#its so fuckin stupid. and conflicting

[soldier-poet-king]

My father, talking abt how one of his co-workers is maybe autistic. My brother, immediately, well as long as he's high functioning. My dumb ass trying to explain why the term high functioning can be harmful and while a lot of professionals still use it, autism self advocates are trying to push away from it. Deliberately trying to explain this without using any sort of "fancy" terminology or strange concepte. My aunt, disdainfully, ugh all this terminology it's changing everyday I can't keep up.

Being assertive and Present is going. So well.

#franposting #why do i fuckin bother #trying to be like. a person. and a good person. its not going well #this is why i shut up and dont say anything #unless im drunk or extremely mad #i will simply. stay out of the way and pretend i dont exist #its easier #and im tired of being disappointed even in my quote unquote more resonable family members (ie. my aunt) #how at the end of all things is my mother the most resonable open minded person #not to b like terrible hallmark movies and primetime tv shows have changed her #but like. even the bullshit tokenism on tv. helps sometimes? my mother is like. oh i saw a gay/trans/disabled/etc person in this shoe #show* and suddenly shes like. even the slightest bit more accepting or able to see them as human beings #its so fuckin stupid. and conflicting #and i still hate her so much of the time. she caused so much of my trauma #god i need to get out of here but god everything is so expensive and im a coward #and im afraid i dont know how to be a person on my own anymore. if i ever really did

[fireballandfailure]

The best part of baldur's gate 3 is that all the companions feel like somebody's PC.

I can fucking smell the hypothetical player's personal problems on them

#bg3 #its fuckin great #i love so much how this game gleefully engages its own premise #like yes of course the folk hero warlock is haunted by his sinister deal and tried to make up for it by saving others #of course the acolyte cleric has to reckon with the conflicts between their own personal morality and the beliefs the were raised in #OF COURSE THE GLADIATOR BARBARIAN IS A BEEFY SWEETHEART WITH A TORTURED PAST #its so fucking nice to see something that gets that cliches are cliches for a reason #and to look you in the face and be like 'this is exactly what uou think it is dont you want to see how it turns out this time?' #and not be like 'oh hoh stupid little audience i bet you thought it would be this! arent we so smart for not doing that?'

[a113cowgirl]

Ok chat, do we think the Full Moon episode (the next Helluva Boss episode) is gunna end on a happy note or a sad/unsure note, in terms of Blitz/Stolas?

The writer in me says that it would be much higher value storytelling if it were to contain some hopeful moments, (pointing towards them moving towards a confession/officially being together) but not coming to a for-sure conclusion right away/by the end of the episode. A slow burn couple like this should take a lot of time and effort to reach its conclusion.

However, the viewer/shipper in me wants to get it right away, and I’m hoping that this show’s frequent storytelling failures will fail in this way specifically, so that we get the conclusion asap.💀

I worry that the scene in which Stolas gives Blitz the Osmodian Crystal will come at the very end of the episode, because having THAT happen, and then concluding the episode without showing Blitz’s response would be a killer cliffhanger to end on… but god I do not want that to happen. I want that scene to occur EARLY in the episode, and for the rest to contain scenes showing Blitz’s emotional response, if not his actual verbal response to Stolas. Perhaps a scene where he is pacing back and forth, rambling to a supportive character about what happened, and how he feels about it, and how conflicted he is. Something akin to when he was ranting about his situation with Stolas to Fizz in the cage scene, but maybe to Moxxie or Loona instead. Pacing in the office, wringing his neck, and ranting about how “is this his way of tricking me into thinking I’m choosing to be with him?! Does he expect me to come crawling back to him just because he put on this big fuckin romantic performance?!” “What, did he just RANDOMLY start having feelings for me sometime during this whole fucking arrangement?! Does he expect me to believe he left his wife because he fell in love with me, or some stupid shit?!” “…maybe… maybe he really did care.. this whole time… fuck, does he actually… love me..?”

Followed by Millie/Moxxie/Fizz/Loona encouraging him, which leads Blitz to go back to Stolas to ask questions/discuss everything, leading to a romantic conclusion and ending the episode on a happy note.

THAT is my ideal next episode’s outline, though i have no fuckin clue what the B plot would be, or even if this Stolitz storyline is the B plot of the episode. I would hope that the other plot, be it the A or B, would focus on Via. After all, she is the one who will be most affected by Blitz and Stolas becoming a couple.

Also, for those of you who have seen the leaked scenes for future/unreleased season 2 episodes… how do you think all of this will somehow lead to what happens in the season 2 finale…?

#helluva boss stolas #blitz helluva boss #helluva fanart #helluva boss #HB #helluva blitzo #helluva stolas #helluva #helluva fizzarolli #helluva loona #helluva boss octavia #helluva critical #helluva millie #stolas #stolas goetia #stolitz #stolas x blitz #blitzo #blitzø #helluva boss blitz #blitzfizz #blitz and Stolas #stolas and blitzo #Stolas and blitz #Bonnie blogs

[lavendertales]

this isn't anything sexual I just really need some comfort

so like reader has extreme father issues and joel knows it, and Joel gets mad at her for something so they have flashbacks to their dad making them cry and she starts hyperventilating. Joel notices and starts comforting her whispering sweet things to her and hugging her and stuff?

im extremely unhinged and i need the comfort rn

here you go, love, I hope this is as comforting as you wish for it to be❤️

fine line—Joel Miller x f!reader

word count: 863

warnings: some hurt, but mostly comfort. side note, this is nothing sexual so please don't take it as such.

Usually you didn’t take lightly to strangers and befriending them was rather a chore than out of pleasantry. But somehow, you managed to get along just fine with the Miller brothers and their little protégé, Ellie.

Because you looked up to the two brothers, that made it easier for you to open up to them and create a more unique bond with them. Plenty speculated that you were dating either one of the two, but that was not the case. You were simply friends, close acquaintances, and you decided to let people talk whatever they wanted to talk.

You were particularly close with Joel. Perhaps because his whole aura reminded you of a protector. It was what he did best: he cared for family and he protected them fiercely. And it was the same with you; he liked to keep you close, and often it seemed that your presence was good for him, too.

Besides, Joel knew more about your troubled past with your father than anyone else. He knew what a difficult relationship you had with him—or its lack thereof. And because of that, Joel knew to be tender with you and careful with his choice of words. At first it was controlled, something he had to go over in his head before speaking it aloud, but after a while it became natural.

But Joel was merely human. He made mistakes too. And today, he’d made a mistake with you.

“I told you to stay here!” he’d shouted. “You could’ve gotten hurt! Something could’ve fuckin’ happened!”

“Joel—“

“Why couldn’t you just do it? You had to go out of your way to get killed?!”

Your eyes became watery as you stared at him, speechless. You knew he had a temper, but he never unleashed it upon you before, and it was bringing back painful memories that still spiked your blood pressure.

It wasn’t entirely unjustified though; Joel and the patrol group went on their daily route and while you usually patrolled with them, this time Joel asked you to stay behind. You were still recovering from a wound and, while it wasn’t grave, it still had you on bed rest for a few days. You barely began to retake your usual activities and going on patrol could’ve been too exhausting.

You still went. You still went after the group, thinking you’d just stay in the back, on your horse, and keep a lookout for potential intruders. When they’d been ambushed by raiders, Joel had to jump to your rescue as well and keep you safe. It had been instinct, but he was pissed that you didn’t listen. He kept quiet till you returned to Jackson, but once the two of you were alone, he let you know just how frustrated he’d been with your choice.

However, seeing your teary face and your body hyperventilating and trying to steady yourself, he regretted snapping at you the way he did.

“I’m sorry, darlin’, I didn’t—“

“You were right, okay?” you said through tears. “You were right and I was wrong, I was stupid. I appreciate you—pointing it out.”

You rushed away from him, desperate to be alone in order to recollect your feelings. You had a strong aversion towards being yelled at. Your father used to do it all the time and all it did was make you somewhat unable to handle conflict. You loathed it, always have since you were a child. And to hear Joel react the same way your father did when he was disappointed… it was too much to handle.

Not a minute since you retreated it into your house, you heard a knock on the door. You knew it was Joel. It couldn’t have been anyone else.

“Go away, Joel,” you said.

“Please let me in, darlin’. I’m so sorry about the things I said. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I’m really sorry.”

You couldn’t really stay mad at him—unlike at your father. Joel was far more understanding and kinder than your old man, and way more willing to learn from his mistakes and grow from them.

Perhaps that’s why you looked up to him so much.

You opened the door, your eyes and nose still red, even though you stopped crying some time ago. The moment Joel saw you, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in tighter. You caved in to his touch, reciprocating the hug.

“I’m so sorry,” Joel repeated, one hand over your head as he held you glued to him. “I shouldn’t have reacted that way.”

“I understand why you did it. I did put myself at risk… and you. And the rest of the patrol group.”

“You’re safe, and that’s all that matters.”

“Thank you for saving me though.”

Joel pulled away just to smile at you, his calloused hand grazing your cheek. “I got your back.”

“I know. Thank you.”

You remained locked in that embrace on the porch for a while. You appreciated Joel’s willingness to grow and change more than you could ever tell him.

