#was it perfect? no but nothing is. there are flaws but I’d rather have something made with soul

[heliosunny]

Secret admirer [1]

Yandere!Phainon x Reader

The clang of metal against metal filled the blacksmith’s shop, the heat of the forge wrapping around you like a second skin. You had long grown accustomed to the presence of warriors, knights, and heroes who relied on your craftsmanship. But among them, the Luminaries stood above all.

The twelve elite heroes of the kingdom often came to the blacksmith’s shop, their presence a constant in your daily life. Among them, Phainon was the most difficult to ignore.

Phainon was an elite hero, beloved by the people. His silver-white hair, striking blue eyes, and towering, muscular frame made him a legend on and off the battlefield. He was used to admiration. It followed him everywhere like a loyal hound.

And so, when your gaze lingered on him at the shop, he assumed you were no different from the others.

At first, it amused him. He would make a show of smirking whenever you approached, watching in expectation of your flustered reaction. When you handed over his polished weapon, he held your fingers longer than necessary. But when your reaction remained indifferent, merely professional, Phainon grew intrigued. Surely, you were just shy. It was only a matter of time before you melted under his presence.

Then he saw it.

The way your eyes brightened ever so slightly when Mydei entered the shop.

Unlike Phainon, Mydei never basked in attention. He was quiet, composed, a warrior who carried himself like a wandering storm. His hair shifted in the forge’s light, and his golden eyes were as distant as ever. Yet, you always treated him with the slightest bit more care.

Phainon’s fingers curled around the hilt of his weapon. The metal groaned under his grip.

Why him?

Why not him?

It started small, an itch at the back of his mind, a discomfort that twisted whenever he saw Mydei in your presence. But the itch soon became a fire.

Phainon began to insert himself into your life more aggressively.

You had long noticed his habit of bringing in weapons that hardly needed repairs, his sword, polished to perfection, with barely a dent. And yet, he always found a reason to return.

“Another job for you” Phainon said smoothly, placing his sword on the counter. His blue eyes lingered on you, the corners of his lips lifting in amusement. “I noticed the balance felt a little off.”

You glanced at the weapon. It was flawless. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”

His smirk deepened. “Ah, but you��re the expert, aren’t you? I trust your craftsmanship more than anyone.”

You exhaled, knowing it was pointless to argue. “…Fine. I’ll check it over.”

As you turned to take the sword into the workshop, Phainon leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “By the way,” he said, voice casual, “I heard something troubling today.”

You didn’t respond, too focused on inspecting the blade for nonexistent flaws.

“There are rumors of a monster lurking nearby. Not just any monster—something fast. The kind that strikes before you even realize it’s there.”

You paused, glancing at him. His expression remained easygoing, but there was something calculating in his gaze.

“I’ll walk you home tonight” he stated simply.

Your brows furrowed. “That’s not necessary.”

Phainon tilted his head. “Oh? You’d rather take the risk?”

“I’ll be fine.” you said firmly.

Before Phainon could press further, a deep voice interrupted.

“That’s a good idea, Phainon.”

You turned to see your boss, arms folded, nodding in approval. “The streets have been dangerous lately. It wouldn’t hurt to have an escort.”

“Boss-” you started, but he cut you off.

“You work hard enough as it is. Just accept the kindness.” He clapped Phainon on the shoulder, a gesture of gratitude. “Thanks for looking out for Y/n.”

Phainon smiled. “Of course. I’d hate for anything to happen.”

The moment was sealed. There was no escaping it now.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, you found yourself walking beside Phainon, his towering figure casting long shadows in the dim light. His presence was suffocating, not from fear, but from the weight of his gaze, always watching.

When you reached your door, he studied it for a second too long.

“…Well, this is it” you said, eager to step inside.

Phainon hummed. “Hm. Seems safe enough.”

Then, he smiled “I’ll remember the way.”

The city was alive with celebration. The Luminaries had returned victorious from yet another battle, their names chanted from the gates to the palace. Flowers rained from balconies, banners of the kingdom fluttered high, and citizens crowded the streets, eager to catch a glimpse of their champions.

Phainon rode at the front, his hair gleaming under the sun, his towering frame unmissable among the heroes. The cheers and admiration were nothing new to him, he had long grown accustomed to the love of the people.

Yet, as his gaze swept over the crowd, he found himself searching for something… someone.

Then, he saw you.

You stood among the onlookers, eyes fixed on one figure.

Not him.

Phainon followed your gaze, his jaw tightening when he realized who had captured your attention. Once again, Mydei.

He rode silently beside the others, his golden eyes unreadable as ever. Unlike Phainon, he never basked in the adoration. He never acknowledged the cheers, nor did he revel in the spotlight. And yet, it was him you watched.

The noise of the celebration dulled, the praise meaningless. His grip on the reins tightened.

Why?

Why him?

It didn’t matter now.

Because if your eyes refused to see him…

Then he would make sure he was the only thing you would ever look at again.

Phainon was patient. He was a man who knew how to wait for the right moment, how to let things fall into place.

That was why, after the grand procession, after the cheers of the people faded, he sought you out, not with force, but with something simpler.

“Come with me” he had said, voice carrying that easy confidence. “I know a place.”

It was a charming café, tucked away from the main roads, the kind of place that wasn’t suffocated by nobility or merchants. It was quiet, intimate.

He watched as you browsed the menu, his chin resting against his knuckles.

“You’re not nervous?” he mused. “Having cake with a hero?”

You snorted. “You’re just a customer I’ve known for a while.”

Phainon chuckled. You were refreshing, carefree in a way that people around him rarely were. Most stumbled over their words, eager to impress, but you… you were just being yourself.

Then the cakes arrived.

Phainon blinked as you wasted no time digging in, eating with such appetite.

“…You eat strongly” he remarked, mildly impressed.

“It’s good.” you said between bites, completely unbothered.

He found himself smiling, intrigued. He had expected you to be more hesitant, but instead, you were at ease. That was good. That meant you didn’t see him as a threat.

As you ate, he asked about many things, your work, your thoughts on the city, little things about your life. You answered carefreely, the conversation flowing easily.

But then, your questions turned.

“You and the others must have a lot of weapon damage after that battle” you noted. “I’d like to know what issues you’re having so I can enhance them accordingly.”

Phainon raised a brow. “That’s why you’re asking?”

“Of course” you said, sipping your drink. “If your weapons aren’t at their best, it’ll cost lives on the battlefield.”

He hadn’t expected such a practical answer. Most would ask about the fight itself, about his heroics. But you were thinking ahead.

You were thinking about him.

The thought pleased him.

He leaned back, twirling the spoon between his fingers. “Since you’re so interested, my sword could use better weight distribution. It’s powerful, but in prolonged battles, I can feel the strain on my wrist.”

You nodded, taking mental notes. “What about Mydei’s weapon?”

Phainon’s fingers stilled.

The question was casual, but something about it sent an unpleasant jolt through his spine.

Again. Always Mydei.

Before he could even process an answer, an excited gasp filled the air.

“That’s Phainon!”

Heads turned. The quiet ambiance of the café shattered as people recognized him.

Within seconds, a crowd swarmed.

“Lord Phainon!”

“Please, just one signature—!”

“A moment of your time—”

The café staff scrambled to maintain order, but the wave of admirers was relentless.

Phainon scowled. Not now. Not when he finally had you alone.

And then, he noticed. You were gone.

His eyes flicked to the table. The bill had already been paid, and you had slipped away before the crowd could consume you.

For a long moment, he just stared at the empty seat across from him, the warmth in his expression slowly fading.

Then, he smiled.

How adorable.

He would let it slide this time. After all, the chase was just beginning.

The clashing sounds of steel filled the air as The Luminaries drilled their recruits, each hero effortlessly demonstrating their might. The training grounds were a blend of intensity and discipline, where every swing and every move was a reflection of their years of battle experience.

You stood at the edge of the grounds, observing the spectacle alongside a few of your fellow blacksmiths, who were overseeing the new weapons. It wasn’t uncommon for you to attend these sessions. The Luminaries had come to rely on your craftsmanship for their specialized weapons, and today was no different. You’d been given the task of noting any necessary adjustments and improvements, ensuring their weapons were up to the highest standard for their next mission.

You found yourself talking with a few of the heroes as you made your way around the training field, exchanging notes with each of them about their current gear.

“How’s the balance on that spear?” you asked the tall, poised spear-wielder. She had a cool demeanor and a sharp edge to her movements, which you admired.

“It’s good” she replied, twirling the spear once and giving you a small smile. “Though I might need a sturdier grip. The last time I faced that behemoth, it nearly slipped.”

You made a mental note of it, nodding in understanding. “I’ll work on that. And keep an eye on the weight distribution.”

Nearby, the archer of the group, shot a few quick, precise arrows at a target, his sharp eyes never leaving it as he turned to you.

“You should try improving the pull strength on my bow” he suggested casually, lowering his bow. “It’s a bit too tight for longer shoots. The tension is causing slight strain.”

You jotted it down on your tablet, appreciating his directness. “Got it. I’ll make sure to adjust the draw weight next time.”

As you continued chatting and making notes, you couldn’t help but notice Mydei standing near the edge of the grounds, leaning against a pillar with his usual indifference.

Before you could get lost in thoughts about him, Phainon’s voice cut through the air. “You’re always so diligent, aren’t you, Y/N?” His voice was confident, tinged with that familiar self-assurance.

Turning to him, you found Phainon standing at the center of the sparring ring, sweat glistening on his muscular form. He was still catching his breath, but there was a glimmer in his eyes as he locked onto you.

“I’m just doing my job, Phainon.” you replied lightly, offering him a teasing grin.

He smirked, stepping forward. “You’d be better off joining me on the field. You’d see firsthand how this blade works.” He gave his sword a slight twirl, the glint of it sharp in the sun.

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “You want me to join you on the field? Do you think I’m a knight now?”

A chuckle escaped his lips. “Perhaps you’d surprise me.”

You both shared a brief but knowing glance before you moved to check on the weapons of the other heroes, but that brief interaction lingered in the back of your mind. As you walked, you couldn’t help but notice Phainon’s gaze, following you from the corner of his eye.

Your focus shifted as Mydei caught your eye. His yellow gaze met yours, a silent acknowledgment shared between you, but there was something more there, something unspoken that only you could feel.

Phainon was still sparring with another recruit, but his attention had momentarily shifted, and that brief moment of distraction would soon prove to be his undoing. While engaging in his sparring match, Phainon’s focus fractured. His gaze flickered, just briefly, to you and Mydei, standing across the ring from each other, exchanging words. The sight of Mydei, so calm, so effortlessly admired by you, tugged at something deep inside him.

His sparring opponent took advantage, landing a clean cut across Phainon’s arm. The sound of the blade slicing through the air was followed by the startled gasps of the onlookers. Phainon stepped back, a sharp hiss escaping his lips as he clenched his fist around the sword’s hilt.

He looked at the cut, the red seeping through the sleeve of his tunic, and his jaw tightened in irritation.

“Looks like I’ve lost focus” he muttered under his breath, though the frustration was evident in his voice. He tried to recover quickly, raising his sword again to continue.

But it was too late. You had already rushed to his side.

“Hold still” you said, kneeling down quickly as you pulled a healing kit from your pouch. You could feel the intensity of his gaze on you as you worked, but you focused on the task at hand, applying the salve and gently bandaging the wound.

“Idiot.” you muttered, shaking your head as you wrapped the bandage tight around his arm. “You got distracted.”

Phainon’s lips curled into a small, wry smile despite the injury. “I’m just a man, Y/N. Even the strongest get distracted sometimes.” His eyes narrowed slightly as they studied your face, before they flicked toward Mydei, who was still standing calmly in the distance.

You felt the weight of his gaze on you, the tension in the air palpable. But you didn’t acknowledge it. You finished the bandage and stood up, brushing off your hands.

“There. All better.” you said, giving him a small but dismissive smile.

But as you stood back, Phainon wasn’t done with his thought.

“Be careful next time, Y/N. I wouldn’t want you running off to help anyone else…” His voice dropped to a low murmur, but the warning was clear.

Your smile faltered slightly, but you masked it with a light laugh. “I’m sure you’ll survive, Phainon.”

As you turned to walk away, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Phainon’s thoughts weren’t as innocent as his words.

-----

🎉🎉HAPPY 500+ FOLLOWERS 🎉🎉

Gosh, I thought this will stay in the drafts for a long while. Take it as my gift for you ok🥺🥺🥺

[laniidae-passerine]

stuck in a world where you get one really good season of tv followed by a season so poorly written and paced it’s baffling. who will free us from this

[alfredosauce50]

What makes me human

[Cyberpunk! America x reader] 20

Wordcount: 12, 428 Rating: R18+ for adult themes, violence, and gore Synopsis: ??? Content warning: Major character death(s). Heavy sexual references. Content may be disturbing for some readers. Proceed with caution.

20 - finale

“Considering we’re all about to bite the dust, you guys fixed this ship up pretty good,” Allen remarked, walking into the control room with a more relaxed composure than he should’ve had. 

In just a few hours, this thing would be taking everyone to their final resting place. As bleak as that sounded, it couldn’t be far from the truth, so he smoked himself up for the occasion. 

“You don’t have to remind me,” Arthur mused, brushing past him. While he made his way to the other side of the room, he got a whiff of the nicotine that was wafting off him, but he couldn’t be bothered by the smell. He had something else to be bothered by, like his boyfriend’s dismissive attitude to the undismissable — that he was about to be thrown into the lion’s den. 

He got to their side, and they were currently working on one of the dashboards on the bridge, configuring the system. There, he made one final attempt to talk himself out of the action. 

“Can’t I just stay here and wait for you?” He leaned down, expression tense.

“And let you out of our sight? No way.” Zao shot him down without so little as a single glance, which was ironic considering what he just said.

“Look, I’m not a cyberpunk like you lot. I can’t fight, I can’t netrun, I’ll just slow you all down,” Arthur was exasperated, but he kept his voice down lest he be overheard by his apprentice. Knowing them, the last thing they needed was more panic added into the mix. “How would it make any sense to bring me along?”

“It makes perfect sense,” The other replied cutely, albeit while lifting a stern gaze to him. “You stay with us so nothing happens to you without us being there. Would you rather be by yourself when you get fucked or get fucked along with the rest of us?”

“Fine,” Arthur relented, hopping off the bridge to leave. “But if I die, I’ll kill you.”

“You’re not gonna die,” Zao sighed, spinning to him on his chair to watch him as he walked away. Then, he whispered this next part under his breath. “Like I’d ever let that happen.”

“Oh, and Allen?” The blonde stopped in his tracks, turning to the man.

“Yes, boss.” The other replied, not taking his eyes off a dashboard he was stuck marveling at. He’d always been a grease monkey, but that was only for cars. Spacecrafts, on the other hand, were way beyond his depth. For all he knew, he’d be entering the realm of science fiction with how complicated things got.

“When we get back, I’ll get you started on some of the basics,” Arthur smiled cooly, already knowing the reaction he’d get from his apprentice. It’d been a while since they sat down together and tinkered around in the garage, but if this wild goose chase panned out the way they wanted, this didn’t have to be the sensitive subject anymore. They could go back to their old lives.

“Oh, for real?” Allen shot up with an excited grin. “Hell yeah!”

Cyberpunk isn’t about saving the world.

It’s about saving yourself.

That was something Alfred always failed to understand. 

That this world was beyond the idea of a prophesied hero, beyond saving because it was just too far gone. Night City was bigger than him and everyone in it, even those who claimed to own it. Stay here long enough and it would all but swallow you whole. The dark future had no place for something like hope, and yet, he was obsessed with making out on an impossible dream. 

But as flawed and unattainable it was, it was still a beautiful fantasy. 

He made a last minute decision to unbuckle his seatbelt, pulling himself to his feet so he could walk out of the control room and into the hall. With the imminent launch of the ship, where he was headed was probably the last place he should be. The observatory, but he wanted to get a look while he could. Space, the apparent equivalent to skiing in this day and age.

And now that he could finally see it, he could only wish it was under different circumstances. 

Because somewhere out there in another universe, he didn’t have to be a hardened soldier, rising to meet the occasion. But this was probably the fate he had always been destined for.   

“I take it this is your first time too,” He began with his back turned to you, having sensed your presence ever since you trailed behind him. He was standing by a large spherical window, and there, he stared out into his friend’s private runway. It wasn’t much of a sight, but it wasn’t what he came for yet. “Space. We’re actually going to Space, (F/N). Isn’t that just amazing?”

“Yeah,” You smiled a little, though you couldn’t find yourself as enthusiastic as him. 

“And I used to be such a nut about it. There was just so much we didn’t know, but that was what made it so cool,” Alfred grinned at you, his eyes alight with a childlike wonder. You’ve never seen him so excited, and to think it could come from something as simple as just reminiscing the past, it had you wondering what kind of person he would’ve been if he was still back there. 

An explorer, an astronaut, or a pioneer. 

“How big it was, how small and insignificant we are compared to the universe.”

