#what in the Fuck is 'conceptual light manipulation'

[starryskiescottagepies]

★ Marauders (mostly wolfstar) fics I have enjoyed recently ★

I think most people are already familiar with these, but I figured I’d compile a list for at least my own sake, if not for the fuck of it. No particular order, just whichever one popped into my mind first. Also I almost exclusively read regular magical fics, not muggle aus, though sometimes I will branch out.

1.) The Horcrux Hunt - lostmy_keys

He is a Slytherin, a Black, and an ex-Death Eater. Of course he makes it out of the cave.

Regulus sets out to destroy the Dark Lord's Horcrux with no one but a house-elf to help, until he realises his task is bigger than he alone can handle. Reluctantly he turns to the only man Voldemort fears for assistance - Dumbledore - who loans out his pet wolf for the job, much to Regulus's dismay. Together they embark on a hunt for Horcruxes - a long and arduous journey that both makes friendships and destroys them. And a few people get hurt along the way.

Slowburn Wolfstar, Regulus character development, a very flirty (but platonic) Regulus and Remus friendship, and a canonically manipulative Dumbledore.

This is by far one of my recent favourites. It’s too good. I’m not super into jegulus, but if that’s your thing, the sequel has them as a kind of background development :]

2.) Let Nothing You Dismay - montparnasse

There are a few things Sirius really didn't count on for Christmas of 1979. The extreme sexual confusion is one of them; Remus Lupin is approximately seventy-eight of the rest.

I bookmarked this with a note saying “this writing style is gorjus. Gongepus” at 1:30 in the morning, and that’s all I have to say about that.

3.) disintegration - moonymoment

Okay I won’t even bother putting the summary here, almost everyone has read it, it’s fantastic. Knife cutting vampire themed sexual tension, kak long too. Sound good? Lekker. Thought so.

4.) Stealing Harry (and its subsequent cinematic universe) - copperbadge

On a dark night long ago, Sirius Black took a wrong turn and never found Peter Pettigrew. Instead of Azkaban, Sirius settled down in Little Whinging to keep an eye on his godson, and hired Remus Lupin to run his bookshop for him. Then one day when Harry was eight, Sirius found out how the Dursleys treated him, and stole him away.

I’m going to make a whole separate post about this one because it’s a work of art. It’s so sweet. Ahh. It’s an iconic old series too, started before I even existed. It’s been one of my favourite things as of late. I wish it had been completed, but I also love it as it is, and I don’t feel I need any more than that. The first story is beautiful, but frankly it’s the alternative universe which comes after that I keep rereading. So so so so so good.

5.) Remain in Light - veeagainst

What if Sirius Black didn’t die? It’s been done many times. Here’s my take on it.

One of the best “wolfstar kind of adopts Harry” sorts of stories in my opinion, and done so in such a graceful way too. Blood sweat tears and six whole years (!!!!) of writing went into this thing and you can really see how no word was wasted. What a beautiful story

6.) The Bent - earlybloomingparenthesis

1985, London. The wizarding queer art scene revolves around a gallery called the Bent, where conceptual artist Remus Lupin and photographer Sirius Black exhibit their works, and a club called the Bush, where they spend time with Jane and Lily Potter, who work at a nearby heath clinic. Although war with Voldemort was averted, the wizarding world is still simmering with tension. In the face of increasing intolerance and calls for censorship, Remus’ art takes a riskier, more political turn, and he must figure out how to balance self-expression and safety. Also, he might be falling in love with his best friend.

It’s been a while since something ive read has caused my to need to go on a walk and just think. This story will make you do that. Queer truths and families and mess and art. That’s it that’s the book. It’s one of the nine fics I’ve thrown into my “lifechanging fanfics” collection and it’s there for a REASON! You will not regret reading it.

[pleuvoire]

the death note characters i think are gay and am interested in thinking about with my How Do They Feel About Being Gay worldview are light, L and matsuda. first of all i think light is homophobic. it's the early 2000s and he's a misogynist with borderline eugenicist beliefs, no way he thinks love is love. i think he is homophobic in a way that brings a great deal of personal disgust into the mix. he is also gay in the sense that he would have sex with men for the sake of mind games and physically enjoy it a lot more than having sex with a woman for the sake of mind games. but the mind games come first. and he's still homophobic and doesn't consider himself gay - not in the sense that he's closeted but that he holds himself separate from all that, and honestly who can blame him, i've posted before about how him being a twisted fucking cycle path reddit gijinka means that applying the label of gay to him is kind of a dubious endeavor. anyway

L has a lesser version of this going on. i think he is also kinda homophobic but compared to light's personal disgust i think he is just like, a guy living in the early 2000s. i think he is more willing to have sex for personal pleasure than light but because of who he is it's still infrequent and usually involves some convoluted work stuff. and when he does have sex it's with men but he doesn't think of himself as gay or as One Of Those because he is a totally unique and special guy who just does what he wants. he's doing a behavior, not being a sexual identity. and in any case he doesn't really consider himself attracted to the people he has sex with so much as just doing something to relax

in contrast i think matsuda is the normal gay (or bi) guy who is a part of society unlike the other two, so he actually conceptualizes himself as such and has to worry about homophobia and everything. he's closeted at work but does a really bad job of hiding it but the rest of the task force has their heteronormativity goggles on so it works out for him. L would figure it out though and at some point bluntly throw "yes, it's because you're gay" in his face at him and matsuda would be like ;A; HOW DID YOU KNOW. and i think he is self-conscious about being seen as weak and awkward in a way where he connects it with the liking men thing. and he's attracted to light but thinks of it as this secret shameful unprofessional thing. if light ever found out he would use those feelings of guilt to manipulate him big timeeee

[abalidoth]

it is fucking wild to me that bad AI (LLM specifically) takes are coming from such vastly separate parts of the conversation

You've got the tech bros on one side going "I talked to chatgpt for an hour and I'm having an existential crisis about the nature of humanity 😨" like my dude. Even on the off chance that this does qualify for sentience (it doesn't) this is something that people much smarter than you have been thinking about for decades. You are not unique in your "but what if AI think DIFFERENT??" tweets.

(...and then these chucklefucks are trying to solve the alignment problem with mind control -- directly injecting contrary thoughts into the internal state of the network. Which if this thing IS as smart as they fear it is, is horrifically unethical, and if it isn't, it's pointless. Sigh.)

But then on the other side you have non-tech anti-AI folks with the "ugh why does anyone think it's intelligent 🙄 it's just mad libs/cut-and-paste prediction" as though GPT is just a really big Markov model or something.

Like, ok, no. The end task is language modeling, yes, but we're asking these systems to model language to such a high precision that the only way to do it is to actually develop an internal conceptual model of the world. This isn't just "this word usually comes after that word", it's "this string of words maps to _this_ concept in thought space, that string maps to this _other_ concept, here's a transform that bridges the two."

Is it conscious? Fuck man I dunno, we kinda have to figure out what the hell consciousness is other than "the thing humans have, you know, the thing where you're conscious!" before we can properly answer that question. But I'd say there's a tremendous amount to support that LLMs have _thoughts_. Because we can see them! They are mostly black boxes, yes, but you can still poke around inside the internal vector spaces and figure out what areas light up with different concepts, same as you can on a human brain with a PET scan.

Yes, the task they're set to is currently language modeling, but the means by which they do it necessarily requires context-dependent abstract concept manipulation on a pretty impressive scale. And that's not bringing in things like AutoGPT where a primary LLM spins up prompts for daughter LLMs in order to solve some specific task. As someone in the field, it's honestly pretty impressive, and we're going to start seeing major shockwaves soon.

This is the first time that the eternal joke of AGI being "twenty years away for seven decades and counting" is starting to feel like it might be outdated. It's gonna change a lot -- don't let the fact that a lot of the voices talking about this are clueless techbro types lull you into thinking otherwise.

[lesbianalanwake]

Re: dark presence rehabilitation, I was wondering... like, what's the goal? (this is based on my personal understanding which might be wrong.)

overall its goal seems to be to escape the dark place? but at the same time it seems like it wants to turn the outside world into something similar to the dark place, a neverending nightmare fueled by people's subconscious. specifically Scratch seems like a bit of a megalomaniac (I will make the entire world worship Alan's (my) writing forever!) (so much fun, geez...) - but... what's the point of escaping then? Scratch himself says in AN smth along the lines of a drop of darkness being absolutely inconsequential in the dark place, but so noticeable and fun in our mostly light world.

so, my suggestion is that the dark presence can stay outside but it ?should limit itself to smaller horrors. spice of life. a nightmare here, a nightmare there. Cats 2 (2025).

FHGHSKGHS drip-feeding the Dark Presence with minor horror allowances to keep it happy. it can ruin Hollywood. for Barry's sake.

it depends on what the Dark Presence and the Dark Place actually are. that could go a couple of ways. I could not even begin to guess which direction. scattered thoughts:

I prefer an explanation like "x entity became corrupted" over anything "inherent." it is man who is evil.

I'm continually wondering if the Dark Presence is, or is part of, a greater entity that got lost/corrupted.

AW2 describes the Dark Place as a mirror. I think the place that we see and experience might only be a sliver - a cracked and corrupted shard, if you will, because it doesn't always produce only suffering and misery and madness. just most of the time. so maybe Presence and Place are both parts of some greater ocean that got metaphysically landlocked.

maybe the Dark Presence is some kind of spirit of the Dark Place, and corruption in one leads to corruption in the other. so where did it start, if they weren't always like that?

the green/red Polaris/Hiss color scheme is all over AW2. Scratch is red like the Hiss. why is the Dark Presence so similar to the Hiss. what does it FUCKING mean, Sam.