But more so, you appreciated him being there for you in ways even your own blood relatives could.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller fluff #tlou #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fluff #requests

[wildpeachfarm]

my momma’s always said: if ur gonna make adult decisions then you should expect adult consequences to those decisions

to me it sums up perfectly what happened last month but i fear people are either too sheltered, too young or too reckless to have ever gotten a taste of that i swear the pandemic really fucked some of these kids brains up bc the double standards feel like fuckin whiplash sometimes

oh for sure! Covid gave so many young adults a warped perception of how adult situations work, accountability and responsibility in situations, and how to respectfully approach conflicts with other people. So many socializing skills lost to the pandemic its honestly tragic

While we are sharing momma advice: mine has always said life is hard but it's harder when you're stupid and i think some people need to hear that one too lol

#ask #anon #anti drummyache tag

[felixdragonheartofficial]

TFP KINDA SUCKS RANT

Unfiltered opinion below ⬇️(long)

Transformers prime

Listen, you can like what you like, but tfp is not the Pinnacle of transformers media like every salty old fan of it says it is

Repetitive soundtrack

The soundtrack isn't varied, all of the music is comprised of grandiose orchestral pieces that become so goddamn repetitive it leaves you feeling empty. There's never any other emotion present in the music other than

"feel epic now pls"

I shit you not. There are scenes that are "supposed" to be funny, but it's just stale dialogue with absolutely no background music so it doesn't work at all. Any emotion conveyed with music is either epic, sad, or action and nothing else

"Haha, no moments of silly, that would kill the seriousnesz emo vibe U_U"

Terrible setting

Tfp is also much more visually unappealing due to the uncanny af models, the barren and drab backgrounds, and a convenient lack of humans to "disguise" from

not to mention how fuckin weird they look

sims 4 mfs

I'm so sick of animation elitists saying TFP's the better show because it's 3D and 3D is somehow Automatically better because it's "more advanced and sophisticated" which if you ever dipped your fingers into animation at all, you'd know how untrue that is

Feats of storytelling can be attained with either or, and the execution is dependent on the style and narrative that the show presents

TFP was trying to go for a visually darker theme, which is why they went for a realism. The only problem is that the settings are bleak and devoid of any soul

Speaking of which

Robots in disguise... From what???

Outside of team prime, there are literally no humans with speaking roles that have actual story importance

except for Silas

until there are infact- no, non-team humans of significance ever again, either because they couldn't afford the voice actors anymore, or they just chose to never bring them up again.

We don't get to actually see people, we only see the implication of human dwelling and it's lackluster.

There's never any of that conflict or tension that the show promised with the disguise plot, and It pisses me off so much because not only do a bare few of the fights happen around or inside of inhabited areas

but these robots

ARE LOUD

HOW THE HELL HAS NOBODY WALKED OUTSIDE OF THEIR HOUSE TO CHECK

A N Y T H I N G

"Honey, do you hear that loud, metallic ripping and obnoxious plasma fire?"

"Must be the neighbors shagging, Gerald. Don't be such a paranoid freak<3"

"Fair enough Cathleen, let's go back to playing spiderman 2 for the ps5"

"robots In disguise"

respectfully, Hasbro- you can eat out my entire ass with your forked tongue, ye fuckin liars✨

The Nothing Narrative

Tfp legit feels like the circle jerk of patriotism, oh my god.

Sure, it sounds far fetched but let's not forget that this show has agent fowler sucking off the American government every chance he gets

Its so audacious to show the devastation that war brought to cybertron, only to turn around and be like

"So kiddos, wanna join le special forces" at the end of it

How can you be anti war and pro US military?

The US

The leading imperialistic force in the world for the last 200+ years?

That's who you wanna prop up as a stand up figure in your "war is bad" show??

H o w

How Does That W o r k that's so fucking stupid

Wasted potential

considering wasted character opportunities that pissed everyone off, tfp weighs down the heaviest

1.Breakdown could've joined the autobots-killed off because they couldn't afford the va

2.Airachnid could've come back as a larger threat with her hoard of zombie/vampire insecticons -transported to Luna 1 and then never seen from again because they couldn't afford the va

3.cybertronian pirates were supposed to appear but didn't because they didn't use their own production bible

And that shit show sequel

(nice one hasbro, you really rodded yourself up the asshole with a ferocity for the millionth time)

Oh and that one moment that legit pissed me off

When megatron pulled that

"because I now know the true meaning of oppression, and have thus lost my taste for inflicting it"

😐

This prompts the question for me

Why would you even waste the little budget that you had creating this show with a premise that literally lies to the audience??

Its so funny that people meatride this show so hard because of animation elitist bullshit like "3D animation is better than 2D"

And yet, despite the scathing review I just gave I do not gaf if you watch this show and like it, that's literally great for you

But don't ever claim that it does narratives better than TFA/Earthspark dude, omg

#tfp #rant post #arg #transformers prime #AUUUUUGH

[crybaby-bkg]

sᴄᴏʀɴᴇᴅ | ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ sɪх

Bakugou x f!reader Warnings/Tags: some brief flashbacks, the tiniest bit of tension, brief mention of manga spoilers from chapter 362, negotiations of hero talk Word Count: 4.6k Minors/blank/ageless blogs DNI!

Main Masterlist

AO3

It’s been a couple of days since your temporary stay at Bakugou’s house, and its more peaceful than you had expected it to be. You don’t see him much for the first few days, with your schedules conflicting with hero work and regular work. You haven’t gotten any major calls as The Red Medusa, and the smaller issues you leave to the other vigilantes like you. You haven’t heard anything from Vanity, and it scares you more than anything to hear what she has to say about your living situation, but you don’t reach out first. 

Instead, you pretend to live in bliss with your warm blanket and even warmer cup of tea in your hands. You cradle it in your palms as you sit on the couch, watching the news with an unfocused gaze. Your eyes clear though, the moment you hear the doorknob rattling, and find Bakugou entering with a frown on his face. 

“Didn’t catch the villain, sunshine?” You ask, tone droning on as you survey him—woah. Your eyes immediately snap back to the television, face as warm as your cup as Bakugou kicks off his boots and angrily sets down his heavy gauntlets. 

“‘Caught the bastard, but he ripped my fuckin’ pants with his stupid fuckin’ quirk!” He bellows, eyebrows downturned as he barely casts you a glance before he goes stomping off to his room. You keep your eyes zeroed on the screen, but its all for naught when the news anchors now focus on the fight Dynamight just wrapped up, camera zooming in entirely too close to his crotch for it to be FCC approved. 

The rip in his pants is high up on his thigh, exposes more than it should, his pale flesh splattered in blood and whatever blue goo the villain spits out. You can see Dynamight cursing up a storm, his mouth blurred out, as the news anchors try to withhold their laughs, one even making a dirty joke. 

It makes your stomach twists—how could they sexualize him like that, in a moment of battle? Of fighting to protect the citizens of this city? How could they focus on how strong the muscle in his thigh flexes when he jumps up and blasts himself into the sky? Focus on how more and more of his skin peels out with every turn he does in the air? How can they focus on how…how nice…

You stand up abruptly, beelining to the sink as you turn your cup upside down, emptying its contents down the drain. It must’ve been that stupid sleepy time tea Bakugou keeps stacked up in his cabinets fucking with your head, because you could never, ever look at him like that. 

Like the way you look at him now when he stomps out into the kitchen, roughly running his fingers through his hair as he stands there in only a tank top and shorts that stop right above his knee. The scar in his shoulder has healed nicely, you think to yourself, fading from pink to his skin tone. 

“Why’re you wasting my good tea?” He grunts, brushing past you to open up the cabinet. You avert your gaze, mouth twisting—in shame, so much shame—as you try to remember what he’s just asked you. 

“Because its shit.” You answer plainly, finding it in you to start washing the dishes you had left from earlier. Bakugou flitters around the kitchen comfortably, eyeing you when you go quiet. 

“Bullshit. You’ve used at least two bags everyday since you started staying here, and that’s on a good day.” He throws at you, leaning against the counter to square you off with a look to the back of your head. You bristle at that. 

“Why are you watching me, pervert?” You snarl at him, but your voice is shakier than it usually is. He picks up on that, but doesn’t comment on it. 

“Because you’re using up my good shit.”

“It looks like that’s your only shit.” You counter back. “Do you even have any other tea flavors? And why do you have so much of that sleepy time shit anyway?” 

Bakugou doesn’t answer for a long while, and you wonder if somehow, you’ve struck a nerve. You look over your shoulder to see if he’s still there, if he’s somehow stalked off with his freaky hero abilities without you hearing him, but he still stands there. Arms folded, gaze drifted away somewhere far. He looks up when he realizes you’ve been staring at him, frowning, and he opens his mouth to speak but is cut off by the beeping of the microwave. He turns, and takes the water out, steam curling around his hand. 

“Just like it, ’s all.” He answers with a shrug, turning his back to you this time, as he starts fixing his tea. You don’t say anything else about it, but your eyes lilt down to where his pale leg sticks out of his shorts. 

“Your thigh okay?” You find yourself asking, turning quickly to the spoon you’ve been washing for two minutes now, when Bakugou turns in your direction again. 

“Yeah? ’S alright. Just a few scratches.” He hums, walking up beside you to dump the spoon he used to stir his tea up into the soapy load you’ve finally dwindled down. You sneer at him, and he only quirks an eyebrow at you over the rim of his cup before walking down the hall. 

“Get some sleep, dumbass.” He tells you, almost fondly, and it makes your heart squeeze a little tighter than you’d like it to. You fumble over your words, looking for a comeback you’ve been struggling to come up with since you started staying with him. Instead of using words, you flip him the bird again, soapy and unseen to the back of his head. 

…

It’s been a couple of hours since you laid down for bed, even longer since you drank the tea, and you think that the shit is a scam. The whole point of sleepy time is to put you down to sleep, right? So why the fuck is it 3:41am, and you can’t sleep through your usual nightmares? 

Maybe, you just need another cup. 

You swing your legs over the bed, throwing the purple blanket away from your form as you slide into the slippers Bakugou lended you (you yelled at him for buying you something, and he yelled back that he didn’t need you slipping and breaking your damn neck on his hardwood floors). You go to exit your room, but you hesitate for a second. You don’t typically leave your room until the sun rises, even in times when you have to pee really fuckin’ bad. 

It brings back memories of creeping around in places that weren’t inherently yours, and being hunted, preyed upon, in long dark hallways with men who wanted to get a taste of your flesh. But you know that this place is safe, even if it pains you to admit it. So you scurry back to your bed, slide your pocket knife into the waistband of your sleep pants, and cover your shoulders with the purple throw blanket. 

You stand in front of the door for a few seconds, taking in some deep breaths before you unlock the door. You wait, chest shaking with the forced air you pump into your lungs, before swinging the door open. Your hand rests on the knife as you survey the silent house, looking down the hallway to Bakugou’s room, and find his door cracked. 

You turn and start heading to the kitchen, seeing that a single light above the stove has been left on. He must’ve done it, because you swore you turned off all the lights before heading to bed. You had made that mistake once and woke up to a snappy text of running up his light bill the next morning. So you walk a little faster, ready to turn it off, only to be stopped in your tracks at the sight of Bakugou in the kitchen himself. 

