible doesn’t exist.

He falls asleep pretending to die.

[hollywoodxwhore]

Ours | Chapter 16

Colson x Presley (Original Female Character)

Synopsis: Presley and Colson fell in love accidentally, but they were meant to be. Now that all the obstacles have been removed, they're moving in together in LA. Now, they have all the time in the world for Colson to teach Presley all of the things he knows. This fic is the sequel to Mine, which can be found in my masterlist!

Warnings/Content: It's Presley's turn to struggle, y'all. Angst, swearing, mentions of suicide, anxiety/trauma, marijuana usage

This is kind of a short chapter, sorry. The angst isn't quite over yet. Remember when you hate me that y'all asked for it lmao

Presley

Of all the weird ways I’ve fallen asleep, I’ve never done it like this.

Colson is still inside of me when we both drift off. I haven’t been sleeping and I know he hasn’t been either. Now that we both finally feel safe, our bodies are shutting down.

We nap on the floor for no more than twenty minutes before we stir and pull our exhausted bodies off the floor. We trudge up the stairs and after a quick stop in the bathroom to clean up, we both collapse into our bed, instantly gravitating towards one another. In seconds, we’re both asleep.

When I wake up again, it’s dark out and I’m disoriented. For a second, panic seizes my chest, but then I realize where I am. Colson is here in my arms, alive and breathing and okay. Megan is somewhere hopefully feeling like the miserable cunt she is while I lie here with my husband. She couldn’t win. I smile a little to myself. 

Colson stirs and I gently stroke his hair. “Hi baby,” I murmur after a few moments of letting him wake up. 

“Hi,” he croaks, sliding a hand down my waist. “What time is it?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care,” I admit, and I feel Colson smile against my shoulder. 

“Missed you,” he says, voice gruff with sleep. 

“Missed you, too,” I murmur, running my fingers through his hair. It’s greasy, but mine is, too. We both need some serious self-care. 

“Are you okay, baby?” Colson asks.

It’s such a loaded question that I almost want to laugh. Am I okay in general knowing my husband was on the verge of suicide? No. But am I okay right now, in this moment, in his arms, safe and alive in our bed? “Yes,” I say, because I am. We don’t need to figure everything out now. “You?”

“Yeah,” Colson sighs. “I’m okay.” He’s quiet for a moment. “You really went to her house, huh?”

I snicker softly. “I sure did. No one fucks with my man,” I tell him.

Colson chuckles. “I would’ve never let you do that–”

“Thus the reason I didn’t ask,” I say simply, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Fair,” he sighs. “Pres…”

“Hm?”

“I love you. So fucking much,” he murmurs, pulling me on top of him. “I’ll never leave you, baby. I’m sorry that I…that I was going to try.”

I blink against the threat of tears, but I don’t want to cry anymore. I’ve done enough of that. “I’ll never leave again,” I promise him. “I’m here to stay. If you still want me.”

“Presley,” Colson scoffs. “Of course I still want you. And if I’m a dick in the future–when I’m a dick in the future – I want you to leave and take time and space for yourself. What you did was not what caused me to make that decision. It was her. Okay?”

I’m quiet for a second. “Okay,” I say, hoping it’s convincing. Colson doesn’t push it and I’m grateful. Colson starts to pull away and I whimper, grabbing onto him. “Where are you going?”

“To take a shower. I smell like hospital,” he says. “Come with me?” His fingers find mine and squeeze and I instantly feel better. 

Colson leads the way into the bathroom and starts the shower. I pop two towels into the warmer and take a second to admire my husband as he leans over to feel the water. I scan over every tattoo, every ripple of muscle in his body. I don’t think I’ll be able to let him go anywhere for a while. I need him in my line of sight constantly. 

He looks at me over his shoulder and smiles tiredly. Standing up straight, he reaches for my hand and I take it, allowing him to help me into the shower. As we wash ourselves, I hope Colson takes my silence as exhaustion. In fact, we’re both silent until we’re done in the shower, and after drying off, we crawl back into bed. Colson wraps around me from behind and falls asleep almost instantly. 

I lie awake listening to his breathing, my eyes wide open. I think the shock is starting to wear off. I can’t stop thinking about the fact that if I hadn’t left, Colson wouldn’t have wanted to kill himself. And if Cash hadn’t shown up, he would’ve gone through with it. And no matter what anyone says, it would’ve been my fault. If I had been home, I could’ve prevented it. But no. I left my husband when he was at his lowest and ignored all his calls and messages. 

But now, I have to push it down. I can’t let Colson see how broken I am because he needs me right now. He needs me to help him heal. The very last thing he needs is for his wife to make this about herself. We’re supposed to be happy now. Everything worked out just fine. But I just don’t think it’s that easy for me.

Colson and I hole up in our house for a few days before our friends finally demand to see us. They never really got to talk to Colson after what happened and I know they all miss him. 

Colson and I are getting ready to go out to dinner. We haven’t been out since Megan made her allegations; Colson was too nervous to go out in public, which I understood. But now that the world seems to be on the right side, he feels ready. 

I, on the other hand, do not feel ready.

But I remind myself for the thousandth time that this is not about me. It’s about my husband.

So I put on a dress. I do my hair. I do my makeup. I put on heels. I paint on a smile so everyone thinks I’m fine. Eventually, I will be. I’ll get through this and eventually I’ll be so used to acting like I’m okay that I’ll actually convince myself.

Colson comes into the bathroom whistling and I jump a little. I glance at him and let out a silent breath when he doesn’t notice my jumpiness. I finish curling my hair while he goes to the bathroom, and when he’s done, he comes over and looks me over, head to toe. We haven’t had sex since the day he got home. I know he wants to, but I’ve come up with excuses. It’s not that I don’t want to fuck my husband. Of course I do. I just don’t trust my emotions not to spill over. 

“You look gorgeous,” he says, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind. “You ready?”

“Ready!” I say, smiling sweetly at him. He smiles too, then tips my face toward his so he can kiss me. The kiss makes my knees feel a little weak. He pulls back and takes my hand, and we head out to meet our friends.

We’re going to one of our favorite restaurants. Their food is incredible and I should be excited, but I don’t have much of an appetite. Hopefully I’ll be able to force myself to eat. Colson parks his car and pulls out a joint, which instantly makes me feel relieved. I’ll just smoke and then I’ll be hungry. Perfect. I smoke maybe a little too much, but it’s a good excuse for why I’ll be so quiet tonight. 

Colson holds my hand as we walk from his parking spot to the restaurant, and the paparazzi are out in full swing. “MGK! MGK! How does it feel for everyone to see the real Megan Fox?” one of them asks, snapping pictures of us. I keep my head down.

Colson lets go of my hand and I panic for a moment, but then his arm is around my waist protectively. “I’m just glad everyone knows the truth. Have a good night,” Colson says, nodding at the cameras, and ushers me inside quickly.

My heart is pounding once we’re inside and Colson rubs my back. “You okay, baby? Sorry about that.”

I nod, smoothing my dress. “I’m fine. It’s just been a while since that’s happened,” I say. 

“I know,” Colson says with a sympathetic nod. He keeps hand on my back as the hostess guides us to where some of the others are already waiting. 

I’m a total zombie during greetings. Everything feels like a blur as Colson hugs our friends. I accept their hugs, too, with a polite smile. Olivia’s brow furrows as she pulls back from our hug, keeping her hands on my waist. “You okay?”

“Smoked a little too much,” I lie with a little wince, and Liv grins. 

“Been there,” she says with a giggle, letting me go. 

The amount of food we order is astounding. When appetizers arrive, it seems like we’ve ordered one of everything. I take enough food to not seem weird and I eat in silence. Luckily, everyone is so eager to talk to Colson that they don’t notice. 

By the time main courses come out, I don’t even have an ounce of an appetite. Colson glances over halfway through the meal when he realizes I’m not eating and his brow furrows. “You okay, baby?”

“I’m fine. Ate way too many appetizers,” I say with a little chuckle.

Colson accepts this and grins, pressing a kiss to my cheek before turning back to his conversation with Rook. I sigh and look down at my plate. I can only handle so much more of this, but I know Col will want dessert and maybe even after dinner drinks. The thought of having to be here that long makes me nauseous. Suddenly, it feels like eyes are on me, and when I look up, I see that Cash has his eyes locked on me, his expression suspicious. He narrows his eyes and my heart races. I shake my head at him as if to say what? He gives me a look that says be fucking for real and I roll my eyes, looking away. 

Soon, my phone buzzes in my purse and I remove it, opening the text from Cash. What’s wrong?

I roll my eyes and type back a quick response. Nothing. 

Don’t lie to me. Cash’s response is almost instant. Another one soon follows. Did you forget your my twin?

Your grammar sucks, I reply, but Cash isn’t having it.

So does your acting. Talk to me or I’ll make a scene.

I know you will, I text back in irritation. I lift my eyes to meet his and he stares right back. I shake my head subtly and send back another text. I’m on my period and it’s making me moody. Happy? The lie comes easily and I look up at my brother expectantly, one brow lifted. 