Back then, not everything had been done, so people still would’ve had the chance to keep trying new things. He would’ve had that chance to keep trying new things. After all, everyone was so curious back then, doing anything and everything in their power to just understand the world a little better. To make sense of the vast unknown that had somehow breathed life into this planet. 

No discovery was ever too small, because that one step still would’ve been a giant leap for humanity. That was the value and excitement of science, so where did it go now? 

“But it’s just so normal now. Everything has been reduced to our scale and nothing feels out of reach anymore,” The light in his eyes faded, and he lowered his head. “We’ve lost our humility.”

All of those thoughts ran through your mind while you listened to him speak, and seeing the face he made was that final swing to your resolve, shattering any and all previous reservations you’ve ever had of him. He wasn’t hot-tempered, sensitive, or selfish. Maybe a little, but he wasn’t as arrogant or conceited as you used to think. What made him the way he was the opposite of all those things, and with that newfound clarity, you came to realize what you came here to do. 

“Alfred,” You let out, wrapping yourself around his arm. Then, you pressed your forehead to it, screwing your eyes shut. “I’m not mad at you anymore, and I don’t think I ever can be.”

“Really?” He softened his gaze over you. 

“There’s a certain way the world works, or should work, so you’re right to be angry,” You admitted, peering up at him. “This is the truth of what you are, and I think it’s beautiful.”

“Space?” 

“No, your humility.”

He lifted his head and made a face of understanding as if to go, oh, right. But it quickly changed to a tender smile. “Even though I can be an arrogant prick sometimes?”

“Yes,” You smiled back. “Especially when you’re an arrogant prick sometimes.”

The two of you shared a soft laugh, after which, he turned back to the window again. 

Beautiful, you said. 

“You know, I think I might be the worst thing to ever happen to you,” Alfred murmured, his tone and expression unreadable as he stared out onto the runway. Be that as it may, you could still sense the shame behind his thoughtful composure. He meant it with every fiber of his being, and you would’ve refuted it with every fiber of yours if it weren’t for him turning back to you again. 

Then, with the most sincere gaze burning into you, he said this.

“But you are the best thing to ever happen to me.”

To say you were taken aback would’ve been an understatement. But was he really going to do this now? You felt like you were going to cry, and you couldn’t find it in yourself to stop it, let alone to tear yourself from him. The timing couldn’t be worse, and judging from how he looked at you, so unwaveringly passionate, he was about to tell you everything he’d ever wanted to. 

“I was just surviving this whole time, but you made me want to live again,” He continued, his eyes wide with love. “I wanna do right by you. I wanna keep learning and growing.” 

The first tears finally came, but all you could do was stare at him in an awe-induced silence. 

“And I know I used to make a big deal about mortality, but I think that’s what actually makes you a human being,” He smiled like he just discovered the secrets of the universe, his ocean eyes twinkling with the stars that would very soon grace the skies. “Not death, but wanting to live.”

The life that pulsed through him was transcendent, overpowering even this moment before death. This was the effect you had on him, a force of nature that made him stronger than oblivion. 

“You idiot.” You wiped your tears with the back of your hand. But they just kept coming, for you were that deeply moved by the profound beauty of his words. To hear how highly he thought of you, then how much you’d changed him, and in turn, how much he changed you, everything overwhelmed you until your face contorted and you practically plowed into his arms to hug him. “Don’t give yourself so much credit. We all know what was the worst thing to happen to me.”

“Oh, yeah?” He hummed, hugging you back. He was already so happy to hear that, breathing you in to ride off that high. Because from the sound of it, you already forgave him.

But you weren’t stopping until you turned his world upside down. 

“You might think you took everything from me, but that’s not true at all,” You squeezed him even tighter. Then, you spoke the words he never thought he’d hear. “You saved me.” 

“What?” His face fell a touch, not believing his ears.

“Allen too.” 

He couldn’t understand it one bit, but you would make him. 

“Ever since he joined the syndicate, what happened to him was going to happen eventually. Nothing in my life would’ve changed, and I would’ve kept being the person my father wanted me to be. But because you’re such an arrogant prick, and because you’re so stubborn--”

His eyes went as wide as he could get them, unsure of whether to feel insulted or praised.

“--you showed us the truth, and now, we’re freed by it. We don’t have to live that way anymore.”

Alfred saved you from your fate, even if it was the life you used to have. He showed you the world and set you free with the truth. He opened your eyes and led you into the light. 

For that, he saved you in every way a person could be saved. 

Kidnapping you was just an incredibly long-winded rescue mission. 

He never once saw it this way, nor himself this way, and to hear you say it, well, you were right about everything. But he couldn’t take it for granted. It would’ve taken so much for you to understand those things. To understand him. To forgive him. And yet, you were so damn good at all of those impossible things, the only real conclusion he could take away from it all was this. 

“Is that your way of saying you love me?” Alfred smiled warmly, getting your lips to tremble into a frown. “Because back in my day, we just kept it short and said the three words.” 

“Stop joking around and just say it then.” You let out, but by then, it was too late. 

The ship launched, drowning out his voice with the engine blast. 

“I love you.”

You never ended up hearing him say it, but you could read his lips. And it was enough to evoke a visceral reaction from you, getting your heart to ache with so much emotion, you could barely handle it. You’d known this for so long, and yet, it affected you so much, you were thrown into the past. And in there, all the memories you ever had of him played like a record.

You’re so hypnotizing Could you be the devil, could you be an angel

You saw him for the first time, and he was a living, breathing weapon. 

As he stood across you in the kitchen of your home, you took him in for everything that he was. Little did you know, he was about to steal you away like a thief in the night.

Your body, mind, and soul, it would all be his. 

Your touch magnetizing Feels like I am floating, leave my body glowing

You laid with him in a no-tell motel, letting him trace his fingers over your skin. He told you about his past, how he was from a world different to yours. And he was an enigma. 

Alfred was a product of your time, but where he truly belonged no longer existed.

They say be afraid You’re not like the others, futuristic lover

He was an old soul, trapped in a body of the future. A killing machine. And because of it, he was feared by everyone he knew. Captured by those who should’ve worshipped him.  

Different DNA, they don’t understand you

But they were wrong about everything. 

You’re from a whole other world A different dimension

He was the vengeance of those before him, an unsung hero who would bring back some sense into an insensitive world. He would touch everyone he ever met, changing them with the truth.

And he would start with you.

You open my eyes And I’m ready to go, lead me into the light

The force threw you both against the wall, but Alfred cushioned you moments before impact. Wrapping his strong arms around you, he held you tight as the ship was sent hurtling into space. 

Kiss me, k-k-kiss me Infect me with your love, and fill me with your poison

Then, he kissed you. 

Take me, t-t-take me Wanna be your victim, ready for abduction

He kissed and kissed you until it was enough to suffice the words he couldn’t hear. 

Boy, you’re an alien, your touch so foreign It’s supernatural, extraterrestrial

That you loved him, and would love him until the end of time. 

This is transcendental On another level Boy, you’re my lucky star

The two of you were never meant to cross paths, having come from two entirely different worlds. 

But now that it happened, there were no two truer equals than you and him. The past and future, male and female, flesh and metal, all of it converged into one singular point like the beginning of the universe and time itself. Alfred held your hand as he looked out the window. He’d finally reached space, what once was a forgotten dream now realized right before his very eyes.

Earth was below him as a glowing blue planet. He could see all the oceans, continents, and the clouds, then the endless sea of stars that existed outside of his comprehension. 

From this distance, the world was as beautiful as he remembered. 

Wanna walk on your wavelength And be there when you vibrate For you I’d risk it all

The front gate of your father’s ship slid open.

Thump-thump

And nothing would’ve prepared you all for the horror that was waiting behind. 

Thump-thump

Dozens of clones, all spitting-images of Alfred, leapt on the unsuspecting group. Their eyes were wide, blank, and crazed, with not a thought behind them but orders to cut down anyone on the other side. When that registered in all of your brains, first, the very idea of it, and second, the actual reality of it, your faces warped in terror in what felt like slow-motion. 

This was the madness your father had brought upon you all. 

Or was it his fault alone?

The room lit up in crazed gunfire. Allen blasted at the clones, firing uncontrollably at them with his eyes and mouth wide open. The fear that struck him was like lightning, coursing through him as so overwhelming it was as if the world had begun to end. He could hardly breathe, let alone think. All he knew was to shoot non-stop, because the second he stopped, he would be killed. 

The same could be said for everyone else, now fuelled by nothing but the drive to survive. 

Your katana never stopped moving as you fought off the horde, so frightened that you couldn’t even scream. You’d descended into such a state that fight or flight converged into one — you wanted to run, but the only way of getting out of here alive was through it. So you kept slashing and slashing, hoping there would somehow be an end to the neverending nightmare before you.

Meanwhile, Arthur was backed to a wall, frozen still as Zao defended him with everything he had. He swung at a clone, knocking the dagger out of their hands before stabbing them with it.

But Alfred? 

He gritted his teeth as he whipped out his mantis blades, letting them unfold like a giant switch knife before he ripped and tore through his clones like a demon. He decapitated them, disemboweled them, completely and utterly destroying them until they were nothing but an explosive mess of blood, flesh, and bone.

He was finally confronting the true nature of your father’s madness, meaning he could finally end it once and for all. But perhaps he shouldn’t have spoken so soon. 

When the last clone fell to your katana, something came from the inside of the ship.

A white mist, which blew past all of you like a gust. 

“Wha—?” Alfred could barely finish his word when it poured into his face. That was when he knew, and in a last ditch attempt to save his friends, he turned to them to yell this out. It was the last thing he could’ve expected, leaving him horribly unprepared for what was unfolding. “—it’s an agent!”

“Oh, come on. That’s just cheating!” Allen roared, terrified out of his mind. He staggered back a few steps, but that couldn’t stop the landslide of gas that came rolling into his face. 

The way it moved was like an avalanche, engulfing the group until everyone was shrouded in it. 

“Whatever you do, don’t breathe it in!” Alfred shouted.

“Easy for you to say!” Allen spat, covering the lower half of his face with his forearm. But even that wasn’t enough to stop the substance from getting into his airway. Whatever it was, it was working fast, draining his consciousness by the second. He could feel himself slipping away, and in those last moments, he saw Arthur drop onto his knees next to him. He hardly had the energy to call out to him, let alone the energy to reach out to you before you fell to the ground. He watched you with his teeth clenched as he fought with every fiber of his being to stay awake. 

“(F/N)…!” Allen hissed. “… Shit…”

“Hey, keep it together! Don’t you dare pass out on me!” Alfred roared, running to the sound of his voice. By that point, the mist had thickened so much, it was impossible to see through. He used his scanner to detect your thermal signatures, but he found nothing. It was just him in the room, and yet, he kept moving like it wasn’t true, refusing to believe that his friends were just plucked off right before his very eyes. Only that was exactly what just happened. 

Once he got to where he last saw Allen, he was gone.

Alfred was overcome with shock as he stumbled back a few steps. 

But that wasn’t all. The mist was starting to dissipate, and once it cleared, everyone was gone. And like everyone else in his shoes, this one thought hit him. Did he just send all his friends to their deaths? His expression was wrought with horror as that realization began to settle in. Then, he let himself get crushed by a guilt so heavy, he could hardly stand. Lowering himself onto his knees, he dug his hands through his hair as his mouth hung open in fright. But that was when he saw someone lying on the ground in the corner of his eye. His clone. Calfred. He turned his head to them, and it just so happened to be the only person he couldn’t give a damn about. Yet, here he was. 

Still here with his sorry ass. 

His head returned to its neutral position. Then, he mustered the darkest glare he could. There was no denying it now. This was all a deliberate ploy to get under his skin, perfectly designed to the last detail. 

It sounded like him. 

“You sick bastard.” He snarled. It maddened him with rage to think the old man was this close, having taken all his friends right under his nose. So he got up on one knee and whipped out his mantis blades on one arm, roaring this at the top of his lungs. “Come out here and fight me!”

|

When Allen came to, he was lying on his side on a tatami floor. 

The lighting was dim, a sensual mix of purple and pink hues. He sat up, and that was when he realized he was stripped down to his tank top. His bomber jacket and even his pants were gone. But he didn’t have a chance to make a fuss as he was hit with a searing headache. He pressed the ball of his hand to his forehead and winced through his teeth. What the actual hell was going on? 

There was gas, and now, he was in an entirely different room. 

The room in question was lavishly furnished with traditional paper lanterns, a wooden vanity, and even red paper umbrellas, opened and lying on their side to display their intricate patterns. There was even a crimson futon against the wall, and on each side was a shoji screen for privacy. If he didn’t know any better, this would’ve been a private room in the red light district. 

Why he was put here was beyond him, a place meant for pleasure. 

But it would all become painfully clear when he saw who he was with. 

Standing over him was the most alluring woman he’d ever seen. She was dressed in an elaborate red kimono, and her silky black hair was put up like a geisha, but with more gold ornaments than he could count. She was an oiran, a high-ranking courtesan from the Edo period. But her beauty didn’t come from the clothes she wore, nor the fine makeup that graced her cherubic features. 

Upon closer look at her face, it was yours. |

Zao opened his eyes, but he wasn’t lying on the floor. Instead, he was upright and tied to a chair. He struggled for a bit, pulling at the metal constraints around his wrists.

But even that couldn’t hold his attention for long. 

In front of him were a bunch of security screens, each filming a room that one of his friends was in. He turned to them, and he could hardly believe what he was seeing. Alfred just threw Calfred over his shoulder before charging into the ship. Allen was in a room with a woman that looked terrifyingly like you. Meanwhile, the real you was still unconscious on the floor of a child’s room. But Arthur? He was roaming the halls by himself, searching for all of you because he was defenseless on his own. Zao grimaced darkly, but it was hardly out of mirth. 

He knew what kind of man your father was, but this was a whole new level of insanity. He wasn’t going to do any of the dirty work himself. 

He would let all of you do that to yourselves. 

Your greatest demons, now his greatest weapons. 

And here he was, forced to watch as all of his friends were plucked off, one by one. He’d always been an observer, someone who had the bigger picture and worked tirelessly in the background. This was a testament to that, only this time, he had both arms tied behind his back, powerless to stop what was unfolding before his very eyes. But even as this dawned on him, only one thought raced through his mind — the regret of everything he’d ever done, reduced to this one moment.

He should’ve left Arthur behind.

|

“Oh, good. You’re awake,” Alfred gave his clone a brief side-eye before tossing him a gun. 

It landed in the man’s lap, much to his annoyance — could he be any more an asshole? He lifted his hardened gaze up to his companion, who was already facing away from him. 

“Now make yourself useful.”

“Why did I have to end up with you?” Calfred picked it up before pulling himself up to his feet. 

“Yeah, I’m not exactly thrilled about this either,” He broke into a brisk jog in the hall, making his footsteps as faint as possible. Hollow, metallic thunks sounded against the floor as they moved together in stealth, sticking to the walls wherever possible. That was when they came to an intersection, so he hid behind the corner. “You think everybody else got to pick?”

“Whatever,” The other hid behind him. “Where is everybody anyway?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” Alfred whispered in a foreboding tone, keeping his eyes narrowed on the two clones that stood at the end of the hall. It was the first time that they ran into some company, and he was right to anticipate the worst. More copies of himself. But even if there were a hundred, thousand, or a million of them, he would kill them all until he was the only one left standing. “I’ll take the one on the left, you take the one on the right. On three.”

Calfred raised his gun, only for him to lower it with a push. “No guns. Too much noise.”

“Didn’t you just--”

“--three.” He sped off, derailing that train of thought. 

They ran into the light in perfect synchronization, moving side by side like a reflection of one another. Now that they were exposed, they were plunged into a zone, a deep state of focus like predators in chase of their prey with the aim to kill as fast as they could. And they couldn’t stop now that the timer started. 

Alfred came up to his clone from behind and twisted its head in one swift movement, killing it instantly. Calfred slit his clone across the throat, getting blood to spray profusely from its neck. They both fell to the ground, but the duo had already moved on by the time a thump was heard, running off together, one after the other. 

They cut their way through the ship, exterminating all life like angels of death. So many heads rolled and so many guts were spilled that by the end of it, the duo were covered in blood. Their faces were drenched in it so that when they opened their eyes in a cold glare, the electric blue in them would contrast beautifully against the red. But it was just another marker that distinguished them from their enemies. Hell, they even could’ve been unstoppable as allies in another life. 

Two trained killers who worked in perfect unison. 

But this was no time to get sentimental. 

They eventually found themselves at another closed gate, which Alfred took his time to crack into. And what waited behind was a surprise they’ve seen well and truly before. Because once it slid open, they came face to face with an entire room of clones. Dozens and dozens of them.

“Oh, fuck.” They let out simultaneously.

So much for making too much noise.

|

So this was what it came to, the master plan that was meant to put him in his grave. Maybe this could’ve worked in the past, but he was no fool. Not anymore. While these thoughts ran through his head, Allen got up without a word. The look behind his eyes turned dark and incoherent, but what he was about to do was exactly those things. Vile and utterly incomprehensible. 

He pulled his gun and trained it on your face. 

