#we know the love exists so we give it more weight sometimes than it might deserve

[shallowseeker]

You know what's crazy ( ⊙_◎) ? Literally everybody and their momma said to Dean that Cas is in love with him, But at the same time we kinda have just as much saying Cas doesn't have feelings for him. Most iconically Naomi (which honestly slay for her),Pamela kind of , and just as much blaming dean for cas's "downfall", Ishm, Uriel, Hael. Demons knowing abt it.

Would love to know abt your theories on how they know that Cas was specifically in love than deep friendship

Hello! I hope you don't mind me adding your second part to this:

Pt2 I got kind of more to say but sent too quickly, anyways! Like angels can understand emotion especially the ones more in control, angels have felt before, Lucifer and anna and other fallen angels so it's not like it's a new concept and that cas was unique in that matter but yea curious on why you think the angels knew cas was specifically in love

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This is a lovely ask, and I struggled to do it justice all week and I...just can't. So my answer will run the gamut of all the vibes. I hope you don't mind! :D

Biggest giveaway?

Cas's default is -> he's a big dick

The theorem: As Cas is to Sam (read: mean), Cas is to most everyone else.

Support: Cas was by Ishim's definition, "the angel's angel," he exemplified everything warrior-angels should be. In the words of Naomi: "swift, brutal, no hesitation."

Behavior: Sam is Cas's friend, but Cas is also kind of a dick to Sam. He gets annoyed with Sam, even pretty late in the series, especially when Dean's not around (when Dean went to AU world, Cas was abrupt with Sam, rolling his eyes and making lil digs, especially when they're interacting with Gabriel). And well, the crux of my argument is that think that's actually his default with all angels/people.

Dude was stationed with Uriel. At one time, they were the biggest assholes in the garrison, okay?

This default serves to highlight the ones he's gentle with:

The list of the people Cas "babies" is vanishingly small (Dean, Meg, Samandriel, Claire, Hannah, Charlie maybe, Jack, Mary, and eventually Rowena, only occasionally Sam). He's much meaner with his actual friends, and almost all of his close friends are a little mean.

That's my fun answer, anyway. :-D

My serious answer is, however, a little contrarian...I hope you don't mind, but I wanted a little variety today. I'm not gonna support all this with text like I usually do, but it's one of the things I'm going to focus on in my next rewatch. Maybe!

TLDR for below; I don't think a lot of people really knew. We confuse misrepresentative-innuendo and conceptualized-loyalty for “romantic” understanding at our own risk.

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I don't think everyone and their mother actually knows that Cas is in romantic love with Dean

Or at least...not in the capacity that certain phrases are emphasized in fanon.

That's not to say I don't think some characters suspect. I do.

But I think some of the soldier-angels shriek moreso over shifting loyalties and perceptions of corruption. They perceive the shifting of Cas's loyalty to the human family as corruption and abandonment.

In fact, I think Cas bedding down with his human family could be a sore spot for the angels in particular; it's like God abandoning them for humans all over again. I'm not so sure they view that abandonment as romantic...only that Dean is the root of the problem.

TLDR; I think most recognize it as devotion, but I don't think it's well-parsed, especially for the soldier-angels. I think their assumptions run the gambit, from fealty to devotion to fanatical, and I can easily, easily see them viewing Cas's allegiance to Jack with the same kind of unhinged grief.

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In the world of SPN, I think much of the romantic and sexual needling comes down to warring power dynamics and simple verbal sparring/one-upmanship

Characters will do anything to get the upper hand and feel in control in a dicey situation, and those barbs often come in the form of misrepresenting, diminishing, and disrespecting other characters' relationships, whether those are relationships with their parents, siblings, friends, comrades, or other loved ones.

In SPN, we get numerous equal-opportunity jokes about sexual attractions, incest, love, affection, weakness, etc etc etc.

TLDR; I think the one-off innuendos are often not a real commentary on the truth of any relationship but simply...disrespect.

//

Some examples to consider:

Balthazar - Often held up as proof that Bal thinks Castiel is "in love with Dean," I don't think Bal's line "The one in the dirty trenchcoat who's in love with you" means much at all. I actually think Balthazar's one of the least cognizant of parsing the complexities and differences between romantic/filial/friendly/etc emotion. (He's also a gloriously morally gray dude, our first meeting with him is him taking possession of a child's soul, after all.)

I mean, sure we got Balthazar saying Cas "is in love with you (Dean)", but we also got him calling Cas Sam's boyfriend. Either my man Balthy does not parse the complexities of relationships, or he's just...simply being disrespectful and diminishing Cas's relationships to his human fam in any way he can. It's about the one-upmanship in the conversing.

I don't see a of of compelling evidence that even angels like Balthazar parse Castiel's emotions on anything more than a superficial level.

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Hael - "When Castiel first laid a hand on you, he was lost!" I tend to file this one under assumptions of fealty and mission-oriented devotion. Yes, they fear Dean has a corrupting effect. But you could argue the same about Jack. That when Cas laid a hand on Kelly's stomach, he was lost—became a terrible weapon laid at the feet of the child instead of Heaven.

So, I'm not sure that the desperate bleating of warrior-angels can be conceptualized as romantic. I think it's far more likely to be mission-oriented. They want Cas to have devotion to The Authoritarian Company/War Machine and they perceive Cas's "new" human-oriented locus of morality as Needy Little New Family.

It's the same way authoritarian governments seek to sunder "blue-collar" soldiers from their families, purposely stationing them away from their hometowns so their loyalty is divided and dehumanization of the enemy gets easier, too.

A war machine like Heaven wages an overwhelming, all-encompassing war. The British Men of Letters and Hell are big war systems, too. American hunting is a medium war, their guerilla tactics and case-by-case approach a smaller scale, still. A family is an even littler one. (Kelly Kline's name, in fact, means "little war.")

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Crowley - In season 10, we get Crowley needling Cas about burning through his grace to "save his boyfriend," but he also jokingly calls Sam "Dean's wife."

At core, it's disrespectful teasing, seeking to misrepresent, to get a reaction, to have power in the conversation. That's kind of Crowley's MO. Just because Crowley says something sexual doesn't mean we make the assumption that it's true. People that are verbally sparring, and especially men that are in a tense power dynamic, talk like this all the damn time, especially when we're mixing social classes. It can get real crass and real mean...real fast.

It doesn't mean it's meaningless in the context of being revelatory. Crowley and Rowena both desperately want to be included in any social group they can worm their way into, and quite badly, so there's often real emotion hidden within their barbs.

My point is you have to consider the source and speech patterns of that character before taking that ball and runnin' it downfield.

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Innuendo, innuendo...

Another example is Zachariah's "erotically codependent line" with regard to his brothers. This barb has the sole purpose of invoking a class stereotype to make Adam lose hope and respect for his "lower class" bros. It's literally the classist "hurp-durp-Alabammer-cousin-fuckers" trope.

I personally tend to take innuendo primarily for what it is: incessant, pathetic barking.

In general, I take the demons' words with a grain of salt. They're always coming from the weak position and always hurling as much innuendo as they can to undermine and disrespect any relationship.

Even the demon Cas sits with in season 14 who says, "How'd you lose Dean? I thought you were joined at the everything," is just a crass attempt to have power when conversing. He could just as easily have made this comment about Jack or Mary or Claire and landed the same with respect to have a tonal upper hand.

Strategically, they don't have to assume Cas is in love to recognize the weakness of caring. They can say anything ugly about any person he appears to care about.

And very generally speaking, innuendo is typically lobbed from a weak/insecure position. The saying goes:

"The louder the bark, the weaker the bite."

Take for example, my man Crowley and my homegirl Rowena--almost always coming at a situation from the weak position. Crowley lobs barbs, innuendo, and faux-affection left and right. (So do other "scrappy" characters, like Dean, Rowena, Bela, every demon, Balthazar, etc)

Generally, we see this speech pattern emerge from Hell-oriented characters, which makes perfect sense, as Hell is the bottom "rung" of society, and Hell-oriented characters and witches often have the weakest social currency. These characters've got the biggest chips on their shoulders!

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Mary vs Dean's speech patterns

Despite their similar natures, this is a big, very fascinating personality diff between Mary and Dean Winchester. Mary prefers to attack from the stoic strong position (more like Cas, Sam, etc), and she rarely mouths off. Dean is more drippingly sexual and "mouthy" because he's used to being IN the weak position. (Mary had a stabler homelife, we can suppose, at least when it comes to this.)

"You're the bottom in the relationship!" Crowley barks at Cas in season 6. Meanwhie, Cas isn't even threatened, thinking to himself quietly in TMWWBK, "I was stronger and smarter than him." Not threatened in the slightest. It bites Crowley in the ass eventually too, "You like to bend 'em over quick, don't you?" he laments at the beginning of season 7.

Likewise, Cas too gets more verbal when he's coming from the weak position with other angels. Take for example Michael in season 15, "In the worlds of a friend, you had a whole oak tree shoved up your ass." Cas rarely engages in this kind of false bravado, preferring to keep his aces up his sleeve. But with Michael, he is definitely coming from a strategical weak position with a goal in mind: goading Michael to act.

Goaders and Goad-ees

There are exceptions to the rule, like when you get sadists such as Alistair, Lucifer into the mix. I think more often than not, the goaders and the goad-ees reveal structural weak-strong dynamics.

I'd even argue that Lucifer's volatility keeps him in an emotionally vulnerable position in perpetuity. He's almost always trying to get reactions from those around him because he "needs love, he had a jakced childhood." We see this with Cas, and the effectiveness of his gray-rocking with Lucy. In season 12, getting a reaction from Cas becomes a stand-in for getting a reaction from Chuck.

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So, that's my opinion.

I think most of the screeching and barbs are mostly power dynamics in action, not proof of knowledge per se and certainly not proof of understanding the nature of how deep Cas's feelings go

Are there exceptions? Sure.

A few of them, like Anna and Samandriel and Hannah, seem aware of Castiel's "too much heart" but I'm not super convinced that they conceptualized this as being about Dean in particular so much as about being who Cas is as a person with respect to his past rebellions.

Uriel knew something was up, I think, but it's hard to tell if his needling was more disrespectful like Balthazar's or not.

Naomi knew something was different for sure. Interestingly, she seemed aware of both Dean's and Cas's feelings, which makes sense as her work is in intel.

On that note, I think it’s interesting that the ones who truly conceptualize Cas's feelings tend to also recognize Dean's. Very few truly "knowledgeable" characters see one side in a vacuum.

I'm not sure that Ishim contextualized love outside of obsession, but he was jealous and seemed particularly jealous that Dean appeared to return the feelings, "That's what I thought." implies that.

I think of all the characters, Lucifer knew. He's got one of the higest cognitive empathies in the show. He knows it so well, he doesn't even need to resort to innuendo to tease them about it. (See the simple, effective: "CAS!") Same with AU Michael. Like Naomi, they seem to know and acknowledge both sets of feelings.

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Close family and friends

Beyond the scope of this, but I think a lot of the fam n' friends knew what was up to some degree, but that didn't typically come out in the form of disrespect or teasing once they knew about it for real, especially characters like Bobby, Mary, etc. Eventually Rowena, Crowley, Ketch etc probably could tell something was up.

Now, are soldier-to-soldier relationships life-of-death kinda intense? Yes. Because of this, I think some neurodivergent characters that are more "cerebral" when it come to emotions (*cough* Sam) could be a little slow on the uptake. :-)

[prettyoddfever]

the "Ryho" mindset is still happening

I didn’t like how part of the fandom treated Ryan during the pre-split years. This might end up being a lengthy explanation but bear with me because it’s relevant to the modern fandom.

So it was a well-known fact in 2006 that Ryan was straightedge/sober (Spencer was too, but he got less attention from the media). Being straightedge kind of became part of Ryan’s image (here’s a random example) and a lot of fans really connected with that. Then Ryan got drunk for the first time at the end of 2006, and we started seeing pictures of him partying with friends in early 2007 before the band even went to the cabin. 