Cash grimaces at me and texts me once more, Gross.

You asked, I remind him, then put my phone away. 

Cash drops the issue, thankfully. I manage to keep it together for the rest of the outing but I’m relieved when we finally say our goodbyes. We get in the car and Colson is energized and happy, but I’m struggling to keep my eyes open. 

Colson chuckles. “You really did smoke too much earlier, huh?” he asks.

I chuckle half-heartedly and nod. “Yeah. I’m exhausted.” I close my eyes and lean my head on the window. Colson’s hand rests on my knee and my eyes sting with tears but I keep them closed. I cover his hand with my own and breathe. 

Colson doesn’t push me when we get home, but he decides to stay up. He tucks me into bed and gives me a kiss. “Hey. Rook’s going to come over and play some video games. Is that cool?”

“Of course!” I say, relieved. Rook will be a good distraction. Colson won’t come check on me, which is good, because I’m not sure how much longer I can hold in my tears. 

Colson kisses me once more. “Text me if you need anything. I love you,” he says.

“Love you, too,” I tell him. He smiles at me and leaves the room.

And now that I’m finally alone, I fall apart.

Taglist: @triplexdoublex@jaxbreaker@mgklove99xx@jinx-on-mars-19xx@iamnotanearthlingmotherfucker@anonymousme86@whiteleoqueen@feroniakutenpuu@hxllywoodwhxree

[hartshorn-and-isinglass]

Nothing makes me feel old like realizing that I like Oistrakh quite a bit more now. When I was young, my favorite old master was Grumiaux and I felt like Oistrakh was specifically the kind of dude you appreciated more when you got older. (Very normal teenager opinions to have there, Marve.) And welp, here I am. I dunno, I think it's a particular flavor of warmth that didn't resonate with me when I was young and hungry and perpetually teetering on the verge of burnout.

Story time because fuck it, it's my blog I do what I want (but still under the cut to be nice about it):

If you're familiar with the Bay Area, the reason why I have such insane memories of high school orchestra class is because I went to Lowell. Yeah, that Lowell. Put a bunch of overachiever kids in a pressure cooker magnet school and you get some highly competitive orchestra classes. The first violin section, unsurprisingly, was made up of the cream of the overachieving crop, most of whom were planning on being either pre-med or engineering in college even though they could have easily all been music majors. And then there was my dumb ass once I made it to the first violin section, LOL. I honestly wasn't sure I was even going to make it alive to the end of high school to have a career. Violin was my lifeline and I threw everything I had into it, for better and worse.

The hilarious irony about all of this is my parents were actually not as proud of my violin achievements as they pretended to be. I don't know if I've conveyed to you what a bunch of insane freaks they were, but according to their plan I was supposed to become a piano prodigy. So when I decided in middle school that I hated piano and wanted to play violin instead, it was not received well. To their credit, once they saw I was serious about it they did get me my own instrument and some private lessons, but my mom did try to convince me to quit at several points, and my dad still has an entire-ass complex about it.

Hell, I was ambivalent about going to Lowell at all. I applied because my district assigned public high school was just that bad. That other school eventually was shut down for "underperforming", that's how bad it was. Knowing that Lowell had a good music program was my consolation for all the other shit I was about to put myself through. The secret of Lowell is that it's not the teachers or the facilities; both of those things were absolute shit when I was there (the music teachers were all cool tho). It's the kids. They know the reputation of the school they're going to. They know they'll be expected to apply to prestigious universities when they're seniors. It's the kids who are, sometimes literally, killing themselves to play this ridiculous rat-race game that they've been set to by their parents.

This is all to say that at a time in my life when I had very little control over anything and was profoundly depressed about it, I realized that I did have control over how much and how often I practiced, so I just kinda... maxxed that out. Time in the practice room was time spent on the one thing in my life that didn't suck nearly as much as everything else. It was time spent somewhere safe. It was time spent cultivating hope for the future. I used to describe it as an "emotional crutch" in a very ableist way when I was younger but now I look back on it in the sense of a more literal mobility aid, as the thing that kept me moving when I would have otherwise collapsed.

You know, I still don't feel "qualified" to say that violin has been a major part of my identity... despite it being my first act of rebellion, despite me pulling a literal Ling-Ling up the violin ranks in high school because I felt like I had nothing else to live for, despite somehow finding my way back to it after decades of being convinced I was done... don't laugh, but I still feel like I really should be better at violin than I am for all the meaning it has held for me. I gotta find that solution for my right hand issues, man! I have to make up for lost time! I have to git moar gud so the Muse will notice me. Haha whoops my hand slipped there-

[thistransient]

- In addition to complaining about it, occasionally I do attempt to improve my lot in life: beyond the new bicycling endeavour, I have also finally extricated myself from my Chinese tutoring (under the guise of it being temporary, but really I think the relationship has run its course), and continued going to the “rope jam” evening I tried out last month. It was very rewarding the second time, persistence pays off! However, it came to light that the host also organises a monthly artist networking night, which at first I felt unqualified for when I looked at the sign-up form (I’m not a professional by any means), but was encouraged to go regardless. Sure. Okay. But one is recommended to hand out business cards? Dress smart casual? Have some sort of established social media? I only made an IG account a few months ago, with the sole purpose of looking at plastic surgeon results (I do NOT need another app to scroll endlessly on). I have nothing resembling a brand name, I do have a lot of imposter feelings because I never went to art school (backstory: my mother is a professional artist so I grew up around it, and was on the verge of applying for an art program for uni, but ended up getting a scholarship from a different place for foreign languages and settled for that instead). I am gonna do this though, and see what comes of it. I’ve had the vague intent for years and years to round up all my projects and make some kind of proper portfolio, maybe I’ll be motivated to follow through at long last?

-  I’ve decided I am really truly done with taking language class just to stay in the country. I am going to leave and come back on a visa-free entry, and optimally find a job within 90 days, but if it takes longer than that, so be it. The destination is...*drumroll*...

Seoul. No I did not see that coming either. With Japan being ruled out on account of flight prices, and my Chinese visa being invalidated, I decided it was down to Bangkok or Manila (and possibly Palawan, as a friend from my Australia days is there visiting family). However, Bangkok simply did not spark joy, and all of the cheapest flights from Manila were red-eye (I refuse to do the sleep deprivation hangovers anymore). At some point it dawned on me that separate budget airlines to and from Incheon could be an option. My adventure/ordeal in Korea is the whole reason for the founding of this blog, and it’s been ten years since I left (without cancelling my phone plan, hopefully that doesn’t cause issues but I have a new passport now anyways). I feel it’s only fitting to return for some closure (emotionally, not of the phone plan), and experience everything anew as my current self (vs. severely depressed while working for a tyrannical hagwon boss). I was a little miffed to discover the government has implemented an “Electronic Travel Authorisation” that one must apply for to enter- it’s not a visa, and yet there’s a fee, but it’s good for two years? Whatever.

I was going to lament my dilemma of whether to keep my current guesthouse booking or try to find something cheaper on Airbnb, but in writing about it I’ve convinced myself it’s better to stick with the guesthouse- I’m not keen by any means on staying in hostel dorms at this point in my life, but I’d still like some measure of socialising, and it’s in a nice location near Gyeongbokgung Palace. I just want to wander around slowly taking blatantly touristy photos of things, and eat some good food!

[todayisafridaynight]

SO! I've wanted to talk about The Clip all day but felt like I should wait until the tumblr "premiere" (even though I think you were literally one of the first people to see it on Twitter lol). Thank you for defending my honor btw even if I am just Someone <3

But. Yes. Yeah. Yokoyama's absolute certainty in saying that??? Without anything to even buffer it? No maybe. No "don't expect too much." Just point-blank in front of a huge fan (whom I believe he's now going to be working with), a staff member, and a massive audience. As if that part isn't the matter of contention. I WILL be injecting those words directly into my veins for some time.

I was on the verge of choking and/or spewing blood and/or crying before posting it though lol, so I really appreciate the vote of confidence regarding the translation and I love your redraw! The reception as a whole has been really nice, although I wish people would keep it to themselves if they'd rather have Nishiki or Ryuji back or whatever. Not like it's a race, but even if it was, Mine's been in last place for ages lol.

And while I enjoy Y3's writing more than most, Mine's death wasn't some Grand Meaningful Statement, it was the decision of a fledgling studio that never knew if it would be able to keep making these games trying to tell a self-contained story. It did have far-reaching consequences for the series, but those consequences are also... not really relevant anymore?

Like, I can and have argued that Mine's death caused the fall of the Tojo Clan, but the clan has already fallen. So I don't see why some people are acting like revisiting his character would be A Spit In The Face to the saga somehow, but I guess I've never really been against characters being brought back...? A quote from the staff that's always stuck with me from the staff is that RGG is always going for RGG-ism, not realism.

Ranting aside... I honestly don't know if I should be saying this, but there's this new guy working the counter at Survive in some LaD8 behind the scenes footage. Now, upfront, I'm 99.8% sure it's not Mine (I happen to have a 100% accuracy rate so far identifying major RGG characters from extremely blurry images and silhouettes lmao), and I have no idea who it is, whether it's a new character or an old one heavily redesigned or Just Some Guy.