(I have been thinking "the Hiss wasn't originally Like That" since I first played Control. something something the Hiss being embodied in Dylan who wasn't originally Like That either. so that makes me wonder even more about the Dark Presence, when they share those similarities. I cannot stop thinking about the apparently dead world that Hedron et al. came from. about the implication that something is eating away at the Oldest House, that its roots are withering. about the apparently empty world of the Quarry and the City. about how empty and occasionally extraordinarily violent the Astral Plane is when we see how full of life and personality the Altered Items are and how many of them don't really mean harm. about what might have made the Dark Place like that. what the fuck is happening out there in the conceptual reality behind this reality.)

there is the possible implication that the Diver had some hand in creating Scratch? maybe? but that goes back to the question of what the Diver is - Zane, the light/Bright Presence, something else. and what the goal is there. who knows.

I've said this elsewhere but I think Scratch in AWAN is more like. a ghoulish sliver of the Dark Presence mimicking reality like Jagger does, a finger of a giant hand trying to manipulate things. whereas Scratch in AW2 is the Dark Presence more fully embodied and also lost in the sauce. and it has fucked up big time by trying to use Alan to escape, tying itself too closely to him, to the point that even its grand escape is distorted by details of Alan's life. I don't think Evil Deerfest is necessarily what it might have originally wanted, but rather a sign that Dark Presence and Alan have overlapped to the point that Alan is changing it. like it's stuck in the Scratch persona now. has put on a skin that it struggles to take off. (but that's just a game theor--)

like. maybe it wasn't always a rabid beast of an entity and the Dark Place wasn't always a nightmare hell world, or maybe it's always wanted to get out of the Dark Place and doesn't necessarily have roots there. but over time Dark Presence/Place have absorbed and reflected so much of whatever corruption is going on that now Presence/Place want to make a distorted fun house mirror out of everything.

except. now the Dark Presence is not solely mirroring and reflecting corruption and "darkness" anymore. it's starting to mirror Alan even after it jumps out of his body, and, like Dylan being the narrative focus of physical embodiment for the Hiss, Alan is a (relatively) normal person who has been trapped and isolated for a very long time, which does strange things to a person. Barbara was just a sweet woman who got very unlucky. maybe the Dark Presence used to be similar. Evil Deerfest is strangely bright. we've seen it change, a little bit. something is going on there.

so I would like to see something a little more nuanced than "killing the evil" or whatever. (especially when it was all that Jesse and Polaris could do just to shut the door on the Hiss. ain't no way it's that easy.)

[quidfree]

bestie… thoughts on richard x henry because while im a papenathy girlie at heart…… they intrigue me terribly

inhales. ok.

i get where people get into it, what with richard's immediate 'henry is a god' vibe and also henry's protective instincts (paying for the bunny fiasco, rescuing him from hypothermia, etc) and general interest where richard is concerned. there's clearly some 'i'm just a broke-but-brilliant not-like-other-girls small town girlie and now i'm at college the hot smartest guy in class is suddenly looking out for me' romance novel energy there. plus it's arguably like... The most important study group relationship?

from myyyyy perspective, the interesting thing is kind of what henry sees in richard, and where that goes. his assessment of richard is so intriguing to me?? like.. original disdain for his homer comments and general Poor Vibes (hysterical) vs acknowledging him as a friend but still excluding him from bacchanal attempts (lmao) vs when he finally tells him about the murder fiasco- there's Very Obviously at least some part of it that's pure cold manipulation ('oh richard i knew You would get it'), but is that it? there are several moments throughout the book where despite henry's de facto position as group leader and richard's as group add-on, henry seems to turn to richard as something of an equal, whether that be because of his background (poisoning tips) or because richard is (somehow) easily the most pragmatic person there and henry trusts him to keep everything together. my personal favourite henry and richard interactions (besides the funny ones) are the rare occasions on which richard gets actually mad enough at him to speak frankly to him, whether that be going 'no henry you can't fucking poison bunny jesus christ' or yelling at him towards the end of the book bc he's gone full light yagami. it's when he comes closest to just seeing henry as a normal person. but henry to richard in so many ways is more of an aspiration than anything, bc he's so enamoured by/impressed by him from jump, and i think it's sooo telling that henry is what haunts him years down the line. he 'can't think of himself as a murderer' and he has no bunny ghost, but twenty year old henry winters still walks his dreams to cut him down and leave. if that doesn't show both the messy depth of his feelings vis a vis henry AND the way in which his feelings towards henry are also a reflection of his self-hatred(/later guilt)....

overall i do find the whole haunting / worshipful abstraction stuff very sexy conceptually. and i really genuinely enjoy what we see of their actual Friendship in the book. but for me at the end of the day the former stops the latter from really taking effect, bc henry imo never would reciprocate the depth of richard's feelings. there's too much of an imbalance there, and even when the disillusionment settles in richard never gets henry off the pedestal bc henry kills himself at twenty and immortalises himself in doing so. i like my relationships between parties who are on equal footing and who have similar feelings towards one another, whatever those may be (#egalitarian #leftist), so in terms of romanceee it's just not my gig.

[thesinglesjukebox]

THE CURE - "ALONE"

Making their very first Jukebox appearance...

[7.00]

Ian Mathers: I wasn't exactly waiting for new material from the Cure, but I still find myself feeling very sickos.jpg about the three-and-a-half minute instrumental slowcore intro here. Smith sings exactly like he always has, thank fuck, sounding wracked with anguish over the inexorable, weighty trudge of the song. The funniest possible thing would be for some snippet of this to just blow up on TikTok. [7]

TA Inskeep: Finally, new Cure music that sounds like classic Cure. That long intro, the extended keyboard chords, those guitar textures, and Robert Smith sounding despondent: yes please! As a Cure fan going back close to 40 years, "Alone" is everything I hoped for from their first new music in 16. [9]

Alfred Soto: The synths coast alongside the guitars like fighter jets leading a passenger jet to a runway, while the drums pound their irregular patterns. The slow opening crawl -- how Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me of them. "This is the end of every song we'll sing," Robert Smith lies. Not so long as he can thatch his hair, apply moist lipstick, keep his global audience, and keep writing and singing songs this confidently. [7]

Taylor Alatorre: I like the depressive realism here: the long awaited musical comeback as an occasion for apocalyptic dread rather than celebration. "We're older, we're frailer, we missed the boat, we'll never be able to match your favorite album from 1987 because we lack the nervous, buzzing urgency that glued us to our audience at a time when rock music was still the lingua franca of youth; please buy our merch." Bracingly honest! But it's one thing to assign conceptual purpose to a three-minute opener of dense ambient murk, and another to make the listener intuitively feel that purpose, in between wondering why the snare is so dang loud. [5]

Jel Bugle: I saw that lots of people were excited for the return of the Cure, like Gandalf swooping in at Helm’s Deep. I contemplated muting the word "Cure" just so I wouldn’t say anything mean about them, and I could keep my pals. I guess it has an epic feel, and I’m sure all the Cure fans will love it -- you’ve got to give the people what they want, after all. If, like me, you quite like "Friday I’m In Love" and that’s as far as you go with the Cure, then you are not gonna go crazy for this one. Sounds like a deep cut of an obscure album that is 3% of Cure fans' favourite.  [3]

Nortey Dowuona: I've probably walked past a person who's died every day I've lived in Brooklyn. Sometimes, I looked them in the eyes and scurried away, trying not to think of my own oncoming demise and soothing my wounded heart with the lie that there was nothing I could have done. But there often is something -- sometimes just staying and talking them through it can be enough. In the end, each of us is alone, waiting for our life to ebb out of us. Those are the lucky ones. There aren't even a lot of lyrics in this song, Robert Smith's voice cries out in pain and despair as per usual and fades. But for the first three minutes, the band coalesces, the two chords constantly playing then resolving with riffing atop the mix, the snare cracking loudly in the corner, the piano tiptoeing towards the top then receding, but still, no voice. By the time Smith's voice appears, you have seen through the mind's manipulative trick and wail, gnash your teeth, howl, but your body won't fight anymore. As you finally accept your fate, the fluorescent lights start shutting down, the tables collapse. your heart slows, your lungs go flat, your mind shuts down. In the empty void, you finally stop being you. you finally stop being. [9]

Mark Sinker: Nearly 50 years since I first heard Bob sing: late night, I’m guessing, on the John Peel show, snuggled up under my bedclothes with my little handheld radio (a cartoon cliché that is also actually true). The Cure were disdained by the music press at the time so I wanted not really to like them — I was a very suggestible teenager this way — except secretly I did like them. What did I like most? The keening flat gloom in Bob’s voice — which for some reason I’ve never really identified brought me great joy. The group is very funny. Do they mean to be? Does this matter? The joy may be extremely goofy but it’s also extremely reliable: live versions of "A Forest" for hour on hour on hour, stretching out over days, and in and out of weeks, and almost over a year (to where the goth dreams are). "Alone" is only six minutes long, but the three minutes Bob takes to start is an endearing nod to those long-ago live versions (and how we tested him about them). And it’s soooooo slooooow, and that’s pretty funny too. This is just Cure stuff: sometimes they are the Platonic form of themselves. I look into my heart and I find that one-note ridiculous as they’ve always been, I really do love them, after all. Here at the end of all things, as they say. [6]

Katherine St. Asaph: I will never stop loving songs so unabashedly sweeping, so full of sea-tossed dramatics, that they make a several-minutes-long, only subtly changing instrumental loop -- see also Stina Nordenstam's "CQD" -- sound like the heavily truncated edit of a song large enough to span the entire world. [9]