By summer 2007 Ryan was like a completely different person. I get that the drugs & alcohol probably helped him become more outgoing, but I also think he was just becoming way more confident & comfortable as he grew up. And SO many fans seriously hated the change. Fans still randomly criticized the other 3 guys, but that stuff seemed more like the regular small complaints that happen just for the sake of complaining when people are bored (ex: Jon’s beard existing or vanishing). The stuff about Ryan was very different in tone and there were some consistent themes throughout the last half of 2007: Ryan was too in love with Keltie, he dressed like a hippie now, and he partied a lot. Basically, he was changing. He was no longer the same person that he was during the Fever era.

It honestly seemed like many fans were angry at this new version of Ryan for taking the old version away from them, as though they had some sort of ownership. There was tons of drama over the fact that we were seeing lots of pictures of Ryan partying with various friends (some of whom posted detailed stories about their nights or how drunk everyone was). Some fans said Ryan was a hypocrite or a liar and tried to make him out to be an alcoholic, as though he’d personally betrayed them by destroying who he was "supposed" to be.

However, I think most of the complaints were actually rooted in something bigger: Ryan looked happy.

I felt like a lot of the younger fans had latched onto the idea of a shy, wounded guitarist who needed to be saved or *understood* or whatever… you know the cliche I mean??  That was the vibe that the media sometimes tried to give him during the Fever era, so even they knew it would sell! But now Ryan was partying a lot with a wide range of friends, was dating Keltie, had completely abandoned his Fever-era aesthetic, and seemed to be closest with Jon in 2007 instead of Brendon. He was “destroying” the static image of Ryan that fangirls had taped onto their bedroom walls.

I remember a decent amount of fans actually admitting that they wished Ryan would go back to being depressed. Like they literally wanted him to be unhappy & unsure of himself because they liked him better that way. Others accepted that Ryan was changing and were happy for him, but still thought his bitter lyrics were better. And then even if other people wouldn’t admit that they were clinging onto an old version of Ryan, their main criticism still seemed to revolve around the fact that Ryan was living his life, having fun, and being different than he was the previous year.

I saved one fan’s post because it summed up some of the complaints this year:

The nickname “Ryho” really took off in late 2007.

Obviously a ton of fans loved Ryan (and the kids who were bashing him still claimed to love him too). The petty criticism just became annoying to me. People slammed his new clothes, his new hairstyles, the way he carried himself or talked, his weight/body, his “creepy” fingers, and the “girly” things he told Kerrang he liked (pumpkin spice candles, vanilla milkshakes, his puppy, and Titanic). Even the kids who used to love Ryan’s mild arrogance were now holding it against him. A lot of the fans who were criticizing Ryan in the last half of 2007 jumped right back to being his “fans” once the Pretty. Odd. era got going and things were interesting again, but I guess it shouldn’t have been surprising that so many fans were able to easily switch to bashing Ryan once again in spring 2009 when he was changing yet again. It’s like they were so focused on what Ryan wasn’t doing that spring (ex: recording the third Panic album) that they couldn’t see or accept what he was doing: building a whole new life for himself in a completely different music scene with the new crew of friends he’d been hanging out with for a while (Alex Greenwald’s scene).

One of the things that stuck out to me in late spring & summer 2009 was how many fans felt rejected by Ryan (and Jon). Those fans had basically idolized prior versions of Ryan and were hurt to slowly watch him destroy all of that as they realized he didn’t want to be part of the machine of the music scene that the fandom still loved. That hurt translated to them lashing out in anger.

So you know how I mentioned that in 2006 part of the fandom liked the idea of a shy, wounded guitarist who wrote bitter lyrics and needed to be *understood * and saved? And they resented Ryan for destroying that concept in 2007 and taking away the Ryan that they loved? They wanted to view him as a static character and couldn’t accept that he’s a constantly-evolving human. This is still happening today. Some fans are still upset that the version of Ryan that they want was taken away (ex: Ryan left the Fever era behind, left Panic behind). Except now instead of resenting Ryan for the choices that he made, some modern fans have rewritten the past to blame external forces like Brendon instead. I've been trying so hard to wrap my mind around this for a while, so here's my take on it... keep in mind that this is just my own observation/guess. Ryan isn't very visible now, so people are free to project a lot onto him. I think that by blaming Brendon (who is the visible one left), people can still happily view Ryan as a helpless victim who needs saving, and never feel rejected or betrayed by his choices... then it's like Ryan didn’t actually want to leave them, and could still be the person that they need him to be. Idk I'm still trying to comprehend what happened to the recent fandom tbh.

I'm absolutely not saying that all of Ryan's current fans are like this!! It's just that some little bits I've seen are concerning because they essentially take away Ryan’s agency & erase him. Even on a smaller scale, I've still noticed how some modern fans focus heavily on stories that dramatize Ryan's pain & portray him as a passive victim, regardless of whether those stories conflict with reality. Like why exactly is that angle a priority? Some examples:

Camisado is for dancing

the "funeral picture" isn't real

Lollapalooza was a fun show

June and July are different months

Ryan participated in the stage gay

some of the Ryden stuff could probably qualify too

Keep in mind that I'm saying this as a fan of Ryan. I am genuinely happy to see that he has so many newer fans! But sometimes I'm a little concerned that patterns might be repeating and maybe some people are more focused on their own creation of a character/image than an actual musician who has had many many phases.

[ed-recovery-affirmations]

I just made myself a cup of a new tea, one from a set that a friend sent me. I was super curious to try it with and without milk in it, so after I take a sip without, I'm going to add milk to my tea.

That may seem like such an inane little story to post on a blog, unless you have an eating disorder. I'm sure many of you know what a big deal milk in tea can be, and what an important act of self-love it is.

It was poured into many of our ears, approaching teenhood in the mid-2000's, not to "drink our calories." For those of us whose restriction was weight-based, many of us practiced filling ourselves with water, with our coffee black and unsweetened whether that was how we liked it or not, and with tea that never contained milk.

Like many people who've struggled with binge eating and with restriction, I struggle with creating anxiety-inducing rules about when is okay to eat, especially if I'm between meals and worrying if I should allow myself a snack, or if it's okay to quench my thirst with anything other than water. This is especially true between meals. For some reason my brain has accepted the "extra" caloric intake as part of a meal, but still balks at the idea of introducing these things independently into non-meal parts of the day. I would like to note that my chronic illness and my body's reaction to food has also influenced this weird relationship between me and my favorite treats, such as a piece of candy, or a beverage that might happen to contain a greater-than-zero calorie count.

But tonight, before bed, I want to try this tea. And it sounds like one that'd be super tasty with milk, as it has cocoa powder and vanilla in the blend. So I let my tea cool in the room with me as I type this, telling myself that I can get up and go back for milk after I taste it.

Now I have gone to the kitchen.

Now I have poured in a splash of milk and tasted. It's soy milk, as regular milk sometimes hurts my stomach and I don't want my sleep to be disrupted. Due to my chronic illness, this is still something I have to think about, and I'll be honest, I hate it. Things like this make it so hard to tell myself I can let go of my food fears, because my brain knows that some of my food fears will turn out to have validity, and so what if they all do?

Now I have poured in another splash. Tasted.

Now I have poured in a third, much larger splash. Tasted.

Oh, this is it. This tea tastes like a warm dessert. But now it's too cool, so I need to microwave it back to its best heat. I used to not want to microwave my food. As a teen I heard a hippie say that microwaves destroy the nutrients in your food because the radiation breaks down their molecular structure. This is absolutely false. In fact, it's been disproven that microwaves break down nutrients any more than other methods of heating food, but for a long time I believed it. And even after I learned the truth, I still found it hard to convince myself it was okay to use microwaves for a very long time.

I have just finished my tea in my room. I took the time to identify that I wanted it. I took the time to truly taste it in several different ways, consider how I felt I wanted it and bring it to those specifications. It wasn't planned for any specific time or day, but I agreed to give myself this the way I wanted it anyway. I've been drinking my coffee with milk every morning, too. I actually like black coffee, but I like it better with milk. And I give myself things throughout the day that I enjoy, to enhance my experience of my existence. Life is hard, and it's okay to allow yourself, to the fullest extent you can, the small joys that bring you through the day.

I wanted to share this with you. I hope you don't feel the crushing weight of morality when staring at a bottle of regular soda and the sugar-free, when you wake up with your morning coffee, when your self-care regimen includes a cup of tea. I hope you practice actively giving yourself the love you need this week. And I hope you give it to yourself exactly the way you need it.

[diet-coke-and-broccoli]

Dïêt or Eâtïng Dïsordêr?

This post goes out to my lovely people who feel like an imposter/wannarexic and wonder if they're just on a diet or actually eâting dïsordêrêd.

It's important to mention that I'm not a psychologist/therapist and can only speak from my own experiences.

If you aren't interested in reading this post it's completely fine to keep scrolling, just remember to take care of yourself and stay safe <3

First of all: rêstrïctïve eâtïng habits occur not only in ânôrexïâ as you (might) know. It's also common to many other eâtïng disorders. But want to focus on ânôrexïâ and ednos for this one because I don't want to talk about dïsordêrs I haven't suffered from.

So, let's get back to the main question:

Dïêt or Eâtïng Dïsordêr?

If you read this post I can already tell it's an ÊD. But let's start with the definition of a dïêt.

A dïêt is to rêstrïct oneself to small amounts or special kinds of food in order to lose weight.

This means you still nourish your body and eât until you're comfortably full. You lose weight slow (1-2 pounds per week) and have a healthy goal weight in mind you want to reach. If you reached it, you feel satisfied, finish your dïêt and eât as much as you need to maintain your wêight.

An eâtïng dïsordêr on the other hand is an unhealthy coping mechanism.

"It's not about thin enough, right? There's no thin enough. Doesn't exist. What you crave is the numbing of the thing that you don't want to feel."

If you suffer from rêstrïctïve eâtïng dïsordêrs you don't really care if you don't nourish your body. You try to ignore the hûngêr pâins, you distract yourself from fôôd, you ignore the warning signs your body gives you (hair loss, bruises, soreness, insomnia, feeling cold, low blood pressure and so on). The number on the scale matters more than everything else, but it will never satisfy you. You will always want to lôse more wêïght, no matter how much you've already lost. And you will never feel sïck enough, no matter if you wêïgh 110 or 210 pounds, no matter if you eat 75 or 750 câlorïês per day.

At last I want to tell you that no matter if you fit in the stereotypical eâtïng dïsordêr or not, you are absolutely valid. An eâtïng dïsordêr comes in all shapes and sizes and with different symptoms. And you are not faking it, I promise.

I hope this helps at least one of you out there.

But always remember: we all deserve recovery sometime even if we're not ready for it yet!!

[yearningaces]

Some nights you could peer up at your lover, admiring his features, holding his face in your hands, cooing sweet words to one another in a soft and intimate moment that would only ever be for the both of you.

Tonight was not one of those nights. Not all of them were.

Really it wasn't anyone's fault, but it simply was something you both had to face on the occasion. Your love was a monster, and for however sweet and gentle and loving he was with you, you'd also seem just how horrifying he could be when threatened, much more so when you had been threatened... There had been so much blood spilt that night.

Tonight it was quiet and peaceful, and the passing light of a car had given you just enough of a visual in the dark bedroom to see eight beady black eyes, unblinking, staring directly down at you from only a breath away. Laying far too silent to be wide awake and staring so unashamedly directly at you. So close yet there wasn't a spare breath or motion as if he was reduced to a predator staring down his prey as to not startle them away.

The once familiar warm weight of the Driders toreso resting upon you in effort to keep close suddenly felt claustrophobic as you saw eight fur covered legs arched upward and directly down, tucked in an angle against your sides almost like bars of a cell.