But he's not Kashiwagi. And he happens to have slicked-back dark brown hair with what appears to be an ahoge in some angles. And, unless the materials are temporary, he also dresses A Lot Like the celebrity Mine's design was based on. And his features... line up closely enough to piss me off, even though they don't fully match in the end, which is why I don't think it's him.

I'm in argumentative essay mode 100% of the time which is why I'm saying this in a "convincing" tone despite literally not believing it myself, but like... wouldn't that be something? To just have Mine part-timing at Survive or whatever and no one makes a big deal of it because they don't know any better? If nothing else, I really do think he should get The Bartender Treatment.

I dunno, I might post about it with a comparison tomorrow because it's been on my mind lately, especially with The News, but I really don't want people to get the wrong idea either. Or embarrass myself if it was too tenuous of a link to look that deeply into from the start lol

I remember seeing it two minutes after you posted it, so I can imagine I was one of the first to the scene of the crime (so my friends put it LMAO). AND OF COURSE I- and a lot of us- can't be any more grateful for all the work you do than we already are. I'd go insane trying to document and manage everything you do! especially when you have insane people like me ready to pounce on the smallest thing like I know I'd cry FJLKAJ The least I can do is give a proper title/credit to you when I can o7

If Yokoyama had any remaining hesitance about Mine being alive, then he REALLY would have fumbled by sounding so certain. Like in his old tweet, he certainly sounded more ambiguous, but this time he really had no extra notes and sounded more sure of himself. I won't expect RGG to do anything with Mine, but the concept is still very much exciting and the idea that Yokoyama almost seems earnest about the idea of bringing Mine back for whatever reason is very nice to know :] And thank you about enjoying the art I did! I can't lie in the slightest, since the last ask where you alluded to posting the clip, I had that drawing saved in the back of my head ready to make once you had that posted LMAO

But oohh not to touch drama since I generally try to Not touch it, but yeah I can't act like I haven't seen some people be. ""Interesting"" about the idea of Mine being alive. I won't dive too deep into it, but I think my major issue with the few grievances I've seen is that RGG hasn't done anything with Mine's alive status. As of right now, it's just a thing Yokoyama said, so I don't understand the need to be so angry about it (it's especially weird to say Ryuji hasn't been back when he not only got to be a playable protagonist in Dead Souls, but he was also the protagonist of RGGO- though I suppose I can understand wanting him in the mainline series again. Still, it's weird to act as though Mine's back any more than he is and being upset about it just because Yokoyama said he was alive)...

Moving on though, I'm really curious as to this 'mystery figure' you mean. I've been missing out on LaD8 production material, so I haven't seen this bit myself but I'd love to take a stab at it and analyze myself too. I agree though: if Mine does come back- whether he's working at Survive or anywhere else- I would greatly prefer if he had The Bartender status and was just never really called attention to and only existed in the background

[eyesonmehoney]

28.08.2024 spiral of the day

I am spiralling because I am afraid Brandon (why did it take me time to think what his name was LMAO) is going to dump me because of previously brought up conversations surrounding money last night that I know I am insecure about and I hope it's not making him feel insecure but I know that it can because I've brought it up a few times now

and when he doesn't respond for a few hours it makes me anxious that he's thinking of our past conversation and he's changing his mind or he thinks he can't hold to the ideals I'm after to which he's not wrong FOR but I'm happy to forgo this for real because he makes me feel so emotionally safe bar the times I'm triggered purely out of emotion and logically I can see that i'm being silly but emotionally I'm trying really hard to see past it but I struggle to see past myself even when last week Brandon was being really good with messaging and now it's been three hours and realistically I know he'll reply soon but my brain is trying to convince me otherwise that he's on the verge and he's looking for an out and didn't he make a joke about him being a runner or was that me??????????????

this new spiral started occurring because it occurred to me he hadn't messaged in a few hours and periods of time of not messaging doesn't make me anxious generally but the moment I feel like the energy's slightly shifted or changed is when I feel anxiety

and if this keeps happening daily I fear I will push him away just to get the anxiety to STOP. because I want this to stop I don't want to feel like this anymore

what caused the spiral? when he didn't respond on monday for 6 hours because he was dealing with family stuff and it was reminiscent of the way zac 1 treated me or the way I treated him rather and I let my own anxieties get in the way of something that could've been really special had I not let my own self get in the way of that. And I am TERRIFIED I WILL DO THIS AGAIN

USING MY LOGICAL BRAIN

he reads into what I say - asking if I'm projecting about running away and ghosting him / dumping him because he's concerned I'm going to do it to him

he made a joke but held back but made the joke but not really a joke about asking whether I'm going to ghost after we sleep together because a part of him genuinely thinks I will

he's told me he's infatuated and that he likes me several times

the accidental test of the footy and ditching him for a quarter which he brings up so it's clear it still pains him even a little bit

talking for 3 hours on the phone and that being something we regularly do

bringing up plans to go hot springs on the weekend

accepting my offer to crash or for me to pick him up - he said he'd like that - even though we both knew we got shit sleeps then but it was the act of spending time together

bringing up the fact that he reads into what I say because you wouldn't do that unless you either weren't sure of how someone feels about you or you want reassurance that the other person isn't going anywhere

and I truly honestly get the feeling that he needs as much reassurance as I do that we won't leave each other

and also he asked about a million q's asking whether I'd sleep with another woman and honestly only yes if we were in a part of our relationship if where there was complete trust and honesty and he paid more attention to me

and it truly makes me cry every time at the thought of how sweet he was taking my hand kissing me when I was uncomfortable and hormonal at the game. like where / how do you find someone like that??????? I will not let myself let this man go because I have deep rooted fear and anxieties that he will abandon or leave me because of some other childhood trauma I have yet to heal within myself

he might've seen my messages and thought it didn't need a response so he'll respond later, like at home or after work or when he remembers he hasn't fucking heard from me all day but baby steps and patience!

IF YOU SAID THIS TO A FRIEND:

I'd say that he's probably busy at work, or saw your message but didn't want to respond because of a million other reasons that has nothing to do with you and maybe he's hungry or tired or horny or has his mind occupied by other things that has nothing to do with you. Sometimes we don't want to respond because of such miniscule things but if he's literally been on the phone with you the night before for hours on end discussing everything and life with you while also simultaneously seeking reassurance, I think you are fine and you're letting your own insecurities get the better of you

truly it's not that deep, trust

what evidence supports my belief?? based on past experiences with zac 1, zac 2, 2 men PRE-THERAPY, dush when he tried to push me away, louie post-travel (great a new anxiety to unlock

experience is useful but you know what none of those experiences have in common - the way that brandon treats you - and how emo you get and the literal tears when you think about it - when you think about how sweet, kind and nice he is, and how he holds space for you and how IMPORTANT that is for me, because it is so beyond appreciated that it makes me want to give him the world

none of them have made me feel emotionally safe like how brandon does and you should not punish yourself for him not replying or punish him for not responding when he has made it pretty fucking clear that he's into you. NONE OF THEM.

[yaysandnays]

recovering documentation

this blog is another branch off of @ohmygodletmesignup (the other one being @amethyst-beetle ). i made this blog to document my process of recovering. i suppose this post will be my little introduction.

TW for mental illness, sh, and su!c!dal thoughts discussion

hi. i'm Calisto (Cal) or Beetle (Bee). i'm 16 years old and writing this on 4/2/2023 (or on april third if you give me a few more minutes). i'm currently trying to recover from depression, anxiety, and what i've been told is likely ptsd. i'm going to give an extremely watered down version of how i ended up with all those.

---------------

basically, before 7th grade started (i was 12ish), my mom, sister, and i moved to a whole new place bc of a job offer my mom got. that meant i had to start a new school, and the only good schools in the area were private catholic schools. so i went to one. now i was raised some flavor of christian, so catholisim wasn't too bad for me (at first). but everything quickly went downhill.

i made one extremely toxic friend after two weeks of extreme anxiety, and she didnt help my mental health in the least. after about a year with her, i was constantly on the verge of having panic attacks. literally every single day.

then, in 8th grade, my school made an openly homophobic move. i was questioning my sexuality at the time, and this didnt help.

finally, at the end of 9th grade, we moved back to our old town where we still live today. i was 15.

finally i could actually be openly transgender (trans guy, he/him) and bisexual for the first time ever. my anxiety and depression disappeared so quickly it was shocking. but some things stuck, things i didnt even know.

it was mild at first- and i didnt even know anything was wrong. sometimes i would be walking down the hall of my new school and see someone who looked similar to someone at my old school. it would make me question things, and i wouldnt be able to figure out where i was. it was a pretty easy fix though, just a few minutes and i'd be fine.

then it got so much worse.

i was in choir, and it's a tradition we sing hallelujah every year (though since it was my first year there, i didn't know lol). so our director gives us the music, and just reading the words makes me start to bounce my leg (something that means im either energetic or anxious). then we started singing. and i couldn't handle it.

i started shaking, a lot, and i had to tell the director whilst on the verge of tears that i couldnt do it. he excused me and i spent the rest of class in another room just trying to calm myself down.