Nobody should ever be forced into a situation where they had to kill a loved one in cold blood, but here he was, about to blow your brains out. He gritted his teeth as he let out a shaky breath, feeling a gradual tremble build up in his hand that held the gun. He was really about to shoot you, wasn’t he? Only he wasn’t, so why was he even stuck thinking about it? 

You weren’t real, just a tool to get under his skin and ultimately kill him. 

So why didn’t he just pull the trigger?

“Just do it,” He strained through his teeth, feeling his heart start racing in his chest. His hand was full-on shaking by then, but he was on the verge of going through with it. “Just fucking do it.”

|

When you finally awakened, you were on the floor of your childhood bedroom. You rose to your feet to take it all in, and your face contorted when it dawned on you. This was where you grew up. An exact replica of it. The bed, the furniture, the framed pictures that decorated the shelves, even the smell of it was exactly the same. It was an other-worldly experience that awakened some of the deepest memories within you, even the ones you thought you’d forgotten. 

Your father reading stories to you, chasing your butt-naked self around the place with a towel, then picking you up in his strong arms. The way he bellowed out his laughter, but never being scared by the sound of it. That was your father, the person you once knew. Strong, noble, and just. Where did he go now? Tears streamed down your face as your heart grew heavy with loss. 

It was the sadness of a child who lost a parent, for whoever stood in their place was a stranger. 

Or was this the person he’d always been? 

So cruel that he would use your own innocence against you, turning your purest memories into a weapon? This was the last straw you didn’t know you even had, because even after everything he’d done, you were still shedding tears for him. Your forgiveness seemed to know no bounds, but so did his wickedness. But you were drawing the line now. He was nothing but a scourge on this planet, corrupting all good until there was nothing left except pain and suffering. 

You rose from the ground and unsheathed your katana. 

No child should ever have to resort to killing a parent, but he left you no choice. 

“Have you finally made up your mind?” Your father began as you stepped into the light. 

And to think he’d been here the whole time, waiting for you to meet him exactly where he stood.

Just what was he planning?

“I’ve made up my mind long before coming here,” You lowered your head.

“Then why the tears, my child?” He questioned. 

“I’m allowed to grieve the loss of a father,” You answered with your eyes closed, refusing to look at him as you said it. 

“So you do care for me, after all,” He was visibly affected by what you told him, an astonishing feat for someone like him. However, you were probably the only thing in the world he could ever feel love for, so it was all for naught. “This doesn’t have to end the way you think it does. Just admit the truth that is your family, and I will stop everything. All of this, if you will just say it.”

“I lost my father ages ago,” You refused. “You’re a demon.”

“If I’m a demon, what does that make you?” He responded calmly.

“I’m not you. I can live my own life and make it my own,” You shot back.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Your father denied, much to your anger and disbelief. He’d always been a firm believer in tradition, in filial piety, but his entitlement over you knew no bounds. Little did you know, he meant it in the plainest and most literal way, which was far worse than anything you could’ve imagined. “Have you ever wondered why you’ve never had a mother?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” You frowned, though he was right to question you on that. You’ve never had a mother growing up, and you always wondered why. 

“You’re not really my daughter, you see. You weren’t born from two parents,” He explained. At first, you didn’t know what to make of that fact. How you were a miracle child, born from a single parent. Now that you thought about it, it wasn’t unheard of, so you couldn’t be surprised. But if that were the case, what did he mean when he said you weren’t really his daughter? 

“And?” You narrowed your eyes. “That doesn’t prove anything.”

“You misunderstand, (F/N). Every strand of DNA in your body is identical to mine, except for the chromosomes that determine your sex,” He continued, and that was when it slowly dawned on you. If what he was saying was true, that could only mean one thing. And yet, you couldn’t bear to accept the truth even as he laid it out before you. “You are a female clone of me.”

You were identical to him, down to the last strand of flesh that wrapped around your bones. You couldn’t even have the least of your own body to differentiate yourself from him, and that in itself was so depraved, so invasive, you could barely keep yourself standing.

“You’re lying,” You bit back a cry. “You’re lying. That’s not true!”

“But it is,” He glowered, and with the most bone-chilling voice, he said, “You are me.”

Meanwhile, Allen kept the barrel of his gun pointed at your face. He was paralyzed, where the only movement lay in the shaking of his hand. His eyes were a powerful weapon of deceit, and the longer he stayed in this tense stalemate, the more it chipped away at his will. That was when you smiled at him, and it basically destroyed him. His mind began to unravel, his stomach began to churn, and his mouth fell agape in an expression of so much agony, it looked like he was in pain. 

His body was refusing to listen to him because all it knew was that he was about to kill you. 

And to fight that part of himself, he ended up screaming as loud as he could to drown it out. 

Tears ran down your face as you glared at your father with all the fear and loathing in the world. He’d cursed you with life, something utterly unthinkable and unachievable until he came along. It was the same thing he did to Alfred, but that was when you realized two things could be true at once. Alfred flashed in your mind, and so did Allen. And oh, how they smiled, talked, laughed. They made the world something you could understand, and for that, the memory of them alone was enough to give you back your strength with frightening clarity. You loved them in a way that he could never love anything, and that fact alone set you miles apart.

Allen eventually pulled the trigger, sending off a bang.

“I am nothing like you!” You roared, lunging forward with a manic ferocity in your movements.

“And yet,” Something sinister glinted in his eyes as you both met in a fearsome clash. A sharp clang was heard as he pulled out his katana at the last second, stopping you from cutting through him. That left the edges of your blades scraping together as you two pitted your raw strength against each other, and there, you were locked in a foreboding stare-down. “Here we are.”

You broke out of the hold by hitting his katana away. 

Then, you came at him with a series of hard strikes and swings.

“Can’t you see?” He caught every single one, your blades clashing in a fierce battle of steel. 

His eyes widened with a burning certainty as he witnessed you in your prime. You fought like a demon, the very thing you accused him of being. You attacked him with so much speed and strength, even he struggled to keep up with you. “All your relentlessness, ferocity, and power—”

You were so caught up in the fight, you didn’t realize that your gi had slipped off, revealing what hid beneath. A yakuza dragon tattoo on your back that spread from your hips all the way to your neck. It was done with the finest sportsmanship, only to be given to the highest-ranking members of the syndicate. But even that didn’t mean it could be taken so freely. It was the one and only honor your father had rightfully bestowed upon you, and it had no importance until now. 

Alfred wasn’t his foil, nor his truest match. 

You were. 

And the harder you fought, the more his truth unraveled. This was everything he ever wanted, the unfolding of a self-fulfilling prophecy that was what you were destined to be.

“—all of it is because you are me.”

Allen laid your clone to rest on the bed, throwing a blanket over the body to cover it. 

He did it all with a pained frown, knowing he’d carry this action with him for the rest of his life. For even though this had been a mere shadow of you, he now knew what it was like to kill you, and how much it took for him to kill you. It wasn’t something he ever wanted to go through, but he did now. He turned around to leave, desperate to leave this behind him once and for all.

But he only made a few steps before he stopped. 

Then, his face contorted with a sob, and he wiped the tears that came. This was so fucked up, he could hardly bring himself to carry on. But he forced himself to keep pushing. 

The real you was still out there, and that was enough to keep him going. Little did he know, you were losing grip of yourself at that very moment, reaching a height of bloodlust that would make you no different to your greatest enemy. For as cruel as they’d been, nothing could change the fact that you were about to kill your own kin. And it was an act that had a weight on its own. 

With a loud, reverberating clang, you hit the katana out of your father’s hands. 

Would Allen be able to save you from your fate, even when it was reaching a point that was practically unsalvageable? The sharp edge of your sword was against his neck, and with one, quick, slice, you could end it all. But by doing so, you would also become the one thing he wanted to make of you. A manifestation of all his power and darkness.

“Kill me and the beast will take a new head.” Your father spoke lowly. “Yours.”

It didn’t seem possible at first. After all, how could he save you when he couldn’t even save his own? Allen kept jogging through the labyrinth of halls, chest tight and his breath shaking as he moved. You had to be out here somewhere. All his friends were. And if he was quick about it, he could save all of you. That was when he came to an intersection, spotting a body slumped against the wall. Short, choppy blonde hair, cargo pants, and the tacky shirt he borrowed from Zao? 

It was Arthur, no doubt. 

Only his neck was slashed, covering his torso with—Allen turned around upon seeing it.

But he never walked away. He just stood there, deathly still. Then, his heart began to pound, and harder than it ever did that day. This couldn’t be real. After everything that happened, he refused to believe that this would be the result. This couldn’t be real. His eyes slowly widened as he summoned the courage to look again, hoping that what he saw wasn’t true.

Yet, when he glanced over his shoulder, he was still sitting there, very much dead. 

When it finally hit him, he dropped to his knees and vomited on the ground. His eyes went straight to the back of his head as he puked the hardest in his life. And he didn’t stop until everything in his stomach was emptied. After everything that had happened, this was what it took to finally drive the nail in. He’d finally reached the threshold of his sanity and just broke. 

Everything he ever did was for nothing. 

All those years he spent grovelling was wasted for no reason.

Because in the end, after everything that Arthur did for him, he couldn’t even do the least of saving his life. He joined the syndicate to protect him, and he failed. He failed! When that dawned on him, a wide grimace broke out across his face, only to quickly tremble away. 

His face contorted as he began to cry. 

He couldn’t do anything right. This was the only thing that mattered, and yet, he still fucked it up beyond compare. So he kept crying with his forehead to the ground, sobbing wretchedly before him, apologizing again and again even when he couldn’t be heard. The light had long gone from Arthur’s eyes, so he’d never get to see the last gesture of gratitude his student paid for him. 

And they would be indebted to him forever.

“So what will it be?”

Allen got up after a while. He didn’t know how long it took for him to get to this point, to have the strength to stand on his feet, but he was here now. And he was plunged into a state of mind where he was almost manic. So much had been taken from him, he was hell bent on taking things back for a change. He had to make all of this right somehow, even if he’d just lost everything.

With a vacant expression, he picked up Arthur’s body and threw him over his shoulder. 

Then, he paced the halls like a zombie, looking for the man responsible.

His prayers were quickly answered as his clone appeared around the corner, wearing his clothes. And all it took was one glance to know. This was the bastard who killed Arthur. So what did he do? He drew his gun at lightning speed, firing an astonishing seven shots at their chest without blinking. They dropped to the ground after the merciless execution, but he just walked past the corpse without a second thought. He’d only just begun, and he wasn’t about to look back. 

Soon, he came up to the door that he knew for certain would be where it’d all end. 

So he put Arthur down outside, reaching up to his eyes to close them.

Then, he burst through it, guns blazing. 

Allen fired relentlessly at the bastard who took everything from him, screaming as he did, letting out everything he ever kept inside him. He’d joined the syndicate to save a friend, and since he couldn’t even do that, he would make amends by destroying the very essence of the Mizumoto patriarch. So he kept shooting and shooting until he ran out of bullets, bursting so many holes through the son of a bitch until he could read the Sunday newspaper through him.

However, by some miracle, he was still alive by the end of it — even if barely.  

But his vitality was what gave him the chance to do this. 

Your father wheezed out his final breaths in a shocked stupor, so Allen acted as fast as he could. 

He wrapped his hand around yours, lending you his strength, and pushed your katana into him.

By doing this, he would share the burden of your kill, stopping you from becoming everything your father wanted to be. And his past betrayal? It would finally be repaid tenfold in the exact same way that it happened to him. Blood was owed to him, and he finally fucking had it. 

“Die, you motherfucker.” Allen growled, shoving the blade all the way in until it came curving out of his back. And he never let go until he saw the light fade from the old man’s eyes, the one mistake that ended up being his survival. Soon, the kumicho breathed his last breath, and that was when he felt himself breathe for the first time. He was finally free. 

“It’s just you and me now.” Calfred panted as he sat against a wall with Alfred. 

After painting the room red in a mass execution of clones, he was so exhausted, he could barely think. But he was hopeful that this was one step closer to the end – he just never imagined what that would look like because his companion had a completely different idea of it than he did. Because when he pulled himself up to his feet, the sharp edge of a mantis blade was held to his neck. He turned to the person responsible, eyeing him with a growing wariness in his expression. 

“What’re you doing?” 

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Alfred replied, expression unreadable as he never retracted the blade from his neck. He even pressed it deeper into his skin, causing a thin red line to form. The stinging pain that erupted was a wake up call that he was dead serious about his intentions, and that was when things really started to kick off — and when his clone really started to panic. 

“You’re crazy,” Calfred spluttered, gripping the edge to push it away from himself. When that wasn’t enough, he brought up his katana and clashed it against his mantis blade in a sharp clang. That only left them in a tense stalemate, blades trembling together as they pitted their raw strength against each other. “You’re really gonna off me after everything that happened?”

Alfred narrowed his eyes, slowly overpowering him and hitting his sword away. 

“What the fuck have I ever done to you?” He jumped back to create some distance, but that was hardly enough to stop the relentless storm that was his so-called original. 

“I think you know,” The man glared. Whipping out his other blade to rear them like a praying mantis, he struck down on him from above. His clone barely caught it, leaving them in another close encounter with nothing but the sparking steel between their faces. “This was how it was always gonna end because there’s no way that the two of us are gonna be walking out of here.”  

“And why is that?” Calfred grimaced, his voice trembling as he spoke. He was just talking out of his ass at this point, but adrenaline was a bitch. “Scared that she’ll pick me over you?” 

“And why the hell would she do that?” Alfred shoved him back again.

“I think you know.” The other breathed weakly, repeating what he just said, word for word. And it pissed him off more than he could stomach. “But I’ll tell you anyway.” 

“Enlighten me then, you arrogant prick.” He snarled.

An alarm blared throughout the ship as all the lights turned red. 

Now that the pilot was dead, everything started shutting down. And it didn’t take long for Allen to realize what was going on — that this whole thing had been a kamikaze mission — but he wasn’t losing anybody else today. So he took your hand and got the hell out of there, running as fast as his legs could carry him to the escape pods. He got this far, he sure as fuck was going to live to tell the tale. And he would do anything to get a taste of the freedom he now had. 

Even if that meant ignoring your pleas to look for Alfred, who for some reason, refused to leave the now sinking ship. The gravity had given out by then, leaving him floating several feet off the ground, but even that couldn’t take his focus off the son of bitch in front of him. And with where the conversation was going, it looked like only one of them would be walking out of here alive. 

“You were created with the sole purpose to take life,” Calfred floated around him, inspecting him  like a specimen. And a specimen he was, a cyborg absent of imperfection. “Not create it.”

“And?” 

“Allen, me—we’re all different to you.” 

Created by man, not woman-born. An antithesis to all living beings and humans. 

“We could do fuck all, but we’re still capable of the most basic thing we were created for,”

For that, he was deprived of their most defining feature. 

“We can reproduce.”

“Shut up.” Alfred glared.

“You know you’re sterile.” Calfred looked directly at him as he said it.

“I said, shut up.” He clenched fists until they trembled, his eyes darkening with the most bitter resentment. The bastard was dangling his deepest insecurity before him as nothing but a talking point, and the worst part was, he was right about everything. The ability to have children, something everyone took for granted yet completely out of reach for him. Because no matter how far he strayed from his roots, he’d want that promise of creation. To make life.

“If she ever wanted kids, you wouldn’t be able to give her any. But I would,” The other merely watched as a single tear rolled down to his chin. “Without me, who’s gonna get her pregnant?”

Just when he thought he’d well and truly lost it, the son of a bitch added one last word.

“Allen?”

You were in the escape pod with Allen by then, and in the heat of the moment, he did something that broke all the rules. He put his mouth on yours, kissing you. He kissed you. His lips pressed against yours in an exchange that was far from innocent, and the crazy part was, you let him. Maybe you were just as mad as he was, but after cheating death, he was plunged into another state of mind where he wasn’t himself. Or was it more like a heightened sense of clarity?

Because if there was one thing he had to do before dying, this was it.

“Allen?”

Alfred’s eyes went wide as his jaw slowly opened, letting the name stir something inside him until he all but lost his mind. The next thing he knew, he’d launched himself at Calfred with a scream and started pounding his face like a maniac. “Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up!” Pushed past the brink of sanity, the only remedy was to punch him again and again until he was barely recognizable. Then, by some miracle, he stopped, and by another, his clone survived the hellish beating, albeit with a loose eyeball out of his socket. 

“If you kill me,” He choked, gripping onto the other’s hand shakily. Blood was splattered all over his face, now heavily disfigured from being brutally smashed in. And his head, limp from brain damage and pain. He couldn’t muster the energy to even look at Alfred, but he scraped together what was left of his waning consciousness to spell out the unshakeable truth. “Your dreams won’t ever see the light of day.”

“Who says you need to be alive for this?” Alfred whipped out his mantis blades, their razor sharp edges gleaming in the starlight. The second Calfred heard their signature sound, he tried inching away from him, whimpering as he did. “If it’s sperm I need, I’ll just cut it out of you.”

|

Alfred never ended up going through with it. 