Adavor 's eyes blinked in a wave like motion, one after the other as his head tilted to the side. The etched lines along his jaw, almost able to split open ear to ear morphing as the fang filled maw opened- "Love, your heart is racing. Did you have another nightmare?"

With a ragged breath and a heart running faster than a hare you close your eyes for a moment, hearing the scuttle of his legs rubbing together. It sounded harsh but it was only a nervous tick, like when you'd tap your hands against your legs. With a heaved sigh your body was forced to relax as you reached a hand out to grasp his. Feeling the familiar texture of almost human skin that had just a bit more grab to it than your own. His hand clasped yours in turn, lifting your wrist to his maw and oh so carefully pressing a kiss to the pulsing veins.

"I'm alright, just had a moment was all." Your voice finally rises from your throat with a practiced softness.

Adavor shifted slightly, the Driders legs stretching to arch up before resting on the massive bed that always seems to be cluttered with pillows and blankets.

After a moment you realized he was tucking his legs as best he could under said blankets, as if hiding them. "Oh, no honey, no-" Your fears die out once more as you reach out to hold his cheeks in your hands. "Don't hide from me, I'm alright. Just, you know... Human is all." The sheepish grin you feel is familiar as is the conversation. It's natural for your brain to scream that you're in danger when your lover is a creature that was once known for eating humans very much like yourself.

Thankfully for you both, Adavor would never dream of harming you. "I'm not upset about your human brain making you feel certain ways, it's your nature. Mine is to one day be eaten by another drider after making little eggs. It's also why I encourage we both exist outside of our nature's together... Even if you get a little nervous sometimes, and even if you make me a little nervous sometimes."

At that passing remark, you give pause. "How could I make you nervous?"

"You know-" His voice comes out in a soft hiss, layers and clicks rising as he speaks more clearly. His voice a mix between gravely and elegant depending on the moment. "You're a human, whenever you get nervous or scared you might act like a cornered human... Those are scary."

You lie quietly, cuddled close as could be to the drider as you processed the idea of you being considered scary to this creature looming over you. But then again... To him you were unnatural the way he was to you. How very strange. Another moment passes and you rest your hand along his side. "Let's address that notion when the world is awake. I think sleep is best right now."

With that, you settled onto your back once more, Adavor relaxing his head on your shoulder, nuzzling under your chin with a series of soft clicks and gravely rumbles of different pitches and tones. After a few moments you could feel a few of his legs shifting to wiggle their way under you, caging you in place in a way you didn't want to see in the light lest it give you another moment of discomfort despite the peace you feel at the moment.

So you settled, relaxing and closing in your eyes, because sometimes if you just can't see it, it's not so scary being held so lovingly.

[dirty-bosmer]

WIP Wednesday

It's that time of the week. I'm going out later tonight, so I'll queue this up, but thank you to my very kind and lovely friends who tagged me earlier in the day @skyrim-forever @ladytanithia @kookaburra1701 you're all so motivating <3

Tagging: @thequeenofthewinter @tamrielesque @gilgamish @thana-topsy @elavoria @tallmatcha @nuwanders @paraparadigm @throughtrialbyfire @sylvienerevarine @rainpebble3 @mareenavee @expended-sleeper @lucien-lachance @miraakulous-cloud-district

Looking forward to reading whatever you decide to post :)

Meanwhile, I blew some dust off my long neglected chapter of The Illusionist.

The door croaked open to reveal the main hall, fortunately vacant. Familiar stale air rushed to greet her, only the dull thwacks from the distant training room to give it weight while she stared down its gullet past the broken teeth of so many memories. Nim could still see them in glimpses, quick ghostly wisps darting through her periphery like silverfish. Now in the sanctuary’s jaws, the only way forward was through, but each breath only served to pull her a little deeper into her grief, and with each step she felt a little more of her spirit flee her, a little more of herself letting go. 

“Elianna is right this way.” Arquen surged forward, dress swishing at her heels. Her words came clipped. She kept her eyes fixed forward, eager to get this over with, and Nim didn’t know if she should be too when the sudden grasp of her sorrow felt more welcoming than sleep. It was true what One-Ear had told her sprawled out on the plush cushions lining his den, eyes closed or maybe open, merely clouded in the smoke, Careful, friend. Misery’s grip is even stronger than the moon-sugar's—

“Follow.”

At the stern sound of Arquen’s voice, Nim stepped back into her body and quickened her pace to keep up.  When she realized they were heading down to Vicente’s old quarters, that Arquen was pulling a key from the pouch belted at her waist, her heart skipped a strange clumsy rhythm. “You keep her locked up?”

“On the Listener's orders.”

“He would, wouldn't he? Well, you’ve made it clear you don’t do everything he says.”

Arquen glanced at her over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. “I’m not barbaric, Nimileth. Don’t look so dour. She has plenty of enrichment, and let’s not forget that when we found her, she’d been left in the gutters alone. I still wonder exactly how she wound up there. Whose orders were those now, hmm?”

Nim shut her mouth. When she swallowed, the guilt tasted sour, metallic. Of blood.

Arquen continued on, leading her to Vicente’s room or the room that had once been Vicente’s. Nim couldn’t imagine it containing anything but him, and did his presence still fill those empty spaces, a whisper of him calling from whatever liminal length away? Or was it merely her own memory willing his shadow back into existence that made long silhouettes dance in the corner of her eye? Whatever it was, she hoped he was there, that with every step closer those memories might crystallize, that his ghost might leap out from the walls, come back to haunt her, and even if it was only a gelid, spectral touch, it would be better than feeling nothing of him ever again.

Man wouldn't I just love to finish this chapter sometime 😅

[ineptitude-in-grey]

On death, dying, and birth

Many view death as the final curtain, drawing life to a close and silencing all experience. Yet, death itself is not inherently tragic—it’s the loss of future dreams, desires, and pursuits that stirs our sorrow. In death, we no longer see, feel, or hold meaning; we are emptied of all that once made life vivid. Since death robs us of consciousness, we can neither feel nor judge it. The beauty and weight we attach to things, like the joy of camping under a vast sky or the thrill of wandering foreign streets, come only through experience. Death, however, is a realm beyond experience, an absence rather than an event we can assess.

What truly frightens us, then, is not death itself but the slow approach—the steady departure from all we know and love. The process of dying, with its echoes of separation and fears of pain, is what casts the shadow we fear. And while death sometimes bestows gifts unlooked for, as when an artist’s work finds fame only after they’ve passed, we still choose life, with all its risks and sorrows, over the blankness of the unknown. Death, by its nature, lacks feeling; but the letting go, the closing of all that is alive within us—that is what haunts our hearts.

The asymmetry of existence is a curious thing. We dread the silence that follows life, yet never think to mourn the silence that came before it. We stir in fear at the thought of death, not because of death itself, but because it marks the end of all we know, all we desire, all we imagine still lies ahead. But what of the eternity before birth, that vast stretch of nothingness? Why does it not haunt us in the same way? Perhaps because we are creatures made of memory, of presence, of senses—there is no ache for something we never touched.

Imagine someone longing to have been born in an earlier time, wistful for those unspent years. But such a longing is only possible because they are already here, already alive to imagine what might have been. Life itself gives birth to regret and dreams. Yet even if we could conjure ourselves into another era, would we still be ourselves? The plans and passions we nurture are woven into the fabric of our own time; take them from that context, and they unravel, reshaped by the circumstances of another world.

Some suggest that if we could somehow spring into life earlier, as if plucked from some ancient thread, we might have seized more from time. But this presumes that time itself would lay gifts at our feet, a generous master who owes us joy. In truth, time makes no such promises. To say an earlier birth would be “better” is a fantasy, built on the illusion that life is a garden of predetermined riches, waiting only to be gathered. Life, more truthfully, is a gamble with no guarantees.

It all depends on where we cast our gaze. Some, consumed by the longing for lost opportunities, find more sorrow in what came before than what comes after. But most of us look forward, seeing in death the thief of possibility, the door that closes on every half-formed dream. If we knew the hour and day of our passing, perhaps we would wish for more years, a head start on life. Yet without that knowledge, we carry on, grasping at goals, savoring the journey, urged onward by life’s impermanence.

Death unsettles us because, once we taste life, we learn its richness, its wonders, its pangs—and we shudder to lose them. Before birth, we had no such sense, no way to know what was missing, and so no reason to mourn. Death may not be evil, nor may that vast prelude before birth, but we cannot help fearing the end of something we have come to cherish. Those who claim death is not to be feared might say the same of prenatal nonexistence—both lie outside the realm of our experience, indifferent to the notions of good or bad, merely states of being beyond the reach of memory or longing.

[meredithbeckham]

the tortured poets department. songs one through five.

i was supposed to be sent away.

they forgot to come and get me.

i was a functioning alcoholic.

i hope you're okay.

you're the reason, and no one's here to blame.

what about your quiet treason?

we were forever running.

sometimes you ask about the weather.

your wife waters flowers.

i want to kill her/him.

all my mornings are monday stuck in endless februrary.

i took the miracle 'move on' drug. the effects were temporary.

i love you, it's ruining my life.

i touched you only for a fortnight.

but i touched you.

my husband is cheating.

i called you up, but you won't pick up.

i think some things i never say.

who uses typewriters anyway?

you're in self-sabotage mode, throwing spikes down the road.

i've seen this episode and still love the show.

who else decodes you?

who's gonna hold you, if not me?

who's gonna know you, if not me?

i scratch your head, you fall asleep.

i've read this one where you come undone.

i chose this cyclone with you.

sometimes i wonder if you're gonna screw this up with me.

you told lucy you'd kill yourself if i ever leave.

i felt seen.

everyone we know understands why it's meant to be. because we're crazy.

that's the closest i've come to my heart exploding.

here we go again.

you should've seen him when he first got me.

my boy only breaks his favorite toys.

i'm the queen of sand castles he destroys.

it fit too right, puzzle pieces in the dead of night.

i should have known it was a matter of time.

there was a litany of reasons why we could've played for keeps this time.

i know i'm just repeating myself.

pull the string, and i'll tell you that he runs because he loves me.

he saw forever so he smashed it up.

once i fix me, he's gonna miss me.

he was my best friend.

i felt more when we played pretend.

told me i'm better off. but i'm not.

tell me i was the chosen one.

showed me that this world is bigger than us, then sent me back where i came from.

for a moment i knew cosmic love.

now i'm down bad, crying at the gym.

everything comes out teenage petulance.

fuck it if i can't have him.

i might just die, it would make no difference.

fuck it if i can't have us.

i might just not get up.

i might stay down.

did you take all my old clothes?

that somehow seems so hollow now.

they'll say i'm nuts if i talk about the existence of you.

for a moment, i was heaven struck.

i loved your hostile take-overs.

how dare you say that it's-?

i'll build you a fort on some planet where they can all understand it.

how dare you think it's romantic, leaving me safe and stranded?

fuck it, i was in love.

so fuck you, if i can't have us.

like i lost my twin.

i saw in my mind ferry lights through the mist.

i kept calm and carried the weight of the rift.

pulled him in tighter each time he was drifting away.

my spine split from carrying us up the hell.

i stopped trying to make him laugh.

how much sad did you think i had in me?

so long, london.

you'll find someone.

i didn't opt in to be your odd man out.

i founded the club she's heard great things about.

i left all i knew.

you left me at the house by the heath.

i stopped cpr. after all, it's no use.

the spirit was gone.

i'm pissed off you let me give all that youth for free.

i'll find someone.

you say i abandoned the ship, but i was going down with it.

my friends said it isn't right to be scared.

every breath feels like the rarest air when you're not sure if he wants to be there.

how much tragedy did you think i had in me?

how long did you think i'd go before i'd self-implode?

how long did you think i'd go before i'd have to go be free?

you swore you loved me, but where were the clues?

i died on the altar waiting for the proof.

you sacrificed us to the gods of your bluest days.

i'm just getting color back into my face.

i'm just mad 'cause i loved this place for so long.

had a good run, a moment of warm sun.

i'm not the one.

two graves, one gun.