'you're safe' 'you're ok' 'you're safe i promise' is what i told myself over and over and over again.

during the concert when we got to that song, i was excused.

then my mom tried taking my sister and i to a christmas mass a few weeks later. i lasted five minutes before i had to go to the bathroom where i spent the rest of the hour sobbing through a panic attack, trying to convince myself i was ok.

----------------------------

TLDR: catholic school, toxic friend, religious trauma

so that's what happened, now here's where i am.

i haven't hurt myself in over a year, maybe two now, and it's been at least a year since i've had a suicidal thought. i've found a lot of my triggers and can avoid them too, which is nice. i havent had a relgious trauma fueled panic attack in a while. i also have a therapist who listens to me.

i think it's also important i set some goals for myself too. and i think two are good for now.

write a post when i get unstable so i dont do anything bad

update this blog at least once every two weeks

i also want to make this blog for people going through the same things im going through now or went through. i promise it'll get better, and we can do it together.

[bugflies00]

ok its time for my. traditional post-stream moment (well. post-vod considering the circumstances) where i try to condense all my thoughts into a singular post especially rn since i didn’t liveblog so people not watching don’t have to see it

dsmp spoilers obviously 

um. okay uh well first off im still crying, that should give you…? an idea of the effect this stream had on me…?

im still holding onto hope for this story to be about healing but if it ends grim and the only hope is ‘oooh volume II blank slate woo’ i don’t know what i’ll do with myself LOL (despair). but i’d like to think if wilbur didn’t kill off his character. i’d like to think tommy wouldn’t either. but like always in extremely tense dangerous points in the story before i’ve never believed they would die like i never thought cwilbur would die yknow. but i think. well this is the most scared ive been for lore since um well ever actually i think

first off. gonna try to avoid talking about dream as much as possible even his character.  just hope people aren’t gonna take the justifications he and cpunz give for the . Horribly Fucked Up shit theyre doing as valid and start running with ‘oooh cdream was in the right and the victim all along!!’ but who am i kidding they probably have already. ill admit i didn’t see the hydra-type plan coming, with one not being killable if the other’s alive so that was a twist

UMM lord that whole lava room scene was . indescribable levels of fucked up and dont get me started on how cdream managed to convince ctommy that all the shit and abuse he’s suffered (even up to doomsday) was HIS FAULT and we see that resurface not even an hour later when ctommy tells ctubbo every bad situation theyve had since the start of the server has been his fault. don’t get me started

when they broke character because tommy couldnt do the stunt of aiming the throw of the discs JDJZDJJDSJ appreciated the break of the tension it made everything worse after in comparison. even tommy said he was on the ‘verge of tears irl before that’

and then the nuke. we got SO SO CLOSE to an acknowledgment of the nuke plan. of c!rocketduo’s plan to kill ctommy. but honestly while we didn’t get it outwardly i’ll take ctommy hesitance and like. pause after ctubbo said cjack helped him & ctommy brought up the explosion near him as him putting together the pieces. ill pretend just for my own sake. SPEAKING OF ctommy now knows cranboo was the one who set up the explosions (under mind control obviously) that stuck him in the prison with cdream and got him killed!!! can this boy catch a break. well he’s dying tomorrow so i guess he’s getting a very long break (<- just cried for an hour at that prospect)

and then. ctommy setting up the plan to trade his life for everyone else’s.

okay so like we all saw it coming but Ummmmmmmm well still a punch to the gut. Ummmmmmm. Ummmmm dealing well with this info. also ctommy screaming at ctubbo to ‘stop being optimistic’ and ‘its over, theyve lost’ and how he needs to just do this and die and its the end. Hahahahhahaha disc war finale roles flipped amirite. now ctubbos desperately clinging onto an alternate solution and ctommys the one who’s so jaded, so desperate that he’s convinced he needs to die (and that he deserves to. let’s be real ctommy thinks he deserves to die because he believes he’s at fault for the shit he and the others have been through. and if he dies without anyone having fucking proved him wrong. well.)

and like in my mind this story has always been about healing, like i said. and i’d genuinely be surprised if tommy chose an absolutely grim ending for his character (dying for everyone, sure a hero’s death, but dying still thinking he’s at fault for it all. that’s not just tragic that’s unnecessary.) but yknow at this point

the part that got me the worst was the whole bit after they started walking away from the nuke site. like they started walking towards and on the prime path and talking about how it was the last time and Uhm wellllllllll yes so maybe i cried fuck off . like the LAST TIME do you realise this???? LAST TIME c!clingyduo walked the prime path. and when ctommy started talking about lmanberg. looking at the flag. ASKING CTUBBO THAT, AFTER HIS DEATH, THE FLAG BE PUT UP THERE TO FLY IN THE WIND. ASKING CTUBBO TO TELL EVERYONE, INCLUDING HIS SON AND HIS SON’S CHILDREN, THE STORIES OF THEM AND THE OTHERS AND LMANBERG. looking at the lmanberg pictures. sitting on the bench together but there’s no music anymore because the discs are gone but that’s alright, it’s so pretty, look at the sunset tommy isn’t it so pretty? yeah it is. i’m gonna die tomorrow tubbo

like its all always been about lmanberg because it was about them. and i know people are gonna run with cpunz’s ‘nations exclude those not part of it’ argument, but lmanberg was about the community. like ill never say this enough lmanberg was literally family like that’s what they were all fighting for or clinging onto or running away from . and it was their project and to cwilbur it was ctommy and they were all important but ctommy was the heart of it all. he gave everything for it, for them really. over and over and now he wants ctubbo to tell those stories after he’s gone because he plans to walk in tomorrow at eighteen years old in a place where he’s only known trauma and death, walk in there and lure his abuser and his partner and then take a nuke for everyone. youngest one on that server. and yeah they’re not kids anymore (according to them) but they are they’re fucking kids ctommy is so tragic i feel fucking ill

and now its past midnight meaning Today is. final ctommy stream ever. Um well it has not sinked in yet. two years and probably my favourite character of all time ending Today and most likely dying. brother i don’t know what i’ll do with myself if he dies im genuinely so embarrassingly attached to this character and the others and this story. and so much of it feels so hollow when they walk around the server and there’s no one. idk whatever happens tomorrow i’ll still be so fucking glad for this story no matter how fucked up some things have been recently and no matter how much wasted potential there was. this is disgustingly sappy but tbh you clicked ‘read more’ on this post like u signed up for this. anyway ctommy my shining star whatever happens tomorrow youve been the best ever🌟🌟🌟 my favourite little guy in the whole wide world literally a star

[nagichi-boop]

Thank you all for chipping in! Hopefully my reply makes sense. I forgot about this for long enough that I’ve forgotten what I already said. I also feel incredibly tired rn so idk how much that’ll impact my writing rn.

I’ll put my thoughts under a cut cuz I blab a lot.

I don’t know when my symptoms would’ve started, but looking back I could maybe see hints of it when I was 15-16? Assuming it’s BPD anyways, I’m kinda just playing devil’s advocate and writing like I do, but I acknowledge I may not have it either. Idk, I’m confused.

Anyways, I don’t remember much about my teen years, but I know I had moments where I was so angry that either myself or someone else was disturbed by it. One time I was so angry that when me and my friend sat in seats that the “mean girls” usually sat, I just said I didn’t care and I’d get sassy if I was told to move. (Yeah, stupid example, but my friend was surprised by it I think.)

And then a year or two later, I was playing an educational board game the teacher made with my friend and someone who was forced into our trio, and he was moving his piece so slowly that I was getting super mad and throwing the dice aggressively, to the point my friend told me to calm down. (Another dumb example, and in hindsight maybe rude to the other kid, but this kid also just didn’t put any effort in, which annoyed me as someone who was overly anxious about getting good grades to maintain the “gifted kid” status that was thrown onto me.)

There was also the time where I was with my friends and I guess being loud, to which my brother told me to stop. I somewhat annoyed and sarcastically said “what, stop having fun?” and he said yes, which took me from incredibly happy to super angry. But maybe that reaction is more rational? Idk how neurotypical brains work.

There are other occasions where I’ve gotten very angry, but usually it’s in private and I either internalise it or I can’t be seen. I had a friend who would vent to me but ignore any advice I gave, and I’d get so mad I’d pull at my hair and such. I eventually stopped talking to her, but she was the first of a pattern of me completely neglecting my limits and feelings in favour of trying to be nice and tolerating more than I should have. I felt I had to. And when I did get mad, even in private, I felt like I was a horrible person for being mad at someone who was venting to me. In hindsight of course, I was ignoring my own mental health and taking on too much, but I am very stuck in the people pleaser mentality, even now.