His head snaps up when he sees you turn the corner from where he rests against the counter by the microwave, looks almost as if time had done a rewind of the day. Only this time, he looks tireder, and you see the mug he used earlier is in the sink, and he nurses another one in his right hand. 

“What’re you doing up this late?” He slurs quietly, sipping at his drink before resting it on the counter beside him, folding his arms across his chest. You jut your chin out to him, as you mirror his position across the kitchen. 

“I could ask you the same thing. Don’t you have work in the morning?” You ask him, eyes fluttering to the cabinet that holds that scamming ass tea. Bakugou follows your line of sight and must connect the dots, because he huffs out a laugh before turning to reach into the cabinets behind him. He pulls out the mug you’ve been favoring, and waves a dismissive hand at you when you take a step forward to protest. 

“You don’t have to,”

“I know I don’t. Doing it because I wanna.” He yawns, starts taking out the materials he’s seen you use for the few days you’ve been here. Water from the tap, the black mug that reads “fresh out of fucks” in white lettering, the sleepy time tea bag, a scoop of sugar, and a squeeze of honey. 

“You really are a pervert.” You tack on quietly, jumping a little at the laugh that shoots out from his chest. 

“For knowing how you like your tea?” He asks, looking over his shoulder as he takes the warm water out (never actually hot—how did he know that though?). 

“Yeah, since I’ve only been here for a couple of days now.” 

“‘M a hero. My job is to observe.” Bakugou counters back, crossing the kitchen to hand you your tea. He looks down the bridge of his nose at you, corner of his mouth quirked up in such a way that it makes the pit of your stomach twist uncomfortably the longer you look at it. Stupid fuckin’ face. 

“Thanks,” you whisper, taking a hesitant sip, realizing quickly that its the way you’ve always liked it. Bakugou doesn’t say anything, just returns to his spot across the kitchen from you, sipping at his own drink as he takes you in. 

“You never answered my question,” he calls out, making you tilt your head in confusion. “Why’re you up this late?” He asks. You roll the answer around in your head for a few seconds, taking another drink, as you wonder where the harm comes in with sharing. It’s almost four in the morning anyway—anything you say right now doesn’t even really count. 

“Same old night terrors.” You hum into the rim of your cup, eyes drifting down to the squeaky clean floors of the kitchen tile. Bakugou doesn’t respond, and it makes you glance up to him, wondering why he’s fallen so silent. 

“You get reoccurring nightmares, too?” He asks gently, and in this light, you don’t think he’s ever looked softer. The light above the oven is dim, and casts an almost eerie glow on the pro hero, if not for the sunken bags under his eyes and the frown lines etched permanently into his skin. His hair looks fallen, a little puffy at the roots still, and his mouth is such a gentle line across his face, bottom lip puckered slightly. He looks…tired, exhausted with the seemingly never ending days of hero work. 

Will this be what you’ll look like if you agree to become a pro hero? Restless and overworked, all for the sake of “justice”? Do you not already look like that, though? 

“Yeah,” you answer softly. “About the shit that happened to me in the past.” You don’t know why the word vomit starts, but its hard to cut it off once it starts spilling. 

“I know Miruko killed them, but they still haunt me in my dreams, most night. Feels like I can’t escape them, even if I try, and gods know I’ve fuckin’ tried.” Your voice falls to a whisper, your throat tightening with every confession. You can’t open up to him—what if he uses what you say against you? What if he takes your pain and contorts into something even more grotesque? Into weapon, into battery, into destruction of your very being? 

But Bakugou only nods with you, as if he knows. As if he understands everything. 

“Same with me, it’s why I keep so much of that fuckin’ sleepy time tea ‘round.” He grunts out, eyes casted low as if in thought. “We killed the fucker that took me out years ago, and still,” his voice becomes strained, and he sets down his cup as if he’s afraid it’ll explode in his hands. It just might, with the way his teeth grit to hide the wobble of his chin, angrily. 

“And still I get these fuckin’ nightmares about—about,” 

“You don’t have to share in detail, if its too hard to say out loud.” You cut him off quickly when his voice starts to elevate, throwing off the serenity in the space you two have created for yourselves. Bakugou cuts his eyes up to you quickly, his gaze hardened and distant, but it clears the longer he looks at you before his upper body deflates. 

“Do you journal your nightmares?” You ask him, voice tiny. “Had a therapist tell me it helps. The only thing it helped was forgetting the dream after writing it down, but I remembered the next night when it happened again.” You laugh humorlessly, hiding your trembling chin behind your mug, blinking away the frustrated tears. 

“Not much of a writer.” Bakugou confesses. 

“You don’t have to be. Just write down what happened; its supposed to help you process shit.” You offer to him, narrowing your eyes at his slowly forming crooked grin. 

“Are you treating me like one of your patients?” He asks quietly, finishing the rest of his tea as you roll your eyes dramatically. 

“Only if you’re willing to pay for my services.” You throw back at him, your own mouth cracking into a small grin. You both share a look before growing quiet again, taking in the spacious kitchen, and the other occupying the opposite end of it. Bakugou stares at the blanket covering your shoulders, and speaks first. 

“You remember the first day we met, when—”

“When I kicked your ass?” You interject, eyebrows raising as you down the rest of your tea. He scoffs with a roll of his eyes. 

“When you were upset, and calling me sexist?” He asks instead. Instantly, your joking mood disappears, and you find yourself sinking into the counter behind you. You hop up on top of it, wrapping the blanket closer to your form as you think back on the day you first encountered Dynamight, days after seeing his viral video. Your mouth sours. 

“You never let me explain.” He says quietly into the silent room, commanding your attention, which you’ve settled onto the small crack in the corner of the floor. Your eyes snap up to his, and you think, I don’t wanna talk about it anymore. You think, I’ve finally started liking you as much as a damaged person like me can. You think, why does he have to bring up the Red Medusa and Dynamight right now? You think, why are you ruining this moment for us? You think—what moment? 

“We had a running joke, back at UA.” He starts, despite the way your mouth downturns and you start to curl into yourself. “That me and Ponytail—Creati, were in competition for the biggest boobs.”

At that, an unexpected laugh rips out of you. You cover your mouth in shock, eyes wide, mouth trembling as you try to keep your shocked giggles at bay. On instinct, your eyes travel down to his chest and—yeah, he really doesn’t help his case with how he folds his arms under his chest, giving himself a sort of cleavage. He narrows his eyes at you, and another giggle escapes from the palm of your hands. 

“Shut the hell up,” he tells you, no bite evident in his voice, and it only makes more laughs run from you into the quiet air of the kitchen. “And we had a little reunion a few months back, and we all started reminiscing ‘nd shit. And of course, dumbass Sparky records the worst part of our conversation, crops out what was said before and after, and uploads it.”

Your smile dies down a little as you think back on the video of Dynamight, obviously a little buzzed by his slur and reddened cheeks. You remember him sitting away from everyone else captured in the video, grunting that Ponytail’s tits have gotten so much bigger over the years, he’s surprised that she hasn’t tipped over and created a fuckin’ crater bigger than Musutafu by now. 

“Out of context, it was gross.” Bakugou admits, nodding his head once, his eyes casted to the back of the couch seen from over the kitchen island. “But beforehand, the fuckin’ idiots had brought up the whole boob contest thing, and we were all joking about it, you know?

“Shitty Hair said I still had her beat, and I made that comment that you heard. But then, she came back and said mine were so big that she was sure that I took a leave of absence a few months back to get them done just to beat her.” He shakes his head at that with a huff of a laugh, and you chuckle under your breath at the thought of that. Big bad Dynamight going under the knife to get bigger tits. The thought makes you laugh a little harder than you expected to, before it dissolves into a full blown cackle. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” You keep repeating, waving your hand at him as you wipe away a budding tear in your eye. Bakugou tries to sneer at you, but he can’t help the small smile creeping up on his face. You’re laughing, he thinks, he made you laugh. 

“It’s just that, the imagery of you doing that just surprised me, is all.” You catch your breath after a few seconds, a big smile still stretching your cheeks as you look down at his chest again. He covers it with his arms, and frowns at you. 

“Looks like you’re the perv here.” He counters. You chuckle, hiding your face behind your hands as you shake your head. Once you’ve finally calmed down, do you emerge again, smile not as big, but it still ghosts your face softly. 

“Thank you.” You state simply, bowing your head slightly to him. He cocks an eyebrow, goes to pick up his mug before realizing its empty, frowning at it. 

“For calling you a perv?” Bakugou asks, and you snort at that, shaking your head. 

“No, for taking the time out to clear that up for me. You didn’t have to.” Your voice drips with sincerity, makes Bakugou take you in more. The softness of your face, the gentleness in your eyes that he’s never seen before, how the low light shadows the highest peaks of your cheeks. 

“Yeah, but I knew it bothered you in that moment, and I didn’t think we could ever fully move past everything if I didn’t clear the air.” He tells you, voice softening the more he speaks. His eyes grow kind, and it becomes too much too fast for you, so you hurriedly look away to the mug in the sink. 

“Guess you’re not too much of a pig to be around.” You retort back, always falling back on insults when conversations get too serious. You hear Bakugou snort, and you snap your eyes to the fond look on his face. He stares at you for entirely too long, makes your face grow much warmer than you’d like it to, before he pushes off of the counter. He places his second mug in the sink, and when he gets closer to you, breathing suddenly gets a little more difficult. 

You eye the pinkish scar still on his shoulder, and now you understand why it doesn’t give you the same gratification that it usually does. You glance back at his eyes, and the soft look he reserves for you, flinching a little when his arm raises. But he only pats you on the top of the head once, his hand heavy, making you bow a little under the weight. 

“Get some sleep, nerd.” Bakugou tells you gently, and you don’t think you’ve ever heard his voice this quiet before. His lip quirks up in a tiny smile, and he starts off into the hallway. But you find yourself blurting out before you can even think about it,

“What would the conditions be if I agreed to become a Pro Hero?” Your voice is shaky, unsure ground you’re settling on as your eyes try to find his form in the swallowing darkness of the hallway. You hear his footsteps come to a halt, and you’re too afraid to look at him when he backs up in the entryway of the kitchen. 