Aaron Bergstrom: I've never really gotten into weighted blankets, but for the people who love them, this is how I imagine it must feel. Whether it's the weight of the drums or the weight of mortality, we're all here because we want to get crushed by something. [8]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

[ourstaturestouchtheskies]

so I've seen this floating around and wanted to share my thoughts.

before I start rambling, a disclaimer that although I have a bit of familiarity with Italian renaissance art, it is by no means my specialty

first: yeah, this is so fucked. fuck ai "art" forever

but let me expand on this a little. technically there *might* be a "rest of the mona lisa," but that's only because it's been cut down slightly over the years and thus is a bit smaller than the original. however, the trimmings were quite small, and there was never a full landscape painting in the back. as far as we can tell, the biggest elements of the painting that were lost were two columns on either side of the sitter, further suggesting her location as being on an outdoor loggia. of course, this shitty ai reconstruction doesn't recreate those, since it is not attuned to the actual art. again, fuck ai "art"

okay now let's talk about Leonardo's unique style. a word frequently associated with Leonardo is "sfumato" which essentially describes the hazy quality in many of his paintings that he achieved by the blending of paint. this technique was really only made possible by the invention of oil paint, since it remains wet on the canvas much longer than its predecessor tempera. because of this, artists were able to manipulate the paint on the canvas more effectively, thus allowing for more blending of colors, more options for gradients of light and shade, and the kind of hazy atmosphere created by sfumato. this could never be recreated by ai, and looking closely at whatever was generated would reveal huge differences in texture, since you would not be able to see the actual handling of the paint, because there is none!!!!!! this completely defeats the point, because what makes it a Leonardo is his unique use of paint to create sfumato

next I want to talk about Leonardo's paintings - esp. the mona lisa - as self-contained worlds. in this piece, the sitter is deeply connected to the background landscape. most obviously, there's the use of a harmonious color palette and the use of sfumato that blends the whole work together, but there are also important details that really tie the sitter to the landscape. first, look at the curls of hair that fall around her face and the twisted piece of fabric draped over her shoulder. then look at the river that curves out from the foothills on the left side of the piece. the languid curves of the riverbed clearly echo those of her hair and the fabric. this happens again with the peaked folds of fabric on her sleeves and the ridges of the hills and mountains. there is this subtle echoing of shapes and forms that you might not consciously notice, but that still creates the overall unified effect of the painting. the longer you look, the more of these resonances you'll see, but that effect is totally lost in the ai version. sure, the mountain peaks off to the right might resemble the folds of her drapery but (a) that's only because it has replicated Leonardo's work and (b) it doesn't have the same effect of unity as in the original, since that weird mountain thing is so far removed from the figure of the sitter. ai might be able to replicate Leonardo's style of mountains to some extent, but it can never even get close to replicating the significance of that style and how it creates a tiny, enclosed world full of subtle parallels, because it literally can't think, nor can it actually create "art," it can only steal from others and copy their work

okay I know this is getting long (thanks for sticking with me if you're still here! ☺️) but we also need to talk about the art from a conceptual perspective. our boy Leonardo was not very good at finishing art and lost a lot of patrons because of it. remember that at this time, art was viewed more as a contract between an artist and a patron rather than as something the artist did as an expression of their own feelings or experiences. however, it seems that Leonardo viewed creating art as an ongoing process that had no real end, but instead involves continuous change. as I mentioned, this made many patrons unhappy, because Leo would rarely ever actually turn in a finished work to them. the mona lisa is one of those cases. in fact, the mona lisa seems to have been something of a passion project for Leonardo, something that allowed him to experiment and explore with his own style of creation. we know this because he still had this painting in his possession when he died in France, far from Italy where the original model for the painting lived and where Leonardo launched his career. the sitter never got her portrait, but with the state of the painting at Leo's death, she probably wouldn't have wanted it anyway. this is because Leonardo was constantly changing and adjusting the painting throughout his life. he carried it with him and made it almost a "thesis" on his beliefs about art creation, demonstrating that it is an ongoing process that requires constant change. as a result of this, the mona lisa becomes less of a portrait of an actual person, and more of a portrait of painting itself, an expression of what art could achieve and how Leonardo viewed that process as a lifelong project. the mona lisa seems to have been the only painting that he held onto for this long, and even in the state we see it today, he likely would not have considered it "finished," since it represented his own ever-changing journey of art creation. all I'll say about ai here is that it cannot possibly replicate this concept, nor can it invest the same kind of passion as an artist like Leonardo, and this just further proves that there is no "rest of the mona lisa," because in Leo's eyes, it is never truly finished

so now my points are a little less conceptual, but are more just things that I'm pissed about lmao. first, the color is of course, all wrong. the painting has darkened considerably over time as a result of many factors including buildup of dirt and the darkening of the varnish. because of its popularity and immense value, no one wants to clean it and risk damaging it, thus, the colors we see today are likely only a shadow of what they would have been when the painting was originally created. so if ai is so fucking smart, why can it only use the color palette as we see it today, rather than the actual colors of the painting? once again, it's because the ai isn't actually creating anything, it's just copying from the image it was given

next, this is honestly just a tiny thing, but bold of the ai to assume that the pale green/white section in the back of the original is actually just the base of a more distant mountain range and not the sky. like sorry what??

and my final petty complaint: what the fuck is up with those clouds??? those aren't Leo clouds!!!!!!!!!! where's the sfumato???? where's the hazy blending??????? the edges of those clouds are waaayyyyyy too well defined. ai out here like "oh look it's more of a Leonardo painting" and then puts some 19th century-ass plein air painting-ass clouds in the background. truly smh on this one

anyway, intense rambling rant over. thanks for reading to the end if you made it this far!!

essentially, fuck ai art forever

There is no ‘rest of the Mona Lisa’ - it doesn’t exist.

Tech bros fundamentally don’t understand art, and it’s why all AI art looks ugly as sin.

[sarakielsbreath]

Journal entry timeeeee it’s gonna get heavy and it’s basically just one big vent. I’m pretending nobody is even following me tbh.

Shit fuckin sucks, man. I don’t even know what I should do anymore. I don’t think I’m like. Receiving dopamine? From anything? Or if I am I’m not feelin much of it. I know on a logical level that I am enjoying some things, but it’s tough when I’m not feeling anything while doing it. I just feel nothing and numb and miserable. No matter what I do, I feel awful and hate myself.

It’s to the point where life kinda doesn’t feel worth it. I genuinely want to die, I think. I’m not going to do anything to act on this, because I can’t. My dad’s already using suicide threats to manipulate my sister and I promised I would be there for her no matter what happened, and I can’t break that promise. Plus, she’s in a rough enough place herself that I don’t want to put her in danger by dying. So I’ve been doing my best to ignore that feeling and just keep going, and probably been developing some unhealthy dependencies and habits in the process.

I don’t know man. I’m just tired. I hate myself. I can’t see a future for myself where I’m happy and safe and secure. I genuinely can’t conceptualize the idea that people might enjoy my presence or like me. What is there to like? I’m kinda just an illusion of a person. There’s nothing really to me. Shine a light on me and I’m gone.

I wish therapy could help. I wish it WAS helping. Because right now I just kinda dread therapy. I don’t get anything out of it. Never really did. I hate talking out loud about my mental state with someone I don’t know. Sometimes when I try to say anything about it, even over text, I just shut down and I can’t even type to people properly, I have to find stupid fucking mental cheats like using memegenerator. I’m tired all the time, I’m anxious all the time, I dread getting out of bed, eating hasn’t been making me happy, and I hate myself even while high. It’s humiliating having to tell my family that I’m too depressed to take care of a dog properly. Thinking about applying for jobs scares me so bad I just shut down, even though I need one. I’ve been self harming again and almost put fucking bleach in my eye a few days ago. Though it’s not like I haven’t been thinking about that for years lol. Still thinking about it tbh! Though I’ve managed to not so far! I’m exhausted and upset and shaky and I hate this and I hate myself. I’m a stupid fucking ungrateful useless bitch with no real personality and I want someone to fucking shoot me.

[veliseraptor]

I have already consumed a lot of gifs and clips and meta and several out of context chapters of a book, but I would be VERY interested in hearing direct Lise excitement about what makes vegas and/or petevegas so much fun :3c

drags hands down face. I feel like I'm still only...borderline coherent about this, is the problem. so far I've been funneling all my feelings into fic which is sometimes easier than typing out coherent actual thoughts about why a thing is making me insane

but since you asked, i'm tipsy, and i said i'd answer questions here goes: I mean I think part of it is about the...thing that i'm sort of coming to recognize from the cnovels i've been experiencing which is this feeling of "what the fuck this is not something i actually expect to read/see in a piece of media that didn't come out of my brain/fandom, this hits so perfectly on so many of my iddy desires, i feel so gloriously and terrifyingly seen" that i'm still struggling to conceptualize/deal with.

seagull screaming meme, etc.

so vegaspete specific: like...on the level where it is deeply fucked up captive/captor enemies-to-lovers, that's one thing. I like my relationships queer and bad representation! but less flippantly I think it's the ways it plays with...intimacy and trauma and kink in ways that I feel like I don't run into a lot in media in ways that really vibe with me. it's the "two deeply fucked up people with a lot of damage being fucked up together, also the way in which they excavate something new or unexpected in each other via their relationship, also the 'being seen by someone in ways you're seldom perceived by others, and also (on the vegas end of things) being loved in all your complete awfulness. if I'm gonna quote my own fic for a minute here (I can do that if I want): "He’d made himself a lure for people like one of those deep sea fish using a light to draw in their prey, dazzling them before devouring them. [...] Pete saw the gaping jaws full of teeth first and chased the light anyway."

and vegas specifically...I mean you hand me a pretty, manipulative dick with a desperate desire to please an authority figure who is fundamentally unpleasable, simultaneous arrogance and some level of self-loathing, more than a little mean and prone to destroying the things that they care about, armored in a ruthlessly charming persona...I'm there. also i joked about, like, "pathetic sadist representation" but tbh that's real

I just love characters who are both ruthless murderers and profoundly emotionally brittle! and also who catch unexpected feelings that turn out to be a big problem! I love it even more when they actually survive.

like...what a gift. only the absolute moral bankruptcy of this narrative makes it possible.