Because as furious as he’d been, he couldn’t bring himself to be so cruel. He didn’t even think he could kill him. What he could do, however, was choose not to save him. After all, he meant what he’d said when there would only be one of them walking out of here. It wasn’t right for there to be two of the same person, and knowing the kind of man he was, he would be saving himself a lot of grief in the future.

He didn’t like to share, not the life he lived, and definitely not the woman he loved.

So he left him as the ship went down.

And yet, as he walked away, he felt immense guilt for what he was doing. Maybe he was just being selfish. Maybe what he was doing was wrong. Leaving a man to die, and for what? 

But if anybody else were in his position, would they have done any different? If they were given the chance to be free of this dilemma, wouldn’t they have done the same? Alfred told himself these hypotheticals as a way of resolving this inner conflict. But the thing was, nobody would ever be in his position. Not entirely, anyway. And thank God for that. Because if anybody really did choose to do something different, that meant he was just another no good son of a bitch. 

He managed to get into an escape pod, and much to his relief, he could see two of them already on their way to Earth. But he’d be a fool to think none of this came with a price.

|

The end of the day was drawing near with the sunset casting a dark orange haze over Night City. Everyone who showed up that day had gone, leaving only you, Allen, and Alfred to keep Arthur company in his casket before he was finally lowered six feet under. But for some reason, Zao still hadn’t made an appearance. 

“Bastard didn’t even show up to his funeral,” Allen let out, wiping his eyes roughly. 

“Everybody has their own way of grieving, I guess.” Alfred murmured.

“By not showing up to the funeral? Give me a fucking break,” He snapped, taking his leave right then and there. “He’s just being a fucking coward, and I’m gonna give him a piece of my mind.”

You lingered your tearful gaze on him, watching him get into his car before speeding off in a cloud of smoke. In that moment, you knew you had to do something. Allen was spiraling, and sooner or later, he would fall over the edge. But what could you do when nothing could bring back Arthur? 

He pulled up to Zao’s estate, face warped with hurt as he stopped the engine. When it purred to a stop, he sat with his feelings as they came flooding back. Arthur was gone, and he couldn’t do anything about it. He slammed his hands furiously against the wheel as he wrestled with that reality, so frustrated that he cried all over again. He kept at it for at least five minutes until he calmed down, wiping his angry tears away with his sleeve. 

Then, he got himself together, or at least enough to do what he came here to do — he climbed out of his car looking like shit, and with a picture frame in hand, he stormed up to his friend’s front door. Because as furious as he’d been, he knew the poor bastard was probably taking it worse than him. 

And to his surprise, he actually answered the door. 

“Hey asshole,” Allen began, expression unreadable. “We missed you at the funeral.”

Zao didn’t respond, only gazing down at what he held in his hand.

“You gonna hide in there forever, or what?” He asked, noting his disheveled appearance. His hair was an absolute mess, long, knotted, and clearly hadn’t been washed in days. But that wasn’t what stood out to him most. It was his eyes, which couldn’t even look at him. They said everything they needed to say, so he couldn’t bring himself to keep hounding him anymore. Instead, he just handed him the picture. Arthur’s picture. “If you are, then put this at your shrine at least.”

That, Zao couldn’t refuse, so he took it before shutting the door in his face.

“I need to talk to you,” You told Alfred in the motel room. He was standing by the kitchenette, waiting for his instant noodles to cook. This had been the state of things ever since, spending day after day in a rental limbo. You all survived, but weren’t quite living. Something had to change, but what?

“Yeah, what’s up?” He walked over to you.

“I’m worried about Allen,” You admitted, letting it sit for a while before you said anything else. He seemed to understand, softening his gaze as he waited patiently for you to lay it on him. He’d expected this to come up eventually, and he just hoped that it wouldn’t be forever.  “I think I need to stay with him for a while.”

“Well, are you gonna come back?” He raised his tone.

“Of course,” You frowned, a little devastated that he even asked. “Why wouldn’t I?”

|

“Would it stupid for me to assume you’ll always be here for me like this?” Allen whispered, his eyes half-lidded as if he were deep in thought. After what was perhaps the worst week of his life, you came knocking at his door like a gift from God. And he pulled you in without so much as a word. He was barely keeping his head above water where the one thing that could keep him from drowning was you. But you were here now. It was the middle of the night, and you were on his chest, listening to him breathe as you two laid in bed in what used to be his old room at Arthur’s.

This was everything he could ever want, to have you in his arms.

But would it only be for the moment?

“No,” You whispered back. “I’ll always be here.”

“Even when you’ve got Alfred?” He said it so softly, you almost didn’t catch it.

“You think I’d want to lose you just because I have a boyfriend?” You gripped his tank.

“I don’t know. Doesn’t being in a relationship mean you gotta be more cautious when being alone with strange men?” He asked, the edges of his lips curling up in a smile. But as amusing as it was in the moment, he was really testing you on the true nature of your relationship with him. And he had all the right in the world because he couldn’t afford to live in ambiguity anymore.

Would you stay, or would you go?

“You’re not a strange man,” You murmured.

“I don’t know, I can be a little strange.” He narrowed his eyes into thin slits as he stretched like a cat. Then, he wrapped his strong arms around you to make his point, even breathing you in.

“So long as that strange doesn’t supersede hugging,” You remained comfortable on his chest, not at all phased by his behavior. And that remained true even after what he did — kiss you.

“I can’t kiss you?” He mumbled, almost as if he read your mind.

“Only if it’s not on the lips.” You responded, putting your foot down. 

“I guess I could deal with that.” Allen relented. He couldn’t say he was disappointed when this was how things always used to be, and he couldn’t be entitled to your love if you wouldn’t give it to him. Not that kind of love, anyway. And with how much you already gave him, he’d be a piece of shit to bother you for more. However, it wasn’t your intimacy he was really after.

You were all he had left, and he wouldn’t be able to survive your absence. 

And that reality hit him at full-throttle when you tried to leave in the morning.

He’d been making some banana pancakes in the kitchen, but the second he saw you at the front door, he dropped everything to get to you. His whisk fell onto the counter in a clatter as he ran to you in a flash. It was as if his body acted on reflex, and now that his thoughts caught up with his actions, he crumbled to pieces. 

“Please don’t go,” Allen hugged you from behind, pressing his forehead to the back of your neck as he spoke. “Just stay a few nights with me, please. I’ll be good after that, I promise.”

Alfred may have been waiting for you, but how could you leave him like this? 

The answer had been so clear to you then. You couldn’t.

“I’m thinking about getting an apartment somewhere in North Oak.” Allen mused as he scrolled on his laptop, browsing through some property listings. It had only been a few hours since what went down in the morning, but he managed to cheer himself up pretty quick now that you agreed to stay for the meantime. “Want in?”

“You mean you want me to live with you?” You lifted your gaze to him.

“Haven’t I made that obvious already?” He grinned sheepishly, not that confident you were going to agree. After all, you’ve always been touchy with the whole living situation. With Alfred to consider, you’d be going out on a limb to be with him. But it wouldn’t hurt to try, would it? “So, whaddya say? Me and you in Beaverville with the rest of the corpos?”

Little did he know, you’d moved long past the idea of leaving him alone.

“Sure,” You smiled gently, much to his glee. “But how are you gonna pay for it?”

“You’re gonna help me pay for it, dummy,” Allen grinned toothily. “Right?”

Alfred called you a few days later. 

You haven’t reached out to him for that long, which to him, was the same as eternity. And he was starting to get restless. He stood at the balcony of his motel as he waited anxiously for you to pick up.

“Hey,” You answered, smiling softly.

“Hey, what’s up? I missed you,” He immediately replied, eyes widening at the sound of your voice. “Where have you been?”

“I missed you too,” You uttered, heart heavy as you said it. This exchange may as well be the calm before the storm, as what you were about to tell him was sure to send everything overboard. “Allen just got a new apartment in North Oak. I’m helping him move in.”

“You’re not gonna live with him, are you?” He asked, face falling a touch. But when you didn’t answer immediately, he full-on winced. “Please don’t tell me you’re gonna live with him.”

“I am.” You sighed, closing your eyes.

“Then what about me?” He let out, heart in his throat. “You said you were gonna come back.”

“I know, and I’m sorry.” You apologized, and when he didn’t reply, you sighed. “Alfred.”

“Yeah?” 

“I love you, okay? Don’t ever forget that.”

“Oh, come on, babe. Don’t say things like that,” His voice cracked, feeling himself crumble right then and there. It wasn’t everyday you told him you loved him, and with both your track records, it only ever seemed to happen before everything fell apart. “You’re breaking my heart.”

“I mean it, Al.” You softened your gaze.

“Then show me,” He whispered pleadingly, and the desperation in his voice couldn’t be missed. He needed you, but you weren’t there for him. “Because I can’t feel it.”

You ended up meeting him later that night. And he wasn’t wrong to think you’ve been neglecting him, because seeing him again was like a dream. You caught up with him over some Family Mart favorites, talking and laughing just like old times. He took you through the city in a joyride, street racing with other drivers of Night City before leaving them in the dust.

He even did the stare and drive.

As he accelerated the car, he never took his eyes off you even as he reached a speed that got him close to God. He just kept going while smiling at you, the streets passing by outside in a fast blur. And you smiled back, trusting him with your life. It was the most fun you’ve ever had up until then, which should’ve been concerning when it involved the risk of getting killed.

However, he’d changed you that much, and you missed him even more. This was a side of him you’ve never known too, a carefree, excitable, and happier part of him which you loved. 

All of it was finally over, so he was floating. And with you by his side, he never felt so right. There was nothing that could stop him now, so he wanted to get so high that he would never come back down again. The sky was the limit, and he was slowly getting there.

He just needed you to be on the same page as him. 

The drive back to the motel was silent, but the atmosphere did all the talking. It was dark in the car, leaving you two sitting in a sultry ambience. What he did next only seemed to heighten that. Alfred made it a point to turn the radio off, glancing at you as he did. That left you in nothing but his company, where the only thing you could hear was the sound of him driving. He wanted the only thing you could think about to be him, and it was more sensual than you could’ve imagined. 

But that wasn’t all.

You shared a moment of eye contact with him, and that was when you knew. The way he looked at you was so raw, and with so much emotion that when you looked back at him, it was like staring into his heart. 

He wanted you, and he was going all the way with you tonight. 

If everything he just did wasn’t enough, he made it explicit by revving the engine in a loud vroom, accelerating until he was speeding to get back to the motel. While he raced through the city streets, your heart pounded the whole time. His urgency was on full display, and he did it so shamelessly, it easily made for the most erotic moment of your life. 

And he wouldn’t slow down until he had you. 

One hour later, you were laying with him in bed in the nude. And it was the single-most satisfying experience of his life. He’d seen every part of you, and you’ve seen every part of him. Not only did it feel amazing to make love to you, Alfred felt like you just accepted him in a way he always wanted to be accepted, and it left him in such a state that he was reeling.

“Fuck, that was so good,” He whispered, laying a hand over his eyes. “Why didn’t we do this earlier?”

“Several reasons,” You breathed, cheeks still flushed from all the intimacy as you laid on your side facing him. “The most important one being a lack of privacy.”

“Damn,” He muttered. Now that you mentioned it, you were right as rain. That left him thinking, what could he do to fix that once and for all? With a growing smile, he asked this while stifling a snort. “It wouldn’t be too late to talk you out of living with Allen now, would it?”

You took your pillow from under your head and bashed it on his face. 

“This isn’t the only reason I’d want you to live with me, jeez,” He laughed as he shielded himself from it. Once you stopped to lay back down again, he asked another question that should’ve had you hitting him all over again. “So have you ever done it with him?” 

“Done what?” You frowned. 

“You know,” He murmured sheepishly, almost embarrassed to finish what he started. “Sex.”

“Why would I have sex with Allen?” You let out, doing your damnedest to not imagine the thought. Aside from being in this ever-growing stable relationship with Alfred, it somehow felt sacrilegious to consider. Because as ambiguous as your bond with him was — a friend, a brother, and something more — he was also the only semblance of family you could ever have.

“I don’t know,” He pursed his lips. “You guys seem tight.”

“Not that kind of tight,” You rolled your head to him. “Not while you’re around, anyway.”

“So you’re saying you’d do him if we broke up?” Alfred grumbled.

“That’s not what I’m saying at all!” You gushed, gathering your composure before adding this on a more serious note. “But if you didn’t exist, or if something happened to you…” 

He fell silent as he listened to you, now realizing what you meant. Your love for him wasn’t fragile, where the only case of anything changing was if he keeled over in a doomsday event. And knowing how close you were to Allen, he was probably the only other guy who stood a chance of being the one. He also happened to be the only guy he trusted with you, so he couldn’t be mad. Not that he was particularly fond of the idea, so he made a note to not do that. Keel over. 

“At least you’re being honest with me.” He sighed, stopping you before you could finish. 

“But what made you ask this in the first place?” 

“I just felt like you were drifting from me, that’s all.” 

“I could never,” You let out, rolling on top of him so you could face him. Now that you were, you could finally see the look behind his eyes. Coy, expectant, and with this is the part where you tell me you love me, written all over it. And you would, just in your own way. Your cheeks flushed a rosy hue as you laid it on him with a tender smile, and you meant every word. “You’ll always be the only man for me.”

“I’m not satisfied with just words, you know?” Alfred whispered, and yet, he couldn’t shake off the electricity you just made him feel. They were the sweet nothings all men longed to hear, but to hear it through your voice, it drove him crazy. Sitting up with you on his lap, he kissed you so hard that he almost forgot the point he was trying to make. But he couldn’t drop the ball now — he came into this with a goal, and he would see it through to the end. So he pulled away to say this. “I need you to make me real promises and follow through with them.”

You ended up settling on staying with him for three days of the week, all while calling him every night. Although it wasn’t as much as you expected, he had a plan of what he’d do with his time. 

So what next?

You and Allen went on living the sheltered life you both deserved, making a home in a charming, upper-class neighborhood full of freshly-mowed lawns, white-picket fences, and cul-de-sacs. 

But Alfred?

He stood outside of his sports car in what used to be Beverly Hills, and at the highest point overlooking the city. There, he rested a blaster on his shoulder as he stared out into the distance. 

“So what now?” He asked, laying next to a doll. It wasn’t his thing to use services like this, but the women here knew exactly what he desired, and right now, it was to figure out where he would go from here on out. He would’ve asked you, but you would’ve just told him to move on and put it all behind him. And something inside him told him he never really could move on. 

“Now? You find out what it is you need to do,” Skye replied in a dreamy whisper. 

Alfred drove through Night City in the heat of the day, windows down as he relished in the dry desert wind that blew into his face. It’d been a while since he went to see his fixer to look for jobs, but he figured it wouldn’t be a bad place to start. He would eventually go on to do all sorts of crazy missions so long as they agreed with him — and brought home the bacon.

You’ve never backed down from anything in your life, even when you maybe should’ve.

He burst into a room, guns blazing as he blasted holes in all the goons scattered around the place. 

You go through Night City knowing a stray bullet could end you while hailing a cab—

He used his strong arms to burst open a shipping crate, revealing the people trapped inside. 

—but that’s never stopped you from taking action.

Alfred jumped down onto a glass roof, crashing through it with next to no grace before landing in a place surrounded by enemies. But he braved his actions fearlessly, whipping out his mantis blades with a grimace that screamed, bring it on. And when that wasn’t enough, he drew his guns to rain hellfire on the sons of bitches until they were all dead on the floor. 

Because even after everything that happened, the restlessness in his soul never went away. So if he couldn’t save the world, he sure as hell would leave a mark on it. He would go on for the rest of his days as a cyberpunk, trailblazing wherever he went, going down as one of Night City’s biggest legends. But for three days out of the week? He was a certified loverboy.

If you gotta kill, kill.

If you gotta burn it all to the ground, then let it burn.

[artist-issues]

Could you rank the album Blurryface and explain your rankings, please? Thanks and have a blessed day!

my brain

yay

Listen readers, if you like my posts about Disney movies & classic books & Old Hollywood or whatever, or if we’ve ever crawled into a story together and deepened our perspective on that story in one of my posts, but you’ve never cared about twenty one pilots, just trust me and read a little bit of this post. I want to show you something so good.

This is my favorite question in a long time. But you have the key to the obsession-corner of my brain, and you let yourself in, so this is a BIG rambling post, and you brought this upon yourself, and I’m very glad

Okay! I’m going to rank it concept-wise. As in, I’m going to rank it based on how in-depth and well-thought-out and excellently-communicated the ideas in the songs’ lyrics are. Because I don’t know anything about music—so any part of the rankings that are affected by something musical are that way because of personal preference, not because I know what I’m talking about. I recommend taking it slow, every one could be its own post because I suck at being succinct. 🙄

14. Lane Boy

I’m not going to defend myself, something had to go last, and everybody knows I’d rather listen to Lane Boy than any non-twenty-one-pilots song, and I think it blows any secular non-twenty-one-pilots song out of the water. So there. But it’s last on the list just because I think the concepts in the song don’t have as much brain-dissecting meat, and eternal value, as the other songs on the album. Other songs are about how we compartmentalize our issues, or they’re about mankind’s messed up state, or they’re about the dichotomy of fear and love.