There are definitely thoughts I had and some I still have that I don’t think a normal person has. The most common one was probably wishing to become very sick/injured just to have someone care about me. I’m chronically ill, but no one cares about that. Even when I’m in pain, I mostly downplay it or people make jokes about me making a fuss. It’s only when I start crying from pain and not talking that it’s taken even slightly seriously, but that’s not very common at all. I hide my pain and discomfort most of the time, or at the very least I downplay it. I also had thoughts before like “I am only valuable for my body” or “if I’m not being a useful tool, I’m not worth anything - I need to serve people even when it hurts me.”

My emotions would fluctuate too. I could go from sobbing and on the verge of SH, to feeling super numb, to dancing and vibing within a 30 min span. I also had periods where I was convinced I was super hot and sexy, but then others where I felt incredibly ugly. I still get that, actually. My emotions haven’t been as high and low recently, but I’ve also not really been around people much. Partially because everyone is busy (ah, to be able-bodied and capable of making friends) and maybe partially because I haven’t been making an effort to really reach out. I feel like no one cares and I just can’t be bothered to talk to anyone rn.

I don’t know if I get delusion and paranoia, but I maybe do? I feel incredibly uncomfortable being outside alone because it feels like everyone is watching me and out to get me, though that fear extends more to men. Even if a guy is super nice, sometimes I just immediately feel unsafe and worry they’ll hurt me or are having thoughts about me. But that could just be agoraphobia and/or fear of men. The only maybe paranoia thing would be the idea that everyone is watching me, but it happens more if I’m on my own. So I…don’t go out on my own. I think I’d need more examples of what BPD delusions and paranoia look like cuz I feel like I can’t find good examples online.

I suppose that post you added and what I’ve mentioned explains why I can’t really understand if I have it or not rn. When I feel good, I feel like that’s how I’ve always felt. When I feel bad, I feel like I’ve never felt good. That and as I said, I’ve not had much going on socially, so it’s hard to know if I’m really splitting or obsessing over people. I did once hear somewhere that BPD symptoms are highly influenced by people - if you’re not really interacting with people, it almost sometimes feels like all the symptoms are gone.

I have a question for people with BPD. Do y’all go through periods (I’m talking months) of feeling ‘normal’ or good and you think you are cured, and then one day suddenly you are back to being low most of the time and getting mad at people/isolating for no reason?

[krabmeat]

I have not written anything in some time - since I took a break from my writing account, actually (now deleted) - so cut me some slack here. I’m gonna format this in the same way that I did my old fics for that jolt of serotonin. So, if you would be so kind to indulge me, this is how I (niceimafan) would have submitted this work on fandoesfictionwriting:

What War Does || (platonic) Father Figure c!Phil x Teen gn!Reader

A/N: This is my submission for the 100 follower milestone of the lovely @/krabmeat! Krabs (Damien today) is an amazing friend of mine and is quite possibly the best human being in the world. (Go follow him if you haven’t already!)

War struggles paired with the classic familial miscommunication, what could be better as a way for me to get back into writing? This takes place around the time of Doomsday, or the final battle/destruction. Also I can’t remember if Wilbur’s room was still there at the time of Doomsday because I have goldfish memory so pretend it was if it wasn’t.

Requested: No

{Word Count: 1,946}

CW: intense arguing, mentions of war, mentions of death, cursing (up to the f-word), caps, use of godforsaken (I don’t know if people get triggered by that? I’m not religious so I wouldn’t know), very brief mention of spit, less than great relationship with father

This is an xreader fic!

This has been proofread. (skimmed rip I don’t like reading my writing)

- In which Y/N and Phil argue about Y/N and their right to participate in Doomsday. -

Phil works away high in the sky, loading cannons with enough TNT to detonate a nation. He, Techno, and Dream have everything planned out; you know because they did all of the planning right in front of you. Meaning you know everything they are going to do, and you aren’t even allowed to be involved.

You avert your eyes from your father and pick mindlessly at some grass instead, feeling the cold breeze of afternoon cool your flaming temper. For a moment, it appears as though everything might be fine, like you could get over this and let the Big War Men do their thing. But then Phil’s boots appear in front of you, and it’s all ruined again.

“You look miserable,” he says. Phil finishes his sentence with an airy laugh, trying to convey that he’s trying to joke with you. And so you make sure that the gaze you shoot him ensures he understands you do not find him humorous. Phil sighs, taking a seat beside you.

“Look, I understand that you want to help. I do! But I also understand that people with a spirit as strong as yours have risen to unimaginable heights, only to crash back down onto the blade of loss. And I fear that you will be no different.” Phil places his hand on your shoulder. “I just want you to be safe.”

You shrug him off, turning your neck so fast to glare at him it leaves a sharp stinging sensation in your movement’s wake. “Safe? You want me to be safe? No one is safe here, and you know that.”

“Y/N, you know-”

“What, Phil? What do I know? Because according to you, it doesn’t seem like a lot.” You stand after that, stomping off in an attempt to clear your mind, hoping Phil won’t follow you. But, of course, he does.

“Y/N, wait.” He shouts, but he makes no move to speed up or stop you. He simply follows along at a distance, saying nothing else. Probably waiting for you to make the first move. But you refuse, you refuse to let him win this and watch you break again.

And so the two of you walk in silence, you with no destination in mind and Phil’s footsteps echoing yours calmly in the distance. All you can do is follow your feet to wherever they find fit for this argument to play out.

To your amusement, you find yourself in Wilbur’s old room. Where he blew up his dreams for the first time and where Phil took the life of his son. How fitting.

You finally come to a stop, taking a brief moment to collect yourself, before spinning around on your heel to address your father. “Ph- Phil?” It does shock you to find that Phil isn’t there. He’s not standing behind you with a small, comforting smile, or with his eyebrows pinched together in a way that lets you know you’re going to be scolded. Nothing.

“You dress like him, you know.” Phil says from behind you. You whirl around again, reaching for your sword on instinct. Phil stands with his hands clasped behind his back, staring out over the soon-to-be battlegrounds.

“What?” It feels like you’ve lost all air in your lungs. Phil doesn’t just say things like that, especially not to you. And of course you know who he’s talking about; Techno doesn’t wear tattered trench coats and Tommy hasn't adorned ripped up fingerless gloves to protect from burns, to your knowledge. But speaking of Wilbur when referring to another child of his in this room in particular hit you in a place you have not yet built walls in.

“Wilbur. You dress like him.” Phil turns around, and you finally see that his eyes are watering. But he still has that sympathetic smile plastered on his face. “Every day, you remind me of him. And in doing so, you remind me that I can not let you turn out the way that Will did.

“Wilbur was changed by war. He destroyed everything he worked for because of it. And for that to happen to you, with such grand dreams and ideas, it would be heartbreaking.” Phil can’t maintain eye contact with you anymore, “I just want you to be everything that Wilbur couldn’t have been.”

You let his words sink in, and as they do, you begin to fight with yourself.

He just wants to help you!

How, by comparing me to his dead son? Yeah, something about that doesn’t feel right.

Just hear him out.

You grit your teeth, balling up and releasing your fingers into and out of fists. “I am not Wilbur.”

Phil shakes his head, rubbing the place where his eyebrows crease together. “I know that, and that’s not what I’m trying to sa-”

“Yes, that is exactly what you just said!” You begin to raise your voice, getting tired of this stupid game you two are playing with each other. Lying about what you’re really talking about to try and avoid the inevitable. “You just compared me to your dead son that went crazy and blew up everyone’s homes! The one that sold drugs out of a damn hot dog van!”

The air around you seemed to heat up as tensions between you two started to rise, Phil clearly getting more angry as well. “You are not Wilbur, but you are my child!”

“Oh, am I? Am I, Philza? And how long have I been your child for, huh? My whole life, a year, a few months, just this past hour? You have been trying and failing to be my father figure because you just see me as some rogue that could get too far out of control unless you’re there. Isn’t that right?”

“No, of course not. I just-”

“No! How could I have not realized? You just want a replacement! Someone to fill the hole that was left in your poor old heart when you stabbed your son through the chest.”

“I love you, Y/N, you don’t understand! You are like a child to me, you always have been! From the moment that I met you, I saw greatness in you. I swear, you mean more to me than just some replacement for Wilbur.”

Tears burn your eyes, the singular one that fell leaving a streak through the gunpowder and dirt smudged on your cheeks. You shake your head and scoff, unable to believe that this is the conversation you are currently stuck in. “Phil, that’s the kind of bullshit that you have to tell yourself in order to sleep at night. But guess what? It doesn’t work on me.”

“It doesn’t have to ‘work on you’, it’s just the truth, Y/N. I don’t know how I can get you to believe me.”

“You can’t, Phil.” You say, trying to ignore the way your voice cracks. “Because I have believed people, and then those people have either died, or tried to kill me, or both. So you know what I did? I grew up, Phil. Because THAT is what war does. 

“It doesn’t make you write sad song lyrics on the walls, it doesn’t make you love your father figure oh so dearly, all it does is make you realize that there is more in this world to deal with than whatever any one person can do. And once you wrap your head around that, you realize that the best you can do is make the smallest of dents, and hope some other people do the same. That is how this world works, Phil.