[not-poignant]

Hi Pia! Do you have some advices to deal with 'this one opinion'?. When everyone likes your stuff and you are happy with it too, but this one person didn't like/said smth bad, and then you are in spiral that everyone's pretending and actually this one just had the balls to say the truth? I'm struggling and you are in this for a long time, so maybe you have some advices? Take care <3

Hi anon!

It might help to know a little bit of science here.

Humans have what's called an in-built negativity bias. This means that when two things exist, one negative, and one positive, of equal weight, humans will biologically/cognitively automatically give the negative one a lot more weight. No one escapes this, and you're experiencing something extremely universal.

Human beings are also likely to think that negative words are more negative than often intended, and that positive words are less positive than intended.

Because this is in-built, it often requires conscious work to overcome. Many authors on AO3 as an example know the experience of one shitty comment 'undoing' how good all the previous comments felt. It only takes one person saying 'I really didn't like this story' for many authors to trick themselves into thinking this a) must then be universally true and then b) no one else actually likes the story or it doesn't mean anything to them, even when there's literally words right there that strongly suggest otherwise.

The first thing is to acknowledge your negativity bias and that your brain is kind of lying to you. It's doing this to try and protect you from harm, but in a way that's actually hurting you, because brains do stuff that don't actually help us all the time. The reality is that the vast majority of people do not waste their time and 'lie' in comments about how much they like something, because everyone has more important things to do in their life. They're only going to say something positive, for the most part, if they think what they've experienced is positive enough to warrant that. This is more and more true the less well you know someone.

The second thing is to then remind yourself that something negative isn't more true just because it's negative. This is also negativity bias in action! It feels more true, but emotions =/= actual reality - they're real in that 'they are very real and valid when I feel them, but I might not want to make big decisions about other people's thoughts and actions based on them, especially when negativity bias is active.'

And then the third thing is to just remind yourself that everyone is experiencing this. Right now thousands, maybe tens of thousands of creators - artists, authors, show-writers, poets, comedians, sports people, etc. are literally experiencing this right this second. Anon, all your favourite celebrities have likely experienced this (unless they're complete asshats who don't care about other people). Your favourite writers, artists, and more have experienced this. Would you tell any of those people whose works and creations you love, to listen to the few haters that come after them? Do you think they should go 'oh, that means everyone else is lying to me.'

Of course we feel pretty down sometimes. Because I have the ability to delete negative comments, if I get some hate, I tend to delete it. I don't want to see it again. It's my prerogative because my AO3 account and my Tumblr account etc. are 'my space.' When it comes to hateful book reviews, I...don't read my book reviews anymore and haven't for a long time. (I got misgendered too often, even in the nice reviews, so I just stopped).

And then create like a document or notes page or something to write down the positive things you've heard and actually reread them sometimes.

Sometimes negative comments are actually useful. Someone pointing out an incidence of actual racism (like, unintentional, but still happening) or something that is culturally offensive in a story can help us to consider editing the story or change the way we write about that subject. Someone saying they couldn't read a story because of all the typos, might get us to use some free editing software.

For the most part negative comments aren't worth your time. You can't make everyone like your stuff anon. People are going to hate your stuff. That's reality. It's completely inescapable.

But if more people like or enjoy or love your stuff, that's how you know you're on the right track. <3

If your goals in the world are to have most people enjoy what you do, you're already achieving that. One negative comment feels like a bit of a hit (or a lot of one), but it's a cognitive bias that's quite detached from reality. When you take it really personally, it's often a sign to just disconnect and reconnect with loved ones. Talk to a friend, hang out with a loved one, watch something you really love (and even remind yourself that some people hate that thing lol and you wouldn't want those people to stop what they love doing either because it means you couldn't watch the thing you love otherwise), get some rest. Our brains lie to us more and more loudly if we a) are tired, b) are dehydrated, c) haven't been eating or eating well, d) have certain mental illnesses, e) have certain chronic illnesses that cause pain or fatigue.

So addressing all of these factors can help a bit too.

And, I hate to say it, some of it's just practice. I've been doing this for long enough I've lost count of how many hateful things I've heard about my writing. They all still hurt. Some can ruin my day. Some will make me not write that day. Some still play in the back of my mind when I'm feeling really insecure. But they used to ruin my week or month so, like, progress. *sad smile*

But they're still not the majority of the people who talk to me about my writing therefore... negativity bias in action! Very interesting to know about, very horrible to experience!!

[omniblades-and-stars]

codex prompts! random generator gives youuuu [spins wheel] 4 and 17 for valethen!

Oh tasty ones!

This first one falls in between the end of Inquisition and the start of Trespasser.

4. A letter from your OC to their love interest.

I thought that night in Crestwood was the whole of the knife you have pierced my heart with. Now you have disappeared, and the blade twists. It was a fool's hope that the end of Corypheus would bring you back to my arms. You never made any promises to that end.

I sit here, staring at your unfinished mural. It fills me with such sorrow, but I cannot look away. I feel trapped, wondering if there was something I could have done differently to keep you from leaving.

No. I know that it was not my doing.

I know you will not come back, but I will leave this letter here. A small part of me wishes you would sneak in like a thief in the night and find it, so that you might know the ache you have left in my chest.

I am being a fool, as we must all be, sometimes.

Goodbye, Solas.

An unsigned letter left on the desk in the Skyhold rotunda.

17. A description of your OC's family by a future historian.

Little is known about the Inquisitor's family. There are not any family trees or Chantry birth records to look to. No census information exists for the nomadic Dalish clans. Very few documents exist at all. I have had to rely almost entirely on the tales passed on by generations of Clan Lavellan, the accounts found in the writings of infamous liar, Varric Tethras.

All of my sources agree that Inquisitor Lavellan's mother died in childbirth when she was a young girl. And it is certain that she remained an only child until her father remarried when she was approximately ten years of age.

My sources part ways on the matter of her father. A hahren, a clan elder, of the Lavellan clan kindly told me that the stories remembered Merin to be a kindly herbalist who lived a very typical Dalish life. He was mild-mannered and bored his children with lessons about alchemical ingredients at every opportunity.

Tethras wrote that Merin was a "dashing, dark-haired rogue who explored the darkest caves and most frightening forests in search of the rarest ingredients." The novelist aver red that the Inquisitor learned her taste for daring adventure from her father.

Not much is known of her half-siblings. We have records of a young woman, named Rine, who claimed to be the half-sister to the Inquisitor. However, her audacious claims that Lavellan was known to be a maleficar, a practicing blood-mage, to the Lavellan clan were promptly disavowed by both the clan and the Inquisition for being dangerous rumors made by a fame-seeker.

To this, Inquisitor Lavellan made a statement through her representative, Lady Josephine Montilyet, in an open letter published in many contemporary periodicals. The statement simply said, "Inquisitor Lavellan denies any use of blood magic, now or ever. Further, Rine was never any sister of hers." The short, curt letter bears the distinct voice of Valethen's own business writings, and is believed to have been written by the Inquisitor herself.

The motive to have the letter signed by Lady Montilyet remains unclear, though it is possible the Inquisition felt that their human diplomat's word held more weight than the elven mage accused of such high crimes.

Excerpt from "On The History of Divine Justina V's Inquisition", written by Sister Alicia Delcroix, Chantry Historian.

[nyanko-sensei-tte-yonde]

Kudou couldn’t say what had compelled him to reach out to the brother of his enemy, but now he had a way forward, a fighting chance against the greatest evil in the world. Yoichi didn’t know what he sought when he took his hand, but he gained a purpose, the will to fight.

Kudou reaching out to Yoichi Shigaraki had given them everything. And more to lose than they could afford.

[Just really needed to write something soft and sad for them lol. Here's chapter 1, the rest will be on ao3]

P heavy on the angst and some violence, pls check the link for tags! E rated fic so any young'uns sit out for this one!

He was a little cold, even thought it was already spring. Yoichi could just see the outline of his cell through the light that bled through the crack below the door. He was tired but couldn’t muster the energy to lie down, so he sat where he was, staring at the faint yellow line that separated him from the rest of the world.

Captivity was a familiar little weight in his heart, and he no longer resented the door that formed the upper edge of the little crack of light. It was a heavy thing of solid steel and he’d long since given up attempts to try to break it down or circumvent the lock. If anything, it was like an old friend. As long as it stood, resolute and unmoving, he could pretend the outside world didn’t exist. That he was alone.

It was a cowardly impulse, and one he tried to indulge sparingly, imagining that cities weren’t being ravaged and lives weren’t being destroyed by the only person he had in the world. But he tried to hold on to the hope that maybe he could get through to his brother. Yesterday he’d even deigned to listen to Yoichi’s pleas to change his ways before laughing and calling him a naive fool.

“You’re soft,” his brother had spat with as much venom as bluster. “The kindness you speak of will only cause more pain. This is the only way.”

And then he’d left. And Yoichi was used to him leaving. He’d been refusing his meals, and each time his brother would leave in a rage, only coming back after a few days to try to force him to eat again.

Another cowardly impulse that Yoichi sometimes gave into was the thought, the hope that his brother would forget about him and he’d be left to quietly die in this room. But he knew better than that; his brother would never give up what he’d decided was his. And being his brother’s, Yoichi had once mistaken that for being loved. He wasn’t sure which hope was worse, that he was loved or that he wasn’t.

Under the thrum of the air conditioner, Yoichi slowly registered the heavy thump of footsteps. It must’ve been one of his brother’s agents who guarded the building. But now he could hear shouts, the unmistakable, violent impacts of bodies hitting the floor. Yoichi’s breath caught in his throat. Something was wrong. Were they being being attacked? By whom? Where was his brother? Was he okay? His heart started to pound as the running footsteps came closer to the door.

Horrible dread washed over him as the footsteps slowed. They were going to open the door. In the back of his mind, Yoichi faintly realized that the invaders might be here to kill him. Before he could fully grapple with the thought, there was a horrific screech of metal as the door was kicked open. Two men burst through, the one behind looking back down the hallway and shouting something Yoichi didn't catch. Yoichi barely saw him, gaze locked on the other man, who stared at him down the barrel of some sort of large projectile weapon. His eyes were red and full of violence.

“That him? Come on, we gotta move!”

Yoichi stared at the red-eyed man as if frozen, heart caught in his throat. His eyes flicked over the man’s face, taking in the short reddish hair, the even tan of his skin, the harsh curve of his eyelids. His brain had decided he should know every detail of the face of the man who was going to kill him and Yoichi had no choice but to go along with it. He braced himself to be shot— he’d wanted to die gracefully, if possible— but instead of pulling the trigger, the man lowered the gun.

��——

“Kudou!”

Bruce was shouting at him to get on with it , and Kudou had to agree, but he’d hesitated like a goddamn fool. The almost emaciated man in front of him met his gaze, eyes wide but unflinching, silent as a ghost. Kudou had expected begging, he’d killed plenty of men who’d begged. He needed to make a decision, but his body made it for him when he lowered his weapon and put out a hand.

Yoichi Shigaraki’s gaze went to Kudou’s outstretched fingers, staring at his hand like it was a foreign object. He looked a little like the photo, a years-old grainy still from a security camera that depicted a pale, skinny youth with white hair and bright eyes. He’d aged to look downright sickly, and his wild animal eyes went up to Kudou’s once more before he reached up and grasped his hand with surprising, desperate strength.

Kudou didn’t give himself time to hesitate and turned to book it down the hall. Bruce swore and scrambled to follow. They ran back the way they came, stepping over fallen meta wielders and taking advantage of the hole they’d blasted in the side of the building to escape. Their getaway ride was still in the alley, doors open and engine idling.

