#what else... this is just becoming a disconnected thoughts dump

[2hoothoots]

i was having a chuckle to myself last night about Gristol, and how his plans are basically:

Restore Ford Cruller's memory

Find Maligula

???

Profit

but then... of course they are, right? this is Gristol we're talking about. Fatherland Follies drives home again and again that he's still operating on a child's logic, a warped and reductive version of the world that he never bothered to grow out of. both of his memory vaults center on the images of his childhood, this idealized version of the past that he clings to no matter what. and that's still how he remembers Maligula, too - as this saviour figure, who rushes in to help him when he's in trouble.

[ID: Two slides from Gristol's memory vault, Glory to Grulovia! Left: Gristol clings to Maligula's back as she summons waves to sweep away his assailants. Right: Gristol and Maligula waving from a balcony as the people cheer. Gzar Theodore brandishes a dagger in the background.]

like so much else, Maligula represents a return to this idyllic childhood - to the peace and simplicity of his youth, when he was free from worries and responsibilities. in his mind, he doesn't need to make any further plans - once Maligula's back, everything will go back to normal. Maligula will make everything better.

...is what i thought, but then i remembered this line:

[Screenshot source. ID: Gristol, in Truman's body, bows on his hands and knees in front of the newly-awaked Maligula. The caption reads: "Yes, High Priestess! I am here to correct the mistakes made by my father!"]

and that's kind of interesting, right?

to be clear: this happens directly after Maligula sees Helmut-in-Gristol's-body, and recognises him. her line before this is:

"Little Gzesaravich! Have you come to pay for your father's sins?"

my first thought was that Gristol hadn't expected to still be in Truman's body by the time he managed to find Maligula, and this was him trying to placate her and buy some time until he could explain the situation. but watching the cutscene back, that's clearly not what's happening here. Gristol is answering as himself, and his response of throwing himself to his knees before her is, as far as i can tell, genuine.

so what is going on here?

in Fatherland Follies, there's this line in the ride narration that stuck out to me:

"Why didn't the Gzar help Maligula in her time of need? No one knows, but historians agree - it is Gzar Theodore's biggest failure."

other lines mention Gzar Theodore's "mistake", and it's wording Gristol himself echoes in the screencap above. evidently, he believes that his father abandoned Maligula, leaving her to her fate at the hands of the Psychonauts, and it was that mistake that lead to them being driven out of the country - that mistake which he seeks to correct. maybe he even feels like he has a debt to repay to her for his family turning their backs on her all those years ago.

the 'High Priestess' thing, though - that's kinda weird, and threw me for a loop the first time i played the game. it took me until my second playthrough to connect the dots, and remember how the room in the Lady Luctopus - Gristol's room - was full of Delugionist scribblings and symbols.

[Screenshot source. ID: left, the walls of the hidden backroom in Gristol's hotel suite, covered in scrawlings of eyeballs and Maligula's name. Right, the pinboard from the hidden backroom. On its surface are photographs and newspaper clippings connected by pieces of string.]

i mean, look at this stuff! he had a whole conspiracy board and everything!

we learn very little about the Delugionists and their beliefs as a whole during the game, but i think drawing the connection here suggests two important things. one: that Gristol was in deep with this stuff. i don't know how he linked up with them - maybe via old family connections, or just good old-fashioned digging (we know he's skilled at worming his way into peoples' good graces, after all) - but it seems likely that he's begun to internalise their ideas, maybe even warping his own memories of events. and two: the Delugionists themselves are, if you'll pardon the pun, pretty far off the deep end.

like... i understand why PN2 didn't go heavy on the "mass-murderer cult worship" aspect of things, in the end, but man this is such a tantalising glimpse into the wider mythos around Maligula. Gristol is proud and haughty and thinks himself above everyone else; the fact that his first reaction seeing Maligula is to throw himself to the ground at her feet says so much about the way he's come to see her. he's not just trying to bring back Maligula, his childhood bodyguard. he's trying to bring back Maligula, the High Priestess of the deluge, the semi-mythical figure whose supporters believe even death couldn't stop. he doesn't even flinch at the way she confronts him, and maybe it's because he's bought in so completely to this deified figurehead, this idea of Maligula; more a living force of nature than a person. and it all comes back to the same place: an abdication of responsibility, not just to the person who protected him when he was little but to this avatar of floods and destruction. Maligula will make everything better.

i'd write more about my thoughts on the Delugionists but that'd be taking a hard turn into speculation, and this is already kind of long and rambling so i'd better end it here. but what an unexpected and evocative line, right? it's some of the only stuff we have to go off of regarding the Delugionists as a whole, but i think it does such a good job of hinting at the wider story - at teasing another layer to the mythos surrounding Maligula, one whose ripples we see throughout the game but which never quite breaches the surface.

#psychonauts #psychonauts 2 #bored waiting at the airport so you get more psychonauts meta from me #the delugionists have been on my mind recently (because i Might Just have an upcoming au lorepost about them and also cults are fun) #so tossing my thoughts up here because people seemed to like the last few times i did this #and also it's my blog and i like to talk :) #related vent i HATE drafting posts in the tumblr editor because if you hit crtl+z to try and undo a formatting change #it deletes like half the post you just typed out #(yes i did it again while i was writing this. yes i'm still salty. why do i even bother) #what else... this is just becoming a disconnected thoughts dump #but if you've seen my posts you knew what you were signing up for when you hit the button to expand the post tags #there's new art coming hopefully this weekend if i can get it finished! it's more mermaid au designs #i'm two and a half weeks late for mermay but it turns out starting a new job and moving house doesn't leave you with a ton of free time #but that's okay it's never too late for mermaids #omg and artfight's coming up next month too! geez #i gotta make refsheets for the fsau trio because i would LOVE to get art of them #and this year i don't have a thesis to crunch on so i might actually have time to participate #oh and then in august i'm having top surgery! will make a proper announcement post for it at some point #i say 'announcement'. it's just a life update but it's nice to share #i'm super excited about it :) #i might end up blogging the process and recovery but obviously it won't be going here lol. i'd put it on my main #idk if anyone would find it useful but when i first started looking into surgery i had like very little idea about the whole process #and it's only through joining a bunch of online support/discussion groups that i managed to find more info and resources #so hey it might be useful to share? we'll see #our flight doesn't land for another fifty minutes so now i'm just writing in the tags because i'm bored #alright i'll proofread this and then post it when i land and have signal again. peace out yall hope your pride month is going well

[artheresy]

Okay listen, I think Blade needs to be taken away from me. I haven’t had as much sleep this week and the sheer evolution in my obsession with him has become concerning