“So, you agree? To become a hero?” Bakugou asks slowly, and you’re terrified to look him in the face, see the curiosity, the hope, meld into his features. You shake your head abruptly. 

“Not until I know the conditions.” You tell him firmly, looking up to find his face in the shadows, how the carmine of his eyes seemingly gleams in the darkness. It both unsettles and calms you when the tiniest hint of a smile graces his features. 

“We can talk about it in the morning.” He tells you, nodding his head once, looking to you for confirmation. But you only eye him as you hop down from the counter, and place your mug beside his own two in the sink. 

“Along with the rent?” You bite at him, aware that he still hasn’t given you a price yet. But Bakugou only grins at you, shrugging, as he starts his way back down the hallway again. 

“Possibly.” He shrugs before he disappears into the darkness, waving over his shoulder. “Goodnight.” 

You mumble a goodnight under your breath, face entirely too warm for your liking. Maybe you’re catching a cold, you think. Because there can’t be any other explanations to feeling like this when Bakugou is around. 

Right?

…

You guys don’t talk about rent in the morning, and instead only about the conditions of you becoming a hero. Bakugou sets up an online meeting with Deku and Yuu to discuss what would become of you if you do agree. 

Condition #1: No more being a vigilante. (You figured that, but hearing it out loud still made your face sour.)

Condition #2: You shadow Dynamight most days when he patrols, so you’re not alone out in the field for the first year. (That’s a long commitment, you had told Bakugou, and he only frowned at you before turning back to the screen.)

Condition #3: You start actual hero training with a private tutor that will be funded by the agency Dynamight works at. (Why is everything centered around him? You mumble to yourself, which makes the blond bristle and mumble that no one else would take your rude ass.) 

Condition #4: Your Red Medusa tattoo has to be covered at all times in public, and you must pick another name for yourself that does not include red nor Medusa. (That one isn’t as reasonable as you wish it could be—there’s an attachment to the name. How can they expect you to just drop it, dead and weightless, like it meant nothing? Leave it to die in the streets, the same way you almost did?)

Condition #5: Do not let anyone know who you used to be. (Are you gone? As you sit here in Bakugou’s kitchen, have you already ascended, have you already had your memorial? Have they already snuck you into soft earth and Frankenstein’d your remains?) 

You tell them that you’ll think it all over, but you agree for the most part. You can ask Yuu about bringing in Vanity once you’ve proven yourself to not be a lost cause, but that’s if she would even be willing to change who she is for the justice system. In all honesty, you doubt it. But you don’t think it’ll hurt to try. 

Bakugou closes his laptop once the call is over, turning in his seat at the kitchen table to face you. You’re in your head, gnawing at your bottom lip as you mull everything over. 

Is this really what you want? To put your days of being a vigilante behind you? Can you really stomach saving just anybody, even if they don’t deserve it? Can you even fathom the attention you’ll get, positive and negative, at an even bigger rate than before? Knowing everyone will have access to your name and your face and your body and—

“Hey.” A gruff voice calls out to you, and your eyes snap over to find vermillion ones already staring back at you. You hadn’t realized just how tight your chest had gotten, how your breaths had started picking up, your hands shaking against the granite table. You search Bakugou’s eyes for some kind of safety net, some kind of tether that will anchor you back onto this plane. 

“Don’t overthink it. Do what’s best for you, yeah?” He says so quietly, as if it weren’t just you two in his spacious loft. But it works, the softness, makes you whisper back a quiet okay, your voice tiny as you place your feet in your chair to rest your chin on your knees. Bakugou stares at you for a couple of beats, speaks before he sees you sink too deep into your head again. 

“Ready to get some early training in?” He asks you, corner of his lip lilting when you instantly furrow your brows in confusion. 

“But I thought you didn’t work today?” You mutter, frowning at him when he stands and rests his hands on his hips, almost as if in waiting. 

“I don’t,” he shrugs. “But I figured this could be good for you. Know you like beating someone’s ass from those viral videos of you.” 

You think back on the many videos of you while in the streets, doing your vigilante work. A couple of times when your gun had jammed, or it was knocked too far away from you, or you ran out of ammo and had to resort to hand to hand combat. Those moments were always thrilling, and it would take you back to your days of self defense training. How your instructor would yell at you, push you to go harder, to not show mercy because the other person would never grant you the same grace. 

Every time you had to use your fists, you would always picture the person as your attackers’ faces. Every single one of them. Their smug faces suddenly blue and black, swollen and bleeding, begging at your feet for some reprieve, the same way you used to do. Hand to hand combat made you nervous if you didn’t have the safety of your gun, but it also gave you so much power you never felt as if you had before. 

“Yeah, I’m ready to go whoop some hero ass.” You nod, eyes far away as you stand from your chair. Bakugou has to take a step back as you almost bump into him, and he shakes his head at you as you make a beeline for your room, suddenly determined. 

“Can’t say that, when you’re gonna be a hero soon, too!” He calls out to you, but you only flip him the bird. He can’t say he didn’t expect it. 

chapter seven

please do not repost or rec on tik tok!

tag list: @endlessfreaky@iamaconfusedpan

#crybaby.bkg.scorned #—new treat in the streets! 🍫

[ghostplasmas]

Random tangent, but am I the only one pissed off at the AOC DLC? Specifically in regards to Sooga's backstory. I might actually have to go through this shit in sections, like an essay, just to break down how horribly written, not thought out, and borderline insulting it is.

1: Queer coding.

When watching the cutscenes from the base game, it's very clear that Sooga and Kohga are a lot more than just 'friends.' they act very intimate with eachother, with Sooga being the only one we see directly touch Kohga (when not in battle.) Their dialogue is also full of not only character, but equality. Kohga sasses him and snaps at him, but it's never in a demeaning, "IM THE LEADER!!!" Kind of way. If anything, their interactions feel like they're on the same playing field. They feel like they're equals, instead of just a leader and his bodyguard. Sooga makes decisions and helps Kohga with plans directly. Plus, they argue like a married couple.

The DLC's reveal of Sooga's backstory directly contrasts how they act by trying to play it off as if they had a Father&Son dynamic, when they were very obviously written to be queer codded in the base game.

2: how it affects Sooga's character.

Sooga is loyal to the Yiga. Let me repeat that.

Sooga is loyal to the Yiga.

That mentality he has is incredibly important when looking at the cutscene revealing his backstory. His actions, his motives, and his worldview all seem to lean into the fact of him being an ex Sheikah, even acknowledging that "Gannon is a force not to be trifled with" (paraphrased quote.) He sees Gannon as a terrifying figure, yet still follows the clan.

What we see in the footage directly conflicts that. If he were taken in as a child, why would he have such a complex view of Gannon? Not only that, but just looking at the geography of the map, he looks to be either in Tanagar, or gerudo, neither of which being places that a child could easily access, one being swamped with monsters, the other being barren. No Hylians live in either places, and the Sheikah even further. The closest would be the Gerudo, and I highly doubt that he's the first male gerudan in hundreds of years. It just doesn't make sense.

It also conflicts with Sooga being loyal to the Yiga, like I mentioned before. All the Yiga in the cutscene we're tormenting him, and even after Kohga showed him kindness, the Yiga still had their weapons drawn, posing themselves as a threat. Sooga would have been loyal to Kohga in that instant, as he knew that the others weren't safe. He is loyal to the Yiga, and by extension, Kohga. Not the other way around. He is a bodyguard, so of course he usually stays near Kohga, however we see him actively go out and lead the Yiga shoulders by himself.

3: overview.

In conclusion, his backstory fucking sucks. It turns the relationship between Kohga and Sooga into queerbait, and completely ruins Sooga's character. Its stupid. This might be jumbled and not very well thought out, but I'm currently fighting my off nighttime depression, sleep, and the stress hallucinations, so you can catch these fuckin hands.

It would make more sense if Kohga was a refugee Sheikah that swore allegiance to the Yiga. Just sayin. Oh, plus it would be more interesting.

#age of calamity #zelda #zelda age of calamity #botw age of calamity #botw aoc #aoc zelda #loz aoc #sooga #master kohga #rant #breath of the wild #kohga #hyrule warriors #hyrule warriors age of calamity #i hate the dlc and what it did to my OLD ASS GAY MEN RAAAHHHHH

[unexpectedgeese]

Smirke’s taxonomy is good, actually. Fight me.

No ok but like I WILL go to bat for the Smirke Taxonomy of fears you guys have no fuckin clue what’s up. Neither did Smirke but like

OK SO. The Smirke taxonomy makes no fucking sense if you’re using it as a straight-on categorization of fears. Control and spiders? How are those the same thing? Why is FIRE its own damn category? Yadda yadda BUT THAT’S NOT THE POINT.

Because yeah, Smirke was trying to categorize fears– But what he actually did is categorize HOW THEY MANIFEST.

Like;;; human fear is infinitely varied and complex. You’re never going to be able to slot it into simple categories. We’re afraid of EVERYTHING– the unknown and the known and the concrete and the abstract and the truth and the untruth and spiders and heights and being forgotten and it’s like!! A nuanced outlook on how the fears manifest in avatars and the like is crucial for any actual study but it’s a NIGHTMARE for filing systems. Could you imagine running an archive and having to pinpoint the exact fear for every single statement? “Ooh, is this story where a man is killed by spiders driven by a fear of spiders themselves, oor more what spiders imply?” You’d never get anything done!

But What you CAN do. Is categorize the fears not by what they’re fears of, but by how they manifest in the real world. Because! The manifestations of the fears are driven by the way we as a society talk about our fear! And so grouping fear manifestations and avatars into categories based on how we talk about them is a GENIUS way to circumvent the complicated-ass fear identity question in favor of a more pragmatic, top-down approach to the varied dreads that stalk our everyday lives.

Like, when you’re addicted to something? You’re ‘caught in your own web’. When you don’t know what’s going on? You’re ‘being kept in the dark’. Having a mental health crisis, well, I think you might be ‘spiraling’, my friend! 