“Leader, the fuck did you—?” The driver yelled as he started to wheel the car backwards.

“No time, just drive.” Kudou shoved Yoichi Shigaraki into the backseat and slammed the door shut behind him. He leaned out the window to shoot at the last couple of stragglers that came to make chase, using his meta ability to make sure his shots landed square in their chests.

Yoichi Shigaraki clung to his arm as the car sped away, wheels squealing against the pavement.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Bruce had climbed into the passenger seat in front and turned to glare at Kudou. “What were you thinking?!”

Kudou squeezed his eyes shut. There wasn’t time for squabbling, they weren’t safe until they made it back to base, and even then— “Just, look at him,” was all he could manage.

Bruce’s eyes went to Shigaraki, brows furrowed and jaw working. His feelings were clear, but he didn’t say anything else right then.

Their driver skidded to a stop at the drop-off point, shooting a look at Kudou before speeding away to dispose of the vehicle. Kudou led the others to the sewer access point, bringing up the rear as Bruce and Shigaraki clambered down the ladder. He refused to field any questions as they wound their way to a street many blocks away. He stayed silent as they came back up and reached the abandoned house they were using as a hideout. Too exhausted for words, he physically manhandled Shigaraki to the door so he wouldn’t trip the alarms.

The other strike team, sent to raid a base where one of the older Shigaraki’s lieutenants was reported to be hiding, had made it back already. Their driver had made a few more detours to make sure they weren’t being followed, given the unplanned additional passenger on the return trip.

Kudou could tell from how they sat that the mission hadn’t gone well. He nodded for the squad leader to report to him later and led Bruce and Yoichi Shigaraki into another room. He closed the door carefully behind them before turning around.

“That was stupid,” Bruce said simply.

Yoichi Shigaraki was standing a little to the side, gripping his arm with his other hand. At Bruce’s words, he seemed to wince a little.

“I wasn’t stupid,” Kudou said. ‘I was weak,’ he did not say. “I didn’t stick to the plan, okay. We can adapt.” He thought of the barren cell where they’d found him. ‘I don’t even know how much of a blow to All for One killing him would’ve been,’ he also did not say.

“P-please,” Shigaraki rasped suddenly. “My brother, he’ll come after me. You need to let me go, it’s not safe to have me here!” His voice was raw and weak as if from underuse.

“You’ve seen our faces, and you know where we’re located.” Kudou shook his head. “We can’t risk letting you go.”

Shigaraki paled even more somehow, clutching his chest. “I’m so sorry, but I don’t know what I can do for you.”

“You’re All for One’s brother. So you know him, how he thinks. Maybe you can give us information we can use against him.”

Shigaraki went quiet, shaking a little.

Kudou sighed. “Just, think about it. We already saved you and I don’t like the idea of killing you after all that, but we don’t have a lot of options. So think carefully.”

— — —

Yoichi hadn’t given himself time to think before taking the red-eyed man’s hand. He’d hardly believed it when he’d felt the cool night air on his skin for the first time in months and with that rush of freedom he’d let himself be led away from his brother’s house in a daze. Now, he sat in a peeling chair in a stranger’s home, cradling a mug of something warm in his hands. He’d refused food, stomach roiling as his betrayal caught up with him.

It was only now hitting him that it’d been a mistake. He never should’ve left his brother; how could he do that to his only family? His only family, who’d locked him in a dark room and would now be looking for him with rage and vengeance in his heart.

Several men and women were huddled on some cots in another corner of the room, casting suspicious glances at Yoichi as they tried to tune the radio to catch a stronger signal. From here, Yoichi could hear the news reports of devastation, concrete accounts where he’d only ever caught snatches of newspaper headlines and whatever vague half-truths his brother had been willing to feed him.

“…twelve dead after the hijacking of a train by what witnesses described as a meta-wielding monster. This, weeks after an attack on a hospital in…” The broadcast gave way to static before cutting in again. “…using their meta abilities to defend against these attacks. But many civilians are desperate for police and government officials to impose order…static…Joining us, meta-biology expert, Dr...”

The red-eyed man came downstairs— Yoichi had heard the taller one calling him Kudou— and ordered the group in the corner to go upstairs. Yoichi bowed his head as they left, taking the newscaster’s fading voice with them. Tears pricked at the corners of Yoichi’s eyes as the red-eyed man sat in the chair across from him.

“You’re Yoichi Shigaraki.”

“Yes… Kudou, was it?”

The man nodded once, eyes boring a hole into Yoichi’s skull.

“I…want to say my brother wasn’t always like this. But I don’t know if he was.” Yoichi put down the mug and let his hands fall into his lap.

“Your brother’s a monster,” Kudou said. It ached to hear, but only because Yoichi knew it was true. “It’s chaos out there. More and more people are developing meta abilities and using them to wreak havoc. Your brother is out there, stoking the flames and no one has the power to stop him. People are dying and they’re scared, but we’re fighting. Help us.”

Yoichi could barely hold back a sob. “I thought…” His voice came out gummy and thick. “I thought I could change him. But I couldn’t, I couldn’t stop him. He only sees other people as playthings or prizes to be won. He was right, I was naive.” He put a hand to his face as his tear ducts burned with growing urgency. His tears grew too heavy for him to stop them. He knew what he had to do, though his heart ached with it. He loved his brother, truly, his brother who’d kept him alive in a hostile world. “I’ll help you. However I can.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Kudou said after a moment.

Yoichi wasn’t glad at all, but he raised his eyes to look at the man across from him, trying to read his face. There was something pained in the angle of his brows, how his lower eyelids were brought up in the slightest squint. Yoichi couldn’t imagine the kind of suffering this man must have endured to be able to offer a hand to the brother of his enemy, if it meant it might help him triumph.

As he stared in silence, Kudou was watching him back, eyes searching. After a moment his gaze seemed to soften a little, but what Kudou might have seen in his face, Yoichi couldn’t fathom.

— — —

They were better able to plan their next attacks with Yoichi’s help. He hadn’t been able to give specific details of locations or people, but All for One had confided in him, and often. With that and Kudou’s own data they’d been able to parse his next few moves.

With some effort, Kudou had been able to sell the rest of the group, a couple dozen resistance fighters, most of them former military like him, on Yoichi. A successful raid on one of All for One’s labs had done a lot to win them over. They didn’t have the same easy camaraderie with Yoichi as they did with each other, but they included him in conversations and even brought him the occasional mug of coffee.

In the weeks since Yoichi’s rescue/kidnapping, Kudou had come to learn that the gaunt state they’d found him in was not wholly from being locked away in a dark cell. The man was just sickly, frail and easily susceptible to chills.

“We’re twins, you know,” Yoichi confessed to him. “I’ve just always been smaller.”

He was still small. He’d gained a bit of weight, which meant the resistance group’s rations were giving him more calories than he’d been getting in that cell, but he remained slight and angular. He was no longer so bony that Kudou hurt to look at him, but he could still easily wrap a hand around Yoichi’s wrist with room to spare. Kudou figured he should just take the win, but their life was not an easy one and he doubted Yoichi’s ability to protect himself. Attempts to teach him self-defense had not gone well, with Kudou and two of his best fighters all telling him if anything happened, he should just run.

They were alone at the hideout, the others either out on reconnaissance or to get supplies. Yoichi had been right about his brother coming after him, but they’d been able to keep ahead of him so far. All for One seemed to be making some sloppy moves in his ego-wounded rage. Kudou hoped he’d keep making them, determined to not give back what he sought, partly out of petty satisfaction that he’d dealt such a blow but largely because Yoichi was a man he’d come to respect and like. The idea of him going back to All for One made his blood go so cold his hands would start shaking.

Kudou leaned back in his chair, taking in Yoichi’s face. Light from the clouded sky filtered in through the curtain as he tried to see the resemblance to All for One. Their coloring was the same, sure, but Yoichi’s soft, sad eyes and delicate countenance were all his own. “You don’t really look like him,” Kudou said quietly.

“Really?” Yoichi shook his hair out of his eyes. He still hadn’t gotten a haircut, and since he wasn’t a combatant they hadn’t prioritized it. “I don’t have a good idea of what I look like.”

“You don’t?”

“We didn’t really have mirrors. We grew up on the streets.” Yoichi’s voice was soft, like the rest of him was soft. “So, what do I look like?”

The days of freedom had given him a quiet, dignified determination. Kudou’s gaze trailed from his eyes, shockingly green in the right light, down the gentle curve of his nose to his lips, thin and mildly chapped. The slope of his cheeks made him look so, so young. He shrugged. “Your hair’s always in your face.”

“Oh!” Yoichi swept his bangs out of his face with a hand and got up from his chair to lean forward at Kudou. “Better?”

Kudou swallowed in spite of himself. Yoichi’s face was inches away, so close he could count each pale eyelash. “Uh…” He mumbled the next thought he had before he could hold onto it.

“What was that?”

“You’re pretty,” Kudou said again, feeling for all the world like a teenager with a petty crush.

“Oh.” Yoichi didn’t back away, just stared into Kudou’s eyes intently. He’d grown more able to hold eye contact, and sometimes his gaze was so intense that Kudou felt like his chest was going to combust.

Kudou wasn’t sure who closed the distance first, just that the next thing he knew, he was gripping Yoichi by the arms and pushing his lips against his in a bruising kiss. Yoichi’s hands came up to hold his jaw, letting his mouth fall open to kiss him back, prod his mouth with his tongue, scrape his teeth against his bottom lip. Yoichi kissed him like he was drowning and Kudou growled into his mouth, putting a hand around his waist to pull him closer. He lifted his other hand to grip Yoichi’s hair and pulled his head back, desperate to get his lips on him everywhere.

Yoichi gasped as he was pulled away, sounding plaintive. Kudou pressed his mouth to his neck, sucking on the soft skin where his neck met his shoulder. He could taste the salt of his sweat and he fought back the instinct to bite down. Yoichi grasped at Kudou’s shirt, pressing his body against his. His hand snaked through Kudou’s hair, tugging as he panted his name into his ear.

“Kudou… Kudou, please, I want…” Yoichi slid a shaking hand down between them, pressing his palm against Kudou’s growing erection.

Kudou hissed at the contact and hesitated. He was no stranger to getting off with a fellow soldier in the field, when long nights and constant fear of death stretched him out until he was wire thin. But Yoichi wasn’t in the field, he was something delicate and beautiful to be kept at arms length, and Kudou didn’t think he could do this and keep him at arm’s length. “Yoichi, you— we shouldn’t.” He was vital to the mission. So much could go wrong. “It’s not a good idea.”

“Kudou, don’t,” Yoichi said into his chest. “I’m not… fragile.”

Kudou nodded, caving because he was weak. He kissed Yoichi again, moaning pathetically into his mouth. He lurched forward to keep kissing him as Yoichi suddenly dropped to his knees. The damn minx was already pulling off Kudou’s pants, freeing his throbbing cock and running a finger over the slit.

Kudou dug his hand into the arm of his chair as Yoichi took him into his mouth. He involuntarily bucked up into the wet heat, making Yoichi gag. “Fuck, fuck , you okay?” he panted as Yoichi pulled back.

“Yeah. Sorry, I haven’t done this before.” Yoichi stroked along Kudou’s length, keeping his mouth close so that his lips ghosted against the head.

“No, no, don’t be sorry, you’re perfect,” Kudou’s voice pitched up into a whine as Yoichi put his mouth on him again. He didn’t go as deep this time, stroking what didn’t fit in his mouth with his hand. Kudou could tell that he hadn’t done this before, but just seeing Yoichi’s mouth moving up and down on his cock made him twitch and pulse. And he was doing better by the minute, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes to gauge Kudou’s reactions.