He is haunting my every waking thought, pls send help

All I can think about is stuff like how much more it hurts me, like intense psychic damage, when people say “Blade is Yingxing!” than when people arguing the same with Dh and Df because of how strongly the disconnect is emphasized. How Blade gave himself his name, after his rebirth as Jingliu said. How his character stories say Yingxing died his first and only death and how they immediately follow that up with Blade’s inability to connect with Yingxing’s past goals and passions. How, while he does take on the responsibility of his sins as his own due to… that’s how karma works ofc, there are still places where he is referred to as separately from Yingxing whether by the text or even by himself. How that disconnect with Yingxing is likely not only in part due to the “true death” and the mara affecting him and his mental state, but also the self dehumanization instilled into him by Jingliu during their lessons. And so, so many other things…

Or thinking about how, his whole outlook regarding their sin is literally directly from Jingliu and what she taught him while y’know, immensely traumatizing him through hundreds of deaths. Hundreds of deaths where it likely wasn’t an instant death given the thousands of times he was stabbed and the course of his entire first character story. Like, when you stop to think about just how much of how we see him currently is directly the result of Jingliu (and ofc, overall this all happened bc of the sin they committed which influenced her actions and his very existence, like jesus christ why is his lore so depressing), how you can see reflections in the way he treats/addresses Dan Heng and their shared sin to the way Jingliu does. Literally the fact that “Of five people, three must pay a price.” is Jingliu’s mantra and even after hundreds of years, he still follows it. UGH Sorry this is all word dump I know this is probably not coherent, I really need to sleep but trust I could keep ranting about this topic and how meaningful the disconnect between YX and Blade is and how painful it is to even see ppl insist Bld is Yx sometimes like-

Or, y’know, thinking about what would have happened to him if Jingliu never found him. Who could have found him next? Where would he have ended up? Where did he wake up in the first place? Would he have gone on living a new life, without any knowledge of who he had once been given he woke up without even knowing his own name? Would he adopt a new name at some point, either given to him by someone he eventually met or chosen himself after hearing others’ tales and histories? Would the Stellaron Hunters still have come for him given his connection to one of the Nameless? I mean, Kafka said it was his immortality and swordsmanship… if he never learned to wield a sword with Jingliu, would someone else have been destined to be a Stellaron Hunter in his place? Would any happiness be possible for him at all in a life like that? Since eventually he might see the people around him die and fade while he remains eternally youthful, if he ended up finding short life species at least. And eventually his memories would still catch up to him, whether the past mixing with the present or just his current memories since that seems to be how short life species are able to be mara struck. All via memories. Just how much would his destiny have changed? (Ngl, might make this into an au idea since I have brainrot, but I’m not sure if I need the added pain)

And y’know for good measure, why don’t I just keep thinking about how his primary reason for wanting to finally die and rest is, I mean a big mix of factors, but especially because of the sheer pain he lives in every single day. That pain that only goes away for a brief moment when he is killed, before he is drenched in it again. Perhaps not even just solely the horrible physical pains he has, but the pain and mental anguish of even being mara struck at all. It’s sad to think about, especially since it seems the only ending, at least that’s somewhat happy, for him is one where he can finally die and stay dead like ouch. OW! Thanks Hoyoverse for fucking up my brain chemistry with your emotional punching bag.

#that last thing hits hard #as someone who doesnt go a day without some kind of pain on my body no matter what i do #stansing up for too long? horrific pain. sitting down for too long? horrific pain. carrying things #moving your hands #moving your neck? all horrific pain #blade making me reflect on my own lifeand my own relationship with my chronic pain #its not good fellas free me from this #anyways #UGH #i love him so much #hsr #honkai star rail #hsr blade #alright im gonna sleep

[ecoamerica]

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#ACLA24 #ACLA24Leaders #youtube #youtube video #climate leaders #climate solutions #climate action #climate and environment #climate #climate change #climate and health #climate blog #climate justice #climate news #weather and climate #environmental news #environment #environmental awareness #environment and health #environmental #environmental issues #environmental justice #environment protection #environmental health #Youtube

[lets-try-some-writing]

You got any hurt/comfort Headcanons for the bots or cons? I'm kinda down in the dumps right now.

I am so sorry it took me so long to get to this! I will try to make it up to you with my writing! I hope this makes you feel somewhat better! (also sorry that this is all about Optimus, he was just on my mind when I thought about angst and comfort... also semi sentient Matrix has been living in my head rent free for a while soooo)

Shifts and Changes

The Matrix is a mysterious relic, one which very little is known about save what the previous Primes have revealed. It was always strange to Orion that each and every one of the Primes to take up the mantle seemed to fall into madness after a time. Orion also never understood this or why the Primes kept knowledge of the Matrix and its secrets to themselves. But after coming to bear the Matrix himself, Optimus understood. Sometimes he wished he didn't.

The Matrix is more than a container for ancient knowledge, it is an artifact infused with part of the sparks and wills of all who have wielded it. Because of this, it is in a sense... alive. It has a will, an animalistic desire to see Cybertron and its people protected, by any means necessary. As such it has no issues changing its chosen champion to better suit its needs. It doesn't just remake their frame, it latches onto their spark and slowly but surely begins to connect to it, gaining a greater influence over the Prime with time. It molds their mind, giving it's Prime the same drive and desire, and it whispers to them, changing their very code, making the Prime become something... other.

Optimus is no exception to this.

In the beginning, the effects were minimal, in fact, he felt better than ever. His frame was powerful, his spark was enlightened, and he had all the knowledge and wisdom of his ancestors to guide him. However as time passed and the Matrix's bond with him grew stronger, he started to change. At first, it was small things, like feeling disconnected from the world around him in a way he couldn't explain and feeling the urge to nurture and protect the few remaining sparklings. It was off-putting but not detrimental, so Optimus chalked it up to the stress of the war and overactive parental protocols.

After a few vorns, he found himself seeing the world differently, from a more apathetic point of view. Things that seemed so important, so urgent, felt less relevant, instead, his thoughts started to drift away from his personal connections and toward the health of Cybertron and its people as a whole. He began to pull away from others, cutting himself off in a way that was not noticeable to his friends and companions. He still comforted, listened, and connected to others, at least on the surface. But he found himself looking at it as a duty, a function, and an instinctual part of his being, not his own desire.

His acquisition of Bumblebee both improved his mental state and simultaneously increased the Matrix's hold over him. For a time he stopped drifting away from others and his slowly growing apathy screeched to a halt. He devoted himself entirely to teaching and nurturing Bumblebee, almost to an obsessive degree. However once Bumblebee grew to be somewhat independent, the agreement between Optimus and the Matrix ended, the latter of which quickly renewed its efforts to change Optimus to better suit its purposes.

By the time Optimus arrived on earth he was practically a dead mech walking. His only desire, his only purpose is to fight and die for his people, nothing else matters. Any cost is acceptable if it means possibly defeating the enemy and protecting his people. In his mind he is only one part of a greater whole, a singular piece in a grand eternal plan. He is one part of the Matrix, an incarnation of Primus's will and one voice in the grand chorus. His own belief is that he as an individual does not matter, he is but a vessel and the Matrix's latest attempt to make things right. He could care less about his own wellbeing, only his people matter.