[akolnoix]

What’s your ideal light and misa dynamic? I love anything where there’s romance involved. They’re so unrequited and incompatible I can only take them seriously when they’re platonic.

hmmm well, when i look at misa's character, i see a few different directions i could enjoy seeing her character go (and thus, their dynamic).

the first is that of the devout kira believer, who is manipulated by light through her utter devotion to The Cause (not light himself). it's not inherently bad writing for their relationship to be very one-sided, so long as misa's devotion is written in a way that primarily informs Her as a character and doesn't just exist to make her a useful prop for light to wield.

the death note musical is the perfect portrayal of this, and i consider it Mandatory viewing for anyone who wants to see the only official depiction of misa amane that's actually an important and well-written character.

in the source material, misa's dedication is supposedly because of how kira dealt with her parent's murderer but she never feels genuinely invested in that. the musical, however, truly brings that motivation to life and makes you understand why she is willing to go so far for kira, no matter how it hurts her. it's a beautifully tragic take on the character, and the narrative really respects her

a clip, for motivation to go watch it (you can download the full thing here. my personal favorite is the 2015 kakizawa hayato version but they're all good)

but for a longer format like the original manga, i'd like something more like walt and jesse's dynamic in breaking bad. where light is definitely manipulating her but in general their dynamic is somewhat more even (and even genuine to some degree). misa's not just being quietly accepting of light's bullshit, is willing to question their partnership, isn't afraid to be mean and argue with him, so light has to work a Lot harder to get her under his thumb, and not piss her off enough for her to come after him.

then in the most canon divergent direction, a misa that's actively antagonistic, where she retains the more threatening aspects of her character from her initial appearance, being way more willing to kill and way more flippant about it than light is, casually threatening to kill him if he does something she doesn't light (and of course, "if push comes to shove, i've got the eyes so im stronger"). initially putting on the image of the fangirl to manipulate him w/his underestimation of her, any initial claims of justice quickly fall apart and it's clear that she is in this for the power trip, and a similar fascination in light's whole *gestures* like L is (albeit from the opposite end). so i'd like that dynamic to develop into more of a very tense ally-ship where they are working together right now but know at some point the other will come for their throat.

honestly the closest thing we've got to this angle is the netflix adaptation, which im against like morally (absolutely sick to not even allow asian actors to audition) but as a movie i um. actually kinda enjoyed. it's not like profound or very well written but i thought it was schlocky fun, and "mia"+light's fucked up romance is compelling conceptually. keyword conceptually. i'd like to see an alternate universe where it was good.

ANYWAYS. those are my rambling please do not take them too seriously i am just throwing thoughts out there

[optimalmongoose4]

Another one from the same universe cause why not

The man rides across the desert. One hand holds the handlebar of his rusted bicycle, the other holds the death-dealing sawed off shotgun he has carried for many years. The barrel had been sawn off at an angle, so that the end of the gun terminates at a sharp point. Violence is the only language he is fluent in, he knew English, once, but that was a long time ago, before the imprisonment, before the unending torture. But he is free now, and that’s all that matters to him.

Heat beats down from above fills the entire desert and pierces even into the hearts of all creatures who dare to live within it, the man loves it, the heat agitates all, brings out the truest essence of the soul. The sunburns scorch his shoulders and neck, he loves them too, pain is the most innate sensation to him, it is what his words are made of.

Someone once told him that nothing he did in life matters, it was the most freeing thing he had ever heard, and now it was truer more than ever. He rides into the city, one day the city will fall to ashes in a torment of almighty hellfire, but today is not that day. The people of the city do not seem to notice him as he rides across the sidewalk, shotgun in hand, he rides towards the nightclub, the nightclub which pulls him in like a vortex though he never knows why, but he obeys his instincts, and his instincts tell him to go there.

The kid rides on the bus, he holds the book for his English literature college class in his backpack, English is the only language he is fluent in. Today is Friday and tonight he is going to go to the nightclub, he knows exactly why, he obeys his instincts, and his instincts tell him to get fucking trashed. He has never spoken the language of violence, but a fire burns within him, that fire that has burned within so many others.

The club is a cacophony of noise and light, the kid is drunk, drowning in the vast ocean of pleasure, the man has just entered. The kid gets up from his chair, he’s going to the dance floor, the man walks forward, closer to the centre of the club. The two bodies collide, the kid stumbles back, the man keeps going.

“AY, WATCH WHERE YOUR BITCH ASS IS GOING” The kid slurs his words as they scream forth from his mouth

The man turns to face the kid, his face is made of stone, he says nothing.

The kid is enraged at the man, even more so now. A bright blistering light bubbles within him again, and now under the manipulation of spirits nothing holds it back. The kid allows the light to flow through his arm into his hand, he pulls his entire arm back, funneling everything he has into throwing this one punch, a desperate cry held back being let out.

The man does not flinch as the fist flies towards his face, he does not make any effort to stop it either. The hand connects into the man’s cheek, and nothing comes of it, the man’s head does not move an inch. The kid reels in pain, as if he had just punched a brick wall. The man smiles, he grabs the kid by his jacket and drags him out of the bar.

There are no more stars in the sky as the two exit the bar, it has been a long time since they burned bright, the city is in ruins around them, everything is lit with a dim red light, there is no visible source from which it springs from. It is unbearably cold, as if all heat had been sapped away into nothing. The kid attempts to make sense of the situation around him, but his mind cannot conceptualize what is happening, he is scared, but not alone, no he is something much worse than alone now.

The man smiles a wide toothy grin, his teeth are stained with blood and grime. He drops the kid to the ground, the kid stumbles and is frozen, unable to move or speak. The man brings the bicycle to the kid and gestures for him to get on, he obeys to wordless command, the man points down the ruins of what used to be a road and the kid begins to pedal. The man points his shotgun to the sky and fires, the buckshot falls around him, lead raindrops.

The man begins to chase the kid, he’s fast, his feet push away from the ground so hard it is as if the Earth moves beneath him. The kid pedals faster, he cannot outrun him, but he tries. Turning a corner around ruins, the turn is too tight, the bike falls, asphalt and rubble dig into his hands and knees. From his place on the ground he sees something, a small space in the rubble. Quickly he swings his bike into it and crawls in, a few moments later the man runs past, he is uttering some deranged primal scream.

The kid emerges from his hidden place, the man is at the other end of the road, his back turned. A piece of rubble in the bloodstained hand, he propels it forwards with all his might, now channeling a desperate, determined, will to survive.

The man turns around, the slab of concrete hits him square in the face, it is a blistering pain that causes his body to move involuntarily, he drops the gun.

The kid runs, his lungs ache, everything hurts, but he pushes past it, the man reaches for the gun, searching for it as blood covers his eyes and blinds him. The kid lunches and reaches it first, he turns to the man and without hesitation rushes forward and impales the man in the stomach with the guns sharpened barrel, then he pulls the trigger.

The man watches the kid run away, he smiles, as he realizes the reason he went to the nightclub that night, in his dying moments he finally grasped the bigger picture of his life.

uhh heres a short story i wrote in like an hour if yall want to read it

Keep reading

[icefire149]

Megstiel cause you are making me think about it more and with the #1 prompt please <3

It's HERE!!! I really hope you enjoy this, because I had a blast writing. <3333333333

#1 “Why do you have to look at me like that? It’s making me weak, please stop.” - Meg/Castiel

“How long do you think dumb and dumber are gonna be?” Meg asked pointing in the direction the brothers went with her thumb.

Cas’ eyebrows pinched together in initial confusion before process of elimination logically brought him to what the demon was referring to. Roughly.

Sighing, Meg crossed her arms as she leaned against the side of the impala. “We really need to prioritize your movie education.”

“Oh.” The lines in his face smoothed out. “So this isn’t about Sam and Dean?”

An amused grin curved on Meg’s face. “Well, I’m glad you at least got the gist. And yeah, I was talking about those two.”

“Not too long,” Cas answered, letting his eyes wander over to the convenience store window. The corner of his mouth moved an uptick the second his stare found Dean tossing something small in Sam’s direction. “Now was a good time for a supply run. We don’t know if Crowley will be waiting in front or behind us.”

Meg rolled her eyes. “I’d rather get in and get out as quickly as possible.” She paused and then considered, “Though, I wouldn’t mind rubbing the tablet in Crowley’s face.”

“It would be most beneficial if we didn’t cross paths with him at all tonight.” The command lessened in his tone as Cas shifted his gaze back to her.

She quirked an eyebrow. “Are we suddenly pacifists now?” Her arms fell back to her sides, exasperated. “Again!” And then, Meg felt like she was burning.

An intensity ignited in Cas’ eyes as he trailed over every speckle of blood and bruise that was visible on her skin. He curled his fingers gently around her wrist and raised it closer to his eye level, studying the gauze. Slowly, he looked up through his lashes. “Yes.”

A strangled gasp slipped from Meg’s mouth, but Cas didn’t acknowledge it as he glanced back to her wrist, worrying about his handiwork.

“I asked Dean to buy more bandages,” he confessed. “I hope he remembers. This will need to be rewrapped later.”