Kudou reached out a tentative hand and placed it lightly on Yoichi’s head to stroke his hair. Yoichi was slowly starting to work down his length, taking more of him into the warmth of his mouth. Kudou grunted as Yoichi moaned around him, feeling the vibration all the way down to his toes. Yoichi gingerly flicked his tongue along the underside of Kudou’s cock and he was very nearly unable to stop himself from bucking his hips into him again. Yoichi did it again, and he had to grip his chair hard enough to hurt to keep himself still. It’d been a while since he’d had anyone’s mouth on him and he was already embarrassingly close to cumming.

“I’m— I’m close,” he panted, placing a warning hand on Yoichi’s jaw. When Yoichi, so stubborn when he wanted to be, didn’t get off his dick Kudou tugged at him a little, which only made him stroke his cock with his mouth faster. “Damn it, Yoichi—!” Soon Kudou could no longer protest, fingers clenching in his hair as he came into his mouth.

Kudou collapsed back into the chair as Yoichi stroked him through his orgasm, never taking his mouth off of him. Finally, he’d had too much, his whole body a live wire with too much current. “Y-Yoichi, stop, that’s enough.”

Yoichi pulled off his softening dick, taking his damn time. He was panting softly, a small stream of cum dripping from the corner of his mouth.

Kudou shot upright and looked around for a tissue or rag or something, “Fuck, you need something to spit into?”

Yoichi just shook his head silently, throat working as he swallowed. He grimaced a little as it went down. “Kinda bitter.”

“You didn’t… have to.”

“I didn’t.” Yoichi stood and put a knee on the seat next to Kudou’s leg. “I wanted to.”

He bent down and kissed Kudou and he could taste himself on Yoichi’s lips, salty and indeed a little bitter. Kudou kept kissing him, now having thrown all caution to the wind, and licked into Yoichi’s mouth until all he could taste was him. Yoichi whimpered softly, pressing himself into Kudou’s body. Kudou could feel Yoichi’s dick straining against his stomach and did his best to undo his pants without looking as Yoichi refused to release his mouth.

He put his hand around Yoichi’s cock, feeling the soft velvet heat against his palm. “Sorry if my hand’s rough,” he whispered.

Yoichi shook his head, all but rutting into his hand. “Don’t care, just, hurry.”

Kudou carded his other hand through Yoichi’s hair, lank and dry against his fingers, pressing kisses to his forehead as he stroked his cock. He didn’t take his eyes off Yoichi’s, watching the flash of teal under his eyelashes as he gasped and squirmed. Their quiet pants filled the room and soon Kudou took Yoichi over the edge, watching his eyes squeeze shut as he let out a choked-off gasp. Hot cum spilled over Kudou’s fingers. Kudou waited for Yoichi’s eyes to flutter open before bringing his hand to his mouth and licking it clean, maintaining eye contact the entire time.

Yoichi chuckled a little at the display and let his head fall onto Kudou’s shoulder. “I feel like I must be dreaming.” He seemed to be saying it to himself so Kudou didn’t reply.

They sat quietly for several minutes by which point Yoichi had fallen asleep. Kudou waited a good sixty seconds more before standing and lifting him in his arms. Damn, he was feather-light as Kudou placed him back in the chair. He buttoned up Yoichi’s pants and found a blanket to put over him before picking up the laptop with the data he was supposed to be looking at and taking Yoichi’s chair.

He’d made meager progress when Bruce returned, a box of bandages tucked under one arm and a crate of ammunition in the other. Bruce set the boxes down on top of the table and barely glanced at Kudou before saying, “You didn’t.”

Kudou sighed, putting the laptop on the sidetable next to the chair. “What gave it away?”

Bruce pointed to his belly. Kudou looked down his own torso to see a streak of cum drying on his shirt.

“Shit. Thought I was slick.” Kudou stood up and went to the sink, taking off his shirt so he could wash it. After wringing most of the water out of it, he shrugged it back on.

“I don’t know what you’re doing, man. With him?”

Kudou shot him a look. “Not here.” He led Bruce into the room they used as an office/war room. It probably had been an office once, having contained a desk and busted computer when they’d arrived. Now it housed their important data and electronics.

Bruce waited until Kudou closed the door to start going in on him, at least. “It’s getting worse out there, Kudou. All for One’s not slowing down, we need you to be focused.”

“I am focused.” And he was. Protecting Yoichi, bringing down All for One, fixing everything, it was all the same thing. It was all he ever thought about. “We’re making progress. We’ve hit him where it hurts a few times now.”

Yoichi had started helping Kudou plan missions, proving an invaluable resource for his information and his tactics. They’d debated what moves to make and in what order. They’d gained so much ground since he’d joined them, and every victory seemed to help Yoichi stand a little straighter, make his eyes a little clearer, even as the losses weighed on him. He was finally beginning to get friendly with the other resistance members.

“Yeah, and we’re taking bigger hits, too. Hits we can’t afford to take but he can.” Bruce took a shaking breath. “Look, I like the guy, but bringing him here put an even bigger target on our backs.”

“What are you saying?” Kudou’s voice dropped so low he could barely hear it over his own pulse. “We’re not dumping him out there for All for One to find. He could torture him into giving us up.”

“Leader.” Bruce only called him that in front of the men. Kudou winced.

“No.” He struggled to calm his raging heartbeat. Bruce wasn’t saying anything he hadn’t thought about already, but an intense urge to punch him in the face roared in Kudou’s ears. “If taking him made All for One mad, killing him would only make him madder. If we have something he wants, that minimizes the damage he’s willing to do to us.” He said quietly, “He’s one of us.”

“I know,” Bruce relented. “Just. Remember the mission. Any one of us would give up our lives to take down All for One. If he’s one of us, that means him, too.”

Kudou nodded. “I know.” And he knew that Yoichi knew it. He just couldn’t be sure that he’d still know it when the time came to make a call.

[anontalksforyoutolisten]

Spirituality - A “High” Discussion

Table of Contents:

⁃ Introduction

⁃ Reincarnation

⁃ Spirits and Demons

⁃ Witchcraft and Tarot

⁃ Spirituality Beyond

Introduction

Let me start by saying these are just my musings, and yes, I’m high as I write this. There’s something about the calm focus that marijuana provides—it helps me unravel thoughts I’ve always wanted to explore.

Spirituality is a subject that has fascinated me for as long as I can remember. It’s discussed across the world in different forms, all trying to touch on something vast, something beyond our immediate reality. I’ve always believed there’s more to existence than what we can see. Call it delusion, but to me, it’s a concept worth exploring deeply.

There are countless ways spirituality weaves itself into our lives, and today, I want to dive into a few of them. Whether you believe or not, these discussions are for anyone who’s curious about what might lie beyond the material world.

Reincarnation

Reincarnation is defined as “the rebirth of a soul in a new body,” but to me, it’s more than that. The term “old soul” doesn’t just refer to wisdom—it refers to a depth you can see in someone’s eyes. Some souls, I believe, have been here before.

I’m often told I’m an old soul, though I don’t remember my past lives. But I’ve always felt like I’ve been here before. Even as a baby, my parents said I made eye contact immediately, as if I already knew what this world had to offer. Contrast that with new souls—there’s pure wonder in their gaze, an eagerness to experience life for the first time.

What if the challenges we face in life are lessons for our souls? Some lives are filled with struggle, while others breeze through without much difficulty. I’ve noticed that troubled individuals often carry the weight of an older soul, as though they’ve lived through many lifetimes of hardship.

There’s even a theory that birthmarks and phobias are remnants of how we died in previous lives. It’s fascinating, isn’t it? There’s no right or wrong answer when it comes to these beliefs, and that’s the beauty of it. I’d love to hear your thoughts and stories—whether you agree or not!

Spirits and Demons

Are spirits and demons real? Absolutely. Spirits are all around us, whether we acknowledge them or not. I’ve experienced them firsthand, and there’s physical evidence out there too, for those willing to look.

My earliest memory of seeing spirits was at the age of four. I could see spirit orbs and point them out to my parents, who eventually started taking photos of the spots I indicated. Sure enough, there were orbs in the pictures, even though they were invisible to the naked eye.

Once, I woke up in the middle of the night craving a snack and saw a full apparition in the hallway. It wasn’t a dream—I remember running to my parents, sobbing in fear.

People say demon possession is exaggerated by Hollywood, but I believe it’s real. There’s so much negativity in the world that I think certain events can stir up malevolent energy. But talking about demons is almost taboo—maybe because of fear, maybe because of disbelief. What do you think?

Witchcraft and Tarot

The word “witchcraft” tends to freak people out. They imagine evil rituals or warty witches flying on broomsticks. But what if I told you witchcraft is real—just not in the way you think?

Witchcraft, at its core, is simply intention manifested. You don’t need a cauldron or a black cat. Every time you give yourself a pep talk, you’re manifesting a good outcome. Every time you make a wish before blowing on a dandelion, that’s witchcraft in its purest form.

Does it always work? No. Sometimes, the universe has other plans. But practicing witchcraft is about aligning with those universal forces and understanding when something isn’t meant to be.

Then, there’s tarot. I own a deck myself, and the accuracy is sometimes eerie. I’ll pull cards seemingly at random, and somehow they always match my situation. It’s fascinating to me, and I’d love to know if anyone else has had similar experiences—or if you think it’s all coincidence.

Spirituality Beyond

At the heart of it, spirituality is about recognizing that there’s something greater than us. It’s the belief that there’s more to being human than just our sensory experiences, that we’re part of something cosmic or divine.

This opens the door to discussions far beyond Earthly spirituality—like the belief in extraterrestrial life. It’s almost impossible to think we’re the only planet with life in the vastness of the universe. Life and death are part of an endless cycle, and to think we’re the only ones participating in that cycle seems narrow-minded to me.

Closing

I needed a space to jot down these thoughts, to sort through my personal experiences and ponder the world beyond. But this is an open-ended discussion, and I want to hear what you think.

I’m often lost in deep thoughts, and while some of the topics I think about might give others an existential crisis, I’ve managed to hold on to my sanity (thankfully). I know how to separate reality from belief, theory, and thought. I’ve always been curious more than anything—intelligence might be overrated, but curiosity? That’s where the magic happens.

Feel free to comment with your own experiences or questions. Let’s explore this vast universe together.

Thank you for reading.

[zestials]

↳ in reference to soul collection & deals .

zestial has many methods of collecting souls & making deals in various ways to ensure it's never just one method & not easily cut off. it's one of the many ways he's been able to ensure he doesn't fall from his position of power. the primary methods are as follows :

- offering information . zestial has eyes all over & keeps information that could be useful to him in one way or another. he's very good at catching lies ( one of the reasons he prefers communication in person , body language & how someone holds themselves are far too important. ) + puts a large amount of weight on gaining intel. many of those indebted to him pay back their deals by providing him with even more information. hence a sort of web of it all & the general motif of ensnaring prey in said web.

kind of in relation to above so : this also can include finding or capturing certain sinners , something zestial has certainly done before for boons . + helping someone disappear or hide. y'know how you can never find the damn spider you were looking for ? oops !

- in a similar vein , like the bright colors of a venomous spider or snake , zestial certainly isn't above flexing power when necessary & giving sinners something to truly fear. this usually does require a soul , not just a deal. ( & of course , zestial would only act with all facts. ) he does so love a bit of torture & if they deserve it , who is he to deny such a classic , reliable way of getting things done ? ♥ - albeit might not be relevant any longer : offering safety in the next annual ( or now bi - annual ) extermination event ; after all who better than one who has survived so many ! the alternative will be a promised , much more painful existence in this afterlife anyways. sometimes a little fear goes a long way & we know zestial has a reputation that makes other sinners light themselves on fire with his very presence.

surely more , but these are the main methods !!

[ofaflower]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐏𝐎𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 - 𝐓𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐖𝐈𝐅𝐓

The following are lyric based starters from Taylor Swift's eleventh studio album, The Tortured Poets Department (Standard Version). Mature subjects implied within, so please use with caution. Feel free to change pronoun usage as needed. Minor edits may appear to sound more natural for dialogue. Link to 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐘.