The team can see this, and while they don't understand his self sacrificial tendencies or why he refers to himself as 'we' on occasion and talks as though he were present in some ancient era, they still try to help him.

Ratchet tries his best to draw out bits of Orion, mainly by discussing old times in an attempt to pull Optimus out of his own head. It works sometimes and for a little while Optimus is just Optimus, not the Prime and not the newest attempt to fix Cybertron by the Matrix. Ratchet knows it is the Matrix screwing with his oldest friend and he hates the fragging thing even if he knows it has goodish intentions. He does everything in his power to give Optimus what little reprieve he can get from his primely duties. He tries, he really does, but he can't do it all alone.

Bulkhead, Arcee, and Wheeljack are not anywhere near as close to Optimus as Ratchet, but boy do they try and help their Prime anyway. Random acts of affection, pulling him into games with them, or simply doing their best to engage in conversation are their best attempts. Movie nights are also a good way for them to get Optimus out of his own head as the Prime tends to get distracted by a good story.

Ultra Magnus also does what he can by emulating Optimus's own methods for dealing with others. He will sit with his commander and talk, not about anything serious, but trivial things. It forces Optimus to think outside of his duties, at least partially, and engage with others. This in turn leads him to be more expressive, to separate himself from the conjoined mind that is the Matrix in order to respond appropriately.

Smokescreen doesn't even know he is doing it, but by being his fanboy self he forces Optimus to act like more of a living being. He reminds Optimus of Bumblebee when he was young and brings up emotions that are usually well hidden. The Prime becomes concerned for and affectionate towards the rambunctious elite guardsman rather quickly after his arrival. Optimus got attached and now he is physically incapable of being stoic and mystical when Smokescreen is trying to do something stupid.

Bumblebee does what Bumblebee does and gives his caretaker love. This in turn wakes Optimus from his state of resigned duty and gives him a chance to be himself. Sometimes Bumblebee will act younger than he is on purpose when he can sense Optimus has fallen deep into his trance. On those days Optimus can't help but want to be expressive and interested. He wants to watch his sparkling grow and change, and the Matrix is equally interested in the events. And so for a brief time every now and then Optimus is completely unburdened and allowed to simply be himself when Bumblebee gets involved.

The human children also help Optimus return to awareness and often don't even realize it. They are just so unpredictable and alien to both Optimus and the Matrix that both can't help but focus on the children. Optimus wants to express himself and the Matrix wants new information to feed to its future wielders, and so the Prime is capable of being emotional, compassionate, and inquisitive around the kids. The Matrix even purposefully pushes forward more of Orion's traits when around the children so that it can gain more data.

And lastly, weather Megatron knows it or not, he keeps Optimus from fully succumbing to the Matrix. His taunts, his behavior, and his constant callback's to his and Optimus's shared past make the Prime feel. He forces Optimus to feel. Not even the Matrix can stop Optimus from feeling rage, sorrow, and regret in overwhelming quantities when battling Megatron. It is the most awakening activity for the Prime and usually leaves him expressive and open for weeks afterwards before falling back into the Matrix's grip yet again.

-

(So not really hurt comfort but this is what I have right now... sorry if you don't like it)

#maccadam #transformers prime #transformers #tfp optimus #the matrix of leadership #its kind of sort of alive #I really do headcannon that the thing is semi sentient #how can it not be after spending so long picking up pieces of its primes? #team prime #megatron

[syntia13treeman]

Case files 09.01

what I think happened in:

Case 09.01, the case of "Dice of Fate" or "Mr. Die and a very bad, horrible, no good roll."

Well well well. If it isn't an honest, good old fashioned statement. Fancy seeing it here. Not much left to puzzle out, we have it all laid out very nicely. The Dice make a comeback. When we've seen them last in nineteenth century, they were sitting pretty in the sack of the Gentleman (the mystery man in the woods, quite preoccupied with luck).

By nineteen-nineties they somehow came to be in possession of a young man named Gary. (Double meaning intended). As is their nature, the dice brought Gary luck when rolled. Good luck with high rolls, bad luck with low rolls.

Gary eventually decided that bouts of good luck were not worth the inevitable dive into misfortunes, which varied from leaky pipes to broken legs. Finding himself incapable of simply NOT rolling, he fell back on time-honoured tradition of making his problem somebody else's problem.

Somebody else, we'll call him SG (short for Statement Giver), has recently been dumped by his boyfriend Carl (CaaAAAaaarl! That hurts people!) and really needed something to cheer him up. So when an old high-school friend called to invite him over for a game night, he made his way to Gary's place in West Didsbury, where he got tricked into taking over as the Dice Bearer. The dice changed hands and SG felt it as the ownership transferred to him.

SG was much smarter about rolling that Gary had been. Just like a certain violinist before him, he figured out that he needn't be the one to pay the price for the fortune his cursed object brought him. And he figured out the system (or so he thought. He should have remembered that the House always wins, in the end). He started passing the bad-luck-rolls to random strangers on the street.

After a time, he started to also let strangers roll high. And then… well, for someone who had the gall to talk shit about D&D, SG turned out to be SUCH a nerd himself. He assembled a whole-ass Grim Dicer costume, grew a goatee, he was even doing the voice! Go you, Mr. Totally-not-a-theatre-kid! Rock that Dice King persona!

He was well on his way to becoming a full blown urban cryptid, when alas, he went too far. By chance (chance?) he run into Gary and made him (made him?) roll one last time. It was the lowest roll yet. Snake eyes. 1+1. You couldn't go lower if you tried.

It seems that the Dice did not appreciate being disposed of, and they disposed of the previous Bearer in return, with extreme prejudice, via runaway truck to the face.

After that, SG lost his nerve and tried to get rid of the Dice which… Buddy. You've just seen how that ends. What did you think would happen?

SG thought he was being smart. He gave the Dice to Magnus Institute, who, as paranormal research facility (or whatever they were known as), were bound to accept them and presumably able to handle them safely.

Too bad he believed that rolling was a matter of choice*. Too bad the Dice were still within reach when the urge hit. Too bad he died right there, at the statement giving table. RIP, statement giver (????-14.10.1998). You could have been great.

So that's that. What more to say? Let's see.

I feel quite confident in saying that SG was actively becoming a supernatural creature. That feeling of increasing disconnect from the world was not just in his head. And the rolls that he took for himself, that kept getting more and more abstract, until he couldn't tell what changed, just that something did? It was you, SG. You were changing. Such a damn shame your rise to power was cut short by your own folly.

I'm equally confident that he was unwittingly creating a brand new urban legend. I bet that at the time there were people in Manchester who'd talk in hushed whisper (or at high volume in a crowded bar) about the Grim Gambler, the Dice Devil, the Lord Luck, the Horrid Hatman. (Coincidentally, for no reason whatsoever I need somebody to draw SG in full Mr. Die costume with Alex J. Newall's face). Some would warn against touching his dice, others would swear up and down that he'd bring luck and prosperity. (Imagine the discourse at cryptid message boards!). I wonder if the legend still lives, even if SG doesn't.