Are the everyday struggles of life getting you down? You’re ‘under a lot of pressure,’ seems like. ET CETERA ET CETERA! I could go on! But the POINT is– the language we use to talk about and understand out fear can be used to group said fear into categories based on how it manifests, and SMIRKE’S TAXONOMY IS PERFECT FOR THAT.

And not because that’s how it was intended– No, Robert Smirke is STILL a fucking hack, I’m not disputing that. His whole ‘balance’ schtick was stupid as hell. BUT ALSO! 

Because his taxonomy is so popular among avatars and such, the very EXISTENCE of ‘the entities’ as a concept has skewed the cultural zeitgeist in such a way that Smirke’s taxonomy is more correct now than it was when it was created.

Which!! Is so cool!! Like. Yes, the Smirke taxonomy is objectively a really shit way to classify fear. Most individual ‘entities’ have conflicting fears associated (being watched and watching yourself? C’mon, Eye. You can do better), and there’s some odd overlap too (there are SO MANY fears that incorporate ‘the unknown’ in some way). But when attempting to classify the  physical traits and such of a manifestation/avatar? Smirke’s got you covered, baby!

To summarize: While Smirke’s taxonomy sucks ASS when you try to apply it to the psychological specifics of any given avatar, or fear, or what have you, it’s great for classifying the physical. The cut-and-dry 14 entities give a really good intro to the world of fears, work great for any kind of filing system, and give a good big-picture view of avatar politics. 

#tma #the magnus archives #should i tag this as spoilers? I'm not sure so lmk if I should #but like. Smirke was a dumb old white man #but his work had some merit #Robert Smirke #I'm a little divided on whether or not the Smirke system works well when applied to inter-avatar power dynamics tho.. #like. In some cases the physical symbols justify the power dynamics really nicely #like w/ the Desolation and the Web-- you CAN burn spiderwebs. that checks out #but I think that avatars can be really varied (like with Elias vs. Jon-- two very different powersets/ways of feeding #Bc they serve different aspects of the Eye! Elias serves the mortifying ordeal of being known #whereas Jon serves like.. the fear of an impassive and almost malicious watcher #trying to pry you open just so it can watch you suffer) #and like.. In order to actually understand WHY the power dynamics break down like they do #you need to actually grasp the psychological root of the issue #Idk man. Just goes to show that both understandings of the fears are needed I guess

[finelinens]

need to ramble

i'm reading a lot of studies about social media activism and its effectiveness short-term and long-term and i still feel really conflicted about it. on one hand, social media activism (i.e. things going viral for outrage-based reasons) has absolutely helped lead to positive changes. for example, derek chauvin was eventually sent to jail for murdering george floyd. the video going viral online led to mass protests offline, all of which absolutely contributed to floyd's killer being jailed. so many massive social changes in the new social media era have had their start on social media itself, its ability to bring people together is undeniable. on the other hand, social media is manipulated and monitors our behaviors to influence us. also, remember in summer 2020 when people on instagram decided to post a black square in support of blm? remember how fuckin stupid that was? this article about moral posturing on social media is interesting, and it makes me think that a lot of my skepticism about the effectiveness of social media activism via appeals to morality may truly just be based in feelings of annoyance.

these simultaneous feelings of "why are you speaking like you're better/smarter than me?" and "why are you speaking like you know everything?" just result in me feeling disdainful. i do support "slacktivism" even when it's annoying, and even when i wish the framing were different, because it generally accomplishes its goal at least somewhat. the way a lot of people portray themselves when they're trying to send out a rallying cry to get people to join their cause is ultimately effective, but i'm just not sure how long-lasting that support is. i dunno. having a lot of thoughts and trying to make sense of them. i feel helpless because my palestinian friends are suffering and there is so little i can do for them, and seeing the way people on stan twitter (of all places) are speaking is making me frustrated and angry. so i fear i'm just doing my usual "i bet i can analyze my way out of this feeling" method tonight.

[sleepy-achilles]

Leon and Cassie styling their ring gear to look like Kane and Takers for Halloween. And Drew wanting to get in on the fun and styles his to look like Shawn and match with Leon who’s gonna be taker.

I'm 100% setting this in the au where the brotherhood of destruction includes Shawn.

And yes

I'm late. Shh

Dress up

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

Leon's jaw works as cassie tuts at him and fiddles with his outfit. "This is stupid. We aren't even in a promo or match together today." Leon mutters. "I know, which is why you are being big evil and I'm being debut Kane. Shit Leon keep up" cassie huffs as she ties the headbands around his head. Leon rolls his eyes. His normal black tank was swapped for a big evil vest, his usual black and red joggers were now all black with his father's logo and slogan stitched onto them. His motocross boots were swapped for some all black combat boots. His hair was slicked back with a headband for, support? Now that Leon's here dressed like his old man he never understood the need for the headband and slicking his hair. His skull facepaint swapped from white and black to red and black.

Leon pulls his leather jacket on and glances at himself in the mirror. "Tuck it!" Cassie tuts kicking his ankle. Leon glances down to see his legging peaking from where his joggers raised. He wasn't completely stupid, wrestling in joggers isn't the smartest idea. He always wears tights under his sweats. Leon lifts his leg and knocks his sweat pant down.

He then looks at his sister. Her long hair was pulled back and tied up using a burnt looking mask strap. Her eye make up matched the eyes of kanes mask, her outfit was pretty much kanes accept a two piece. The black and red, the sharp stripes. She pulled one glove on before looking into the mirror and smiling. "Look at us!" She giggles, admiring her now blue and white eyes. Leon shakes his head. "This is so stupid." "Its halloween! It's either this or we celebrate your birthday live" cassie smirks. "Fuck no" Leon huffs.

Drew stands stunned in the doorway. They had a tag match tonight and there was no way Leon was out doing him. He had to move and he had to move quick.

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

Leon leans forward against his bike. "Where the hell is he?" Leon frowns. "Hes-oh wow" hunter cuts himself off. "Some of my finest work this!" Shawn cheers. Leon sits up and looks back. His eyes widen and he's immediately filled with confliction.

Because fuck drew looks great.

But

He looks like his Papa.

"Shit" Leon chokes.

Drew smiles and holds his hands out, taking a spin. "Couldn't let you and cassie have all the fun!" He states. Leon doesn't say anything as he takes in the outfit.

Drews trunks have a broken heart on the crotch and HBK written across the back. He's wearing chaps...and the longer Leon stares the quicker it hits him. "Texas Shawn?" Everyone watches as Leon's face perks up. "You know it" drew smiles. It wasn't a well know fact, but Leon, just like John and cassie, had his favourite versions and outfits of his parents. For example, he loved his papas Texas outfit. He also loved Big evil, for more sadder reasons but that's another story.

His eyes shoot up to the black cowboy hat. "Man they do not deserve this" Leon huffs holding his hand out. As drew walks forward, that's when Leon sees it. The headband tightly wrapped around drews thigh. "Fuckin hell drew" Leon groans causing drew to laugh. "Cmon big boy, we got a show to steal" drew smirks resting his hands on Leon's shoulders.

Taker walks in as they ride out. "I swear I just saw cassie dressed as kane.." Taker hums as he hugs Shawn. "Oh your gonna love this" Shawn smiles pulling Taker to the screen. "Love what?" He huffs watching the motorbike zoom around the ring. "He drives that way too fast around that ring" he mutters. "Oh shush" Shawn frowns as they climb into the ring. "Is...Oh wow" Shawn watches a small smile grow on takers face as their son pulls his jacket off. As drew pulls the chaps off. Taker and shawn can't help but laugh as the boys do their pose.

"Ill give them credit, they pull it off" Taker chuckles. "Not as well as us" Shawn tuts, hitting takers chest. "Oh, of course not baby" Taker smiles, getting comfortable for the match about to start.

"You reckon rhea will dress as Bearer?"

"Oh god no, she'll probably just be me too"

#wwe #shawn michaels #the undertaker #wwf #hbtaker #undertaker x shawn michaels #shawn x undertaker #leon michaels #cassidy michaels #drew mcintyre

[boygiwrites]

Harley D. Dixon 6

An amazing edit inspired by this story! (Cred to Cora_Line99) Harley D. Dixon's Pinterest Board! Harley D. Dixon's Playlist!

📖Chapter List.

Author's Note. I'm back!

Sorry for the two-week wait, and thank you for your patience. I'm so lucky to have such wonderful readers :)

Please enjoy this chapter!

The CDC shuts down in ripples.

The ceiling lights are the first to shut off. The second-hand light from the sconces is next. The fixtures die one by one in a fluttering shockwave down the corridor, leaving the solid darkness to swallow us up as they go. Then the vents turn off, which give out one last breath of cold air before going still above our heads. After that, the electric humming in the walls power down; all those hidden wires, arteries of the CDC's pumping heart of a generator flat-lining all around us. I can't even see past my eyelashes, no more.

As a final goodbye, the neon exit sign cuts out. 

Then, that's it — Total darkness and total silence. Like being trapped inside a coffin underground. I'd never even noticed all the white noise that everything used to give off, but now that it's gone, I want it back. It feels so empty without it.

I become aware of the room again.

The fight has been put on hold. The snot in my nose and the tears in my eyes have been put on hold. It feels like all three of our heartbeats and even our breathing has been put on hold. The air bulges with angry, directionless energy.

I hold my breath for a long, long time, clutching the edge of the sofa like it's a teddy bear. 

The building has died.

How can a building die?

"What the Hell was that?" Shane's voice mutters from somewhere inside the darkness.

We hear distant machinery whirring down.

Shane calls the death of the CDC a what, instead of a who, because nobody in their right mind would kill the power here. This is the last place on Earth that should be without power. I think of mysterious scientific specimens going warm in fridges, and important computer codes being lost forever. I think of the oxygen supply down here going stagnant. No, people would die before they let this happen.

I get goosepimples down my arms.

Maybe someone already has.

"Harley." A tight whisper. "Where are you?"

W— Wait, was that Dad or Shane?

Boot-steps slowly approach me.

A big hand bumps into my shoulder and feels its way down my arm.