FORTNIGHT (FT. POST MALONE)

i was supposed to be sent away, but they forgot to come and get me

i was a functioning alcoholic

nobody noticed my new aesthetic

all of this to say, i hope you're okay

you're the reason

no one here's to blame

what about your quiet treason?

we were forever

your wife waters flowers

i wanna kill her

i took the miracle move on drug, the effects were temporary

i love you, it's ruining my life

my husband is cheating, i wanna kill him

it won't start up

THE TORTURED POETS DEPARTMENT

you left your typewriter at my apartment

straight from the tortured poets department

who uses typewriters anyway?

you're in self sabotage mode

i've seen this episode, still i love the show

who else decodes you?

who's gonna hold you like me?

who's gonna know you, if not me?

you're not dylan thomas, i'm not patti smith

this ain't the chelsea hotel

we're modern idiots

nobody, no fucking body

i chose this cyclone with you

sometimes i wonder if you're gonna screw this up with me

you told lucy you'd kill yourself if i ever leave

i felt seen

everyone we know understands why we're meant to be - cause we're crazy

you took my ring off my middle finger and put it on the one people put wedding rings on - and that's the closest i've come to my heart exploding

MY BOY ONLY BREAKS HIS FAVOURITE TOYS

oh, here we go again...

the voices in his head called the rain to end our days of wild

you should've seen him when he first got me

my boy only breaks his favourite toys

i'm queen of sandcastles he destroys

i should've known it was a matter of time

there was a litany of reasons why we could've played for keeps this time

i know i'm just repeating myself

he runs because he loves me

once i fix me, he's gonna miss me

just say when, i'd play again

you were my best friend

you told me i'm better off, but i'm not

DOWN BAD

did you really beam me up, in a cloud of sparkling dust, just to do experiments on?

you told me i was the chosen one

you showed me this world was bigger than us, then sent me back where i came from

for a moment, i new cosmic love

fuck it if i can't have him

i might just die, it would make no difference

come back and pick me up

fuck it if i can't have us

i might just not get up, i might stay down bad

did you take all my old clothes?

my same old town, somehow feels so hollow now

they'll say i'm nuts if i talk about the existence of you

for a moment i was heaven struck

i loved your hostile takeovers

how can you say that it's over?

how dare you think it's romantic, leaving me safe and stranded

fuck it, i was in love

fuck you if i can't have us

SO LONG, LONDON

so long, london

i saw, in my mind, fairy lights through the mist

i kept calm and carried the weight of the rift

i pulled him in tighter each time he was drifting away

i stopped trying to make you laugh

how much sad did you think i had in me?

oh, the tragedy

you'll find someone

i didn't opt in to be your odd man out

i founded the club you've heard great things about

i left all i knew, then you left me at the house by the heath

i stopped cpr, after all it's no use

i'm pissed off you let me give you all that youth for free

i'll find someone

you say i abandoned the ship, but i was going down with it with my white knuckle iron grip holding tight to your quiet resentment

it isn't right to be scared everyday of a love affair

every breath feels like rarest air when you're unsure if he wants to be there

just how long did you think i'd go before i self-implode and have to go free?

you swore that you loved me, but where were the clues?

i died on the alter waiting

you sacrificed us to the blue of your darkest days

i'm just getting colour back into my face

i'm just mad as hell cause i loved this place for so long

we had a good run

a moment of sun

i'm not the one

BUT DADDY I LOVE HIM

i forget how the west was won

i forget if this was ever fun

i just learned these people only raise you to cage you

what a mess

these people try and "save you", cause they hate you

they slammed the door on my whole world and the one thing i wanted

but daddy i love him

i'm having his baby - no i'm not, but you should see your faces

i'm having his baby

floor it through the fences

no, i'm not "coming to my senses"

i know he's crazy but he's the one i want

all my plans were laid

growing up precocious sometimes means not growing up at all

stay away from her

i'll tell you something right now, i'd rather burn my whole life down than listen to one more second of all this bitching and moaning

let me tell you about my good name, it's mine alone to disgrace

i dont' cater to all these vipers dressed in empath's clothing

god save the most judgmental creeps

you ain't gotta pray for me

fuck 'em - it's over

time, doesn't it give some perspective?

no, you can't come to the wedding

FRESH OUT THE SLAMMER

now pretty baby, i'm running back home to you

fresh out the slammer, i know who my first call will be to

he don't understand me

you were with me in dreams

it's gonna be alright, i did my time

i was handcuffed to the spell i was under

now i know better and i'll never lose my baby again

all those nights, you kept me going

you weaved me into all of your poems

no matter what i've done - it wouldn't matter away

ain't no way i'm gonna screw up now that i know what's at stake here

FLORIDA!!! (FEAT. FLORENCE + THE MACHINE)

you can beat the heat if you beat the charges too

they said i was cheat, so i guess it must be true

my friends all smell like weed or little babies

the city reeks of driving myself crazy

little did you know, your home's really only a town you're just a guest in

packed my life away just stay in a timeshare down in destin, florida

florida is one hell of a drug

florida will use you up

i got drunk and dared it wash me away

me and my ghosts, we had a hell of a time

yes, i'm haunted but i'm feeling just fine

all of my girls have got their lace and their crimes

your cheating husband disappeared?

well, no one asks any questions here

i did my best to lay to rest all of the bodies that'd ever been on my body where in my mind they sink into the swamp

is that a bad thing to say in a song?

i need to forget

take me to florida

i've got some regrets, i'll bury them in florida

tell me i'm despicable, say it's unforgivable

at least the dolls were beautiful

fuck me up, florida

GUILTY AS SIN?

he sent me "downtown lights", i hadn't heard it in a while

my boredom's bone deep

this cage was once just fine

am i allowed to cry?

i dream of cracking locks and throwing my life to the wolves - or the ocean rocks

i'm seeing visions

am i bad or mad or wise?

what if he's written "mine" on my upper thigh, only in my mind?

oh, what a way to die

i keep recalling things we never did

how i long for our tryst

without ever touching your skin, how can i be guilty as sin?

i keep these longings locked in lowercase inside a vault

someone told me: there's no such thing as bad thoughts - only your actions talk

we've already done it in my head

if it's make believe, why does it feel like a vow we'll both uphold somehow?

my bedsheets were ablaze, i screamed your name

what if i roll the stone away?

they're gonna crucify me anyway?

what if the way you hold me is actually what's holy?

if long suffering propriety is what they want from me, they don't know how you've haunted me so suddenly

i choose you and me, religiously

WHO'S AFRAID OF LITTLE OLD ME?

the who's who of "who's that?" - is poised for the attack

my bare hands paved their path

you don't get to tell me about sad

if you wanted me dead, you should've just said

nothing makes me feel more alive

she'll leap from the gallows and levitate down our street

who's afraid of little old me?

the scandal was contained

the bullet had just grazed

at all costs, keep your good name

you don't get to tell me you feel bad

is it a wonder i broke? let's hear one more joke then we can all just laugh until i cry

i was tame, i was gentle til the circus life made me mean

don't you worry folks, we took out all her teeth

who's afraid of little old me? you should be

so tell me everything is not about me - but what if it is?

they say they didn't do it to hurt me - but what if they did?

i wanna snarl and show you just how disturbed this has made me

you wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me

all your kids can sneak into my house with all the cobwebs

i'm always drunk on my own tears, isn't that what they all say?

i'll sue you if you step on my lawn

i'm fearsome, and i'm wretched, and i'm wrong

i put narcotics into all of my songs, that's why you're still singing along

you lured me, you caged me, and you taught me

you caged me then called me crazy

i am what i am cause you trained me

who's afraid of me?

I CAN FIX HIM (NO REALLY, I CAN)

the jokes he told across the bar were revolting and way too loud

god help her

he's my man

but your good lord doesn't need to lift a finger

i can i fix him, no really - i can

the dopamine raced through his brain on a six-lane texas highway

i could see it from a mile away

you're a perfect case for my certain skill set

he had a halo of the highest grade

he just hadn't met me yet

i can fix him

only i can

good boy, that's right - come close

i'll show you heaven if you'll be an angel all night

trust me, i can handle me a dangerous man

whoa, maybe i can't...

loml

who's gonna stop us from falling back into rekindled flames if we know the steps anyway?

we embroidered memories of my time away, stitching "we were just kids babe"

i don't mind, it takes time

thought that i was better safe than starry-eyed

i felt aglow like this - never before and never since

if you know it in one glimpses, it's legendary

you and i went from one kiss to getting married

you low down boy, you stand up guy

you told me i'm the love of your life about a million times

who's gonna tell me the truth when you blew in with the winds of fate, saying i had reformed you?

your impressionist paintings of us turned out to be fakes

well, you dragged me to hell too

a con man sells a fool a get-love-quick scheme

i felt a hole, like this - never before and ever since

what we thought was for all time, was temporary

mister "steal your girl, and make her cry"

you said i'm the love of your life

you shit talked me under tables, talking rings and talking cradles

i wish i could un-recall how we almost had it all

are they second-hand embarrassed?

i can't get out of bed cause something counterfeit's dead

it was legendary

it was momentary

it was unnecessary

should've let us stay buried

what a valiant roar

what a bland goodbye

the coward claimed he was a lion

i'll never leave

never mind

i'll still see it til i die

you're the loss of my life

I CAN DO IT WITH A BROKEN HEART

i can read your mind

she's having the time of her life

in her glittering prime the light refracts sequin stars off her silhouette every night

i can show you lies

i'm a real tough kid

i can handle my shit

they said "fake it til you make it", and i did

lights, camera, bitch, smile - even when you wanna die

he said he'd love me all his life - but that life was quite short

all the pieces of me shattered as the crowd was chanting more

i can do it with a broken heart

i'm so depressed, i act like it's my birthday everyday

i'm so obsessed with him but he avoids me like the plague

i cry alot, but i am so productive - it's an art

you know you're good when you can even do it with a broken heart

i can hold my breath, i've been doing it since you left

i'm sure i can pass this test

he said he'd love me for all time but that time was quite short

i'm miserable and nobody even knows!

THE SMALLEST MAN WHO EVER LIVED

was any of it true?

gazing at me starry-eyed in your jehovah's witness suit, who the fuck was that guy?

he tried to buy some pills from a friend of friends of mine

they just ghosted you, now you know what it feels like

i don't even want you back, i just want to know if rusting my sparkling summer was the goal?

i don't miss what we had but could someone give a message to the smallest man who ever lived?

you hung me on your wall, stacked me with your push pins where in public you showed me off - then sank to stoned oblivion

once your queen had come, you treat her like an also-ran

you didn't measure up in any measure of a man

were you sent by someone who wanted me dead?

did you sleep with a gun underneath our bed?

were you writing a book?

were you a sleeper cell spy?

in fifty years, will all this be declassified and you'll confess why you did it

good riddance

it wasn't sexy once it wasn't forbidden

i would have died for your sins, instead i just died inside

you deserve prison but you won't get time

you'll slide into inboxes and slip through the bars

you crashed my party and your rental car

you said normal girls were boring, but you were gone by the morning

in plain sight you hid

you are what you did

i'll forget you but i'll never forgive the smallest man who ever lived

THE ALCHEMY

this happens once every few lifetimes

what if i told you i'm back?

the hospital was a drag, worst sleep that i ever had

i haven't come around in so long, but i'm coming back so strong

so when i touch down, call the amateurs and cut them from the team

ditch the clowns, get the crown

baby, i'm the one to beat

the sign on your heart says it's still reserved for me

honestly, who are we to fight the alchemy?

hey you, what if i told you we're cool? that child's play back in school is forgiven under my rule

i'm making a comeback to where i belong

these blokes warm the benches

we've been on a winning streak

he jokes that it's "heroin", but this time with an "E"

there's no chance try to beat the greatest in the league?

where's the trophy?