*About rolling the dice, even knowing the odds… It sure as hell wasn't free choice, no sir. What was it then, compulsion, or addiction? Was that need to see the dice clutter over one's future coming from without, or within? Both options are equally appealing to me, to be honest.

The statement and the Dice were given to MI in October 1998. This means two things: a) Arguably, events surrounding death of SG could have been one of the 'weird stuff' that Sam saw with no context as a child, and: b) The Institute burned down little over a year later. Do you think somebody was rolling the Dice bit too much?

'Recommend referral to Catalytics for Enrichment Applicability Assessment'. To me it sounds like: "hey, Catalytics, check if we can use this thing for enrichment." And I'm having a bad thought. They were studying kids, Sam among them, for some purpose, almost certainly related to supernatural stuff. Did they give the kids cursed artefacts to play with, to boost development of their otherworldly skills/trait/whatever? Because if so, so help me… 🔪🔪🔪🔥🔥🔥

Lastly, for completion's sake: viability as subject (none), agent (low), catalyst (medium). I've no idea nor theories what these are about, I'm just leaving them here for future reference.

#the magnus protocol #tmagp #tmagp case files #tmagp case 09.01 #tmagp 09 #ep. written by Jonathan Sims & Alexander J. Newall #ep. written by J.S.+A.J.N #Dice! #Dice of Fate #Mr. Die #Grim Dicer #Dice Bearer #Dice King #Hatman #Grim Gambler #Dice Devil #Lord Luck #Horrid Hatman #Lucky-go-Happy #Shout out to @char-lie-spirals for coming up with “Mr. Die” nickname for the statement giver.

[staticl0ve]

The Pig and the Fox - Ch.2 (Connor/AFAB!Reader)

The gif isn’t gender neutral, but I dig the vibes.

Pairings: Connor/AFAB!Reader (no pronouns used) Rating: Mature/Explicit/NSFW 18+ Link (AO3): Read it Here Chapters: [ Ch. 1 ] [Chap 2] [ Ch. 3 ] [ Ch. 4 ] [ Ch. 5 ] / 6 Words: 2.8k Warnings: implied drug use (supporting character), so much swearing, reader does wear feminine attire Summary: When a thief meets a cop, they’re on the opposite sides of the law, two flips of a coin. However, there’s more to life than things being black and white. In a post android revolution, not much has changed for the common citizen. The rich get richer and the poor, well, they work. They adapt. They sacrifice. You straddled that fine line, one toe in the light and one in the dark. So does Connor, but you don’t quite see that yet. Notes: It’s been fun making this Cinnabun spicier than he should be.

Chapter Two - Duality

This was not ideal, coming home with a glitchy arm, sleeping it off and waking up to find it miraculously fixed. Although, “fixed” was putting it lightly. The sparkly tingle that crept up your fingertips faded but the cybernetics were still making a light-show on your arm. It took all of the weekend perusing debug logs, only to learn nothing new. Then a whole week before you managed to toss your laptop off the side of your bed.

Even stranger were the settings of your dreams. You saw places you had never been to before: an old yellow home with chipped paint, rain pouring down windows and a doorbell, rung twice. One night, you were seated on a boat, watching rose petals drift in the wind when a man’s voice called to you from a bridge. He demanded to know who you were and what business you had roaming around his garden. 

You didn’t have a chance to turn around before waking up and trying to cling to what you could before the details were lost, consumed by a fleeting thought like, “it’s morning already?” None of it made sense. At least the glowing managed to disappear by the end of the week. Back in its rightful home, your laptop rested on your desk, mocking you with a black terminal filled by blocks of red text.

“Yeah, I get it. There’s a bug, thanks,” you complained.

Besides staring at a computer all day, your phone was buzzing nonstop. A majority of the alerts were from a group chat between friends. Tonight was Markus’ big reveal for his year long collection of work and people were hyped to see what the former deviant leader had to share.

Your cab was set to arrive soon, so you set aside debugging for now. Before you headed out, you brought up your contacts list, scrolling through names until the alphabets landed in the middle. You weren’t sure what possessed you to call Leo, but his sickly face kept popping back up whenever you had a quiet moment to yourself.

He wasn’t a bad guy, just a typical spoiled brat unable to process his emotions in a healthy way. On his good days he could crack a few good jokes…and when the laughter died down, he’d give you pause with an introspective question. People were multifaceted, existing on a spectrum. Leo didn’t have many close friends, at least ones that haven’t dumped him for the kind of man he had become. No one had the time or the patience left to check in on him. With the economy as it was, it was a surprise anyone had time for anything really.

It helped, being Fox, feeling like someone else. The disconnect meant you didn’t have to drag the weight of your nightly activities into the light of day. Cybernetics was a fast growing field with lots of cash flow. But it didn’t hold a candle to those who flew in private jets on a daily basis. You were comfortable enough to have recreational time to dedicate to a second life. Leo wasn’t your problem when he couldn’t be found and you didn’t bother him. You knew he’d spring back up when the money dried out. He was persistent, a parasite to his friends and family but you tolerated him, saw the gray area in an ocean of black.

Were you aware of the irony that you were less than kind to anyone in a police uniform? Obviously. And there were hundreds, if not thousands of books on American history documenting all the reasons why you felt the way you felt. In fewer words: it was complicated.

But back to Leo: a week was a long time between his usual annoying form of communication of animated images and funny captions. You should have gotten a dumb text with a joke you wouldn’t understand.

“Huh.” You clicked your tongue, worrying the flesh of your cheek between your teeth.

Voicemail.

—

The gallery was packed from room to room, filled with a variety of characters dressed to impress. The location was a quiet one, away from the neon lights of downtown. A few streetlights lit the empty roads and the small gallery was flanked by smaller boutiques and cafes which were closed for the night. It stood out as a bright square with floor to ceiling windows, showcasing all the contents within.

This wasn’t your average grandparents’ art show. Markus brought new energy to a scene that his father had dominated. At the entrance was a large white wall and boxes of paint markers with an instruction mounted on a plaque: express yourself. There were rooms lined with paintings and in each one, a blank canvas was in the center, accompanied with different prompts. It seemed the goal tonight was to encourage cooperation and creativity. People milled around, scribbling innocent visuals or laughing as someone added eggplants to one corner of the wall.

Beverages were served for all guests, ranging from fancy sodas and alcohol to holographic drinks. The new tech drink had a chip on the bottom of each glass, allowing androids and those with cybernetics to feel a buzz without the calories. Plus, one could customize the look of the contents, chug the stars of a Milky Way or drink a glittery rainbow.

You arrived fashionably late, at a point where the energy of the party was at its peak. An irresistible beat dominated the music, driving people to sway or dance while contemplating artworks. Since your arrival, a few people you knew had dragged you from one conversation to the next. When you spotted North, sandwiched between her main crew, she raised a glass in your direction. Two men to her side were crowded around a painting, busy waving their arms in a heated discussion.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” she said as you settled to her left. To her right, Josh and Simon started laughing, they seemed too distracted to notice you.