Her lips trembled at the timbre of his voice. “Why do you have to look at me like that?”

“Like what?” Cas raised a coy eyebrow.

“Knock it off,” she bit, but Meg had yet to pull her hand out of his light grip. “Like I’m something fragile….something worth..preserving.” Her voice fell to a hushed whisper by the final word.

The intensity in Cas’ gaze softened. He stepped forward, and heartbeat by heartbeat, she eased into the warmth of his presence.

“It’s making me weak, please stop,” Meg breathed. “I can’t...”

“It’s your vulnerability to give. When you choose it.” A small, genuine smile grew on his face. “But regardless, I do think you’re worth preserving.”

She stared at him a moment, digesting his words. It wasn’t that long ago that Meg would’ve found this situation sickening. Feelings were cheap manipulation, but….that wasn’t what was happening here. And….that revelation was leaving her almost dumbstruck.

The corner of Cas’ smile hooked playfully as it grew some more, and Meg knew that she’d been transparent. “Oh?” Meg lifted her chin higher and moved a fraction closer. “I didn’t take you as the bleeding heart type when your head is screwed on right.”

-

The increase of warmth prickling his skin was the last thing Cas perceived before he was suddenly elsewhere. He blinked. His hand was empty.

“Castiel.”

His gaze snapped to the source of the sound immediately. “Naomi.” He didn’t know how he knew that or why her displeased look made his wings itch to uncurl.

“I thought we were just using the vile blight to find the angel tablet.”

And then, the truth flashed before his eyes. Ah. He could feel the hooks buried deep in the core of his being. Tethering him to this place. His gaze narrowed.

“Is that no longer the case?” Naomi asked, lacing her fingers together and placing them on the desk in front of her.

“We are.”

Cas’ words hung in the air for several moments while Naomi stared back at him. And then, she smiled. “I don’t believe you.”

-

The smirk on Meg’s face wavered as Cas didn’t react right away. “Heh, did I hit a nerve, Casanova?”

But, Cas’ blue eyes grew vacant as the moment ticked on by. The fingers curled around her wrist let go, and his hand fell limply at his side.

“Hey!” Meg yelled, fear sharp in her voice. She snapped her fingers in his face. “Earth to Clarence.”

A thick bead of blood formed in the corner of Cas’ eye and then started smearing down his cheek.

-

Naomi sighed, stepping away from the chair Castiel was strapped down to. “I can’t believe I almost forgot about the demon.” Her fingertips were stained with the spatter of blood. “Your behavior today is making more sense. Disgusting.”

Cas followed her movements throughout the room with the eye she didn’t violate in her rummaging through his memories. He swallowed thickly.

“When I restored you to working order after purgatory, I severed those emotional ties. But it seems I didn’t cut nearly deep enough.” Naomi pivoted on her heel. “First the hunter, and now this demon,” She snarled. “What is wrong with you that you’d rather drop to your knees and worship at the feet of recrement.”

“It’s irrelevant to our mission,” Cas said, hoping to redirect her train of thought. “You’re wasting time. We need to find that tablet. Now.”

Naomi crossed her arms. “And what do you suggest?”

“Let me go-”

She laughed, and shook her head incredulously.

“-and we can resume this conversation once I retrieve the tablet. Heaven and the mission comes first.”

They stared at each other in silence until finally Naomi gave her answer, “Fine.” She crossed back over to the chair, and picked up her drill once more. “But after I make a few improvements.”

-

Without a second thought, Meg barreled into the angel. Her hands latched onto both sides of his face, but he still didn’t react at all. She stared into his eyes, looking for any spark of life. He felt like solid stone under her touch. “Castiel!”

And in a blink-you-would’ve-missed-it moment, there was a flash of light. That’s all the hope she needed. Meg pulled his face to hers, silently begging that he wouldn’t collapse like a stack of bricks, and kissed him.

Weakly, he pressed into her lips and Meg pulled back. “What the fuck was that? Where did you-” Her rage died down just as quick as it flared.

Gradually, Cas raised his hands to cover over hers on his face. He woozily shifted his weight on his feet. More blood, so much more, gushed from his eye. “Mm-meg?”

A nervous chuckle pried her mouth into a tiny smile. “Hey, I’m right here. Try not to go fluttering off again.”

“I-” Cas squished his eyes shut as he focused. “Someone in Heaven is….hur-hurting mm...me.” His hands slid forward down her wrists and then up her arms. It was there that he paused and curled his fingers around her like a lifeline.

“I need to know who I’m plucking and roasting on a spit. Give me a name.” She searched his face for any kind of clue, but there was nothing other than the answer trapped in his throat.

Meg glanced back over towards the store. She couldn’t see the Winchesters, but she knew they’d be out any minute now. Gritting her teeth, it wasn’t soon enough.

“Is it still happening now?” Meg asked, turning back to the angel. She felt like an idiot as a new pulse of blood gushed from his eye as he nodded.

-

“If you weren’t the most headache inducing light, you’d actually be fascinating.” Naomi frowned, ignoring the screams below her. “My work is easier conceptualized as a sculpting craft. Shaping and carving….it’s so much more hands on.” Her gaze slid to the drill in her hand.

As an extension of her will, she dug deep into Castiel’s memory. His light was spun into complex webs of memories. Every taut string, if plucked was thunderous with emotion.

“And it’s fitting. Like our father at his workbench, I make angels.” A fond smile tugged at her lips as she severed a chord here and loosened another there. “But that’s not accurate. Angels are so different from carbon based life. It’s much more like tuning a stubborn instrument, but when I’m done Heaven is harmonious once again.”

The next section she reached for soured her mood. “I know I fixed this. You keep doing this Castiel.” Naomi shook her head. “How do you keep finding ways to bridge new pathways to these areas, again and again?”

-

“I...don’t know-” Cas opened his eyes. The right was so sticky with blood. “-h-how long until….or if I’ll even re-remember this.” His grip on Meg’s arms loosened some.

“Okay,” Meg answered. Her mind hadn’t stopped trying to think of solutions, but she was at a loss. How do you strategize for this? What even-

And then, Castiel flopped forward. He bowed his head, sinking into the space between her shoulder and neck.

Meg’s eye twitched as she fought against the smile her mouth desperately wanted to curl into. How did her life reach this level of insanity? She was long past her threshold of touchy-feely stuff, and yet, her traitorous hands were already comforting him. One was planted on his back and the other was softly carding through his hair. A part of her wanted to laugh at the ridiculous sight they must’ve made.

“Mm-my head feels scra-ammbled.”

And his quiet mumble knocked a laugh out of her. Meg’s fingers curled tightly in his hair. “You look like it...although I think your egg is a bit runny.” His body trembled under her fingertips. “And before you ask, yes, that was a joke.”

“I feel like...I-I could almost put myself back together…..she’s ru-rushing-”

“Clarence, spit a name out.”

“-bubut it’s li-like the pieces are….just ou-out of reach.”

“We can’t help without the name. Think!”

Cas shifted his head so his cheek was firmly pressed against her. He spoke in a quiet voice, “I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner.”

That was the last thing on Meg’s mind. His admission was paralyzing as was his breath against her skin. The heat sent a shiver down her spine.

“I’m sorry,” he confessed again.

The angel’s lips were only a fraction away from her neck. It was agonizing. “So, what’s the game plan?” Her voice came out strained. Meg needed to focus.

“Find the….the tablet and..figure out the re-rest when we gget there.”

Other fics from this round of prompts

Previous round of prompts

[itsclydebitches]

I'm sorry, but as someone who can't stand how Yang acted for 80% of Atlas, saying "her feeling like she had to help raise Ruby is demeaning and unempathetic to Tai" is a HORRIBLE take. If Yang held it against Tai that'd be one thing, but she doesn't, least not as far as we've seen.

And "she decided he's an unfit parent"? That's literally just headcanon. Where is this stated or supported in any way? Literally everything, from the show to the comics to the manga, shows she absolutely values her father and his guidance. Her providing similar guidance to Ruby at some point doesn't change that, she's stated to be Ruby's mother figure, a woman in her life she could seek advice on in regards to things as well.

Like anon I get you're frustrated by how empathy and morality are handled in this show, I am too, but this just ain't it.

I have simillar feelings on the Weiss scene too but that's another story, you already kind of covered it.

Agreed, though I don't want to rag on the other anon. As said, I can very easily see how someone would come to that conclusion, especially given how often we discuss parts of the show without actually re-watching those scenes, leading to iffy interpretations down the line. A fandom pretty heavily focused on a "Tai is a bad dad" reading + Yang's unfair criticisms of others from Volumes 5-8 (notably her most recent characterization. The one fresh in everyone's mind) = an easy opportunity to mistakenly slam the two together. It happens. That's why I try, whenever possible, to re-watch moments, or at the very least re-read transcripts. I'm well aware of how easy it is to get sucked into how the fandom discusses scenes and take that interpretation at face value, when in fact what's canonical has gotten pretty warped across, in this case, six years of content and discussions.