“And do you know what my dent is going to be?” Phil has blurred by now. Once you blink the tears away, you can see that he’s crying too. Good. Now you’re really on the same page. “Blowing up this godforsaken nation once and for all.”

You turn to walk away again, hopefully for the last time, but Phil actually makes a move to stop you before you can get anywhere. “Y/N, I refuse to allow you to go out there and risk your life for a war already fought.”

“No war is already fought until people are dead.” You snap at him, resisting the urge to spit on his boots. “Besides, I can handle myself, I don’t need you to tell me who I can and can’t fight.”

“Y/N, I am your father!” Phil’s voice practically echoes through the entire SMP as he shouts at you, finally just as mad as you wanted him to be. You’re convinced people on the other side of L’Manberg can hear you two arguing. “Listen to me, you can not risk this.”

“YOU ARE NO FATHER TO ME!” You scream, getting your face as close to Phil’s as possible while still being able to look into both of his eyes. Phil’s eyes widen, whether in pain, shock, or both, you don’t know, but he quickly recovers with a stare solid enough to cut through stone. 

“Do NOT turn this argument to family matters when we are discussing life and death!”

“This is no longer a discussion, dad,” you make sure to add as much venom to the name as possible, “We are not talking this out like a father scolds his young kid about what they can and can not touch in the house. We are screaming, and shouting, and ruining relationships like adults.” You try one more time to walk out. This time you make it down to the ground floor, but Phil follows you yet again, stopping you before you can reach the Prime Path. 

“You aren’t an adult, though.” Phil’s voice is softer now, he sounds like he’s on the verge of defeat. “You’re still a kid. You shouldn’t have to deal with all of this.” 

“I was made an adult because of this damn war over some stupid place, I should be able to fight for it’s destruction like one.” You also stop shouting, but you don’t soften your voice. You keep it as firm as it can be despite your wobbly crying, letting Phil know that you are no longer playing games with him like you used to.

“I know that you could. I do. But that does not mean that you should.”

“Awwe, you really think so?” You feign a high-pitched voice, even clasping your hands together under your chin. “You honestly think that I can handle something more than a boo-boo, huh?”

“You know that I am making no attempt to infantilize you, Y/N. If you’re such an adult, you need to grow up. I do believe that you could fight for us, but I do not see it as wise.”

“Bullshit,” you say again, wiping at your eyes with your sleeve. Phil tries to speak again, but you cut him off. “No. No! No, I don’t want you to tell me over and over about what I can and can’t do. About how you think I could be a good ally to you. I already know that, because I can make my own decisions. 

“Do you know what I do want, Philza? I bet that’s something that your infinitely wise mind can’t think of. All that I want, all that I have wanted for the past SIX. FUCKING. YEARS. Is for you to just take me seriously for once in your damn life!”

Philza stands there in silence, seemingly dumbfounded, and you take this as your chance to stomp off for good. But you know full well that you’ll see Phil tomorrow. On the battlefield.

But you won’t be fighting for him, or Tommy, or Wilbur, or any of them. Tomorrow, you fight for yourself, and you win for yourself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

DUDE WHAT?!?!?! INK THIS IS IMMACULATE HOW IN THE- WHAT THE F-CK THE WAY YOU CAPTURE THE ANGER AND FEELINGS AND HESITATION OF THE ARGUMENT IS SO WELL DONE!! AND THE FLOW OF TRANSITIONING FROM ONE SETTING TO ANOTHER ISNT CLUMPY OR FORCED AT ALL, THIS IS ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL INK! AND THE BUILDUP TO THE QUOTE, THE WAY YOU REALLY EMBODY ALL OF THE CHARACTERS IS SO MASTERFULLY DONE DEAR, AMAZING JOB!!!

[licncourt]

Top 10 Loustat Taylor Swift songs and how they each relate to them.

Anon, I'm in love with you for asking me this. I kiss you. I've selected my top ten songs with the utmost care and placed them in no particular order alongside what I think are their Loustatiest lyrics + an explanation. Doing this was my reward for finishing a research paper.

I also just happen to already have a playlist of Loustat TS songs which I will gladly leave right here as well

(I can't take full credit though, the song selections were a collaborative effort between myself and @sofipitch)

Anyway here's a full meta breakdown of TS x Loustat because I've lost my mind

1. hoax

Okay so not only is this whole song perfect for Louis' POV of the Interview era, it also includes those references to blue which match his fascination with Lestat's eyes AND it's the color he's most often described as wearing. I just love the motif of desperation as mortal peril for them, loving someone who's painfully dishonest about who they are/their feelings. And then the imagery of someone being destroyed and broken down by a horrible love?? Perfect.

2. I Almost Do

This song gives me 90s Loustat energy, particularly from Lestat's POV maybe post-Body Thief? Anyways, I can totally see Lestat having these kinds of feelings about wanting to surrender and be with Louis for real, but he's so emotionally constipated and things have blown up so many times that he won't be the one to reach out. He's too proud and too scared. But wants to SO bad and daydreams about trying things again and making it work this time. Having it be different this time.

3. Afterglow

K I am always on about Lestat and BPD, but this works so well for him!! Though it could be both of them. They're each so impulsive and mean and always assuming the worst. There's about a million times in VC where they escalate dumb shit for no reason and then come crawling back to each other. They say the worst things in the heat of the moment but hardly ever mean it deep down, and then they're just lovesick and lonely after, forced to admit that it was, in fact, stupid. The mental illness jumps out sometimes, but they always come back to each other in the end.

4. this is me trying

HNNGG TVL REUNION. Louis is in such a bad place before he finds out that Lestat is alive, so the very poetic suicide reference in the opening really hits for him. I'm sure he was terrified about seeing Lestat, wondering if he'll be furious, even attack him, but he still goes. He literally does what the song says, showing up at Lestat's house with all his chips on the table and GOD.

5. The Way I Loved You

Classic Taylor, classic Loustat. I imagine this about Louis when he's with Armand. All the stuff he says about missing Lestat and only being able to think of him no matter where he is or who he's with. Things are good with Armand, but it's hollow and almost robotic. It's...fine. But it's not the passion he had with Lestat, the depth of feeling that makes being in love worth it isn't there. Louis is a fucked up little guy who misses his fucked up little relationship.

6. Renegade (with Big Red Machine)

OKAY this is technically a Big Red Machine song but Taylor sings the whole thing so it counts. This gives me big late canon vibes, maybe early Prince Lestat era when Lestat is on the verge of letting Louis in for real (we don't get to see it in the book but IT HAPPENED), or it could also be during Memnoch when Louis is trying to convince Lestat to stop running and acting out and come home with him. In either scenario, they're so close and Louis is ready to be the person that Lestat needs, he just has to give in and accept the love (tough and otherwise).

7. Wonderland

This is such an IWTV bop. The green eyes bit is perfect Lestat's POV, how Louis caught Lestat's attention and how he was so desperate for what what was being offered. Louis falls into his arms and they have this wild, intense romance, but then he's betrayed. Their dynamic that was this pain-pleasure insanity that consumed them and it's so well represented here. The last line is pretty much exactly how Louis talks about Rue Royale.

8. gold rush

I could see this one as Louis thinking about Lestat at pretty much any point. He's this quiet, reserved figure who prefers to observe and exist in the shadows, but he's so in love with this gorgeous, outgoing, almost unreal object of desire. Lestat loves the attention and loves the spotlight, but Louis just has to watch and pine after him and fade into the background while Lestat goes on his adventures and has his torrid romances. AND the lines about blue eyes work perfectly, as does the gold motif in reference to his hair as well as his allure.

9. illicit affairs

Another Interview era song! I think the song is supposed to be about cheating, but for Loustat it makes me think of them having to hide the nature of their relationship in the 18th/19th century. It must have weighed on their minds, especially in happy times. Plus just, the whole toxic aspect of their relationship must have made it feel forbidden in its own way. They're so dysfunctional and destructive to each other, but so in love they're ruined for anyone else. The colors thing also makes me think of Lestat quite literally giving Louis vampire vision so there's that too.

10. Better Man

This is perfect for any time between IWTV and TVL, whenever Louis is thinking back and starting to regret what he did to Lestat or wishing things could have been different. Logically he knows why they did what they did, but sometimes things were so good he can't help but miss what they had. Again, tie back to Louis' iconic line about laying awake thinking of Lestat. The good news is that he gets the wish granted eventually!!

Everyone congratulate me on narrowing it down to ten it was hard

[blu-joons]

The Mark Of Disapproval ~ Zhang Yixing

“I’m sorry Y/N, but Yixing really just isn’t the right guy for you.”

As your eyes looked to the man in front of you, neither of you quite knew what to do as the words of your mother still rang in your mind. Your high hopes of acceptance had been crushed, and now neither of you had the slightest idea of how to carry on.

In the back of your mind there had always been a worry for you that your parents wouldn’t support your relationship with Yixing. They had strong aspirations for you, an ideal type in their mind, but Yixing failed to tick many of the boxes that they had held out for you to fill.