“You’re late,” North added when you innocently hummed and pretended to be way too into some paint strokes.

“Oh…It’s what…only been an hour since opening?” you replied, tilting your head and batting your lashes. North had played a major role in planning the event, arranging caterers and vendors. She wanted her closer circle there for an opening photo session and you agreed to it in the group chat.

Alright, so you lost track of time. But…but! This wasn’t her first rodeo. She’d thrown dozens of fundraisers in the past year. Although, from the nervous fidgeting of her fingers and her gaze shifting between the mob of people, this event meant a lot to her.

She let out a good natured scoff. “What do you think so far?”

“The party is amazing! You’ve outdone yourself. Where else could I find such brilliant art? Just—” You turned away to wave a hand at the entrance. “—look at all the colorful dicks on the wall.”

Her eyes rolled before she laughed. “After how far we’ve come, I really thought my faith in humanity was restoring…until today.”

“Can’t trust anyone with a marker and a blank wall these days,” you agreed.

From over her shoulder, you caught sight of a man in a tan suit. Smiling to yourself, you recognized his silhouette instantly as Markus. You placed a reassuring hand on North’s arm before excusing yourself.

Weaving between other attendees, you got close enough to notice that the deviant leader was talking to another man. A man who’s brown slicked hair and pale freckled face looked all too familiar.

It was like being dunked into a cold pool, your breath lodging in your chest, head swimming with a thousand thoughts—all of it screaming the same thing: Oh shit.

You wanted to spin around, maybe say hello to Josh and Simon instead. But Markus spotted you and that was more than enough for Connor to look up from their conversation.

“Hey, Markus!” you said, greeting the RK200 with an arm out. He immediately went in for a warm hug, breathing out your name in a soft voice. His arms easily engulfed you, adding a distinct bonus squeeze to the embrace—a thing he did with close friends.

“I haven’t seen you in a while. Have you been busy?” he asked.

You tried your best not to side-eye Connor’s reaction when you answered Markus.

“Yeah, between the weather and traffic, work’s been a real drag. But!” You cut him off before he could comment. “I am so excited to be here for your first show.”

“It’s all thanks to North and all of my supporters,” Markus replied. He brought a hand to Connor’s arm, pulling the RK800 into the conversation. “Speaking of supporters…have you met Connor?”

If you were waiting for the brunette to recognize you, the moment never came. Connor merely offered you the bare minimum of a polite smile, his lips pressed firmly together.

“Hello,” he said.

Despite what you thought of Connor’s profession, your public image was well curated to appear polite and friendly. You had half a second to decide on how to proceed and the voice that left your throat was more starstruck than you meant for it to be.

Well, whatever works right?

“Wait,” you gasped, feigning surprise. “I know you! You’re the uhm, the uhm.” You snapped your fingers and watched his smile fall slightly. “Uhm…some video called you the Terminator?”

“The former deviant hunter,” he said, shifting on his toes. The title alone made him shrink on the spot. His arm wrapped around the front of his torso, head falling slightly. You didn’t see the change as you were too wrapped up in delivering your excitement believably.

“Yes! I’ve seen you on TV! Saved a little girl and freed a bunch of androids—wow.”

“Connor has made huge strides for our cause,” Markus said. You wanted to ask how since you’ve never seen him around New Jericho, at least, not when you were there. It wasn’t like you were very involved with android politics, but surely, you would have heard something about him from North.

“Markus…” A flash of guilt washed over the younger android’s face. There was an exchange you didn’t catch as Connor’s indicator flickered.

“Our history is complicated but it’s all behind us now,” Markus reassured.

You held out your holodrink to toast his efforts.

“To new beginnings. And…” You gave Connor your name in a quick introduction. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Connor answered, lips spreading slowly in a smile.

With a gallery as full as tonight, it was impossible to hold Markus’ attention for long. A patron was excited to discuss purchasing one of his paintings and the RK200 hardly had time to say a quick goodbye. Connor remained, out of consideration or curiosity, you weren’t quite sure. Hell, you weren’t even sure where to look: back at Connor for what you imagined would be terrible smalltalk or in the direction of the bathroom so you could make up some excuse about needing it.

As you pondered, the universe decided for you.

A guest brushed into you, the unexpected pressure at your side knocking you forward. Your palm found Connor’s chest, fingers spreading over the smooth texture of his shirt. You could feel his Thirium pump buzzing beneath his undershirt and the subtle divots of strong abdominal muscles. He was so ready to play the hero, his arm automatically raising to wrap around your elbow.

It took a lot of self control to not grimace, your contempt for him consuming all rational thought. Fortunately for you, Connor was easy on the eyes. His features tugged inward in concern and you had to bury a fleeting thought about how endearing it made him look. You were beginning to see it, a way out of this scenario undetected by doubling down on your starstruck persona.

“Sorry. I can be such a klutz,” you joked. “It’s like I have two left feet.”

“That’s alright.” While he stepped back to give you an inch of space, his hand remained like a leech that found its mark. A tingle prickled down your spine and you had a funny feeling you were scanned.“Your shirt…was the choice intentional?”

Your blouse was loose, billowy around the sleeves with bright, bold sets of squares outlined by thick black lines. A splash of Piet Mondrian in your wardrobe seemed fitting for attending an art show. You smiled, standing more upright to showcase the full extent of the pattern.

“What do you think?” you asked.

Connor took his time answering, enjoying the fluttery movement of your eyes as you waited. His face was inches from yours, dipped lower to listen to you better in the crowd. Although, you knew enough about androids to know he could hear you just fine if he stood straight. You squirmed under his syrupy sweet smile. In your ears, a faint twang grew, like the swell of a violin finding its highest note. His smile widened, angled gallery lighting casting long, dramatic shadows over his face and sharpening the edges of his teeth.

“I think it looks good,” he answered, his tone easily skirting the line over friendly territory, like he was too shy or sensible to add: “I think it’d be better, off.” His actions indicated otherwise, innocently removing his hand and stepping away.

You meant to mirror his civility, but you couldn’t find anything interesting to say while looking at him. Compared to a gallery full of eccentric guests dressed in fantastical fashions, Connor was as exciting as milk toast. His crisp white shirt and pressed gray slacks were the definition of vanilla and safe. All he needed was a boring striped tie to complete the image of a man going door to door with a black book in hand. In fact, the most adventurous part of him was his slightly loosened collar, baring his pale throat in the same way a 19th century woman might flash her ankles.

“If I may ask…have you had a chance to browse the gallery?” Connor inquired.

“Not yet.”

“Neither have I. Would you like some company?”

You, enjoying the company of a pig? Absolutely not. Your body language said differently, wrist twisting to point at a room with your virtual drink swirling between the glass.

“After you.”