But let's talk about Weiss a bit more! I think it's worth re-emphasizing that, yes, I'm well aware that she was the victim of that dinner party. My own criticism lies less in that specific moment and more the conceptualizing of our heroes as a whole, which leads to some missed opportunities in that moment, some quite important. For example, most classically heroic characters would be horrified at nearly hurting/killing someone, regardless of whether that was intentional or not. That's a crucial part of what makes them heroic: cherishing life and shouldering responsibility for others' safety, even when it's clear from the audience's more objective perspective that they weren't at fault. There's a happy middle ground here between acknowledging Weiss' horrific panic attack and acknowledging Weiss' responsibility moving forward to ensure that her trauma doesn't endanger others—given that her trauma is drawing on literal, combat techniques—highlighting her desire to do right by the people of Remnant, even when they're snobbish, rich assholes. Any reading that boils things down simply to "Weiss is the only victim in this situation and besides, why do we care if a racist Atlesian bites the dust 😒?" is a small representation of the much larger writing problems of Volumes 7 and 8: acting like Mantle is full of only good victims, Atlas only evil perpetrators, and a defense of the latter isn't worth anyone's time—certainly not the heroes who never, ever make mistakes with massive consequences. Weiss' near attack also carries with it the beginnings of a lot of themes that RWBY never capitalized on, but pretended were an important part of the story by the end of that Atlas arc, like Ironwood's supposed propaganda, or Whitley's question of whether power should be solely in the hands of a few, individual huntsmen. Weiss' situation might have been reframed into something that looks intentional: Here's not just a girl, but a Schnee girl, attacking a poor, defenseless civilian with her scary powers. Are we really going to leave the safety of our kingdom—the world—in the hands of people like her? You should be backing the army, people who have your real interests in mind, led by the man who saved that woman's life—General Ironwood! And the audience would rightly be going, Hey now wait a fucking minute. That's not what happened! It was an accident born of trauma and abuse. How can you manipulate the people into thinking otherwise? Into thinking Weiss is the enemy here? Like, if you're going to write Ironwood/Atlas as the awful, propaganda spewing antagonists... actually write that story.

So the party scene could have been the launching point for a lot of important work, both in terms of Weiss' characterization (a hero learning to balance flaws with her people's safety; taking responsibility for her mistakes, no matter the initial intention) and the world building (what does it mean for a Schnee to (mistakenly) attack a civilian when tensions are this high and faith in huntsmen is beginning to fail?) But for the purposes of what we actually got, that lack of reflection on Weiss' part, as said, reads badly when pit against her actions in Volumes 6-8. Because my brain is super focused on Star Wars atm, I think Anakin is a decent comparison to all this. Meaning, we know where he ends up—super scary Sith Lord who is going to do All The Bad Things Ever—and that will, naturally, color our reading of everything that happens in prequal material. When Anakin gets pissed and cuts the limbs off a Separatist, it produces a "Yikes" reaction in the audience because we know that anger, grief, frustration, and fear are going to lead him down an awful path. In contrast, when Obi-Wan is challenged about his no killing unarmed men policy and cheekily looks to Rex to kill him instead, we don't really go "Yikes" because we know Obi-Wan remains true to the Light for his entire run. All their actions have the primary reading of "They were justified that time/they made a mistake/they're allowed to be human/etc." But only Anakin has the secondary reading of, "That action is REALLY BAD—more bad than Obi-Wan's���because we know where it leads. It reads as setup for his inevitable fall." That's basically where the RWBY group is at the moment, provided you're unhappy with their lack of empathy in the later volumes. If the group had remained more compassionate then yeah, we'd continue to shrug off past moments that sorta imply otherwise because we know that's not who they really are. Weiss never grappled with nearly hurting someone only because, hell, RWBY doesn't let her grapple with anything! She didn't even get to respond to getting speared through the gut. But knowing where they end up—knowing that Weiss will be party to Ozpin's treatment, will help betray Ironwood, will accuse Marrow of abandoning her city only to do nothing for it in turn, will threaten her brother, will give the wish to destroy her entire kingdom and displace all its people, etc.—creates that "Yikes" response whenever we see something earlier that even somewhat aligns with her current characterization. It doesn't erase the 100% correct reading that Weiss was the victim and made a totally unintentional mistake in that moment. It doesn't erase the knowledge that RWBY rarely capitalizes on the implications of scenes like this anyway. It only adds another reading in the form of, "Well, knowing where she ends up... I can kinda see that future version in her here too."

[amateurasstrologer]

BY REQUEST #11 CUSPS

What's the deal with cusps?

Logistics only: it means you were born on or near the transition from one sign to the next.

Seasons change, signs change. Yes, on the 22nd of September it’s nominally Fall, not Summer; around September 24th, we’re out of Virgo and into Libra. But it doesn’t feel like it’s Summer one day and suddenly Fall the next day, and it doesn’t feel like it’s Virgo one day and most definitely Libra the next day. These dates aren’t meant to be rigid, black-and-white boundaries - they all come with a period of transition where you’re getting a little taste of both. Summer is ending and Fall is beginning: the spiders come out, the leave start to change, the days get shorter, but gardens are still growing, the sun is still shining, and activity is still peaking. It’s a transitional period. The same shit goes for the signs - every sign has different dimensions, every degree has a distinct flavor. Cusps are just one of those dimensions - it’s when you’re coming up on a change, and anyone who’s ever experienced a change of any kind knows that shit is a process.

Now: your nature is your nature. If you’re a cusp baby, there’re going to be other things in your chart that support the same information the cusp placement is dishing out. The Sun represents your fuel - it keeps you motivated, it keeps your lights on, it keeps you on your shit, it keeps all this biz pushing. All a Cusp Sun placement means is that you’re getting that sweet sweet jolt of motivation from two places, instead of getting a concentrated dose from one place. Can other planets be on a cusp? Of course.

Listen: being on a cusp is not better than being in the middle of a sign - being in the middle of a sign is not better than being on a cusp. They’re just different. Everyone has different needs, everyone has different placements. Wherever your shit falls, it’s there for a reason and that reason is good, so stop being jealous and relax.

Which degrees are cusp degrees? How close to the edge do I have to be to fulfill my dream of being a cusp baby? Honestly, I don’t know, and I don’t care. Within 3 degrees, within 5 degrees, within 7 degrees? Whatever. You know what you feel to be true about you. It’s different for everyone, roll with it.

Go for Sun, go for Moon, go for any other planet or degree. These are qualities, they don’t change.

PISCES / ARIES The bitch is starting over - you’re not going to find a more intuitive, inner-activity placement than a Pisces / Aries cusp. You add all the “I gotta deal with myself” of Pisces with the “I gotta make a change” of Aries and you get someone who’s ready to tear apart the cycle like it’s scrap paper. Or you’re so self-centered that you can’t get a grip on reality - cycle on, sister.

ARIES / TAURUS The bitch is making it happen - intensity meets practicality in explosive combo of getting shit done. You’re pulling from Aries dank intuition bank and you’re matching it with Taurus’s desire to establish itself and you’re cooking up some seriously self-guided action. Or you’re so scared to fail that you’re living in a basement somewhere - I don’t know, man, it’s your call.

TAURUS / GEMINI The bitch is deconstructing - the transition from Taurus to Gemini has everything to do with understanding your conditioning - knowing your history and figuring out how it’s shaped your character. What’s gotta go, what’s gonna stay, and what’s really you. The potential to understand yourself and effectively utilize your skills is huge. Or you’re justifying some ruthless-ass behavior like it’s your full-time job - crushed it (and also crushed any chance of having healthy relationships).

GEMINI / CANCER The bitch is dealing with her feelings - you have Gemini’s untouchable perspective and Cancer’s self-understanding. Good luck finding a feeling or an experience that you can’t process, not gonna happen. Your identity is deeply felt and flexible - full-on camouflage, espionage, garage (overflowing with old personas). Or you’re acting superficial as shit and the most unaccountable - maybe change that ugly attitude instead?

CANCER / LEO The bitch is a fucking force - dripping energy like a perpetually broken faucet. There’s no turning these babies off, they’re meant to find a way to take their feelings and channel them into productive avenues. Ridiculous creative power. Or you’re just an emotionally underdeveloped hot mess - watch where you step, everyone.

LEO / VIRGO The bitch is also a fucking force but she’s not in your face about it until she is - take Leo’s intensity, cut it with Virgo’s repressed feelings, get an artistic soul. So many feelings, so little ability to communicate them. A never-ending story of ever-improving self-expression. Or you stuff that shit so far down geyser gazers flock from all over to watch you explode on the masses - better find a way to let it out.

VIRGO / LIBRA The bitch is ch-ch-ch-changing - this is an extremely emotional placement. There’s a lot of hidden shit and emotional activity going on here (thanks, Virgo). Better buy some Benadryl because these sweet babies are ready to shed - beliefs, values, identities, whatever - they’re here to nail down the best approach to life (thanks, Libra), and they’re ready to wipe out to figure it out. Or they’re victimizing themselves into a crusty shell of endless confusion and superficiality - nice.

LIBRA / SCORPIO The bitch is seeing how it’s all connected - Relational Queens, Scorpio is seeing the invisible strings that connect us with emotional x-ray vision and Libra is keeping those findings relevant and relatable. There’s no better placement for social and emotional understanding. Or they’re sipping on a crazy, almost disturbing mix of manipulation meets emotional doormat - just say it and stop fucking acting.

SCORPIO / SAG The bitch is looking to mind-meld - no one wants to share more than a bitch on the Scorpio / Sag cusp. Scorpio feelings with Sag sensibilities? Please - all they want is to get wrapped up in that blanket of acceptance so tight they can’t see themselves. Deep feeling, deep thinking, refreshing the missed connections page. Or they’re passive to the point of no return, turned side-stepping responsibility into an Olympic sport - hot.

SAG / CAPRICORN The bitch is dying to make it real - you take Sag’s ideologies and you throw in Capricorn’s reality hard on, and you get someone who is ready to lock that philosophy in and live it. Whatever goals they’ve decided to set, they’re achieving them. Showing you how it’s done every day of the week. Or they chose a whack-ass set of values and they’re locking in some shit ideals, shit relationships, a shit self-image - maybe reflect before you fire up the kiln and burn us all to death?