There was a small distance between you both as you sat down in his studio, unsure as to what to say. When you arrived on the verge of tears, Yixing knew straight away that something was wrong, but getting the mark of disapproval was the last thing he expected or wanted.

His head and his heart were pulling him in two different directions as he looked across at you. Your eyes had been firmly to the floor for some time, trying to come up with a solution, but failing every single time.

“This is just ridiculous.”

You hadn’t meant to speak aloud, but it soon caught Yixing’s attention. Just hearing your voice brought him back into the room, quickly reminding himself about what was important in the current situation, you.

“Are you alright?”

“No.”

The sudden question that came from Yixing took you by surprise, but your answer was simple. On one hand you had your family, who had always been there for you and cheered you on. On the other, was Yixing, the guy who had completely swept you off your feet.

“What are you thinking?” He asked, moving a little closer towards you, “or are you even able to think right now?”

“I don’t know,” you sighed, “I just feel stuck.”

“I understand,” he instantly assured you, smiling softly, “I don’t think either of us saw this coming, how can anyone ever prepare for something like this?”

The more Yixing spoke, the more you struggled to hold it together. The pads of your thumbs soon wiped underneath your eyes, leaving him conflicted as to whether to reach out or help you or keep a distance as your parents wished.

“What can I do?” You asked him, “either way I hurt someone, you or my family, but no matter what, I hurt myself too.”

A soft sigh came from beside you as Yixing felt himself begin to get teary eyed too. “I hate that your family has put the pressure on you to decide between making them happy and making yourself happy, it’s just so unfair Y/N.”

Your head nodded, “whose happiness am I supposed to sacrifice? Who do I want to hurt more?”

You felt guilty for putting your happiness first after everything your family had done for you, but at the same time, you just couldn’t lose Yixing. Whether your parents could learn to accept Yixing was a mystery, but all you could do was hope.

“Your parents weren’t keen on me when I met them a few months ago, but they’ve accepted us, but my parents don’t seem quite as willing to change. I hate the fact that they smiled around you, and then as soon as you left, they couldn’t wait to start talking about you and warning me off continuing our relationship.”

“They were never going to like me; I could just tell from the start.”

He wanted to protect you and try and keep the smile on his face, but deep down, as soon as he entered your parent’s home, he knew he was in trouble. Your mother barely offered him a smile, and the way your father shook his hand was weak to say the least.

Looking back, he knew that they were the two signs he needed to know things were going to go downhill, but neither were enough to stop him from loving you and trying to fight for your relationship, proving them wrong.

“I don’t want us to break up just because my parents say so, I’m a grown up, I have to learn to stand up on my own two feet,” you told him.

Your words brought a small hint of a smile to Yixing’s face, relieved to know that you were willing to fight. He knew that there was an easy option in front of you, to just walk away, but you couldn’t, not when your heart was screaming out for Yixing.

“And what about your family Y/N?” Yixing asked.

Your shoulders shrugged in the exact same way his had done just a couple of months ago. “They’ll learn to accept it; they won’t have a choice if they truly want to see me happy. That’s what they’ve always told me, and this is the happiest I’ve ever been anyway.”

Whilst you never wanted to defy your parents, you weren’t about to compromise your own happiness for their wishes. Perhaps Yixing wasn’t what they expected, but with time, you could only hope they’d see more of the person you saw in him.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I do.”

Your hand reached out, feeling Yixing’s hand rest into it immediately, gripping onto you much tighter than he ever had done before. It wasn’t the solution, but it was a start, a hurdle that you knew you were going to try and climb over together.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone, but this situation doesn’t give me much of a choice. I know you’re worried about hurting my parents more by sticking around, but for once I want to do what I want, and seeing you walk away to please my parents just isn’t that.”

Yixing’s head nodded, paying close attention to every word that you spoke. Thankfully for him, your tears had dried up, and your mind was made up, hurting others was never easy, but you had to protect yourself first.

“I’ve been in your shoes, and I know how hard it is too. It doesn’t feel good having the stamp of disapproval on my back, but I’m determined to prove your parents wrong about me, and about us,” he assured you.

“They’ll see, I just know they will. If my happiness is truly what they want for me more than anything else, then they’ve got no choice but to see just how happy you make me.”

“If I make you happy, then I trust in that,” he vowed, “I trust that that will be the difference.”

You weren’t entirely confident that your parent’s minds would be changed, but you knew with a little bit of openness there was a chance. Even if they didn’t, you would never be able to give up Yixing just for them.

“If I taught your parents to like me, it should be easy for you then,” you joked.

His head instantly shook, I’ve got enough pressure on my shoulders right now without you adding to it.”

“It’ll be fine.”

His head shook, not entirely convinced himself. “Let’s just take one step at a time, at some point I quite fancy getting approved by your parents.”

“Hopefully, one day it will happen.”

“I really hope so too.”

---

Masterlist

[phantomcat94]

Oooookay it’s trauma dump tumblr therapy time because I truly don’t know who to talk to that won’t either be a MASSIVE inconvenience to them or Gaslighting: The Musical for me SO: let’s talk about my health!

TW: s**cidal ideation, failing health stuff, gaslighting, medical gaslighting, me being a dramatic wreck in general, LONG POST

I am so sick and fucking tired of “specialists” just patting me on the head and saying “you’re fine uwu” and “maybe you’re not really sick and you’re just stressed!” Lets break this bullshit down

1. I’ve taken to having fainting spells caused by both postural hypotension and (our working theory) inappropriate sinus tachycardia. Sometimes I stand up and I’m fine, sometimes I have to sit bc I’m lightheaded, but either way I’m gonna get tunnel vision or a full blackout of my sight that slowly returns to tv static. Sometimes I can be active and sometimes it makes me faint. Sometimes I stand too long and my whole body says “sit or be sat bitch.” Sometimes that happens when I’m already sitting. Sometimes my heart races while I’m laying down; it’s just like “what if I went 120” and I’m like “maybe don’t?” And it goes “:3c” last week I fainted while eating soup. SOUP. I’d been sitting for nearly ten minutes!!! There was no cause!!

2. It’s a natural but sudden progression of my lifelong health issues. Chest tightness, shortness of breath while highly active, dizziness, vision fading when I sit up in the morning, heat intolerance, prone to dehydration no matter how much water I drink. Been dealing with this shit for 28 years, just about.

3. Had to stop working out from the fainting. My cardiologist’s genius reply was “you should start working out!” Iconic, next time just tell me to drink lye or fling myself off a cliff. It’s polite to be direct when telling me to kill myself.

4. If it was a matter of poor lifestyle choices then it wouldn’t have started at all. I was working out daily, very active at work, eating well, drinking enough water, taking my meds. My iron was low and I added iron pills. My b12 was low so I added b12 pills. You know what got worse? My health. Iron is now too high? Still fainting. Wearing compression socks and eating as best I can while being dirt broke? Still fainting.

5. “It’s the stress” cool I’ve been cutting stressors left and right. I’m moving in with my mom in January— no rent, constant access to someone when I feel poorly, around the clock free symptom monitoring, and someone with an intimate knowledge of my medical history. No more side hustles, just my job. Easy job where I have tons of downtime that I’m LEGALLY REQUIRED to take. Access to every accommodation I could dream of. Steady and relatively high income. I am fed rested houses and employed. You know what’s getting worse? The fainting.

I am perfectly capable of gaslighting myself thanks. I’ve tried everything under the sun— trying to convince myself I was delusional and not to give into my symptoms. Bending over backwards to keep iron, b12c electrolytes, salt, water, and food in my body. Sleeping so much I might as well be part sloth. Letting others care for me, isolating and trying to deal with it myself. I’ve tried everything. You know what’s still fucked? My health. I’m on the verge of just shutting tf up and letting my body shut down, since it IS, despite everything I’m doing to keep that from happening. I’m dangerously close to dying just to prove a point.

Alternately— I’m ready to become the most UNHINGED psychological terrorist to all of my health professionals. Everything my therapist has said is normal is stuff that alarms my friends and frightens my primary doctor (so far the ONLY person who wants to help me, the person who told me something was wrong in the first place and that I wasn’t supposed to be experiencing this shit at all). My cardiologist turned down the ONLY test my primary ordered and I had to be a bitch to convince her to order it for me and didn’t bother to listen to me tell her what the problem was. I’m ready to channel 28 years of nuclear rage into telling these idiots things that would make me the most loathed client they’ve ever encountered. I’m ready to look my therapist dead in the eye and ask her if she ever wished she was a real doctor instead of a rent a shrink, or if the gaslighting tactic is something she learned in school or if it stems from her fear of relating to someone who’s cripplingly ill and losing her abled privilege. I’m ready to ask my cardiologist if she can access that part of her brain that had 8-10 years of training and schooling and maybe use one of her brain cells to do something besides telling me to do the one thing I told her was causing the problem. I’m ready to ask her if she ever wishes she could actually help people, or if her salary and generic scripted prescriptions and suggestions are enough to let her sleep well at night.

I am EXHAUSTED from doing everyone else’s job. I put the symptoms together and figured out a decent enough answer to springboard off of. I’m doing all the mental work with no help or support from the person I pay to help and support me. Somebody else has to do things now. My job is to stay alive, and it’s MORE than enough work.