All things considered, being around Connor was…tolerable. He kept his distance when he could but the rooms were small and crowded. When he wanted to guide your attention to a painting, his hand found it’s way to ghost over your shoulder. The contact was too short and faint to cross any boundaries but it unnerved you all the same.

Those hands nearly had you.

Talking about art was one thing, but you couldn’t get a good read on him. Everything Connor said was laced with an eager to please demeanor that was at odds with his sharp gaze and looming figure. He was worse than a pond with no ripples, a mirror surface hiding the jaws of a monster. It irked you that you couldn’t take a dip and make some waves. When there wasn’t much else to discuss, you found yourself relying on much dreaded smalltalk.

“So…what do you do for a living?” you asked as if you didn’t already know.

“I’m a detective.”

“Like Sherlock Holmes!” You winked and lowered the volume of your voice. “Any cool cases? Or…are you not allowed to talk about them?”

“I specialize in homicide.” His head tilted to the right, concealing his LED from your angle. “There was a case that reached my desk recently. A beginner thief set off some alarms in a wealthy neighborhood, but it’s nothing to be worried about.”

“Ah.” You used your disappointment to mask the flare of irritation that made you grip your drink harder than necessary. “Well, with you around, Detroit feels safer already.”

He shook his head, eyes twinkling proudly.

“I do what I can, I’m no hero.”

Connor was infuriatingly humble. You wanted to roll your eyes. A buzzing in your pant pocket demanded your attention instead.

“Sorry, I gotta take this,” you said, bringing out a phone.

“Of course.”

“Nice meeting you, Connor.”

He held his hand up in a small, awkward wave that you didn’t see. His gaze lingered on the sway of your hips as your legs carried you out of the gallery and into the cold streets of Detroit. Your spine was hunched over to one side, leaning into your phone in some archaic habit of making the call sound clearer. Night swallowed your silhouette and you were gone faster than a fairytale beauty swept away by a clock’s chime.

When Connor went to gather his things, he noticed your coat in a hanger near his. He knew it was yours from a quick scan of a few stray hairs. His thumb brushed over the collar and he made his decision to take it off the rack.

It was cold. You could freeze out there. Surely, you wouldn’t want to be without your coat?

He couldn’t hold back a smug grin. “Nice meeting you too, Fox.”

—

“A fox had never seen a lion before, so when she happened to meet the lion for the first time she all but died of fright. The second time she saw him, she was still afraid, but not as much as before. The third time, the fox was bold enough to go right up to the lion and speak to him.”

The Fox and the Lion (Aesop’s Fables)

#my writing #detroit become human #dbh fanfic #reader insert #dbh connor #rk800 #connor x reader #connor rk800 x reader #rk800 x reader #the pig and the fox

[kittiesjournal]

My Autistic Journey

It is typical to hear from autistic people that they grew up knowing that they were weird, different and out of place with other individuals and in social groups, and I am not excluded from that experience, however I wasn't the most aware of it as I grew up. I thought my differences were simply because I had different interests, hobbies and personality, not that my excessive “shyness”, restrictive and repetitive behaviours and sensory preferences weren’t something that would magically disappear when I got older. I remember having fantasies of how popular I would be when I got to high school… I was so terribly wrong. 

I won't lie, my memory sucks, I have a lot of trouble remembering autistic traits I had experienced in my early childhood. I find myself struggling to remember a lot of things from growing up unless I had paid special attention to those moments in time. However, the first moment I realised that I could be autistic was in Year 10, I spent so much time researching every single symptom I could. This revelation sparked a grand understanding of myself and I finally felt as if I could see myself better. The mirror before was always cloudy but now, I could now clearly see the glimmer in my eyes; a part of my true self. 

Things began to fall into place, this was the reason I felt so alien to the world around me, why I felt like I had never belonged anywhere. The year prior to my revelation; the dreaded year 9, was the worst year in my schooling. With an increase in my anxiety and depression, being bullied and being incredibly disconnected from my friend group at the time, it is no shock to why it was the worst. My social confidence and my skills are definitely lacking due to being autistic however the way i was treated within my old friend group did not help. I was constantly shut down and complained about when I would infodump about my interests, and excluded frequently. Now briefly, i would like to mention a funny little tale of my primary school years;

If I had a dollar for every time i was abandoned by my friends during break times after I had been in the bathroom, then  not being able to find them and ending up crying to my sister, I would have $2, which isn’t a lot but it's weird that it happened twice.

This, in my high school experience, transformed into being excluded from group plans and told things like “omg sorry we forgot to add you to the group chat - we totally will though”. Loneliness was my truest friend in that group. Although I had put on a mask constantly in hopes to be treated the same as the individuals in the group, I ended up, during break times, simply not talking. There would be maybe a couple words in response to questions but that was the first instance in my life my anxiety and uncomfortability caused me to become frequently non (or at least low) verbal. 

In response to my experiences with that friend group, I found myself repressing who I was and what I loved. I am still to this day afraid of info-dumping and often apologise after I catch myself doing it. I mask so much it instead feels fake when I am being my autistic self,  I believe I lost touch with myself. I felt so disconnected from people that it became hard to feel like I was truly friends with anyone. Many nights were spent crying because I am not normal, not like everyone else. I begged the universe to let me be normal. But of course, because im autistic, my brain just wasn’t built ‘normal’, I don’t understand how to socialise, I don’t understand non-verbal communications and don’t even get me started with understanding emotions. I could not understand why I couldn’t bond with people the same way they did with each other and often questioned why everyone was closer with each other than I could ever experience. I know that even now, I don’t think I could ever feel and experience friendship the way everyone does, and I missed out on that crucial part of life. It's like I'm on a different plane of existence, akin to the artificial intelligence in media that other characters may care for but never in the same, human way they bond with each other. Some nights I still cry. Some days I'm still extremely lonely.

In spite of all my troubles and loneliness I was lucky to find some light, in my later years of schooling and to the present time, I have some pretty amazing friends and I am slowly learning how to exist in friendships while being my more authentic autistic self. Weirdly enough, these friends are all likely to be Neurodivergent (i helped them realise) and i guess that makes it easier. Even though I have these amazing friends, I'm still learning how to be myself around them and I still at times feel disconnected - not knowing how to socialise and my other autistic struggles don’t just disappear. There have been many occurrences where I have completely fumbled and messed up in these friendships but they understand me better than any other friends I have had.

Some quick acknowledgements of two important people in my life;

I have had one consistent friend since year 4; my best friend and I am grateful for you, that you’ve been by my side while I've been figuring all of this out. Also I'm sorry that you’ve had to coincide with my autistic self since we were 10 (sorry i made you reenact frozen everyday).

And in addition to friendships, romantic relationships are another terrifying territory. I don’t know the right things to say, how often to talk and how to keep conversations flowing, flirting is a mystery, and I don't know how to show my feelings and at times it may seem harder to tell if I care. But, I promise I will. To my girlfriend, my dearest, I'm sorry and thank you for being kind and patient, for always supporting and encouraging me in all my ‘quirkiness’.