CAPRICORN / AQUARIUS The bitch is influencing you - socially minded collective guides. With Capricorn’s unadulterated power and Aquarius’s brilliance, these bitches are leading the trends, they’re that perfect blend of real and strange, endearing and influential. They got the goods, literally. Or they’re cynical, hateful-ass bitches with zero awareness of how their presence effects others - get over your inferiority complex and just run this shit.

AQUARIUS / PISCES The bitch is a true visionary - Critical, conceptual thinking meets technical skills meets collective needs meets subjective feeling and understanding. They’re dreaming up effective, creative solutions to societal problems. Or they’re saying, “Critical thinking? Reality? Effectiveness? Hm. Nah, let’s cut that bit completely aaand yes we’re a go for living in a conspiracy theory terror dream” - relax, nobody asked for all that.

Happy charting, you cuspy-ass bitches.

XO BULLSHIT FREE ASTROLOGY

[onetuffbunny]

Weredads

He made a blanket nest in the middle of the living room because he’s too damn long to comfortably fit in his bed now, not that the nest is comfortable either. R.A. piled up all the cushions in the house into a heap for him but in retrospect, they should have just taken the mattress into the living room so he wouldn’t be constrained by the physical limitations imposed by the footboard. His back hurts. That’s not inherently unusual because he can’t shrug off the aftereffects of doing dumb bullshit like he did when he was 20, but this is an ache deep in his spine, not just an ache because he lifted something slightly wrong. His skin hurts. Everything hurts so bad, an ever-present wrongness seeping into every atom of his being.

The television’s on. Bunny’s not sure how long he’s been watching because there’s no clock and they’ve fixed up the windows so not a single scrap of light gets in. He feels washed out and wasted, nothing in his head but a thick thrum of static, perpetually going nowhere. When he’s around other people, he can pretend that everything’s okay, that he’s confident that this shit’ll work itself out, that he knows what he’s doing, but R.A. went back to her home to take care of the kids (and god, he misses them so fucking much; they don’t have any clue what’s going on because how the hell do you explain that you’re a werewolf to a four year old that still cries if he sees the color red?) and that means it’s just him and his skittery, scaredy rabbit thoughts.

This isn’t going to fix itself, is it?

A fairy turns into a dragon on the cartoon he’s looking at and not really watching. When he gets like this, he puts on old, familiar movies out of hope that it’ll stave off the bad times with nostalgia and bring on some good brain juice, but it usually doesn’t work. He always tries anyway. Bunny’s not really sure when he last watched something live action.

It’s not going to get better. It’s only going to get worse.

He doesn’t cry because despite everything, there’s still remnants of neon purple eyeliner clinging days later and his instinct to preserve his makeup wins out over everything else. He just watches cartoons instead without actually watching. He’s not fine and maybe never has been but at least animation is familiar, a constant that won’t abruptly change on him one day.

How’s he supposed to stay afloat? Yeah, sure, R.A.’s a champ, she’d never let the father of her kids go without water or heating, but it’s not like she’s rolling in money either. He can’t work like this. Mowing grass is out of the picture. He can’t manipulate his fingers well enough to sew and obviously he can’t go down to the airport to send off packages to customers. Fuck, he can’t do his other job because because this whole thing? It’s not sexy in the least.

He’s pawing at his cellphone before he even realizes what he’s doing, making awkward attempts to peck out a number with fingers that won’t cooperate and claws that keep getting in the way. Fuck, he doesn’t want to bother her, he’s not going to unload all his emotional weirdness on her because that’s not fair to her in the least, but he just really wants to hear his oldest daughter’s voice right now. Unless R.A. let something slip, she’s got no idea that anything’s up at all. He misses her, misses her so goddamn much that he doesn’t know what to do with himself sometimes. She’s grown now and living her own life (as much as any college-aged kid can be considered grown) and that’s so fucking weird to conceptualize because he barely feels like an adult himself, but a selfish part of him wishes she’d just come back from school so they could go roaming around in the woods together like they did when she was small. He ignores that selfish part as much as possible because she’s got to turn out better than he did but it’s hard as fuck sometimes.

She doesn’t pick up. He hoped but maybe it’s late or maybe she’s in class or maybe she’s just busy. He’ll leave a message.

“Hey, Lucy Goose, this is me,” he says, trying to channel as much cheer into his voice as possible and not really succeeding. “Hope everything’s going good with your classes. Just wanted to check in on you. I know you’re busy but if you have a sec, do you think you could give me a call back? Nothing’s going on, I just...I just miss my little egg baby big bunches. Have a real groovy day, okay? If you don’t, I’ll walk all the way over there and have words with you. The words will be ‘be groovy and cool, kiddo.’ Okay, so, uh, bye. I’m here if you need anything. Make sure you’re eating enough. If you want me to mail you anything from home, just let me know and we’ll get that out. Call me. Bye. Goodbye. Love you infinity times. Laters.”

Bunny stares at the television some more but it offers no insight into his current condition, so he sinks further down into his nest and doesn’t cry.

[captainsassmanes]

Maybe it’s all Part of a Plan

Everyone had fallen head over heels for Tess Harding. She was the new blood in town, turning all the heads and charming everyone off their feet.

Michael was not impressed.

There was something about her that made him uncomfortable, something that felt too familiar. He’d tried mentioning it to Isobel and Max, but they brushed it aside, claiming he was just being paranoid and needed to relax.

She seemed to be everywhere he was. If Isobel had a dinner party, she’d be there. Drinks at the Pony? She’d get the first round. Lunch at the Crashdown? She saved everyone a seat.

“Mikey, do you think you’re just not used to nice people?” Liz took a bite of a fry and raised an eyebrow. Michael scoffed in response. “I know nice people. You’re okay.” He got a smack on the arm for that. “There’s just…ah! I dunno, but there’s something.”

Liz leaned in conspiratorially. “You think she’s from—” as she pointed to the ceiling.

Michael rolled his eyes and whispered, “no. I think we’d pick up on that. She’s just not supposed to be here. With us”

*******

That night would turn out to be one of the most bizarre of his life.

Everyone had gathered at the Pony to celebrate Kyle’s birthday. Maria had pulled out the karaoke and the drinks poured freely. She had brought so much light and happiness to his world that had once always felt thick and suffocating. He did everything he could that night through his buzz to focus solely on her; her smile, the feel of her soft hand on his arm, the wink she threw his direction.

But Alex was there.

Alex who was clearly putting on a brave face for his friend but would have rather been anywhere else. Michael took a drink as he watched Alex scrape the polish off his thumb. He sat slightly away from the others, hands held in his lap and eyes remaining steadily on Kyle.

Michael’s chest tightened at the sight. Alex’s boyfriend, a complete tool named Forrest, had been a complete whirlwind with his blue hair and tight, black clothes. He’d been funny, or so everyone always said, and made Alex laugh in a way that made Michael want to crawl into bed and never leave it again. Then suddenly Forrest was gone, and Alex was different.

He was sad.

Michael knew, conceptually, that Alex had always walked around with a dark cloud over his head. Who wouldn’t with the tyranny of Jesse Manes hanging over them? But Alex had worked his entire life on hiding it, keeping that part of himself hidden away.

It was upsetting to see it so obviously on display now.

After draining his beer, Michael headed back up to the bar to order another, waiting patiently as Maria served other customers.

“She’s beautiful, that one.”

Michael groaned and rolled his eyes. Tess had snuck up on him, all blonde hair and pouty face. She smelled like cotton candy, too strong and too sweet.

“Yes, she is.”

“So’s he.”

Michael glanced at Tess; eyebrow raised in suspicion.

“Who?”

She let out a giggle and nudged him in the side. “Don’t be coy. It doesn’t work for you.”

Michael made a face, one he hoped said he didn’t care, and said “whatever,” before turning to face the bottles behind the bar again.

“Why are you with Maria when you love Alex?”

Slamming both hands onto the bar, he pushed his stool back and turned to Tess finding her cool and completely unbothered.

“I don’t know what your deal is but back off, okay? I don’t love Alex. Don’t know if I ever did. I love Maria.”

He watched as a sadness swept over her features before he closed his eyes with regret, immediately realizing his mistake. He saw the glass get placed on the bar next to his empty bottle, chipped, black polish coating the nails of the hand that placed it there.

He turned slowly, afraid to see the look on Alex’s face.

Alex was taking money out of his wallet, shaking hands struggling to pull the bills apart.

“Alex, I didn’t—”

“It’s okay, Guerin.” He threw down a twenty and looked at Michael with watery eyes and a fake smile. “I needed to hear it.”

He left quietly, getting lost in the rowdy crowd covering the floor. Michael stood, debating what to do. His stomach turned as he imagined Alex crying, Michael making him feel worse than he already had.

Deciding he could only dig the hole deeper, he sat back down, putting his head in his hands. He fucked up again.

Tess cleared her throat next to him. He looked up, mood changing from annoyed to spoiling for a fight. “What is your deal, Tess? Who are you? Why are you everywhere all the fucking time?”

She took a sip of her fruity looking drink and smiled once again. “I’m just here to help, Michael.”

“To help who?”

“You.”

He laughed and took her drink, downing the sickening concoction in a desperate move to start forgetting about this evening.

“Michael.” He looked at her, completely exasperated. “I think you’ve created a lie in your head to justify your life and the decisions you’re making. You’re ignoring the truth and it’s going to hurt so many people in the end.”

Michael just shook his head and rubbed his face. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Tess rolled up her sleeves and sighed, the first sign of frustration she’d ever let slip. “I do. Just let me show you.”

“Show me?”

“Yep. It’ll just take a minute.”

Before he could ask what would, her hand was on his arm and his vision went white.