[renegadeontherunn]

hello fiona my love, hope you are doing amazing - i am so excited you are doing prompts!!! AAAAHHHH could you do 29. "you're a really bad liar." with obi & soka?? or really whoever you want!!! ily queen

SAM MY LOVE!!!!! AHHHH THANK YOU FOR THIS ASK AND FOR YOUR KIND WORDS I HOPE YOU'RE DOING WONDERFULLY TOO ILY!!!!!! and thank you for being my first EVER prompt fill!!!!! 

29. “you’re a really bad liar.” // from these prompts! // read it on ao3!

Ahsoka doesn’t look at the Temple.

She can still feel it—that gentle warmth and familiar glow—wherever she goes, but she doesn’t look at it. And it’s fine. She doesn’t need to see it to still feel the gaping hole where the Jedi used to reside and she shoves the Force away at every opportunity.

Ahsoka pulls her cloak tighter. The nights have been getting colder and colder and she finds herself missing the Temple (and its inhabitants) more and more.

She looks over her shoulder again on instinct, half expecting to see Anakin or Master Yoda, or even Rex. But there’s just the usual blank, dark faces of the Coruscant nightlife and Ahsoka breathes a sigh of sad relief. If she can just get off Coruscant, get to a new planet, maybe somewhere Mid-Rim, then she can actually relax. Then she’ll be free. Ahsoka shakes her head, arms wrapping around herself.

She shouldn’t have to worry about being free.

The diner she steps in is nicer than most of the ones she’s frequented in the weeks she’s been exiled, and it’s late enough to not be crawling with too many sketchy figures. The Force simmers as the little bell dings to announce her entrance, and so Ahsoka keeps her senses sharp. A quick reaction can be the difference between life and death. She’s learned that enough times.

“Ahsoka.”

There. Ahsoka’s shoulders tense up immediately, her whole body freezing, and she squeezes her eyes shut. Of course. Of course. Ahsoka thought she wasn’t sure if she wanted to see anyone—each check behind herself was bittersweet, would it be better to reconnect or is complete isolation the safest option?—but as soon as the quiet, surprised word drifts into the air, an anvil slams down on Ahsoka’s chest and she wishes she was anywhere else.

She could leave. She could just turn around and walk—run—away, hide back in her seedy apartment with the moldy ceiling and rusty door. But something, be it obligation or pride or just plain shock, forces Ahsoka’s head to her left and she locks eyes with Master Kenobi.

He’s dressed exactly as she remembers: a few thousand layers of robes with no doubt the hundredth brown cloak wrapped loosely around his shoulders. There’s a full cup of what looks like cold caf nestled between his hands. Ahsoka tries not to walk too woodenly over to him, screaming against her own body for betraying her.

Not now, not him, not this.

His face is paler, a bit more sunken than it used to be, or so Ahsoka thinks, but his face is all pleasant surprise and familiar, if a bit hesitant, warmth.

“Please, sit down.” He gestures to the seat across from him.

Ahsoka’s heart lurches. “I’m good.”

A beat of silence. She sits.

His eyes scan her face. “How are you?”

“Fine,” she answers automatically. Oh, this is not going to go well.

Obi-Wan doesn’t seem fazed. He nods. “That’s great.”

More silence. Ahsoka tries not to fidget, fails; tries not to stare, fails at that too. And her flailing attempts to squash the surging anger inside herself—well, you can probably guess.

“What brings you to a place like this at such an hour?”

Ahsoka nearly huffs. He hasn’t changed a bit. She can’t decide if that’s comforting or . . . disappointing. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Obi-Wan nods again. “You could.”

She doesn’t.

“Would you like something to eat?”

Ahsoka’s mind goes on the defensive immediately, though she knows that’s completely off the mark. Does she not look like she can support herself? She doesn’t want—or need—his help, his charity. Ahsoka is perfectly fine on her own, thanks (for nothing), and has no desire for unsolicited aid.

“No.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t flinch, but Ahsoka feels like he wants to. Like this conversation is somehow pricking his chest with bitter pain. Well, that makes two of them.

“I’m glad to see you’re alright.”

Ahsoka bites her tongue hard, fangs digging in deep enough to make her head pound.

Obi-Wan’s brow twitches, lips pulling down into a pretty good impression of concern. “Ahsoka?”

“What do you think you’re doing?”

He blinks at her. “I’m sorry?”

Ahsoka’s eyes widen and she huffs in near-incredulous mocking. “Are you?”

His face darkens a touch. “Ahsoka—”

“Stop.” Force, why hadn’t she just walked out? “Whatever you’re about to say—don’t.”

But Obi-Wan has always loved talking, and Ahsoka should know that. “Ahsoka, please. I understand your feelings toward—”

“No you don’t.”

Obi-Wan’s jaw clicks shut.

Ahsoka’s face grows warm. “You can’t possibly imagine what I’m feeling, what I went through, other than your own part in it.”

“You’re right.” Obi-Wan’s hand is out and Ahsoka can’t remember if it always used to shake like that. “I misspoke. But I do know that you’re hurt and you have every right to be. I am so sorry.”

If this conversation doesn’t end soon, Ahsoka is either going to start throwing punches or sobbing and neither is a great look for her. “Okay.”

“If I could go back—”

“Well you can’t. And neither can I, but I guess that’s life.”

She’s purposely trying to goad him; fighting has always been easier than talking and maybe if they’re both angry, then Ahsoka won’t have to deal with the regret and guilt and fear and homesickness. But Obi-Wan is not so easily led.

“I only wish to explain, though I know it can never fully alleviate the pain of what happened. May I?”

Ahsoka can’t think of anything she wants less than to hear what he has to say. She wants—she wants Obi-Wan to stop talking, wants him to feel her devastation, she wants him to see how she is crumbling beneath the weight of what his Council has done to her.

“You all expelled me. You lost faith in me the second you got the chance to jump ship.” She chokes back tears. “The Jedi were supposed to be there for me—you were supposed to be there for me. Like family, right?”

Obi-Wan looks half on the verge of tears too.

“Ahsoka, I never lost faith in you, you must believe me.” He reaches for her. “I promise you, I tried everything in my power to speak for you in the Council, to try to prove your innocence.”

Ahsoka scoffs, feeling more bitter by the moment. “Fantastic job. Do you want applause?” She’s not sure where all this pent-up rage is coming from; she’s spent enough time meditating, considering the situation, her decision, trying to look at every angle. It’s been months. She thought she was past it. Or, at least, mostly past it.

“I understand your anger at me, I feel it myself. I completely failed you in your trial, Ahsoka, don’t think I’m unaware of that.” Ahsoka’s nails cut crescents in her palms. “I wish I could’ve done more—I should’ve done more.”

“You know what? Yeah, you should’ve. But this isn’t about you, Obi-Wan.” The name is sour on her tongue. “If forcing all this guilt on yourself somehow makes you feel better, be my guest, but you don’t have to burden me with the guilt of not absolving you from it.”

Because Ahsoka does feel guilty. She wants to forgive him and have everything go right back to the way it was, she a Jedi, he her partial Master, the three of them more like family than anything else. Her own stinging words churn in her stomach, half her brain raging against the other half: accept what’s probably your last chance at that old happiness or fuel the retribution you’re convinced you deserve. And she doesn’t know if she actually deserves it. And more importantly, she’s not sure Obi-Wan deserves this.

Haven’t they all been through enough?

But Ahsoka has never been good at thinking before speaking. And it’s a hell of a lot easier to feed the wolf craving vengeance than to scale the high road.

“Ahsoka, I am so sorry—”

Tears stinging her eyes, Ahsoka grabs her cloak, nearly knocking her chair over, her eyes never leaving Obi-Wan’s. “You’re a really bad liar.”

Obi-Wan flinches like he’s been struck.

Ahsoka lets the festering rage in her chest slither up to her tongue, lashing out in the empty air. “You’d think you’ve had enough practice.” Her voice is rough, harsh with stifled tears, words ripping holes where affection and warmth used to rest. All Ahsoka feels now, though, is scraped raw, and frustrated, angry confusion, and . . . and something else she doesn’t have time for. The door handle is cold on her blazing skin.

“Ahsoka!” Obi-Wan grabs her arm. She tries to shake him off, but his grip is too strong in its desperation. “Please, listen.”

Tears are dotting the greasy floor now and Ahsoka doesn’t know if they’re hers or Obi-Wan’s. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that, I—” She’s still pulling away. The bell on the door is ringing.

“Ahsoka—”

“Just let go!”

The Coruscant air is freezing on Ahsoka’s face and she wrenches her arm away as they burst out of the diner.

They turn to face each other, blue eyes to blue eyes, two strangers with far too many memories.

“Ahsoka.”

And his voice is home and friendship and comfort and Anakin and the past.

“I’m sorry.”

The air is too stuffy, her chest too tight. There’s no room for the past in the scathing pieces of her heart.

She bolts off into the darkness.

“Ahsoka!”