These experiences, my mistakes, help me grow everyday and due to the extensive support of those around me I felt encouraged and confident enough to seek a diagnosis for my autism. However my journey of getting a diagnosis was extremely rocky. The first time I had brought up my thoughts on me being autistic to my mother I was met with a “why” and silence, the second time she asked if I wanted to try and get a diagnosis - I obviously said yes. This began my experience with the company Autism SA. I completed a self-referral application to get an appointment, I was sent paperwork and forms to fill and send back, and was told I would have to be on the waiting list for 18 months. In the end I didn't have to wait the full 18 months, I got my appointment, I went in at 9:30am on the 6th of February and that afternoon I realised this was one of the worst days of my life. They told me I didn't meet the criteria (in the feedback report I received on a later date they wrote that I met none of the criteria - the biggest lie I have ever heard). The appointment was fraudulent, I felt so uncomfortable and anxious because this was something I had never done before with complete strangers, so I masked. They sat me in a room constructed for young children, just me and the speech pathologist and she asked me questions, but nothing too in depth about my autistic experiences. It was obvious she only knew autism as the basic textbook version of male-aligned traits, it was obvious that she; a neurotypical, allistic individual would never understand me. I have many regrets that day, i should have said more about my traits and experiences, shown a list of them, let myself not mask for once in my damn life -  maybe then things would have been different and i would be sitting here writing about how great it is to be able to receive help and be understood. Instead, that afternoon, I cried and cried and cried. For the first time in a while I cried in my mothers arms, I think in that moment she truly understood the autistic me. I had never felt so invalidated and unheard in my life, i felt more depressed and alone than i ever felt just existing as an autistic person in this unfit world. I still feel that way anytime i think about that day for too long, it's hard to write this all down. Autism SA told me it was most likely “just anxiety”, like what many AFAB individuals are told when they are actually autistic, as if my anxiety doesn’t stem from my autistic traits and struggles. 

This terrible moment in my life was of course not the end, life flows on and I had to as well- so I wrote a 5000 word document on all of my autistic traits to prove them wrong (i sent it to the psychologist who had been in charge of my assessment). 

After getting out the frustration and needing to feel validated for my experience, I am in a better state of mind. I read Chloé Hayden’s book Different, Not Less (and watched so many of her YouTube videos) and I felt seen, I felt inspired. So now, in my present self, I am learning to be my truest self, my special interests are accepted; I am creating art everyday and now I'm writing too. I let myself stim in around others and in public, i don't ignore my sensory struggles and instead i make accommodations and seek support for them. I can notice when I am burnt out and I take care of myself when I am. There has been so much I have struggled with in terms of my autism but I can write about those another time, for now this is one step. Now I am and always will be honest about who I am. I am autistic.

#blog #blog post #autism #actually autistic

[m-aster-of-spinjitzu]

golden power; never wielded

my first work for @ninjago-angst-week! prompt - abandoned (16/08) Lloyd's never known what it's like to share his heart with another, linking two lives together as if one had found the melody to their chorus, now a song in perfect harmony. If he’d always felt like he was invisible; wondered if there was something fundamentally wrong with his inability to touch others’ hearts, then, well, that was no one’s business but his own. Of course, that was before he quite literally fell for someone - the first person, actually - who seemed to care. Of course she was too good to be true. Or, the S8 angst I've been wanting to write about 'game of masks' and the aftermath. trigger warnings - suicidal thoughts, brief mention of implied self-harm, not really a warning but it talks a lot about loneliness. "How did you know?"

"It's an Oni Temple. It's safe to assume that only an Oni could take it."

"No. How could you know that I was part Oni?"

How could you know that I was part Oni?

The question repeated itself in his mind, echoing into the blizzard.

Sometimes, he wondered what would've gone down at the temple if he hadn't been so observant.

Well, he thought bitterly, probably not the temple itself.

The walls collapsing, he'd caught a glimpse of his terrified face as the room filled with swirling inky blackness, freezing him to the bone.

But the real pain came from her words.

Ah. Your emotions. You can't get rid of them, can you?

No, he'd wanted to yell, staring listlessly at the shaking grey semblance of sky.

He'd always felt like he wielded the element of light; invisible, trapped behind a barrier that no one cared enough to break. Isolated; locked away from the world. Longing for - yearning for - a single soul to want to know his heart. Pain that almost felt tangible, bleeding into every motion, every day.

Everyone else seemed to find it so easy - so effortless - simple as breathing, taken for granted like it was ingrained into their bones. Everyone else seemed to have given away a little piece of their heart - to their parents, friends, or lovers.

The fact that his was, and had always been, entirely whole?

He was either cursed, the venom from the Great Devourer passed down to him, or there was something fundamentally unlikable coursing through his veins.

By this point, he assumed it was the latter.

Maybe, if anyone had ever cared - wanted to know him - he'd never have felt like it was pressing down on his chest like a casket; a useless block of ice that no one wanted, not even the unfortunate owner it'd been given.

If no one would know his heart, he'd thought, grabbing a forgotten map, he'd strike fear into theirs - until they knew what it was like to sob into invisible barriers, to gaze upon the world with a weary eyes and a heart heavy with the knowledge that if they vanished, no one would even notice.

He'd realized far too late that he had unleashed an evil that couldn't be controlled - or one that could only be controlled by his- by someone else that had sunk beneath the darkness until no light remained-

He'd escaped from the crumbling casket, energy and eyes blazing - only to find that Har- she'd already escaped with the mask.

The Oni Mask of Hatred.

As they had steered the boat through the river, her sweet smile hiding lie upon lie, he'd thought it was somewhat ironic - two lovers, seeking a literal manifestation of hatred.

He'd laughed bitterly; no mirth in the sound.

After his first crush had - well, literally tried to crush him, he didn't think that this day could get much worse.

Until she dropped him into a contraption that was the stuff of nightmares - leaving the others with a seemingly impossible choice.

He'd wanted to yell, scream, that they should save his mother - he'd hurt enough people over the course of his short life, as evidenced by the grief-stricken orphan yelling a foreign language right in front of him.

I'm the expendable one! Maybe she was right - it was my fault the Serpentine were able to release the Great Devourer. And it took thousands of lives - but never the life of the one who was to blame.

He'd grabbed the vengestone bars, the faint sense of numbness they brought a welcoming relief from the storm of emotions that- he honestly had no clue what to do with.

i could drown, he had thought briefly, fleetingly. what if i drowned and i never hurt anyone again-

you have  a responsibility, even though you've pretty much failed to uphold it so far

"Clotho venge! Clotho decer! Clotho haeed!"

Shoving the thought to the back of his mind, he'd gripped the bars tighter, ignoring the sting of the metal against skin.

If anything, he'd welcomed the sting.

Any pain was better than the agonizing reminder that his heart was, and had always been, entirely whole.