And then this song is basically just about how twenty one pilots goes where they want to, musically, and doesn’t bow to the music industry or the patterns of what’s popular. But they’re tempted to. And that makes perfect sense, because on an album where he’s fighting his insecurities, being insecure about what “The Audience” thinks of you fits on the list.

I think the best part of the song is the lyric “don’t trust a perfect person and don’t trust a song that’s flawless.” From what I observe about Tyler Joseph, he actually does care whether or not a song, or a performance, is as good as it can possibly be. That’s super clear. But what’s also clear is that he believes in singing about something real, especially real flaws he has, so that other people can relate and use the information. So I don’t think he’s saying “don’t trust a perfect person and don’t trust a song that has no technical issues and couldn’t be any better.” I think he’s saying, “don’t trust a person who claims to be perfect, or their vague meaningless songs that don’t reveal their flaws.” (You know, when we gonna stop with it / lyrics that mean nothing, we were gifted with thought-type stuff.)

Which is still pretty deep, in a song that on the surface is saying “I know the music industry and genre-fans have expectations but I do what I want.”

Side note: I love the aesthetics of the music video and the “tempted by control, controlled by temptation” voiceover they used to do for the concerts with this song. The whole idea that Fame and Success have to be in hazmat suits, with gas masks on, is awesome. I don’t care if the concept is “Fame and Success can’t even deal with us, and all the insecurity we talk about in our songs,” or “Fame and Success are always interacting with songs that are rotting, dead, already on their way out of relevance.” It works either way. It’s cool either way.

But let’s just be real. It stabs me in the heart every time he sings the line, “if it wasn’t for this music I don’t know how I would’ve fought this.”

Like. Really? You don’t? If it wasn’t for music, you don’t know how you would’ve fought the dark thoughts? There’s nothing else you can think of, nothing else that specifically works against dark thoughts, that you might want to clue people in on? In a song that’s about not making decisions motivated by remaining popular, you’re going to point them to your own music as the only weapon you know of which works?

When you set yourself up to tell them that Jesus Christ is the hope that lasts eternally, not just moment-to-moment? When you could’ve said that you know a an everlasting Light in times of darkness? No?

So this one gets skipped more often than the others, and I know for a fact it’s because even subconsciously I don’t want to hear that line. I hope I’m wrong about it. I bet I am. I don’t think he meant all that. I think he was looking for a way to conclude that “I know about pain and darkness and that’s what should be in songs” thought, in a way that rhymed and sounded good. But still.

12. Tear in My Heart

(note: the list got out of order here because tumblr’s post editor is the worst and I couldn’t fix it. but Tear in My heart is ranked one higher than Stressed Out, that’s all you need to know.)

I like it when Tyler Joseph picks a concept that’s simple and then reminds everybody how true it is by talking about it like he does with Tear in My Heart. “Love hurts.” That’s a simple concept. “Yeah okay we know.” But in this song I listen to it and I want to be like “No, do you get it, love, giving all of who you are, even the messed up parts, to somebody and letting them do whatever they want with that, hurts. Not just because you’re afraid they’ll reject you—but because you’re afraid they won’t reject you, you’re afraid they’ll stay, which is harder and demands more of you, and you’re afraid they’ll see you, and change you.” Yes, change. For the better.

That’s the point of the music video. He’s looking around at everybody but he can’t see them clearly, everything warps around when he tries to meet their eyes. But not with his wife (then fiancée, I guess.) They see each other clearly. And then she beats the Blurryface out of him. Because that’s what real love does. It doesn’t ignore your flaws or accept your flaws. It sacrifices to help you grow out of your flaws. And that hurts! That’s uncomfortable! That’s Eustace getting un-dragoned in The Chronicles of Narnia.

But it’s also the best thing for the loved one. And! He introduces the whole idea with “sometimes you gotta bleed to know / that you’re alive and have a soul.” When you’re just in your comfort zone, even if it’s a bad place, you go numb. It’s scary to propose to somebody, or show them who you really are, or tell them how you really feel, but the good that comes with it is exhilarating.

And he uses the words, “she’s the tear in my heart,” which, if you dissect that: the medical term is SCAD, and the result of a tear in the heart are basically anywhere from irregular heartbeat (heart skipping a beat. aww. they’re in love and stuff.) to heart attack, (she has the power to bring him to a jarring halt) to slowed heartbeat. (She can also calm him down.) Even a more zoomed-out idea of the lyric, where you just picture what happens when you cut a tear in a heart, is a great metaphor in this context: blood gets out. It was safe and nobody knew what he was feeling. Now what’s inside his heart is finally visible. Because of her.

One more, one more! “She’s a butcher with a smile.” I love that he said ‘butcher.’ A butcher’s whole job is to follow a plan, and neatly organize, arrange, sort, the meat. From what I understand, a butcher typically follows the muscle routes that are already there. It’s not mad hacking and wanton destruction; it’s thought out. There’s a purpose. There’s even usually a plan, a map they’re following. He could’ve said “she’s a cutthroat,’” or “killer” or even “cutter.” But when there was nothing on the page, he chose to put “butcher, carver.” Purposeful cuts.

And he keeps it on-theme, with the album. Because like I said, the whole album of Blurryface is about insecurity—but it’s about fighting insecurity, and the number-one weapon he uses is putting that insecurity on display. Shining a spotlight on it. Because when you’re insecure about something you try to cover that up. You try to compensate for it, direct attention away from whatever you can;t control. Letting everyone see the thing you’re insecure about is hard and you feel exposed, but that action is actually the reverse of insecurity. Doing so with his wife is the best.

13. Stressed Out

This one is this far down because it’s about wishing for the comfort of simple, nostalgic things when in reality you’re freaked out about the future and the present. And that’s a really relatable concept, for a song, and it’s not super deep. We all do it. But it’s still on-theme, which is what makes the song feel deeper.

I like to get lost in the past because it’s what I know. (And the opposite of shat I know/what I can control is? Insecurity.)

If I have to choose between a difficult adventure in the present, or a painful memory to over-analyze, I’m always going to reach for the painful memory even though it’s a sucky headspace, and nothing new and helpful is likely to come of it. Why? Because I know what happens in that reel in my head. I feel control over it just by knowing what happens. But I don’t feel that control when I spin myself out imaging what could happen, and all the things I can’t control, in the present or the future.

Yeah, I’d rather go back and wax nostalgic for the days I played outside with my siblings, or the houses we used to live in, then think about how rent is due in a couple of weeks or how I might never get to have the career everybody expects me to have. So it’s very relatable.

The thing I don’t like about this one is that it doesn’t have that hopeful note in it that I like in twenty one pilots. It kind of goes, “yeah, wish we could turn back time, but everyone tells us to quit dreaming and make money, and it sucks.” And…that’s it. In the song, itself, there’s no hopeful conclusion. Versus in Tear in My Heart, at least he’s feeling like he has a soul and he’s “higher” than he’s ever been, and the butcher is smiling. At least in Fairly Local, there’s, “I’m not evil to the core / what I shouldn’t do I will fight.” But not in Stressed Out. Stressed Out leaves you dissatisfied, and maybe that’s the point.

11. We Don’t Believe What’s On TV

I love the progression of the ideas in this song (because it does come right after Polarize;) he’s actually taken a hard step. He’s not just standing at a crossroads between decisions, being insecure and never moving. The lyrics are “I need to know that when I fail, you’ll still be here.” He can’t fail if he’s not trying. So I like that the song has such a happy beat, and it’s the first one on the record (unless you count Heavydirtysoul) where he’s not just thinking about being insecure or what to do—he’s committing to doing something.

And then I find the song super relatable. The thing about having a dream is that when you chase it you risk a lot. You risk money, you risk time. You risk your emotions, obviously. So anyone close to you is going to notice you’re chasing after something. It’ll become part of your identity. Like me, proclaiming that I was going to work for Disney for years. If you fail, what do you say to all the people who knew you were shooting for that goal? How will they see you? As a quitter? As a failure? Are they going to feel sorry for you? Maybe it’ll be hard to talk about the things you used to talk about—and then they don’t know what else to make small-talk about. Not only your big direction in life is gone, but now something as comfortable as talking with friends is suddenly affected. And from there it’s easy to go, “wait, who am I without that dream I was going after?”

So the lines “what if my dream does not happen? / would I just change what I’ve told my friends? / don’t wanna know who I would be / when I wake up from a dreamer’s sleep” are spot-on. And they uncover the unattractive side of having a dream: the side where you fail and lose and feel like you don’t know who you are without it, so maybe you cover it up by “changing” the dream, or acting like you never really wanted that anyway, or act like you’ve found something new, to cover the loss.

But I also love the fact that the song is about how superficial things aren’t really what matter—your “dream” isn’t who you are. And the people who really love you and care about you know that, so when the dream goes away, they’ll stick around. Just like how Tyler says he doesn’t care about what’s superficial about them: “I don’t care what’s in your hair, I just want to know what’s on your mind.”

Fun fact: when I bring twenty one pilots up for any reason my father responds with “yeah-yeah-yeah” by default.

10. Ride

Ride is only higher than WDBWOTV because of the rapping verses. And not because it’s the one twenty one pilots song my father allows me to play when I’m in the car with him.

This feels a little repetitive, but I like Ride because it’s what twenty one pilots is about. They’re all about thinking carefully about what’s going on in your head and then making a decision to live for something. (I wish they’d come out and say that “something” is God, but whatever.) Ride is all about that. Living rather than dying is hard, especially when it means living, not coming up with meaningless extreme scenarios where you can imagine dying for someone, or staying happy all the time, or conquering your foes. It just means taking your time, and as life rides along, being careful to live for something day by day. Then again, it is a song that’s still just about thinking about what to do, instead of doing it.

9. The Judge

I think this is one of the clearest allusions to the Gospel Tyler Joseph ever makes, and I love the way he makes it. First off, that by saying he can’t tell if the song is about himself or the devil, he’s acknowledging that he, on a sinful level, is just as worthy of condemnation as the Devil.

That’s why he says, “found my way, right time, wrong place, as I pled my case.” You plead your case, in front of THE Judge, when you’re dead. So it’s the right time—everybody has a date on the calendar when they’re going to die, they just don’t know what it is yet. But it’s the wrong place—he’s in front of God, and he doesn’t deserve to be, any more than the Devil. But that’s why he’s pleading his case by freely admitting his soul matches Hell, not Heaven, so all that’s left is to beg that The Judge be merciful.

I like the mood of the second verse, where it feels like he starts describing what’s going on ‘three lights are lit but the fourth one’s out / I can tell cuz it’s a big darker than the last night’s bout,” etc., but then when he gets to “but I’m not good with directions” he speeds his flow up and sounds like he’s getting panicky. He’s giving excuses for why he’s lost—well why? Because he’s bad at directions. Listening to what he’s told to do, and then following through. And then just admitting that one flaw as an explanation for why he’s lost leads to admitting other flaws, at random, like he can’t stop himself: “I’m a pro at imperfections and I’m best friends with my doubt.”

I personally think, because of the context, that the three lights which are lit, but the fourth one that is out, are representative of Tyler not being clear about his faith. I think it’s an allusion to Peter, denying Christ 3 times (like Tyler already alluded to in Ode to Sleep.) But in Ode to Sleep, Tyler follows up the line about 4-denials with “metaphorically I’m a whore.” My take is, he’s only a whore metaphorically—because in Christ, he’s a new creation. But he keeps talking like he isn’t, worrying over his relationship with God and whether or not he’s really saved. Maybe because he struggles with doubting God keeps His promises, maybe because he struggles with doubting God is real, maybe both.

And after all, what was Peter doing when he denied Christ? He was denying specifically that he knew Christ. That he was in a relationship with Him, that he followed Christ. Peter was basically saying over and over, “I’m not a disciple of Christ. I’m not! I don’t know him!” to the people who ask. But it wasn’t true. Peter was Christ’s disciple; Christ chose him, and that’s what made the denial so hurtful.

So I think the lights going out, one by one, and he can tell that a season of that doubt is coming on, are his cue to leave. Get out of there, that place where darkness is creeping up, and go somewhere sunnier. But he can’t get there, because he’s not good at directions, and then he kind of spirals and goes back into the chorus realizing he never had any right to be “Christ’s disciple” in the first place, that’s true, and his only hope is the mercy of The Judge. Which is great, not something to despair over. Because The Judge is merciful.

But the cool part is there’s still an element of “insecurities” in there, distracting him from what would ultimately be a good place. It’s good to realize you’ve got nothing, and to realize that if you could wriggle out of God’s embrace, you would do it every time. Because then you realize all over again that He is merciful and He loves you, and you’re secure because it’s all based on His strength. So that particular cycle is good—when it ends with that realization. But instead, he’s getting hung up, not on “what will God think of me when He realizes (even though He knew it all along) that I’m unworthy?” but on “what will everyone outside my house think of me when they realize I’m unworthy?”

And when that happens, when you’re focused not on what God thinks of you, but on what others think of you, because of your insecurities, you can satisfy yourself, not with God’s love, but with pulling the wool over other people’s eyes. Maybe the people outside your house see the real, unworthy you—but you can cover that up. You can fool them. You can compensate for those insecurities, front, be fake. God always sees you clearly, but the people around you can be fooled into thinking you’re an okay person, and you have your act together. So his insecurities, Blurryface, is hijacking the cycle that would’ve led him to rely on The Judge and making him chase after the opinion of his peers, instead.

Instead of focusing on who God is, which is the hope in everything, Blurryface gets him to focus on who he is—whether that leads him to a revel or despair, doesn’t matter, as long as he’s not focusing on who God is.

I love this song.

8. Hometown

”My shadow tilts its head at me

Spirits in the dark are waiting

I will let the wind go quietly,

I will let the wind go quietly.” <- Those are some of my favorite lyrics ever. Ever ever. Why would a shadow tilt its head at you? Because it’s creepy interesting imagery, yeah, but also, because it’s puzzled. But it’s your shadow. So you’re looking at it like you’re puzzled, too, because shadows don’t move independently; either the light source is moving, or you are.

So the character Blurryface is puzzled because he’s trying to figure Tyler Joseph out—like Tyler is trying to figure him out—and/or because the light is on the move. What light is mentioned in this song? The sun. Which, in all their other songs, is representative of God or the kingdom of God.

Either way, all the insecurities and flaws and doubt that Blurryface embodies doesn’t understand God, or actions made in faith. So he’s puzzled in this song; because this song is about the songwriter begging God to do for him what he can’t do.

I don’t care. That’s what the song’s about. Tyler Joseph does his clever triple-meaning thing, so you can say that the song is about how people back home in Columbus, Ohio don’t really get twenty one pilots’ deep lore and metaphors, and that’s what the song is about—how people back home still don’t know who they are because they’re least famous among people who know them best—but that doesn’t cover the lyrics about “take me home and show me the sun/Son,” or “bring the fire, my bones will make it grow.” And a faith-based interpretation of the lyrics does.

(I mean, obviously, people can sing the song to themselves and assign whatever meaning they want. That’s fine. That’s how using words works. But I’m saying that what the songwriter meant can be understood by the lyrics he chose in the song—and if it can’t, then he didn’t want to be understood or was bad and making himself clear, and that’s just bad communication/useless artwork. But neither of those explanations are descriptive of Tyler Joseph.)

The first verse is what the songwriter wants to have happen—the place he’s from is dark, it’s without the Sun/Son, he wants to go Home, and he can’t do it without dying to himself, and only God can pull that off.

But the second verse is a call to action, for everyone listening, not just a plea for himself out of what he’s feeling. And that action really does have something to do with the temporal “hometown.” You can grow up hearing about God, one way or another, but eventually, you encounter darkness on your own. You realize you’re messed up, whether anyone else sees it or not. And that’s when you can either be insecure and give up, or you can look for salvation. But at that point, you have to look for salvation in something outside “tradition” and just “what the people around you believe.” You have to find out if any of that is rooted in truth, and then choose to believe it yourself. Whether anyone else, including the people who helped make you who you are, from your hometown, agrees or disagrees.

In Christianese we say “make your faith your own.” Even if you grow up in church there comes a time when you have to decide if that’s what you believe, whether your parents drop the faith or not. But it’s not just a church thing. It’s a universal, worldview thing. Even if you grow up in an atheistic community you have to decide, at some point, if you believe that, as an individual. Be introspective and decide what you believe, what you’re going to live for—the message of the band.

And of course, the language he uses is so overtly Biblical! It’s from Joshua 24. And the context of that passage is, God has finally given the Israelites rest from all their enemies, and Joshua, the faithful one who has led them in their homeland, is telling them that it’s decision time. If they choose to serve God, it’ll cost them everything. They can’t serve God and the pagan, materialistic idols their fathers fell to. It’s one or the other. He knows it’s a huge ask, and an impossible ask, actually, because God is Holy. God has to give you the grace to follow Him (same conclusion Tyler sometimes gets to in The Judge.) Here’s the verse, enough of my yammering:

“If it is evil in your sight to serve Yahweh, choose for yourselves today whom you will serve: whether the gods which your fathers served which were beyond the River or the gods of the Amorites in whose land you are living; but as for me and my house, we will serve Yahweh.”