CLARA BOW

you look like clara bow in this light, remarkable

all your life, did you know you'd be picked, like a rose?

i'm not trying to exaggerate - but i think i might die if it happened to me

no one in my small town thought i'd see the lights of manhattan

this town is fake, but you're the real thing

a breath of fresh air through smoke rings

take the glory

give everything

promise to be dazzling

you look like stevie nicks in '75, the hair and lips

the crowd goes wild at your fingertips

i think i might if i made it

no one in my small town thought i'd meet these suits in L.A.

beauty is a beast that roars down on all fours demanding more

only when your girlish glow flickers just so, do they let you know

it's hell on earth to be heavenly

them's the breaks they don't come gently

you look like taylor swift in this light, we're loving it

you've got edge, she never did

the future's bright

dazzling

[packedandstrapped]

can u give me ideas on how to come out? i’m 22 and known i was a lesbian since i was around 14-15 and have been too scared to come out because of my parents. i value what my parents say and ik they aren’t going to accept me so when i come out to them, they’re gonna say they disown me and kick me out or some other shit, but it’s gonna make me spiral into a depression (haha). but i can’t keep living a lie man living like this is hard especially when my parents keep trying to set me up with men. when i was in highschool, i tried so hard to give them hints i didn’t like men, i never dated them, never talked about them, hell even begged my mom to wear a suit to prom, but she told me it was “un lady like” and made me wear a dress. i just love my family so much and i don’t want them to hate me but living this lie has made me hate myself. no matter what i do it’s a lose lose situation. this has caused me so many problems. i literally use to have an eating disorder because of how much anxiety of my parents finding out i was gay would give me. i’ve tried to convince my self to like men and i just can’t. i feel like something is so so wrong with me and i can’t. it makes me not wanna live anymore i wouldn’t wish this on anyone. i know this is lowkey cringy to be telling someone all this, but i just really really need advice on this because i just can’t keep living everyday a lie.

Hey friend- please feel free to DM off anon if you want to talk. I will chat with you about this stuff literally any time.

There's nothing wrong with who you are. Your message feels like something I could have written at 19-20 years old. When you said you value what your parents say, I felt that in my core. I want to be able tell you that everyone comes around and they'll totally understand and accept you. But sometimes it's not that way. And the people that claim to love us the most can only give that love when we fit into the box they've created for us. This might sound hokey, but reading The Four Agreements really helped me identify the space between my parents ideas and my own. I will send you a copy if you're interested in reading.

It's no wonder that you're experiencing so much anxiety and worry about coming out. For a lot of us, coming out as gay to our parents is the first time we truly see them disappointed in us. There's a crushing weight to our parents thinking we're actively trying to hurt them by living our lives authentically. I hope that's not the case for you.

If I could do it all over again, I would journal about it for a few days. I'd practice the important phrases I want to get out. I would focus on the simple message I wanted to send rather than trying to navigate their feelings. I would try to think about the various reactions I might get and have one or two general ideas of how I could respond neutrally. And despite all of this, I'm sad to say even though I would have felt more in control, I'd still be just as wounded coming out of it. I understand the fear you have in disappointing your parents because it's been a reality for me for almost twenty years. They've never let up on reminding me that while they're proud of my accomplishments, it's despite my otherness rather than a celebration of what a queer person can do. They refuse to use the word "wedding" or "wife" and they give us a room with two twin beds when we go to visit. The microaggressions never cease. What's changed now is how much of myself I let them see. Now it's about what makes me comfortable instead of existing around them in a box that never fit right. It's still hard- I regularly grieve the relationship I wish I had with my parents. But as I've aged, I've realized that my friends are my family. They are they ones that have been there and show up for me unconditionally. They're the ones I have turned to when I needed a place to stay, a job, or a listening ear. They get it.

I don't know how you feel most comfortable communicating with your parents, but think about what it would look like to say the words out loud or in a text. Try not to feel bad about telling them this information. You are being truthful and honest and that's what is important. You are giving them the gift of seeing you for who you really are; to celebrate you in the way you want to be seen in this world. Don't worry about doing it the wrong way because sometimes there just isn't a defined right way. I know it's scary but the sooner you get it off your chest, the sooner you can fall into the comfort of your real self.

Come back or DM me if you need anything, friend. We need you here.

[ddelline]

time loop thursday

blurb | I did in fact miss wednesday wip posting deadline, but this works, and I did just write 6k of this in one sitting, even though I really did not have time to do that. this behemoth fic, istg

premise | since this isn't really a normal time loop fic, but also kind of time traveling all over the place!fic, ofc I'm visiting All Of The Trope-y Timelines. and here we are at hidden inventory/sudden death. bc I love writing shōko. honestly mainly bc of that. still no goyuu (lmao) but it is a quite lengthy bit of hi/sd!trio feat older!satoru

Suguru puffs an exasperated breath and crosses his arms over his chest. His nails are bitten down, not filed as they usually were; his left ring finger and pinky are taped. Must have happened at some point Satoru can’t recall from their (thankfully) brief bout with Fushiguro. “I can’t say either of that made it on to my list of concerns. This extra examination was unnecessary, as well. Why wouldn’t you notice it’s him? Satoru’s a horrible liar.” Suguru tips his chin in Satoru’s direction. He raises an eyebrow at him. His expression is relaxing in slow increments, even if it still retains an edge of caution. “You can tell from the CES. Like this.” Suguru reaches out towards Satoru. It’s cautious without for that matter being slow, clearly telegraphing, giving Satoru the chance to influence what happens next.

A horrible, rippling weight in Satoru’s chest seizes at that. He thinks it might be his whole heart. It’s such a painfully Suguru thing to do; is a thoughtful, mindless tic he’s had since they were kids, all of nine gangly years, spiteful and prideful and intensely aware of their prodigy: complete assholes, in fact. But it’d been underscored by sullen, insecure tenderness, like awkward adolescent friendship tends towards. He dispels Infinity with a twitch of his fingers. Three of Suguru’s fingers make contact, press lightly down in the crook of his elbow. He withdraws momentarily after. “It’s a lot more tempered, but it feels the same. There’s no change in the mass or texture of the signature.”

Shōko rolls her eyes exaggeratedly. “Never mind a shikigami, your sense of curse echolocating seems to be just as good. Better. Why don’t they teach us this in med school?”

“Don’t call me a curse,” grouses Suguru. “And they do teach us this. In jujutsu school. You just happened to sleep through the majority part of the curse energy analysis curriculum.”

Shōko shrugs. “Cursed energy is just like, fwoosh, and crrrck. Like the crackle of fire, you know. Sometimes a little shhhwp, and yoosh.” Suguru rolls his eyes. “Besides, saying that just because it feels like Satoru, it has to be him, is reductionist. Your cursed energy signature isn’t necessarily fixed. Vessels’ CE have shown to adapt, even to a certain extent mix, with the host curse’s. From a scientific point of view, it’s highly unlikely that something like an innate technique capable of cloaking or imitating another’s CE, for example, can’t exist.”

Satoru whistles and grins. “Here’s someone who did all the suggested additional readings. At least in that class. I appreciate your being in my corner though, Suguru. Even if that was a solid, grade A-smack down.”

“Satoru,” says Suguru, in the same breath as Shōko says, “Gojō-san,” after which they both chorus more or less identical sentiments of “shut up, no one was talking to you.”

Spindly fingers fit themselves into the spaces between his ribs. They reach inwards, finding his lungs and heart and curl; settle securely around bloody, wildly pumping organ matter. They squeeze. Satoru’s fingers spasm marginally where they’re resting across the flat of his own thigh.

He failed them both before. And in so many more ways than he ever realized. More than he ever will, probably. No matter how long he lives, or how much he learns. Whatever he does, or doesn’t do here: he won’t fail them like that again.

*

Yaga rucks his sunglasses up to rest on his brow and pinches the bridge of his nose. An aggravated breath hisses out of him. Satoru can guess what comes next. “Goddamn!” swears his now-teacher, future-headmaster. When he looks at Satoru again, moments later, his expression is grim. “I can’t fault you for this one, Satoru. Maybe I ought to praise you. But goddamn.”

“Please don’t, sensei,” sighs Shōko, “One violation of fundamental world principles per day is enough.”

“I agree,” says Suguru. Satoru tsks.

Yaga gestures for them to zip it. “Enough. Cynicisms and smart quips aren’t going to get us closer to figuring out what to do about this,” he levels Satoru with a sharp stare again, “we’ve not got any time, either. Ijichi’s doing his best to keep the damned lid on for now, but a near-successful assassination of the Star Plasma Vessel carried out by a member of one of the big three—on warded school ground, no less; it’s a shitstorm the size of a hurricane brewing in a teacup. High council, the noble Three, plus a string of second tier branch families, jujutsu regulatory institutions—we’ve got an official inquiry pending from the desk of the PM; no one doesn’t want to get in on how we could’ve let this happen.”

Satoru desperately wants to note, out loud, something about Yaga’s uncharacteristically colourful language. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate the gravity of the situation—no one is more keen than Satoru to figure out what the actual fuck is happening, or root out the apparent fail safe at the heart of the temporal knot he’s gotten himself stuck in, unpick it and put things right again. But frankly, if he’s not allowed to take a moment to breathe, and appreciate, Yaga Masamichi illustrating the monumental fuckfest of the protection and escort mission of Amanai Riko as a hurricane sized shitstorm wreaking havoc within the bounds of a tiny teacup—then what point is there to all the pain, suffering, and trauma they’ve needed to endure along the way (some of them twice over, now)?

“We didn’t let it happen, though,” says Satoru, who is sadly twenty nine and sensible. “Believe me, I’ve been privy to the alternative. It’s far shittier.”

“So you’ve alluded to,” says Yaga, “Cursory background is provided, but I don’t think that’s enough.”

Satoru doesn’t glance towards Suguru and Shōko, parked behind respective desks to his left. The crux of the matter, and the solution to the problem, won’t become apparent to them just because he provides a detailed account of this future’s, and his own past, eleven years. “People died. Curses banded merrily together to plan an apocalypse. Gojō Satoru, Strongest Sorcerer, failed. We failed, pretty spectacularly actually, in preventing jujutsu society, an idiotically archaic reactionist system which favoured genealogy over talent and control over reform, from rinse, recycle and repeat-doom cycling us straight off a cliff.” Satoru pauses, levelling Yaga with a flat stare, “If I had time stamps, I’d call Ijichi in to transcribe. But since what happened today didn’t happen the last time around—I’d guess we’re winging it from here. Sensei.”

Silence as thick as dewy, muggy fog settles over the classroom. Satoru slouches more exaggeratedly into the desk he’d taken to leaning against when they’d been summoned. Either Suguru or Shōko voices a small, shock-adjacent expel of breath. Yaga remains quiet, only emoting by way of one eyebrow twitching, and a muscle in his jaw spasming and fluttering with tension.

“Heartbreaking: the worst person you know just delivered a rousing speech on progressive political reform,” says Shōko faintly.

Suguru heaves a belly deep sigh. “Satoru,” he chides, “All of that, and you’re still so disrespectful?”

“All of you. Shut up,” booms Yaga. He unfolds his hands, displacing his weight, and slowly gets to his feet. Satoru vaguely entertains the hilarious irony in surviving Fushiguro Toji stabbing the Inverted Spear of Heaven through his frontal lobe, only to end up being strangled to death by his teacher for mouthing off during a debriefing. A lunging attack isn’t forthcoming, however. He stands, keeps regarding Satoru with dark eyes and a tense jaw. Eventually, he just sighs. Deflates. “You’re still an arrogant shit, Satoru, and for that you don’t deserve to be rewarded. But you’re right. Damned if you aren’t right.” His teacher pauses, then nods at him, hard and jerky. “You grew up. A lot of people probably benefited from that. Let’s see if we can as well.”