When his eyesight returned, he was in Maria’s bed, alone and with a raging headache. Thinking he really needed to cut back on drinking, he stood and headed to the bathroom.

It was when he was throwing water on his face in the hopes of becoming coherent again that he noticed the ring. A plain gold band on his left ring finger. He stared as the water continued to run, filling the sink to the point of overflowing.

He took it off and moved it between his fingers. “What the fuck?”

Michael ran out of the bathroom, flooding be damned, and tore open the dresser in the bedroom. He found his boxers, jeans, t-shirts mixed in haphazardly with Maria’s underwear and bras, her tank tops.

He moved into the living room, searching for more proof of what he was beginning to think was a life he didn’t remember. Staring at him on a shelf above the TV was the photo. Maria looked beautiful; hair pulled back with a stunning white dress. He looked awkward in a suit, a bright shade of blue and a pink flower stuck in the lapel. He took the photo in his hands, fingers tracing the image. An odd mix of emotions warred in his chest. Comfort that he had a family, a woman he loved and who loved him. A home.

But what about…

Michael placed the photo delicately back on the shelf and went back into the bedroom to find some clothes. He needed answers.

Downstairs the early crowd was taking up space at the bar. It took seconds for his eyes to land on Maria. She was glowing, just radiating beauty and confidence, and the smile that broke across his face couldn’t be helped. She turned to the till, eyes catching Michael and raised an eyebrow before turning back to the customer with a smile.

She walked over, all sass and hips, with a look of skepticism on her face.

“You’re awake then.”

He smiled and pulled her in by her waist. She still smelled the same, which, for whatever reason he took comfort in. He had no idea what this life was or what it meant, but some things never changed.

“Ew, no affection please. You’re supposed to stop that when you get married.”

Isobel was leaning on the bar, hair pulled back and make-up perfectly in place. He released Maria just to lean over the bar and hold onto Isobel’s hand, a maneuver that looked to startle his sister.

“Hi.”

Isobel tilted her head. “Hi.”

“How are you?”

She laughed, taking a sip of her drink. “Same as yesterday. You?”

“I have no idea, Iz.”

He had so many questions. He married Maria so he must have told her the truth, right? Did he own the bar, too? Was he still just the town drunk?

For whatever reason, those questions weren’t the ones to leave his mouth.

“Where’s Alex, Iz?”

She froze, one sleeve in her coat and looked uncomfortably around the bar. “Why are you asking me that?”

He shrugged, feigning indifference while praying she’d answer the question.

“The last one of us who heard from him was Kyle. Six months ago, now, I think. New York.”

He nodded and looked down at a water ring fading slightly on the bar. His finger traced the sticky shape, thoughts drifting to another time.

“Michael.”

He looked up and saw pity on his sister’s face. She took his hand in hers and squeezed. “You made the choice you had to make. You love Maria and deserve to be happy. The fact that Alex couldn’t handle it is not your fault.”

She gave him a small smile and headed out of the bar.

Michael was frozen. Alex was gone. He was the reason Alex left. He lived, once again, in a Roswell with no Alex Manes.

“Hey.” Maria had gently cupped his cheek. “You alright?”

He nodded, embarrassed by the tears in his eyes. Unafraid to take a risk in a world he didn’t understand, he said, “I miss Alex.”

She bit her lip and nodded back, pulling him in for a hug. He closed his eyes, resting his head on her shoulder. With her hands petting his hair, she whispered, “me, too.”

She placed a gentle kiss to the side of his head. “Love you.”

The light behind his eyelids was too bright and painful.

The Pony came back into focus with a smug Tess sitting next to him.

“I fucking knew something wasn’t right with you!”

She rolled her eyes and took another sip. “That’s your takeaway?”

Michael looked around. Nothing was new or different. “How much time passed here?”

Tess shrugged in return. “Maybe a minute.”

“So, what? You can predict the future? Show it to people?”

Smiling, she nodded. “Yeah. It’s a gift and a curse. I can’t manipulate it or anything, but I can see it coming.” She took another sip and spun around in her stool, facing the crowded bar.

Michael eyed Maria at the other end of the bar, still conversing with the same customer.

“What did you think?”

Michael rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, trying to formulate his thoughts.

“I dunno. It was nice. Maria’s amazing and for some reason she loves me.”

“She does.”

They both sat in silence, Michael eventually turning to scan the room as well. He noticed Kyle getting increasingly drunk, dancing and overly supportive of anyone getting behind the microphone. Isobel looked like she hadn’t had a sip all night although Michael knew she was just better at keeping it all together. All his friends were present and accounted for.

Except for one.

“Is that a future you’d be happy with?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s good.”

“No one missing?”

Michael gave her the side eye, unwilling to share too much too soon.

“It seemed good.”

Tess nodded and faced him, hundred-watt smile in place.

“That’s good.”

She placed her arm back on his and, once again, the world went fluorescent.

This time as he blinked himself right again, he woke up in an unfamiliar bed. It was bigger than Maria’s, a bit softer, too, with the most comfortable pillow he’d ever slept on in his life. He was curious to see which version of the Magical Mystery Tour he was on now, but the bed was so damn comfortable he took a minute to just enjoy.

With a sigh and a side of nerves, he climbed out of the bed, not bothering to put any clothes on this time around. He looked down and noticed a nice pair of burgundy briefs he was absolutely sure he’d never waste money on if he had the choice.

He cautiously opened the door and tiptoed into a cozy space. A fire roared with a dog sound asleep in front of it. The whole room smelt of balsam and smoke.

“Take me into your loving arms. Kiss me under the light of a thousand stars.”

Moving quickly, Michael found the source of the singing and threw his hand over his mouth to cover his cry.

Alex stood in the kitchen, cooking at the oven, in essentially the same outfit as himself. His strong back was a little less tan but just as broad and Michael felt a wave of pride at the prosthetic firmly in place and on display.

It took a minute for Michael to notice the ring on Alex’s finger. He had moved just right, shifting the pan on the stove top, that it had caught the light shining in through the small window. He looked at his own left hand and brought it in front of his face. His ring was a silver color with a band of glowing, changing material in the middle.

His ship.

“You’re awake then.” He smiled wide at Michael, looking more comfortable and at ease than Michael had ever seen before. “Pancakes okay?”

Michael nodded dumbly, unable to form words. Alex gestured with his head to the end of the kitchen. “Coffee’s ready.”

Forcing his feet to move, Michael headed toward the pot, the dog in front of the fire propping its head up and wagging at his presence. He stopped and gave its head a pat, wondering what its name was. When he turned back, Alex was plating their breakfast and putting it on the small table. Before he could pass, Alex puckered up and closed his eyes. Michael was helpless to do anything but oblige.

Alex smiled before giving Michael another quick peck and a smack to the ass demanding he get them both caffeine.

Michael moved through this world like a dream, an out of body experience. His life with Maria had felt safe and friendly, nothing seeming to change. But this world? This was an Alex he was completely unfamiliar with, a man so comfortable with himself he was barely recognizable. He felt a wave of nausea as he wondered if he had been the key to this, to Alex’s health and happiness.

How the hell did they get here?

They sat together in amiable silence enjoying their breakfast. Michael almost stabbed himself in the mouth with his fork when Alex’s foot started roaming up his calf.

When they’d finished up and Alex was at the sink rinsing their dishes, Michael thought it was only fair to take the same risk in this world as he had in the other.

“Where’s Maria?”

Alex didn’t stop what he was doing, soap bubbles floating in the air around his scrubbing hands.

“Shit, I knew I’d forget! That’s ten bucks to Izzy.”

Michael shook his head and furrowed his brow, looking around the room.

Izzy?

“Maria and Isobel want us over for dinner tonight or tomorrow, whatever works for you. I know you were planning on going to the lab with Liz and Kyle for a bit this weekend, but I couldn’t remember which day.”

Michael lifted his hand to stop Alex from continuing and closed his eyes. “I’m sorry. Maria and Isobel?”

Alex shut the water off and grabbed a towel for his hands. He leaned back against the counter and Michael physically held onto his chair to keep himself from pouncing on the perfection.

“Yes, Maria and Isobel. You alright?”

He could do nothing but nod, completely overwhelmed and confused.

Alex laughed and tossed the towel absently behind him. He stood in front of Michael, hand moving through his hair and straddled him. “You’ve been working too hard. You deserve a break.”

Michael’s brain short-circuited as Alex began kissing along his neck, nipping him in just the right spots. His hands slid up Alex’s bare back and held him close. He closed his eyes and blushed as a tear slid down his cheek. It must have landed on Alex who sat back with a look of concern on his face.

“What’s wrong?” He cupped Michael’s face and wiped away the tears with his thumbs.

Michael shook his head, holding Alex so tight he was worried he might be hurting him.

“I love you. I’m sure I don’t say it enough. I love you.”

Alex smiled and rubbed his nose against Michael’s.

“I love you more.”

As the white light began to creep in, Michael pulled Alex into a kiss and tried to push every ounce of adoration he felt into it.

When he opened his eyes, Tess was holding a tissue for him.

He took it quickly and wiped his eyes then blew his nose. He scanned the room making sure no one had noticed him get so emotional.

“How was that?” Tess raised her eyebrow and leaned in with a smirk. “Good?”

Michael sighed and shook his head. He found a few bills in his wallet and placed them on the bar. He took a good look at Maria, a woman who made him feel special, worthy, and knew exactly what he needed to do.

“Not good.”

Tess sat back, a look of surprise on her face.

Michael leaned in and gave her a quick kiss to the cheek.

“Great.”

He walked with confidence out the door, unsure of exactly what he was going to do but knowing exactly who he was moving toward.