Then later, after the Israelites say that’s what they want to do, they want to serve Yahweh, he repeats,

“So now, put away the foreign gods which are in your midst, and incline your hearts to Yahweh, the God of Israel.”

And this whole passage is really interesting, because Joshua is telling them to do this in the same place, geographically, that Jacob, their ancestor, hundreds of years before, had commanded his own family to bury false idols in the ground and turn to Yahweh. So when he says “put away,” it’s in reference to that moment; their earliest forefathers had a pattern of chasing after the beliefs and false hopes of the world, and then needing to bury those and follow God instead.

Anyway. This song is awesome because it’s about him coming to, in Christianese: “the end of himself.” The lyrics say that nothing about a human being knows the secret to redeeming souls. Only God knows that; only God can do that. So in an album that’s all about interviewing yourself, fighting the worst parts of you, trying to figure out how to beat Blurryface, Hometown says, “aaaand you can’t. You can’t do it. But God can. You don’t have the secret, you don’t have the playbook. But God does.”

7. Goner

This song is higher than Hometown because I like that when he does something slower and more complex, lyrically, without the same speedy metaphors, it’s just a straight-up war cry.

It is kind of a complicated song, though. I think. Because I can’t decide what exactly he was aiming for. Sometimes I listen to it and I think it’s about the songwriter fighting Blurryface, refusing to give up, and parts of the song could be sung by the hero, while others are answered by the villain, during that fight.

But sometimes I listen to it and I think he’s declaring that the fight is already over, (after all, it’s at the end of the album) but he knows it’s a cycle and he might get dragged back into the doubt that starts it all over again. “I’m a goner.”

Or, sometimes, I listen to it and I think it’s just a recap of everything the album teaches: 1) I’m messed up 2) but I’m not a hopeless case 3) but I’m tempted to hide the messed-up part 4) the only way to fix the messed-up part is to admit it, get it out where everyone can see it 5) but even then I can’t fix it, and they’ll all see I’m unworthy 6) Remembering unconditional love and grace fixes it.

Being “known” is the opposite of what the Blurryface character should want. Because again, insecurity is all about avoiding the things that make you afraid, make you feel out-of-control, and putting up a front like you’re fine. You make decisions based on what you want people to see, out of a desire for control. That’s why he’s called “Blurryface.” You don’t get to see his face. You don’t get to know the real him, because the real him’s messed up, and he can’t let anyone see that.

I think the one interpretation I vaguely settle on when I hear the song is that, if all you ever focus on is how to control everything and pretend you’re not messed-up—if all you ever put on is that “blurry face” mask—pretty soon you convince yourself, along with everybody else, that that’s who you are. You start to forget the real you. You can’t see your own flaws anymore—but hiding them is still puppetting everything you do, so ironically, they’re in control. Luckily, the people you’ve opened up to (if you ever have) and God, remind you of who you really are. So that humbles you, and saves you, from just being totally fake.

One thing about the actual lyrics. The fact that he says “the ghost of you is close to me” supports all of those above interpretations. Could be the Holy Spirit (you know, “Holy Ghost”) being closest to the singer when he’s “inside out,” being vulnerable, seeing himself for what he really is and admitting it. Could be the character, Blurryface, who’s been defeated but maybe Tyler forgets that, and feels “haunted” by insecurities that should already be harmless if he’d just remember what killed them.

I see some people saying that what he means is, Blurryface is so intertwined as a part of himself that he doesn’t know what would be left of him if all his insecurities died. I think that’s super bleak. But I can see why it would be that. If it is, it doesn’t bode well for Tyler or anyone who agrees. If you’re already at the point where your weaknesses and insecurities are something you identify with, something you think belongs in you, instead of a foreign contaminant that your soul’s antibodies need to purge, then…you’re really forgetting the Gospel. That’s not who you are anymore. It’s as much a part of you as a set of dirty clothes that you took off when you were 4; even if you’re cramming them back on, that doesn’t make them part of who you are.

I also frequently see people saying, “he’s not just asking for God’s help, he’s asking for anybody’s help! He says ‘somebody’ catch my breath!” Right. But then he says, “I wanna be known by you.” And in Kitchen Sink, it’s clear Tyler Joseph doesn’t believe anybody can know him, fully. Also, Anathema. Also, on this album, Not Today, and Message Man. There are too many lyrics where he explains that he doesn’t think anybody can know him—except God, who, in The Judge, and in other twenty one pilots songs, is depicted as the only one who can see all the way down to the bedrock of who Tyler Joseph is. And who all of us are. Hidden insecurities pulling the strings and all. So when he calls for help, he might be willing to accept anybody, but only God is going to be able to deliver, in the very end. (Friends and his wife can help, but in the end.)

Personally I believe the songwriter knows that. Based on the evidence in everything he writes. I don’t know for sure, though.

Anyway. I love that he ended the album with this song. Specifically, it’s not until the very last note that everything is resolved, and sounds like there’s some kind of peace, some kind of vanquishing of Blurryface. Like the fight is definitely taking everything to win. But Blurryface does lose; there is hope; that’s what I like about twenty one pilots.

It’s that Halloween-style “using darkness to show how weak darkness can be.”

6. Not Today

The concepts I’m talking about liking are getting repetitive, but that’s because he comes at the same topic (battling insecurities) from different angles, dropping into the same cycle at different points. But it’s still the same topic, same cycle.

Anyway! I love Not Today because of how awesome the lyrics are in the chorus, in response to the lyrics in the verses.

He keeps the metaphor of a house in there, but those first lyrics: “I just feel I’m better off, staying in the same room I was born in,” have this lie. The room you’re born in could mean you’ve never grown, never taken any chance, you’ve literally never moved from where you started. Especially because he gives a reason for it; he’s seen the world outside, and he doesn’t see what he can do to impact it for the better. <- That part is why I don’t think those lyrics mean “it would be better if I were never born.” Even though the same basic idea, that he thinks he has nothing to offer, is in both interpretations.

But because of that melodic (is that the right word) pause between “I don’t know why” and “I just feel I,” in the opening line, I think you can miss the meaning of the full thought. He’s admitting he feels this way, but he’s not accepting it, necessarily. Because the whole song is a strike back at “Blurryface.” He admits how he feels, but the fact that he starts with “I don’t know why I feel this way” is a clue that he’s examining the feeling, instead of trusting and accepting it as fact. It’s true that he feels that way. But he’s not making it his home. He didn’t even pick the words, “staying in the same home I was born in.” Or unlike in The Judge, he doesn’t use a possessive objective. He doesn’t say “my room I was born in,” not just because it would sound weird, but also because he’s in a headspace where he’s not accepting these feelings at “face” value.

So I love that opening.

Then, in the first chorus, he’s basically talking about how those dark thoughts, those insecurities, aren’t just in his head anymore. They’re out in the open. Where everyone else can see them—yikes, maybe—but he’s focusing on the fact that they’re out where he can see them. Insecurity wants to hide and fake. Getting it out in the open is step 1 in the right direction. Now the lies, the insecurity, can’t get to him the way it used to when he kept it in his mind as if it were something worth entertaining or identifying with.

Then I like that he takes a break in the second chorus to be like, “pay attention to what I’m doing, the sound of the music is happy but the words are not.”

Because he’s feeling like there’s no use in trying—bad thing. But he’s not giving in to that feeling, he’s examining it for weaknesses—good thing. Happening at the same time. Like the happy sounds, but down words, of the song.

Which just makes you feel like you’re watching a battle. Which one is going to win? The good or the bad? Right now they’re both in the picture—what’s going to be the killing blow that knocks one out of the picture?

Then he goes back into the chorus, but this time I think the words have a different meaning, even though they’re the same: he took that aside to address the audience and explain what’s going on. So the lines in the second chorus, “you aren’t seeing my side,” seem like he’s still talking to us, telling the listeners that they haven’t been understanding what’s going on in his head as he fights his insecurities, but now he’s showing them, which is what they needed to wait for: you can’t know what someone’s going through or how they need help till they choose to let you see.

Then there’s the bridge about him fighting someone for testing him. Which I think people mostly take to mean “I’LL KILL YOU BLURRYFACE.” But I don’t think that’s what he’s saying.

I mean it’s fine. That could be why. But I think it kind of misses the fact that a dude who insists, “just because I play the piano doesn’t mean I am not willing to take you down,” is insecure. That’s an insecure thing to say. He thinks people are going to see him as weak. And he just throws out “because I play the piano” as like, an example of what he thinks people are judging him about. And he’ll fight them. But then immediately he’s like “I’m sorry.” And it’s funny, I love that whole lyric, my family always joins in on that part because it’s fun to sing.

But the point, I think, is so smart—he’s back to saying something insecure. He has an outburst about how others see him. Then he says “sorry.” But it’s even an insecure, embarrassed-sounding apology. So this verse transitions out of talking to the listener about what he’s insecure about, into, while he’s at it, worrying about what they think of him—and whoops, that was a Blurryface moment, wasn’t it? He was supposed to be fighting that. He was supposed to be examining it. He just slipped into it again, suddenly, and the mood of the song is an involuntary explosion, like he couldn’t help it. So then the next chorus, the changed one, is more of a confession of being messed-up, all over again. “I’m, I’m out of my mind / I’m not seeing things right / I waste all this time trying to run from you, but I’m, I’m out of my mind.” It’s “I’m out of my mind” in the traditional sense—he’s crazy, as in, he doesn’t see reality, even when he’s looking at himself. And you could take that “I waste all this time trying to run from you” as him trying to run and hide his messed-up self from others—which is a waste, because it’s born of insecurity—or you could take it as him running from God. Of course. Both work, for this moment in the song.

But. I think the chorus is the best part. It sounds like two recordings of Tyler Joseph’s voice is singing this part, so I can see why people think it’s a duel between him and the character Blurryface: he’s singing, “not today, let me rip open the windows—now I dare you to make yourself heard.” If he voices his insecurity, the people who love him will come help. But maybe the character Blurryface is singing that right back to him; “not today, let me rip open the windows—now I dare you to make yourself heard.” As if taunting him with the idea that people who hear the real Tyler Joseph may not accept him; if he’s exposed, he shouldn’t draw any attention to himself.

But for all that effort I put into verbalizing how I’ve seen the take that the chorus is Tyler Joseph and Blurryface fighting each other, I don’t 100% agree with it. Because it doesn’t make sense, based on the well-established idea that Blurryface is insecurity—and insecurity would never do this: “tore the curtains down, windows open now make a sound.”

The whole rest of the album takes the tack that turning yourself inside-out, showing people the real, messed-up you, being open, is exactly what the character Blurryface wouldn’t want. He’d never be saying anything so clear as what’s in the chorus.

I mean. Time out. Not to get too geeky in this already-absurdly-long post. But everything about the character was against that. He’s blurry. You can’t see the real him, his face. He doesn’t even like that he has a name, or has been distinguished from Tyler Joseph in any way. In all those cryptic videos from what I can remember of social media before the album came out, you never saw him, even though he was the one supposedly recording. And the videos made no clear sense, I feel like I remember one being just, like, a dark shot of the woods at night and like breathing or something. In the in-character Twitter posts, he can’t spell—he can’t even type anything that he has to say clearly, because clarity itself is a kind of commitment in communication, it tells people something about you one way or another, and Blurryface doesn’t want anyone to be able to hold him to anything he says.

So no, I don’t think he’s got any part in the chorus. I could be wrong. But I don’t think I am. I think it’s someone from the outside, who knows the fight going on inside Tyler Joseph with Blurryface, breaking in. Ripping the curtains off the rod. Kicking the windows open, letting the light in. Telling him to get it out there in the open. Or, daring the Blurryface character to say his lies out in the open. And I think it’s God. Because again, we already established, nobody else can see inside of Tyler Joseph, in his entirety, except God. But if it is, then Tyler isn’t just getting scooped out of the fight by God’s rescuing hand. He’s joined in the fight, and then told to keep fighting—and tell other people about it. “Heard your voice, ‘there’s no choice’ / tore the curtains down, windows open, now make a noise.”

This song would be higher up if it hit me in the emotions as much as Doubt does. That’s how good it is. It’s the big fight scene, but the character Blurryface loses once the house is torn open.

5. Polarize

GGGGR this is taking too long. But I love all of these songs so much, even if Blurryface isn’t my favorite album, I can’t just say succinct things about it.

There’s this interview I watched with Tyler Joseph way back when I was fresh into high school. I don’t remember the exact timeline, or whether or not this album was out already. But he basically talks through Romans 9 without saying so. He tries to explain to the interviewer that he shouldn’t be “messed up.” That that’s not just him being hard on himself, and oh, we’re all imperfect people. He tries to explain that there’s something broken in everyone, that we want to be better than we’re actually capable of being, and that points to the fact that we were designed to be different, and something went wrong. He tries to really organically explain that, but if I remember correctly the interviewer comes back with like another platitude, and I think the subject gets changed. (If I can find it again in the bowels of the Internet from 2013 or whatever it was I’ll post it. It’s what gripped my teenage brain about this band. And about trying to phrase the Gospel that I’d always heard in a way that made sense to people who have never heard.)

But this song is that. It’s him, trying to explain that he’s noticed the polar opposites of his nature. And he’s trying to decide which parts are which, and why, and where the division starts and ends. The problem is, the only One who can help him divide those clearly is God—and surprise surprise, Tyler Joseph’s trust in God is split, too.

This one is ranked so highly because of that. Because instead of just stopping at “I want to do the right thing, but I can’t, so let’s sort that out, and You help me,” he goes even deeper. “Wait, how do I even depend on You to help me when I can’t even decide if you’re there or not?” It’s Semi-Automatic all over again. It takes a different kind of deep thinking to admit that you can’t even ask for help with absolute certainty.

Polarize might get its own separate post.

4. Fairly Local

Fairly Local is this high on the list partly because of the music video and I’m not ashamed.

It’s the introduction to the character of Blurryface, and look at how he can’t make sustained eye contact. I love that.

I also love that the microphone in the music video is a light bulb. Because it’s the words of the song that are illuminating what’s going on in the songwriter’s head.

The duality is just a preview of Polarize, in the lyrics, but I love his vocalizations. Maybe you expected me to say more higher up on the list, but this is too long already, and the more I like it the more I want to make a separate post, if I ever let my obsession out of the locked-door part of my brain on tumblr again. (look now I’m using twenty one pilots imagery, what have you done?)

3. Doubt

This one is this high because he says “even when I doubt you, I’m no good without You.” And he’s talking about God. I might elaborate on that in a different post. I know how this song feels. Getting lost in trying to trace the paths you’ve already gone down in your brain, until even thinking about God isn’t a lifeline as much as it is a maze, because you’re thinking too much about your part in it, and you’re just left reaching out for Him blindly because you can’t see which direction He’s in anymore, in your own brain. And you need something from the outside to reach in and dig you out of yourself, because there’s nothing trustworthy in here anymore. I know how that feels. This song is Addict With a Pen’s sister.

2. Message Man

This one gets its own post for sure. But the lyrics are better than any other song aside from Heavydirtysoul on this album, I think.

1. Heavydirtysoul

This one is top of the list because 1) I don’t think it can take second place to any song musically on this album, and 2) the lyrics sum up the band. I’ll make a post of its own about this one, too.

Is that disappointing? That I went all the way to the top and didn’t give you a thought-out reason for the number one? Well, now you feel some of the insanity I experience when I listen to this band. “What do you mean, you’re stopping there? You took my hand and led me this far and now I have to stumble around in the dark and figure out the rest myself?”

😈

I really may come back and edit it. I’ll tag you if I do. Or just follow the “my favorite band” tag. Hey, thank you so much for this ask! I know I look way too hyper-fixated, but truthfully, they just came out with the new album. And you have to understand, the people around me can’t stand me saying two words about them, because I’ve talked too much about them. So you’ve become my outlet.

If you made it this far I want to hear your opinions, too! I’d do this for every album, but hopefully you learned not to open this can of worms 😂 because then I never stop talking

[maxdibert]

I also think that what contributes to the popular opinion among the fandom that Lily is a saint or an extraordinarily kind person is because Snape sacrificed so much for her, his past memories are mostly about her, his feelings and sacrifice are dramatic and romanticized, therefore people assume she was someone special, but they ignore the fact that Snape was an abused and socially deprived child and these children often create unhealthy attachment to the first person who show them genuine affection and friendship. His unhealthy attachment might have just made him ignore her major flaws and put her on a pedestal therefore the readers also put her on a pedestal. His memories create this saintly light around her, because that's how he viewed her, therefore the readers were forced to view her like that too. If he grew up in a loving home he might have just seen her like a normal person that can be sometimes a jerk like everyone else. The fact we don't know much about her doesn't help either because it creates a mystery we want to solve. And with all of what I mentioned it is easy to just perceive her in the same way Severus did.

Absolutely. I agree 100%. Completely. No doubts about what you’re saying. You’re absolutely right.