Who—? Who is that? It might be my Dad. He was closer, last time I could see him, but I don't know.

I don't know if this is the nice hand or the mean hand. It could be Shane's, who was reaching out to me, or it could be my Dad's, who was raising the belt. There aren't supposed to be nice hands and mean hands. That's stupid. Hands are hands. My Dad's hands rocked me to sleep when I was a baby, and they lifted me onto his shoulders when I was a toddler, and they soothe circles into my back whenever I have nightmares. They pinch my cheeks and brush my hair. Those are all nice touches. I should not be scared, and yet my body is telling me that if this is my Dad's hand, I should be.

I don't remember deciding that. It goes against everything I've ever been taught.

When the fingers reach my hand, I flinch away.

I realize I don't want my own Dad to touch me.

"Hey, it's me. It's just me."

Oh, it's— it's not my Dad.

It's Shane.

I shudder against the sofa like a petrified little bunny rabbit.

I keep my mouth sealed tight, refusing to answer.

Even now, I'm still thinking about the consequences to breaking my Dad's rules. Cops are lying bastards and they can't help us, is a phrase I've come to live by. I lived by it when I told Rick I wished he was dead, and I should live by it again, now. I should tell Shane to get away from me, because my Dad wouldn't want me talking to him. My Dad's word is law. He's the angel and the devil that have made their homes on my shoulders. He's my bible; my rulebook, the worm in my ear. He's never been wrong about anything. 

I'm so, so conflicted.

In one ear, I hear my Dad saying, Don't you fuckin' speak to her. In the other, I hear my heart, saying, Answer Shane. He'll help you.

Am I gonna get in trouble for this?

I stay quiet for so long that Shane decides to speak again.

"Are you hurt anywhere, Harley?" He murmurs.

There are rattling sounds in the background. I think my Dad's tryna open the panel for the back-up power, near the bookcase. I saw that there was one in almost every room. I hope he can't hear what Shane's saying.

"You need to tell me, sweetheart," Shane says, "So I can help you. Okay?"

Shane's still using his police-man voice, but it's not the one that he must use on criminals. It's not the one he used on my Dad. It's softer, gentler. It's the one he must use on people he's saving. He's letting me know that he's my friend; he's going to help me. Nobody has ever helped me with this, before. I didn't know I was supposed to need help. I thought getting beat was just a part of life.

Sometimes, cops don't have to be brave in the face of danger. They have to be brave in the face of crying children, and bloody teddy bears, and angry men wearing wedding rings. I know, 'cause the cops used to be out the front of our neighbour Tristan's house almost every night. Their emergency car lights would dash across my bedroom window in the middle of the night. They were the color of toxic frogs — red-blue, red-blue, red-blue — like the ones I'd see on the Discovery channel during the day, so bright that they warn all the other animals to stay away. When I peeked through the shades, I'd see Tristan's Dad on his porch, putting on a charming smile as they questioned him. Then the police would knock on our door and ask my Dad what he heard. He'd tell them things like, yelling, dishes being thrown at walls, crying. They'd scribble it down on a tiny notepad, and that's exactly where it stayed, every single time. Nobody ever came to save Tristan. I wonder if Shane has seen a house like that; if he knows the signs of broken people.

I wonder if he knows more about what I'm going through than I do.

But I'm not broken. I don't need saving. My Dad is nothin' like Tristan's Dad; nothin' like Sophia's. That's why the cops were never outside our house. That's why I'm smarter than the other kids, 'cause I know that even though my Dad hits me, it only makes me better.

Panicked, I silently shake my head, no.

By answering Shane, I'm bending my Dad's rules just a little bit, but maybe I can convince him that I don't need any help at all. He can just scribble my life onto a scrap of paper and throw it in the wind, and I won't ever have to feel this way again. I'm only answering to make him go away.

"What was that?" Shane whispers.

I feel him tilt his ear closer to my mouth.

Oh, right. He can't see me. It's too dark. I have to gain the courage to answer all over again. I take a deep, deep breath. It shakes in my throat.

"No." I whisper, glancing over to where the rattling is coming from; where my Dad is standing on the other side of the room. I make my voice steady; believable. "Not hurt."

"Anywhere?" Shane questions, making me worry he doesn't buy it. His voice is the stern police-voice again, like he's interrogating me; like my answer is very, very important and he's going to stash it away somewhere to use later. That makes me even more anxious. I don't want this to get brought up again, not ever, and especially not by Shane. I just want to forget about all this.

"No." I say again, hiding the pink, chafed skin on my wrist as if he can see it.

There's a pause. I wait.

Then he speaks again, but in the nice voice.

"Okay. Very good, Harley."

The rattling becomes a slam, and I jump.

"Nothin'. Whole place is dead." My Dad's voice comes. The panel squeaks on its hinges. Then, "Where is everybody?"

Oh. I realize that we should be hearing our people. Where are they? There should be doors opening and foot-steps pattering around. We should be hearing Carol comforting Sophia, and Rick reassuring everyone that we'll figure this out. We should be hearing Glenn asking questions, and Dale asking even more from the next room over. There should be confusion all up and down the corridor. There should be voices, everywhere.

I focus very hard on the silence.

There's nothing.

"I don't know." Shane admits.

"You don't know?" My Dad mocks him, angry. "You's the last one with 'em."

"Hey. All I know is that the water got shut off 'bout ten minutes ago. We were all washing up after dinner; sinks just went dry. I was headed back down here to check how much bottles of the stuff we got left when I ran into you." He lets out a big breath. "Think we all know how that went."

Found you beatin' the shit outta your own kid, the silence says all too loudly. It stretches for so long that I almost start to think that their voices were hallucinations the whole time, and that I'm actually alone. But no, there's a warm hand in mine, and beside me, there's breathing. Heavy breathing. Angry breathing. I can tell that they both still want to kill each other. Shane was designed to hate people like my Dad, and my Dad was designed to hate people like Shane right back. They don't even gotta know anythin' about each other, except that we come from two entirely different worlds that weren't meant to mix.

"Yeah, well ya found us. Congrats." Dad's voice comes shootin' back. "You know why the water got shut off in the first place?"

Right. The water.

"No, but I reckon it's got somethin' to do with the power dying." Shane forces himself to answer. "You got a flashlight in y'all's room?"

There's a tightly-wound pause, and then my Dad spits, "Yeah."

"Looks like we won't be stumblin' around in the dark for much longer, then." Shane sighs. "Find the flashlight and try re-group. That's the plan."

"Let's get on with it." Dad's voice snaps. "Harley, let's go. I'm over here. Come grab my hand."

I freeze.

I'm holding Shane's hand already, and he doesn't even know.

Do what Dad says. My Dad has lots of rules for me, but this is the simplest one I've ever had to follow. I've never needed to think about it, just like I've never needed to think about how to breathe, or blink, or digest food. My body just does it all on its own — Ain't no thinking involved. Even a moron could follow this rule, and my Daddy ain't raised no moron. But I'm still sitting here on the floor, like a big, stupid moron, 'cause following this rule ain't comin' so naturally this time. It ain't like blinking, no more. It's like swallowing a rock.

I hear Dad let out a breath at my silence, either impatient, or desperate, or both. "Harley," He grinds out. "Come here."

I don't want to run to my Dad, but if I stay with Shane, I'll just be getting myself into even more trouble. I can't decide which is worse.

I don't know what to do. 

"Dad, I'm scared."

I almost can't believe I just said that.

I'm scared of the war that's going on inside my head. I'm scared of how I'm clinging onto a police officer's hand, and I'm scared of how my body isn't doing what it knows best, which is to find comfort in my own Dad. I'm scared that nobody's taught me how to feel this way. I'm scared that I'm already in trouble again. I'm scared of what it means when I say I don't want my Dad to touch me. I'm scared.

I'm just so, so scared.

"Don't—" My Dad tries, but then I hear him take a steadying breath, like the words got cracked to pieces inside his throat and he needed to swallow them down. I wait. There's so much I want him to say. I want him to tell me that he knows what's happening to me; that he knows what's wrong with me, and he knows why I can't take a simple beating, and he knows how to fix me. He can fix car engines and broken furniture, so maybe he can fix me, too. I want him to tell me that even though he hurt me, he loves me. I want him to apologize and scold me all at the same time. My Dad finds the words again, and he whispers them to me. "Don't be scared, baby."

I try to regulate my breathing. He's taught me how to do that, before. Maybe I can at least get that right.

"Now come here." My Dad's voice armors itself again. "I'm not askin' you again."

I feel Shane's hand flex.

"Daryl, how 'bout you cover front?" He suggests, but not because he really wants that. "Me and Harley can take up the rea—"

"No need for that." Dad declines. "She's fine wit' me. She knows that. Harley, c'mere."

Yeah, I— I know that. My Dad is the toughest man in camp, and he knows how to keep me safe better than any cop. I know that.

Shane pipes up again. "I just thin—"

"Hang on a second." Dad dismisses. "Harley. Baby, come over here."

Shane answers for me. "She doesn't have to do that."

"I ain't talkin' to you. Harley. Last time. Come here."

I think this is a test, or— or maybe it's just more begging. He's trying to gauge just how scared I really am.

Even though Shane's crouched right beside me, ready to defend me from whatever comes my way, I forget all about him until it's just me and my Dad in the room. I think my Dad's forgotten all about Shane, too; forgotten that he wants to kill him. This is more important to him right now.

It's like the night in the RV again, where my Dad scolded me for picking at my bandage but gave me a kiss afterwards. It was his way of telling me, I disciplined you, but I still love you. I know I could just get up right now, walk over to him and grab his hand like he wants me to, and I'd be telling him, You disciplined me, but I still love you. It would show him that I'm not afraid of him. It would show him it's all forgiven. It would show him that even though I was hurt, I'll recover.

I could, but something is stopping me. I just can't do it. I can't make myself get up.

Choosing to stay with Shane is the lesser of two evils, I decide, so I cower against the sofa and stay right where I am.