I’d just like to add that Rowling conveniently uses Lily to justify James. Lily doesn’t just have this saintly image because Severus idealized her, but because the narrative itself frames her as a kind of moral totem by which we’re supposed to judge whether a man (sic) is on the right or wrong path. The only proof we have that James changed is that Lily accepted him, which indirectly implies that she was so good, so ethical, so morally unassailable that if she chose someone as her partner, it was because that person had truly proven they were worth it. Even though the story never explicitly shows this supposed change—and there are even moments suggesting it wasn’t entirely genuine, like when Remus and Sirius admit that James just got better at hiding his awful personality rather than completely changing.

Rowling doesn’t just portray Lily as Severus’s best memory or the best thing that ever happened to him—already suggesting she must have been exceptional to have been so important to one of the most complex characters in the series, to the point that he risked so much for her. She also tells us Lily was so good, so incorruptible, that she could change men. This idea makes my stomach churn and fills me with frustration because the concept of the "healing woman" in fiction and the "woman as a catalyst for male redemption" trope disgusts me. I find it deeply misogynistic because it denies women the right to be imperfect, to be broken, flawed, morally questionable, or to commit immoral acts. It forces us to embody moral perfection to the highest degree. Honestly, it’s something I despise, and it infuriates me that Rowling portrays herself as a feminist because, if I were to do a gender analysis of her series, I could write another thesis for my degree.

Anyway, sorry for the rant. That said, we also have a third factor that ties a neat bow around Lily’s sanctification: she’s Harry’s mother. She’s the mother who gave her life for him, whom Harry always idealizes, and about whom he only ever hears that she was beautiful, popular, and the best person ever. It’s normal for Harry to idealize his parents because he never knew them, but James at least benefits from some depth in the narrative, thanks to the flaws Rowling gave him and the fact that she has the decency to give him friends who can talk about him. Lily doesn’t even get that. Lily has one known friend in the series—Severus—and he’s a mistreated boy for whom this girl was his emotional anchor throughout childhood and adolescence because she was the first person in his life to show him kindness. Everything Harry sees of Lily is filtered through an extremely subjective lens where she’s always the good one, and outside that lens, there’s nothing to contrast that image with because Rowling didn’t bother to create any of the supposed friends Lily had as a "super popular girl" who might still be alive to talk to Harry.

Lily is never given her own identity. Her identity is built around the men who orbit her; it’s constructed through the impact she has on them. But she herself has no personality because her entire existence in the series is shaped by the male gaze of the men around her.

Everything about her character is so problematic. People excuse Rowling by saying she started writing the books in the ’90s, but come on—there was plenty of literature in the ’90s about feminism, gender roles in fiction, and the issues with the male gaze in female characters. Rowling simply has a very archaic view of women that’s riddled with clichés, and with Lily, it completely got out of hand.

[violetlunette]

💛💀 for the ask game ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

For this ask game

Trying to take me out in the first ask, eh? Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. You’re trying to get my Alarmo the alarm clock. Well—you can have him, lol.

💛: What is a popular ship you just can't get behind, and why?

Jamil/Kalim and Silver/Sebek.

I understand why they’re popular, as they have the perfect chemistry and several popular tropes that appeal to fanfic writers. However, each has tropes that don’t appeal to me.

I’d go into detail, but I don’t know the temperament of the JamiKali fandom, and I’m trying to avoid drama if I can. What I will say is that I hate the pure-ball of sunshine trope in shipping, as they’re all turned into dense, oblivious idiots, and that’s treated as cute. (Yes, you can argue Kalim is the sunshine boy in Canon, but at least there it’s treated as a flaw.) The ship also tends to drop the antagonism that made Jamil and Kalim’s relationship so interesting to me in canon. That, and most stories really make the two OOC. There’s a ton of other elements as well, but again, I’d rather not go into it.

As for Silbek, I just don’t like the childhood friends to lovers trope. It’s just never been something that appealed to me. But even with that aside, there’s nothing about their dynamic that makes me want to ship them romantically.

I think they’re perfect the way they are—as brothers in arms, friends, and family. I don’t need more spice because their canon relationship is perfect for me.

💀: If you had to choose one major character to die, who would you choose? Fellow—oh, wait, he’s not a major, is he? (Jk!)

Oh boy. My first instinct is to say Silver, just because I want to see DiaFam’s reactions. But for the sake of the story? I’d say—Yuu.

Yuu has a connection to all the main players, some deeper than others, so their deaths would hit everyone hard. Yuu’s death would also have a sense of tragedy, as they were so close to going home only to end up dying before they could.

Speaking of angst, story-wise, it would be interesting if they died because of Malleus’ spell. Book 7 hinted that shit will go down if the “blessing” isn’t lifted, so having Yuu die would pay off the foreshadowing. It would make sense in-universe for him to go that way. Yuu is one of the people under the spell longest, and they’re the only ones without natural magic to protect them. Therefore, it fits that over time Yuu would go first.

Yuu’s death is also a great sequel to Grim’s Overblot and Book 8, where Malleus plays a starring role as the sorrowful and regretful hero.

Malleus only cast the spell because he didn’t want to lose those he cared for or see anyone suffer. However, his blessing had the opposite effect; not only did he lose the first human friend he ever made, but he became the cause of so much pain and despair in others. You can argue this was foreshadowed a bit with the backstory he told Yuu:

"You possess great power. You must not wield it recklessly. You came dangerously close to losing the people around this table today."

Only unlike before, Lilia wasn't able to stop him. And because of that, there was a dire consequence. He not only lost his human friend, but he may have lost the other students who could have been his friends as well.

On top of all that, it adds a tragic twist to Silver and Sebek’s efforts, as the whole reason they tried to stop Malleus was so he wouldn’t suffer or be seen as a villain. Yet in the end, with Yuu’s death, they failed on both counts.

This opens up an interesting arc where Malleus works with the others to save Grim from repeating his mistakes, namely harming others in his grief.

I could go on, but I’m trying not to make this too long.

To sum up, Yuu’s death progresses the story and even has some foreshadowing, what with him waking up in a coffin, living in the ghost house, and generally never being seen on screen, thus I’d kill him.

[mystra-midnight]

hi there, i’d like to order one lamington please!

i’m a short, curvy, blue eyed girl who loves wearing jeans, listening to music and painting :) i’d love a boyfriend who’d take care of me but also make me laugh

and also absolutely rail me in the bedroom

sweet nonnie, thank you so much for sending in an order! ily and hope you enjoy your sweet treat, which I also got carried away with! <3 <3

I ship you with . . . Astarion!

Astarion is a man of eclectic taste and is a many faceted individual.

He is a man who can appreciate your love of music, whether it is classical or more modern. He enjoys those quiet moments when you are in his lap, watching him strum at his lute, watching him as though transfixed.

He also enjoys the nuances of art; if you wanted him to post among the flowers, he would. If you wanted him to pose nude on the settee while you draw him — like one of your French girls — he would.

“Don’t move,” you said again, your voice soft yet commanding. Your eyes flicked up over the canvas to where he was draped over the settee, his pale skin bathed in the soft glow of the candlelight. The blanket, haphazardly thrown over his hips and thighs, left just enough to the imagination yet teased with the promise of what lay beneath. His chest rose and fell slowly with the illusion of breath, each movement accentuating the curve of his muscles, the lines of his collarbones casting shadows across his alabaster skin.

The roses you’d placed beside him matched the colour of his eyes: a deep vermillion, dark and hypnotic, like the first spill of blood on fresh snow. His gaze was steady and unwavering as he watched you, an intensity in his eyes that made your pulse quicken. There was something predatory in how he studied you as if he were less the subject of your painting and more of a hunter waiting for the perfect moment to pounce. 

“You seem to be enjoying this, petal,” he said, his voice low, almost teasing. His lips curled into a faint smirk, though his eyes never left yours.

“Maybe I am,” you answered, dipping the brush into the paint again, refusing to let him distract you. Yet, there was no denying the warmth spreading through your blood or how your breath hitched when his gaze lingered too long. Astarion shifted, a subtle movement that drew your attention back to him.

The blanket slipped just a little, exposing more of his skin, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was intentional. He was a picture of temptation, perfectly poised and posed, but there was something else, too — a vulnerability that only you could see, hidden beneath the surface. For a moment, your hand faltered, your brush moving in the wrong direction as you looked at him.

“Stay still,” you murmured, but the words came out softer than you intended, almost like a plea.

He loves seeing his partners comfortable in their own skin. It’s something that he craves, having spent so long at war with himself — hating every scar, every flaw, and using his body as a weapon rather than something worthy of love.

He would never complain or judge you because of the way you look or the way you dress, whether dressed up in something that clings to your curves or lounging in oversized clothes that feel like a second skin. You’re always gorgeous to him, and he never hesitates to let you know.

On the days when doubt creeps in — those quiet, insidious moments when you can’t see yourself the way he does — he’ll be there to remind you.

He cupped your cheeks in his palms, cold and steady, tilting your face so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. His vermillion hues, dark and rich like wine, crashed against your ocean eyes, a collision of elements—fire and water, passion and calm. His touch was grounding, his fingers firm but gentle, and at that moment, the world outside faded into nothing. It was just the two of you, the heat of his palms against your skin, the steady rhythm of your breath filling the silence.

“You see yourself through such a narrow lens, petal,” he said softly, his voice low, almost reverent. He brushed his thumbs along the curve of your cheekbones, tracing the delicate lines of your face as if memorising every detail. “But I see all of you. Every part of you. And I wish you could see what I see.”

His words were quiet, but they sank deep, settling in the pit of your stomach and spreading warmth through your chest. There was no judgement in his eyes, no hesitation — only an unwavering certainty that made it impossible for you to look away. Astarion searched your gaze as if he were looking for something beyond the surface, something only he could understand. And maybe he found it.

Your heartbeats quickened, the weight of his hands anchoring you in the moment, steadying you against the swirling thoughts that had held you captive for much too long. The insecurities, the doubts — they suddenly seemed so small, so insignificant as he looked at you like that, with such intensity, as though you were the only thing in his world.

“Let me show you,” he whispered, his lips curving into the faintest smile. His hand shifted, one thumb brushing across your lower lip, a touch so soft that it sent a shiver down your spine. “Every time you forget, I’ll remind you.” There was a promise in his voice, unspoken but certain, as if he was pledging to chase away every shadow that haunted your reflection.

And as his thumb lingered on your lip, his eyes darkening ever so slightly, you knew he meant it.

And yet, for all his old-world charm and silver tongue, Astarion is a devil underneath. He knows that he is a flame and that others are moths that flock to him.

He has learned how to read people: the subtle changes in their expression and body language. He can hear the wild thundering of your heart when you’re thinking about him, and he can smell the arousal between your thighs. He’s a vampire, after all. And it leaves his head in the clouds each and every time.

In your eyes, Astarion is kind and gentle yet somewhat wild. He can give you precisely what you need: soft love and affection in those moments of doubt or rough dominance when you need to glimpse the Celestial Heavens. And you would not have him any other way.

You felt boneless, like your legs would give out at any moment. Except his hands on your hips kept you from collapsing, their grip the only thing tethering you to reality. His fingers pressed into your skin, grounding you in the moment, reminding you that you weren’t falling — not really — but sinking into something deeper, something undeniable.

His hands tightened ever so slightly, pulling you closer until he was buried within your slick, warm walls. The feeling of him filling you made your breath hitch, the heat between your thighs almost unbearable. His chest pressed firmly against your back, skin-to-skin, and you could feel the steady rise and fall of his breath, the way his body moulded to yours, the way every subtle movement seemed to ripple through your core.

The soft bristle of his chin brushed against your shoulder as he leaned in closer, lips barely grazing the sensitive skin of your ear. His breath on your skin made your pulse race, and each inhale was filled with the heady scent of him. It was intoxicating and overwhelming, as though you could lose yourself in the rhythm of his hollow breathing, in the slow and deliberate way he moved within you.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire, his lips brushing your earlobe. The soft, teasing kiss that followed sent a shiver down your spine, a full-body tremor he felt as much as you did. His voice dropped lower, becoming a sultry hum reverberating through your body, making every nerve alight with sensation. “Are you close, petal?”

You nodded, the words lodged somewhere in your throat, your breath too unsteady to form a coherent response. All you could manage was a whimper, a sound that came from deep in your chest as his grip on your hips tightened. His thumbs traced slow, maddening circles into your skin, grounding you yet driving you closer to the edge, teasing a fine line.

He shifted, his hips pressing forward, deeper, as his lips trailed soft, wet kisses down the curve of your neck, igniting sparks that bloomed across your skin. Each movement, each kiss, was deliberate, as if he knew exactly what you needed, pushing you closer and closer to the brink until you felt like you were unravelling beneath him.

“You feel so good,” he whispered, sending another shockwave through you. His voice was full of raw desire, but there was tenderness there too, a dominance, a possessiveness, a love. “Let go for me. I’ve got you.”

His breath ghosted against your ear as he spoke, his tone coaxing, laced with a dark promise that made your body tense in anticipation. And just like that, the last of your control slipped away, your body tightening around him, every muscle quivering as you gave in to the rising heat, to him.

—interested in joining? check out the menu and send in your order!

[haleigh-sloth]

I was wondering if you could help me understand this writing decision in the new chapter. I sent this message to a My Hero discord and was wondering if you had anything to say about it.

So, I’ve put my thoughts to the page a little and I think I’ve figured out why this turn on Tenko’s backstory bothers me so much. It’s because it’s twofold…it makes him into too perfect of a victim and also washes society’s hands of the blood it has on them for not paying attention to him when he was wandering the street. I’ll address each of these in its own paragraph.

First, most abuse victims are not “perfect victims.” They often have unhealthy coping mechanisms that are wrong and unhealthy in themselves, and they do bear partial responsibility for that. It’s harder to relate to Tenko’s struggles with self hatred when they’re completely divorced from reality - he only exists because AFO wants him to exist and only destroys because AFO wants him to destroy at this point. He also doesn’t have to wrestle with those feelings in himself to overcome them. I just don’t think a situation where a victim has no unhealthy coping mechanisms they chose for themselves is realistic to how this issue often plays out irl.

Secondly, Tenko only existing because AFO wanted him to exist absolves society of their sin of ignoring Tenko as he wandered the streets. These leaks make it sound like AFO would have groomed him regardless of whether someone reached out a helping hand, meaning it was of no consequence whether someone helped him or not. This makes every problem in Tenko’s world AFO’s fault, instead of AFO being a trigger pressed on a loaded gun (that loaded gun being the idolization of heroes and treating them as superhuman as a guise for complacency).

I’d appreciate if someone could help me make sense of this writing decision because I’m struggling to understand why it’s here.

I really want to accept this direction for Tenko’s arc, and truth be told I do see some upsides to this development, but I’m having a hard time getting past the perfect victim* + the absolution of hero society.

*To further expand on this point, I also think that Tenko’s turn being inevitable causes people’s worldviews to be challenged less. Both the audience and the characters in series are meant to be challenged by the idea of Tenko being both a perpetrator and a victim, rather than just one or the other. AFO being involved in his life literally since conception pushes him so far into the “victim” category that people don’t have to wrestle with the concept of his salvation and humanity anymore. I see this as only a negative but I’d like to know what you think.

Also sorry for bugging you so much with asks lately, i can be really annoying

I don’t think Tenko is anywhere near what could be described as a “perfect victim”. He takes his anger out on the space around him and damn near everyone in it. He’s killed a lot of people who had absolutely nothing to do with his misery and suffering. He’s targeted Izuku and Bakugo (for like, very distorted reasons) but they had nothing to do with his life sucking so bad.

He is far from perfect. If there is one in MHA (doesn’t rly exist tho) it’s Eri, I guess.

It seems like what you’re thrown by is AFO being implicated even further. But this really changes nothing. AFO didn’t make people ignore Tenko on the street. And society’s flaws are emphasized in more than one place.

Tenko learning the truth doesn’t take away the sting of being ignored on the street. It just makes the death of his family way worse because it wasn’t just a freak accident, it was forced upon him. It just turned into something that was done to him. It’s horrific, no matter how involved AFO was from the get go. Everyone who was responsible for their part in his pain, still is. Nothing really changes.

Tenko was always helpless from the start. And he still is, he always has been, he never stood a chance. That doesn’t change with this new revelation.

He’s not a victim that has 0 reasons to feel conflicted about (although, I don’t lol). He’s done a lot of damage to other people. He’s perpetrated the cycle of violence, very much actively participated in it. It is obviously from a place of pain and revenge and hopelessness, but still people who weren’t involved ended up being involved whether they asked to be or not. Not that we’re supposed to care about off-screened people, but that’s what makes him an antagonist, after all. He’s not a black and white antagonist. If you’re feeling less conflicted about him being saved, then Horikoshi’s writing accomplished its goal. You’re supposed to want him saved by this point because that’s how the protagonist feels, and the writing tells you it’s the right thing to do and the right direction for the story.

I don’t think anything about Tenko’s victim status changes. Everyone’s responsibility is still the same. It’s all the same, just AFO sucking more and more.

[beautifulrebelglitterwitch]

Perfect

I hate the word perfect. Perfect is a lie. I started to despise it at work. When you’d explain to a leader what you were going and they’d say “Perfect!” and leave you alone only to come back and tell you everything that was wrong, according to them.

I used to have a friend who over used it and it occurred to me one day that nothing was ever perfect for him. That was the beginning of the end of that friendship. He said one thing and did another, I couldn’t stand it.

When I stated reading dark romance and listening to audio erotica it popped up again. Perfect body. Perfect tits. Perfect pussy. Perfect cock. No such thing. I know my pussy isn’t perfect. But I do know that it gives me immense pleasure and has given others pleasure as well. I know for a fact my tits aren’t perfect but I love them, they are one of my favorite parts of my body. They are warm and soft and freckled and sensitive and give good cleavage.

I know the there are nuances to perfect. Like that person is perfect to me. One person sees another as perfect for them regardless of societies standards or expectations. I’d still rather stay away from that word. It’s dangerous.

Perfection is something I don’t want to ever feel I have to live up to in any way. I am already hard enough on myself as it is to add perfectionism into the mix. I prefer to happily live as a perfectly IMPERFECT soul living a human existence. I love and embrace imperfection. That weird thing you hate about yourself? I probably love it. When you ask someone a question and they genuinely do not know the answer and say I don’t know. Let’s find out together. I’m already in love with that person.

I want honesty and awkwardness and flaws and learning and yearning and acceptance and growing and kindness and love from myself in all aspects of my life. If you are like that, too I’m sure we could be friends, perfectly imperfect friends together.

[twoleggedalien]

My dearest prospect, 

You’ll have to know me better than I know myself. I suffer from a debilitating self-awareness that stumps me and holds me down most of the time. I am entranced by my complexities as despondent. My feverish spirits only rise when I’m with anger. The emotion fills my heart and body and tires my soul. But that’s not to say I am without joy and peace. Feelings negative and positive don’t attempt to evade me, I dare say they pursue me everyday. I am restless both inside the house and outside. And to tell you a truth that not many know, a shameful secret I keep to myself, I know much and nothing at all, but don’t dare presume I know nada. I may, or may not, be willing to listen, I may be persuaded and collect newfound views but I will do it grudgingly. 

In my short time on Earth many things have happened, I keep this in mind most days. In view of myself and others yet sometimes it becomes a blind spot. It’s not that I am judgmental because rarely do I feel hatred in my soul for just anyone or anything. Words might slip from my tongue or come out in incomprehensible determinations that I might never follow through. My mind is preoccupied with the to-do’s and needs of the days that I hardly have time for much else. You’ll need to be understanding of me. I mean no harm except for the times I do. Which are fleeting moments. Throwing something to the ground because my muscles need a release, or my tongue may betray me in the sense that I always feel horrid for my atrocious behaviors because is that who I am? Consider sensibly as I have, that as it appears my flaws are affixed to me as much as my strengths.

Know I am driven by love. My heart is not big but it is full. I do not understand unwise judgments and do not participate in activities that put me in a state of silence. I rarely add fuel to a fire, but be supportive and add to mine when think fit. But you must think fit. Common sense only neglects me in the room temperature moments, like forgetting to buy a stamp for a package and throwing it with the rest of the mail, dressing up in  my way afar, forming societal expectations for socially manufactured spaces and affairs, butting my way in, and having more than my share.

My values are instilled in me, but rarely thought of. I’d say my biggest focus is on my philosophy. How I go on about the world, for why I do things and confined myself to what enthralls me. My life is my pleasure to feel. For the love of God, you must keep up. I chide many things, most of them are proven to be for the worse so I criticize for the better. What good would it do us it you can’t abide by the times of day I am most sentient. Early mornings get the worm and all that, I say it’s true. Eating breakfast, having snacks throughout the day, minding a sleep routine is all proven to be good. I refuse to be the only one who minds these things. With that said, do not know better and disregard execution and accomplishment. 

Now now, this is not to say to not be you. Though often I have thought to date myself, I believe I would be my perfect match up to a point, it is ultimately impossible. The closest I could get to that scenario is being with myself which I do very well already. Differences do not perturb me, rather they are something to be excited about. While I won’t budge that orange juice is better than apple juice (though I drink both), one does not need to like every single eatery (because honestly, they might sell the same stuff, but they are not the same), that day is better than night (to be productive), my adverse contempt for capitalism and this modernistic colonialism, and even my mourning for what a simple life under my own restrictions, proposal, and doctrines I could live. I lack the passion to grip things by the collar and speedboat that shit. While I often mourn for that too, my deficiency in executing, I can be influenced by a fiery heart, upbeat soul, a sculpted physique and a promising smile.

I have many loves and felt many heartbreaks. I have sought help when in the midst of drowning and helped myself to keep afloat. I am the youngest daughter with many shortcomings  yet treated as the most matured of all as if I was not still ripening. It’s not complete fabrication, what they say, but to state it so outspokenly as though cooking and cleaning and taking care of oneself is something one does when reaching the age of thirty and some. While regarding that much of what I’ve learned has been from being on my own devices again and again since childhood. 

Thus I wish you the bestest luck, my aspirant paramour. May you be a gentle caller of great endurance, appeal, and wisdom to embark on this endeavor. Elseway, I fear my disinterest will never retire and leave me missing the essence of a spirit never in existence and you without a single attachment to me.

With a heavy heart I leave it up to you. Can you bear such a task as forging a spot in my heart?

If it’s any consolation, I think you can. It’s not a day's labor and might be a bit of a messy business, but it’ll be fruitful as the wait for spring. 

Yours honestly, 

[RETRACTED]

[alexstorm]

I know it’s easier to romanticise him and make him up to be this Disney prince but I’d rather have something real and that includes flaws // I hate putting people, especially celebrities that you don’t even know irl, on a pedestal and romanticize them and think that they’re perfect. It’ll only backfire at one point, when you finally realize someone you idolized wasn’t as flawless as you wanted them to be. We’re all humans capable of making mistakes. And it doesn’t make sense when people say “he’s 37 years old, he’s learned, blah blah blah” I think they’re mostly teenagers who think that entering your 30s somehow automatically makes you immune to mistakes. Surprise, you won’t change unless you actually want to and make effort. He literally talked about being under the influence of some drug in the track by track interview for tbhc, who would deny that? Probably the same people who want don’t want to believe that he traveled in 2020.

People fail to see that after all he’s just a 37-year-old with a shitload of money. A dangerous combination! With money you don’t automatically get maturity or common sense. Just ask Elon Musk. Like you said, if he doesn’t wanna change he’s gonna stay immature and fuck around. Nothing you can do about it.

Also could people stop referencing conversations we didn’t have here? Thanks!

[dreamerwriternstargazer]

I was literally thinking about this last night

The way I feel guilty sometimes about not looking like the perfect victim

The way I remember how my extended family found out about my sexual abuse, and some of them started to interrogate me because I wasn’t timid and ashamed about it the way they expected. The way my parents keep assuming I’m fixed now because I’m in therapy, the way people forget and don’t care as soon as you don’t look like the perfect victim

In my case it’s also because for a variety of other reasons, I have never once felt safe enough to let them see the damage even at my lowest

And I abhor it. I hate that thought in the back of my mind almost longing for the days where I appeared more broken… because what if people stop caring? Except I’m not, I still struggle I just can finally breathe and live a bit more beyond it, I don’t want to go back

But maybe I do, no I don’t, I don’t owe them my victimhood but… at least then people would treat me better

In reality if you’re thinking like that, they’d be crap anyway. If you need to be in the depths of despair to get help, then what is that help really worth?

Idk I’m struggling with this currently. When I am suffocating under all the trauma I’m grateful to make it to the surface, to break free of the riptides and gasp in the fresh air.

And then I feel guilty because maybe I’m not really a real victim… someone else deserves this help more, I shouldn’t get help, or rather, of course no one cares to help I’m not suffering enough. Maybe I should stop getting the help I have (therapy) and they’d believe me/care for me/pay attention.

And I know from experience they won’t and if anything like any chronic illness people get sick of putting up with it, that typically what they do express at the start is driven by pity and their own guilt and it means nothing in the long term. Actual long term support and care is few and far between, in my life something I’ve only received from specific friends ^_^ and it’s unconditional as it should be, but I do hate how the neglectful and honestly entitled mindset of pitying family has affected my psyche

They’ve affected me by making my trauma feel both this huge disgusting flaw on me, as well as a tiny stain barely worth noting because they doubt it ever happened and besides “don’t ruin his life”.

I know honestly that most days despite the help I’ve received I’m still just barely hanging on and some days even that isn’t possible. So to have this mindset of “I’m not suffering enough” is entirely fatal, because God I know if I gave into it…

I doubt I’d still be here. I’m here because I’ve fought tooth and nail for the little peace I do have, so honestly if anyone ever presents themselves as entitled to your trauma, to the worst of you before you can be believed or supported? Tell them to go eat a bag of rusty nails. You have fought for your life and they have no right to belittle that.

ive found that partially treated mental illness can sometimes look to uninvolved onlookers like faked mental illness.

[allthoselostthoughts]

I was trudging into lab reluctantly, as I do, and you glanced up at me, wide eyed and awake like you never are at 8 AM.

“I need your help with something,” as you laid out your dilemma. I listened carefully as our group joked in the background. The upside of being assigned friends is when you all fall together, personalities mixing like paint. The downside being how often we’d get called on for an answer without any of us knowing the question. Occasional public embarrassment was a small price to pay.

But you and I were focused today, for a moment at least. It was nothing major, a faux pas easily smoothed over with some crafty organization and pretty words. I’d have been even more panicked, so used to the sky crashing down around me, but since it wasn’t me, I had a solution in a heartbeat. One thing bothered me though.

“Why’d you ask me?”

“What do you mean?” You seemed so genuinely confused as I stumbled through my explanation, not even really sure what I meant, why I was so surprised. “Because you’re good at this stuff, coming up with solutions.” And I was so touched, a warmth in my chest and an elusive feeling I couldn’t name.

After that it kept happening. Another friend, “It happens a lot, someone insisting on doing a job instead of you just to screw it up and leave you a problem.” I was taken a back. “It happens often like in the world or to me specifically?” You were confused, asking me what I meant before having to elaborate, “to you of course.” As if it should be obvious.

Why is it so hard for me to realize how other see me? That perhaps I can be good at things, reliable, competent even. That I occasionally cross their minds when I’m not in the room, that they might devote even a few seconds of their precious time to being considerate of me. That I might be their friend. I’m not perfect and I’m very aware of my flaws. Maybe too aware.

They say I’m hard to offend, my knee jerk reactions to lean in to the teasing rather than pull away, delighted I existed enough to warrant it. I know I always expect the worst, no one has ever called me an optimist. And all together it screams childhood trauma. I know. But I’m realizing that there’s more to it now. I grew up in a world of harsh edges, tinged with disappointment and burdens to bear. But my world is bigger now and the lines are softer.

I see it all around me more, those little moments of softness. Because sometimes my friends think of me. And it makes me smile and that feeling burns in my chest. And it surprises me less than it used to.

[32flavorsotbbg]

8.25

I am aggressively okay lmao

I believe deeply that nothing that is meant for me can pass me by. It’s so weird to feel that way.

Like when I really think about it yeah sure it’s like, instant ick because I feel bare. Vulnerable.

But it’s something I’m prone to, especially while sober, and I’m aware of that.

When all is said and done I want to know I have found someone who is my caliber. I am open to that not being him.

Honestly life alone is really great as well. Like I said, aggressively okay.

I really like who I am. Like despite my flaws, I have compassion for myself now (that definitely has its own process that is not perfect by any means). I feel like allowing myself to sit with the shame of repeating a pattern 😬😬 just kinda makes me stronger in my resolve to be better at 1) being more conscious of when I’m doing that, and trying not to do it; and 2) have some mother fucking boundaries. I knew better than that, I KNEW better than that.

I didn’t want to have that “what do you think of this” conversation like let it be what it is? By analyzing it you’re robbing yourself of experience, one. Two, you’re fucking married?? What do you mean what do I think? I think this is a mess but I like the way you feel??

But also, I gotta like more than that… and I don’t think it’s smart to learn to like certain things.

I think I don’t know you at all. I think you’re married. I think we started having a conversation a month ago and somehow now it’s this.

Adreana called me today and we were talking about this and at one point she’s like “I don’t see how you’re not mad, I would be so mad. That’s why I’m like checking in, because like I just know I’d be so mad”

And I didn’t have anything for her. I’m not mad, I’m not hurt. I know there have been many times I have also withdrawn and I needed that time to become who I am. How could I be mad at that?

The shit sandwich thing I could go without. I’ll take the shit, no sandwich. I need direct. God I just had a flashback to trying to get soda at the movies like just pick one? I apologize I was just rocked by that. Me apologizing to myself is taking me out rn.

Anyway yeah. Maybe I’m not asking the right questions.

Idk what to make of all this.

Like, he said multiple times he doesn’t want me to feel like he doesn’t want me. So what am I to make of that? Because this kinda starts to feel like he’s got that same ick and he’s not being direct. That’s probably me hella projecting.

But you know what if I was asked the right questions, I’d be direct. Cause idk what to just spew out, nor do I want to just kinda like yap about shit I don’t like about someone or have a problem with.

It feels like he picked up a scent and he’s triggered. For whatever reason, maybe he can feel that I like the idea of him but I still don’t know him. So that kinda changes the dynamic just a smidge. Because shit can still get real. Like I’m not so lost in the sauce that I can’t be woken up to shit like this.

And all of it means not very much to me and I don’t know if I should be concerned or not. It doesn’t feel unhealthy, it feels detached. I’d rather be here than really torturing myself over whether or not things were gonna work out. I don’t have an attachment to it.

I don’t know him. I want to! But I don’t and it looks like things are gonna be weird for a lil minute. I don’t want to treat him differently but idk how to be. Do I go bro mode or just menacingly neutral? Aggressively okay?

I just don’t know how to portray that in a subtle and kind way. I’m gonna have no issue acting right in the moment. It’s just my inner condition I’m trying to manipulate. How do I shape my heart to be quiet?

Cause we clearly can’t be trusted lol she gets to talking and I get to nodding and it’s just over from there.

I love the lovey dovey phase. Maybe we’ll get a meaningful one next time.

Or maybe not, because I do not know that man and also he is married. Good god help me. Make him go away if he is not for me. Make him leave me alone if he is not for me.

[twittercomfrnklin2001-blog]

The River's Edge

I know it’s not on the same level artistically, but I’d rather spend a rainy weekend afternoon with Allan Dwan’s THE RIVER’S EDGE (1957, Criterion Channel, Plex) than a morally ambiguous epic like THE BRIDGE ON THE RIVER KWAI (1957). Dwan’s idea of moral ambiguity is to have parolee Debra Paget torn between honest rancher husband Anthony Quinn and her former partner in fraud, Ray Milland. And though the ending of Lean’s film may be deeper, there’s something satisfying about seeing Dwan’s plot tied up in a neat moralistic bow. Paget has violated her parole to marry Quinn and move to his small Southern California ranch. She’s hardly cut out for the rough life. She cleans in high-heeled sandals and makes his butane oven explode while she’s trying to bake a cake. When Milland turns up hoping to reconnect with her (after he let her take the rap for an earlier con) and get Quinn to guide him over the border to Mexico with a briefcase filled with $1 million in ill-gotten gains, it sets the stage for a noirish romantic triangle. Dwan shoots rooms and other objects on the diagonal to up the tension, but he can’t do much with studio requirements that he match sweeping Mexican landscapes with phony sound-stage interiors. He’s also saddled with a tacky title song that seems to have nothing to do with anything. Quinn is very good. When Milland gets florid, Quinn underplays so effectively he steals every scene. And Milland does much better here than in earlier films. The fact that he has to squint against the desert son may hide his habit of shifting his eyes to indicate he’s up to no good. The big surprise is Paget. This was her last film at 20th Century-Fox, which had packaged her as a wholesome sex symbol. They held up her body to the male gaze, but never had her stray too far. She was only 24 when the film came out, but she captures the kind of hard-luck woman Gladys George and Marie Windsor played with a lot more milage behind them. The only flaw in her performance is another studio imposition. After days of trekking through the mountains and desert, enduring a sudden downpour and suffering from an infected wound, she still has perfect makeup. With all her man troubles in this film, maybe her lipstick and eye liner simply refused to let her down.

[4-g1v3-m3]

With perfect imperfection in the rearview, what is there to look forward to? Isn’t the point of all this to find someone who sees the beauty beneath our flaws, who has the courage to call us out on our own bullshit even when we don’t like hearing it? I’m 145 days clean today, and I’m proud of My progress, but there’s no one else in the world I’d rather celebrate even the smallest victory with than the one person I love who seems to want nothing to do with Me.

For the first time in My life, I don’t want to hide from the past… I don’t want to sweep My mistakes under a rug… I own My mistakes as they made Me who I am now. I only want the opportunity to show you who I am now, and give you the love I should have given all along. We’re all fucked up people living in a fucked up world, but I still believe in us. It’s okay to be scared, but don’t let that fear slam the door in the face of the opportunity to make our story greater than any we’ve known. Meet Me again for the last first time, and let’s build something real in this fake ass world.