For so long that I don't remember ever thinkin' otherwise, I've been taught that even a spanking is a nice touch. It might hurt in the moment, and I might even cry, but it teaches me to never do what I did wrong again. If a dog is smacked upside the head for rippin' up a shoe, it's never gonna touch that shoe again. If I'm smacked upside the head for doin' somethin' dangerous, I'll never do it again. Discipline keeps me safe, and smart, and ready. I wanna be all of those things. My Dad wants me to be those things, too, 'cause he loves me. I've been spanked so many times that I couldn't count even if I used all my fingers and all my toes, but I always picked myself up right afterwards. I'd even feel proud of myself for taking it.

But with each second that passes, I think my Dad is realizing right alongside me that something is actually wrong this time. Whether it was the belt, or the fact we were arguing about my Momma, I don't know. But something broke and it ain't fixing itself, not this time. I'm not getting up. I'm not running to him. I don't forgive him. I'm not okay, and I am scared. I'm even choosing a damn cop over him.

I think that with each second that passes, we lose something that we're never getting back.

"You really gonna make me say it again?" My Dad's voice pretends to be an angry voice, but it takes on a nervous wobble that I ain't never heard before.

He's always told me that being afraid is a sign of weakness, and that I ain't weak — I'm brave. I'm his brave girl.

I want to be brave. I want to, I swear, but I can't help being scared.

"Harley. Please get over here." 

I still do not get up.

After a while, he just can't stand trying to beg me no more; can't stand the thought of his own daughter being afraid of him. He's done asking. It's time to do what he does best, which is not giving me a choice in the matter.

"Harley! Come here!"

Even officer Shane flinches.

As if I've just been shot at, I jump to my feet. I scurry through the darkness toward my Dad's voice. Shane's fingers snag on the back of my shirt, and I almost knock into three different hidden pieces of furniture, but I make sure I get over there like my life depends on it. There's that strange blockage in my body again, screaming at me that I shouldn't be doin' this, just as it would scream at me if I was running into a burning house. I can't listen to it. I can't listen to my own body, or my heart, or even my own voice, and I don't know why I ever thought I could, 'cause my Dad's voice is the only one that matters. I bump into his hip, and he catches me; grabs my arm. I try not to gasp.

I can't see it exactly, but when he squats a little to get in my face, I can imagine his frowning brows and his flaring nostrils.

"You're fine wit' me." He says, laying each word down very slowly. "You know that, don't you?"

He's not asking, no more. I am not afraid. I just have to believe this.

"I know."

No, I don't. Not completely. There will never be a moment in my life again where I know that. If I ever break a rule or anger my Dad, I'll be glancing at his pants-line, anticipating the clink and the rustle and the whip. I'll only feel safe in half-measures, 'cause even if I have memories of my Dad singing me to sleep, and patiently teaching me to fish, and cutting the crusts off my bread, and joking with me on early morning bike-rides, my body has a memory of its own — Tonight. 

I've learnt another lesson. Be afraid of Dad.

"Alright." He hesitates to say, grabbing onto my hand. I wonder if he even believes his own words. It doesn't matter. We don't have enough time to figure this out, not right now. The CDC is dead, and our friends are missing. "Let's go. Shane, you can take up the damn rear on yer own."

I can hear more of that angry breathing behind us.

"Lead the way, buddy."

I am very glad to leave the games room.

Author's Note.

This chapter KICKED. MY. ASS.

I'm sorry there's only one scene. I just needed to post it so I could get it out of my mind, and be able to move on. For some reason I totally lost my writing groove on this one. I was feeling very frustrated with how it was turning out, and I had to write about six other drafts before I finally came across one that felt right, which is the one you just read. At long last, I made it out alive!! I hate writer's block.

Hope you enjoyed reading. As always, sending love! :)

#the walking dead #twd fanfiction #twd #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon daughter #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon #daddy issues #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #rick grimes #angst

[vegaseatsass]

Bad Buddy reactions thru ep10

This will cover episodes 6-10 so please try to understand how many feelings I'm trying to condense down into a single post before we finish tomorrow lol sob

Inkpa Pa is so valid for telling a tall girl that "taller than me" is her only dating requirement, and Ink is so valid for immediately taking that as an opportunity to flirt. And to make sure Pa knew she was flirting, unlike Pa who kinda pratfell into it. Lmao just a delightful scene all around. I also loved their earlier not-date, where they almost knocked the entire table over. Clumsy girl representation, baby!! There's just something so refreshingly familiar and true-to-life about both women. I can't wait to check out Magic of Zero for more of them. Like, Ink's face moles are so pretty, and she's so dashing, and she has liked the same girl since high school and fought to be her peer mentor to get to spend more time with her. Like. Can you imagine being Pa. Didn't even need that glow-up girl, take those contacts back out

Pat/Pran, public vs. private Something I was really enjoying before Wai outed Pat/Pran was the portrayal of their different feelings about a public relationship. Pat's straining desire to brag about his cute boyfriend (sidenote: the scene where Pran tried to feed him and Pat ran back to his room to giggle and kick his feet on the bed was the absolute most), in conflict with Pran's desire for privacy and discretion. I appreciated that they understood each other, and were sincerely trying to find a balance between what they both wanted without any resentment for their differing responses. So it obviously super sucks that they were forcibly outed instead! I can't read Wai as anything but stupid in love with Pran, and that at least explains why his behavior was so extremely extra that whole time (so extra that inspirational sports couldn't even bring him around. It took a fuckin shoot out! my dude), but it doesn't excuse it. Fuck you forever sir. That said. It is incredibly characteristically hilarious that the way they got exposed as boyfriends to the entire student body was.... Pat shoving Pran's head into his stinky armpits. Like that's truly their love language. Nothing else compares.

I have even more to say about public/private stuff so let's continue behind a cut lol. Ok so public proposals. Pat demanded Pran do a love confession in exchange for his help being in the play, and we all knew there was no chance in hell that Pran would do it. Pat knew there was no chance in hell that Pran would do it. Like, he claimed he demanded it because they had that whole "let's edge each other with romantic behavior until someone breaks" competition going and this was his chance to win big, he just loves seeing Pran's face when he loses to him... but he made it apparent the very next day is what he actually loves seeing is Pran's face when he's pestered to death by Pat, lol. Pat can lose to Pran, he does it often, but what he absolutely cannot do is leave him alone when there's an opportunity to tease or pester or bother or annoy. :') Anyway, I found all that very sweet, but! What I found even sweeter! Was Pran and his entire department setting Pat up for the actual public proposal of Pat's dreams! Because even if he was being a butthead when he demanded it of Pran, you know deep down he wished "yelling I love you in front of everyone" was something they could actually have. So I love that Pran gave him that platform, but on Pran's terms, when Pran was ready to be in the spotlight that way. It was like... a grand gesture where Pat was the one announcing his love, but the very act of Pran setting up the space for him to do it was a pretty huge gesture of its own. <3

Last thing I'll say on privacy and outings and whatnot goes back to what I was saying last time about Pat and Pran's rivalry as a metaphor for society, and homophobia. Coming out - or being outed 😟- to your school and friends is not the same thing as coming out, or being outed 😟, to your family or parents. Just v interesting how different the stakes were in this show for Pat and Pran's relationship getting exposed to those two different spheres. The textual focus of their being outed was not at all on their sexuality, but it really resonated that exact same way.

Entirely valid of Pran to want be a gender role-neutral couple instead of husband/wife, I support him fully, but! Every time the narrative tells me Pat can't be the wife or shouldn't be the wife I get a lil defensive. He is literally a baseball mom, hdu! Okay this is just me reiterating that Pat should get to wear a dress and simper to his heart's content.

Ah there were so many little moments I wanted to comment on; should probably just do a gifset deep dive tomorrow. One scene I wanna just quickly shout out was when Pat went to grab Pran's hand as they were heading out of their rooms for the first time, Pran freaked out and withdrew, then apologized and said "just give me time to adjust." And a moment later, he had adjusted <3 that's so real! That's sometimes all it takes! Respect my space, give me time, okay turns out the only time I needed was a second to recalibrate, I'm good now.

Secret family history Last but not least I'll talk reallll quick about the family drama reveal. HUGELY relieved that Ming and Dissaya's drama wasn't a messy breakup. FASCINATING that what went wrong between their families was actually a male friend benefiting from fucking over his female friend, never taking any real ownership of it because that would require losing face, and letting it fester into something he passed down to his son. Like maybe eps 11 and 12 will complicate this history, but it's intriguing to me right now that this isn't a case of grievances on both sides, but of Ming not only leaning into the friend divorce but actively pushing his son to uphold it, like he was helpless in the face of his own men's wrongs to do anything but pass them down to his kid. Especially intriguing because it kind of mirrors the Architecture vs. Engineering dynamic at the beginning of the series, when Engineering behaved like bullies, repeatedly, and Architecture just kind of defended themselves. Engineering - and originally, Pat's - justification for first starting all this shit (and continuing it way past when it made any sense to keep going)? They had to maintain their reputation! Even after the departments worked things out, the difference in their original grievances and aggression was never confronted, so it's been on my mind. Idk idk something something Ming passing down his toxic masculinity to Pat, where how you appear to others is more important than making up for wrongdoings or resolving conflict, and Pat ended up in the Toxic Masculinity Department until Pran started wooing him to spend more and more time in Architecture. NOT trying to force them back into the gender roles Pran rejected (Pran I promise baby), just trying to say something about what they inherited from their parents. Pran had his mother's grudge-holding anger and stubbornness passed down, but a lot of Pat and his department's worst behaviors really feel like a mirror image of his dad's big reveal. Am I making any sense. this post took like 3 hours to write lol I'm just gonna hit post

#bad buddy #dear diary #why am i such a sloooooooooooooow typer damn #forced outing

[charmanderxerneas]

(going to be tagging this as ruin spoilers but please dont comment any spoilers because we're not actually done with all the game. We've gotten 2/3 endings and are working towards the secret ending where you have to find hidden cameras while also replaying and seeking out the secrets we missed. This is seriously just insane ramblings aimed at no one i just need to get my thoughts out and suggest u scroll past.)

I seriously like. Am struggling to figure out the whole plot of ruin in an analytical story timeline sense. No i do not read or care about fan theories, i interpret the game and the lore by playing it and looking at all the clues myself thank you very much, so my interpretation of the lore is. different from most fans (you have to consider: very autistic, fnaf a Huge special interest for me. So when i analyze lore, i analyze as much as i can, every single secret. And i feel like a lot of people Miss main lore secret plot points. Im not trying to be a contraian, id love for the fans to have good theories. But like 70% of the time they dont. Or theyre dumb lil kids who blindly listens to mat pat)

my interpretation of sb is different from most fans and theories (mostly because I actually take help wanted and ar into account and can like. Use my brain to understand the differences between the vanessas (there are two. The murderer vanny, who we play as in help wanted, is referred to in ar, and is the one in the therapist tapes) and vanessa the nightguard, who's COMPLETELY unrelated and just an innocent nightguard who happens to have the same name and face as vanessa murderer (though it is also possible to me that like. Murderer vanessa chose to try to look more like nightguard vanessa in an attempt to shift the blame of her crimes, but we dont know this for sure.)and i dont think the therapist tapes are two different people because thats STUPID and it obviously is murderer vanessa (people just. Cannot possibly understand that a person being possessed by an entirely different entity might have changes in her prrsonality. Or that a person with anxiety might have something similar to selective mutism or at the VERY least: troubles speaking because of said murderer in her brain)

ANYWAYS THATS A HUGE ASS TANGENT. MY MAIN THOUGHTS AS OF PLAYING RUIN RN (Please dont spoil things for me im not completely done) is that mainly: i dont know who is speaking to us or who mimic is.

There may be two different people communicating with us with the vanni network (as evidenced by helpi changing eye colors and how like. Some of the motives seem conflicting?) Initially i was like "oh its glitchtrap or williams spirit or something." But that doesnt make any sense because glitchtrap gets Trapped and is worked against.

Even tho that was my first thought: i dont think mimic is burntrap, or william, or glitchtrap. But i dont know what it is, because there are no other obvious characters that it could be in mind (tho since its michaels old fnaf 6 restaurant theyre in, and we saw the blob down there, god knows it could be any number of old ass animatronics or spirits)

Another very fuckin obvious thought is: hey where the fuck is vanny. With the whole mask mechanic, the plot revolving around glitchtrap, ect, you THINK we'd see her st least once. And though she has a cameo in the bad ending which is clearly a vision/fantasy/trick, she doesnt actually appear. The INSTANT That we started this game i speculated: is she talking through helpi? The yellow eyes reminded me of an early sb teaser artwork where we see a close up of a vanessas face with striking, yellow eyes, and i was never sure the significance of that... But i dont think its related at all, as mimic seems to be the one speaking when helpi has yellow eyes. Is mimic related to vanny somehow? I wouldnt assume so.

Whats weird about vanny not being there is it makes it seem like shes not carrying out glitchtraps bidding, which is odd. Dont y'all come at me with that "Gregory helped her!" Crap, the burntrap ending is the canon ending so that never happened. It makes sense for her to be against him (shes never really been on her side, shes the RELUCTANT follower. She explicitly does not want to do any of the horrible shit, but shes beinf forved to) but i just. Gahh i cant figure it out

I WILL figure it out just you wait. I will figure out what my interpretation of the lore as so good as soon as I finish the game just you wait

#fnaf spoilers #ruin spoilers

[batarayama]

Being Selfish

I'm tired.

Tired for always understanding.

Tired for always be the one who comprehends hardships from people around me.

Tired for always comforting people.

Tired. Just tired.

Dari kecil, entah kenapa, gue selalu jadi pihak yg "harus" mengerti dengan situasi keluarga. Mungkin karena emang sebagai anak yg paling kecil, gue ga punya pilihan. Gue hanya diminta untuk mengerti situasi keluarga tanpa satupun dari mereka yang memahami apa efeknya ke gue. So, it left deep scars.

Sekalinya gue mencoba untuk memaksakan kehendak gue sendiri, justru berakhir dengan membuat situasi jadi makin ribet dan keruh. Akhirnya, ya udah, jika dengan gue lebih mengerti dan nurut, maka itu bisa membuat segala sesuatunya sedikit lebih baik ...so be it.

Dan itu terus berjalan hingga gue dewasa.

Saat gue mencoba untuk egois dalam sebuah hubungan, lagi-lagi berakhir dengan gue jadi orang yg jahat dalam hubungan itu. Entah dibilang terlalu demanding, terlalu bawel, terlalu galak, dan lain-lain. Ga ada lah orang yg mau disebut sebagai pihak yang jahat kan?

Tapi, kan lo punya pilihan itu,bat? Lo punya pilihan untuk menjadi orang jahat itu. Kalo itu bisa membuat hidup lo lebih happy dan terpenuhi, kenapa engga?

True. Tapi, buat apa kalo hanya memperkeruh situasi sementara gue punya kapabilitas untuk mempermudah suatu situasi atau masalah? Yes, I know exactly the risk. It is affecting me, overall. Paling mentok-mentoknya ya gue ngomel-ngomel. Tapi, ngomel-ngomel juga paling cuman beberapa saat. Dengan gue jadi pihak yg lebih "ngerti" then situasi atau masalah itu jadi lebih cepet beres, kenapa engga? YES, AT THE COST OF MY EMOTION, I KNOW.

Mungkin itu anugerah yang gue dapet. Anugerah kek, kemampuan super kek, terserah lo mau nyebutnya apa. Tapi, ya itu, gue mampu "swallow" my pride and my selfishness, as long as I can ease other people's pains and hardships.

Jangan salah, bukan berarti gue selalu nerima semua itu. Ada kalanya gue capek. Satu-satunya keegoisan yang bisa gue lakukan, saat gue ga mau ngadepin atau ngertiin situasi kondisi orang-orang sekitar, gue pergi. I won't give a fuckin damn about it anymore. I can easily cut people in my life if I don't find themselves worth saving, serve any purpose in my life, or simply doesn't want to grow as an individual. But, if they're in life and death situation with no one else to turn to, when they ask for my help, I'll come without question.

Ga. Itu bukan superhero syndrome. Gue cuman tau rasanya feeling helpless dan having no one there to help you.

Have you hate people?

Of course lah, I'm not an angel to begin with. Gue pernah berada dalam hubungan toxic, di mana gue selalu ter-invalidasi dan degraded. I believed I was nothing good. That he was my true love and somewhat my "saviour". Untungnya gue dapet my "golden ticket" to exit. And I despise him ever since. Bukan despised yang ga move-on ya. God, NO! Gue despised dalam konteks bagaimana dia berhasil membuat gue merasa that I'm worthless and stupid. While, I'm certain, it's the other way around.

Tapi, lagi-lagi, dalam situasi itu, I have not got the courage to exit the relationship in the first place. I don't want to cause a stir or any conflict. It was my stupidity.

How I wish, for someone who would be able to step into my shoes and be considerate about my feelings. Comfort me. Reassures me that everything would be alright. That I'm not alone. I am craving for that feeling of secured, protected, and reassured. Feelings that I would give the world to someone who wins my heart. Pretty sappy, aren't I? Hehehe...

Trust me, despite the stingy and cruel facade that I have, I'm actually a sappy and melancholy person.

Have you try commit suicide?

Yeap..I did. I broke down.

Until now, sometimes I'm afraid that I might be broken down again like I used to. But, growing old, have its own advantages. We're able to see various perspectives. We're able to listen other people's story of their life and put a context on it about how can we a better person with a better life.

The last paragraph was a bit out of context of what I'm trying to write about being selfish though. 😝

Yeah, how I wish can be a bit selfish and demanding about something. But, I guess, I won't. It's imprinted already within me. As stupid as it may sounds, yes I know, but if one sacrifice meant to save others ...I don't see why not?

[firelord-frowny]

yall i my worldview just had a fuckin tectonic shift omgggggggggggg

im dicking around on youtube just watching random shit that catches my eye and i start watching an old interview of Shohreh Aghdashloo, an iranian actress who i LOVE omg her voice sounds so otherworldly and he's infuriatingly beautiful, and years ago, one of her biggest roles was in the show 24 where she played a terrorist.

so, the interviewer is asking her about her thoughts/feelings/perspective on the islamophobia and general racism against middle eastern people that's rampant in america, and what she thinks the impact of her character in 24 might be on the audience, blah blah,

and she starts her answer by basically saying that it's no wonder there's so much tension, because americans don't know aaaanything about middle eastern culture, values, history, struggles, triumphs, blah blah,

wait actually lemme just transcribe her actual words lmao

Both parties, west [and] east, we need to get ourselves educated. We need-... I don't blame people in the United States, [because] it is a young country, and you're far away from the middle east."

and im just like??????????????????????

omfg this IS a young country! or at least, the stolen, brutalized, and colonized version of it is young. america is a brand spanking new newborn baby compared to ~old world~ countries. people in those other parts of the world have had literally thousands of years to develop their culture, their values, their art, thousands of years to experience conflict and conflict resolution, thousands of years to evolve. they have thousands of years of history to look back on and learn from and feel connected to. many people there are living in the same place that their ancestors lived. their roots are soooooooooo deep.

meanwhile, literally everyone in ~the united states~ who isn't indigenous has only been here for MAYBE 2 and a half centuries at best. like, that's only 3ish grandparents ago! looking at it that way, it's no wonderrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr americans are so fucking stupid! it's a toddler! a whiny little spoiled bratty toddler! i mean think about it!! what are toddlers like??? -hate sharing

-has a piss poor understanding of cause and effect

-virtually nonexistent attention span

-throws destructive tantrums when it doesnt get its way

-i am feel uncomfortable when we are not about me? -wimpy -not only hates to share, but will also snatch toys from other toddlers and then cry if the other toddler tries to take the toy back

-makes a big mess everywhere they go and then just leaves it for someone else to clean up

-sticks its fingers in its ears and goes "lalalalalalalala" whenever a responsible adult tries to discipline them

-refuses to take responsibility for anything at all ever

america is a fucking baby!!!

which, i mean, obviouslyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy ~old countries~ aren't inherently more morally decent than younger countries in terms of cultural values,

but i think it does make sense that a country that has only existed in its present form with its present demographic for a couple centuries would have such a fucking nightmarish time trying to figure out how to operate itself.