He didn't even realize he was trembling until he heard his father's voice echoing from the vortex.

His father hadn't asked to be bitten by an evil snake, the venom coursing through his veins for years upon years. He hadn't asked to be dumped at a boarding school for bad kids, spending what he had left of his childhood hiding in empty classrooms or yelling empty threats as his classmates snickered.

Against all odds, they'd been reunited. Evil snakes, Fangblades, even Jade Blades - none of it had stood between them.

Just when he thought they might have a future - he might have a- a family - the Cursed Realm decided to curse them all.

His father with imprisonment, him with a life devoid of a father he'd loved, at the end.

Now H- she wanted to resurrect him?

His father had been so much more than the Oni blood in his veins. So was he.

But if he was completely Oni-

Lloyd didn't like their odds. He kind of hated them.

"Clotho venge! Clotho decer! Clotho haeed!"

---

A few chaotic hours later... they'd won? They'd won.

The Sons of Garmadon (he'd always thought the name was kind of ironic - he, the only son of Garmadon, wasn't in their crazy biker gang) had been imprisoned by courageous, if a bit overzealous, taser-wielding policeman.

Ninjago was celebrating - everyone was; he should be, too.

Should he really revel in their victory, though? It was his fault that she'd been able to snatch the last mask, all the safeguards the Oni had put in place practically worthless because of his stupid feelings-

H- Harumi had been thrown in one of the police vans.

"You're right - this isn't me," she'd started, her meekness almost convincing him that she really was the girl he'd fallen for - the girl who'd been forced into a mask she never wanted to wear, but someone who still cared about the world... and- and about him.

"Stop."

He'd cut her off, the venom in his tone surprising both of them.

"Save it for someone who cares," he'd forced out, the hurt welling up his chest almost as painful as their unceremonious descent into the jungle, (the descent she'd orchestrated, he'd thought fleetingly, squeezing his eyes together) unable to believe that this- this liar was the same sweet girl he'd fallen for.

With that, he slammed the door of the van, locking her in - wishing that locking his memories away could be easy.

She'd never cared about him; simply needing to use him as if he was nothing more than the power he wielded.

He watched one of the policemen drive her away, the tired-but-enthusiastic cheers of his teammates nothing more than background noise; static.

Vaguely, he realized that his heart wasn't quite whole - he'd given a piece of it to someone whom he had thought would link theirs together in harmony, the melody to his chorus; what he'd been searching for ever since he'd woken up screaming in a 'boarding school' that seemed more like a prison.

She'd taken more than what he'd given - draining the light from his entire being as if she was the Overlord, stealing his golden power without a shred of remorse.

That failure was practically painless, compared to her-

An almost unfamiliar emotion slowly stated to replace the ache in his chest that he'd grown used to for all those years; it'd become comforting, even. Watching the world go by with a heart that seemed more like a curse, he briefly, fleetingly, wondered if he'd be better off without one.

If there was ever a problem that presented itself to Nya while she worked on the Bounty, she used to joke that it'd be easier to just dump their entire hard dive into the sea.

Destruction seemed to be easier than fixing, he conceded - the van now just a glimmer of bright light; one of the many that made up their vibrant city.

"How did you know?" he heard, yet again wondering how he felt so disconnected from his own role in the memory.

How had she known? 

The whisper of a voice long gone bled into his consciousness, his hands shaking at his sides even as the city celebrated.

Why had he even asked that?

Plastering a smile on his face as he walked over to his teammates, the question repeating itself in his mind, echoing into the blizzard.

FSM - she didn't need to be leader of a biker gang to know that.

Who could ever give their heart - the epitome of human connection; golden power all on its own, albeit of a different kind - to an Oni?

Maybe he wasn't the one trapped behind an invisible wall, built on tears and loneliness and yearning and heartache and a lone question - why? Why could no one seem to look past the cage he felt himself trapped in, observing the world rather than playing a part in it.

He hadn't been a- abandoned by everyone, he realized, a weary sense of clarity and shadowed eyes not sure to accept it or push it into the back of his mind like the hours he'd spent there, as if he'd ever want to have hurt his teammates like he did, the twisted ghost-

He trailed behind his teammates as they sang - horribly off key, his mind pointed out, forcing a small smile onto his face - lost in the figurative blizzard, despite the fact that the sun's rays had only vanished a few hours ago.

If no one would know his heart?

FSM - could he really blame them?

(if you read this far, thank you so much, you’ve made my day:D)

#lloyd garmadon #ninjago angst week #harumi #sons of garmadon #ninjago fic #ninjago #lloyd

[afinepricklypear]

Two BSD Theories

I’m bored at the moment, so I decided to write out a couple theories I’ve had about Bungou Stray Dogs bouncing around in my head for awhile now. I don’t know if anyone else has put similar theories out there yet, and apologize if these things have already been said!

1) Atsushi’s ability was inherited from his parent

This thought came to me after watching Dead Apple (again) and while reading about Tsujimura’s ability. Tsujimura gained her ability from her mother with the same technique that Kyouka’s mother used to pass Demon Snow to Kyouka (it seems Tsujimura’s mother actually taught this technique to Kyouka’s mother). Tsujimura cannot fully control her ability, and it usually activates automatically following the final command from her mother to kill anyone that Tsujimura is trying to kill before she can do it. Likewise, when we first meet Kyouka, she cannot control Demon Snow, it’s activated by someone giving her instructions through the cell phone that her mother gave her. It’s only after joining the Armed Detective Agency and, thus, becoming subject to Fukuzawa’s ability (and then some therapy via learning what really happened the night her parents were killed) that she’s able to gain control. 

This is interesting because aside from Atsushi, these are the only two characters we’ve met that possess activatable abilities and cannot control them. Passive ability users like Q and Dazai don’t really count because their abilities are triggered by some form of physical contact and is, basically, always on. They can only control the ability by controlling their interactions with others (**Side note, I’ve seen it mentioned that people think Dazai is the only passive ability user in BSD, which is not true. We know from the incident where Q is kidnapped by the guild that Q cannot stop people from going insane if they’ve caused Q physical injury otherwise Q would’ve stopped the whole thing. It’s the same way as how Dazai can’t stop someone’s ability from being nullified if they touch him, there’s no OFF switch. I’m pretty sure, from what we know of All Men Are Created Equal, that Fukuzawa’s ability is also passive**). The other exception is Chuuya when he unleashed the true form of his ability, but he’s such a special case, we can’t consider him.

All of the other characters in the show seem capable of controlling their ability without much training or external assistance. It’s almost like a second nature to them, because they kind of act as extensions of the ability user’s self. But Atsushi seemed so disconnected from his ability that he didn’t even realize he had one when it activated and, like Kyouka, needed to be brought in under Fukuzawa’s ability in order to gain control of it. 

The other evidence of this is in Dead Apple, when it’s revealed that Atsushi was subject to experimentation by Shibusawa. It’s mentioned that the government is interested in Atsushi because they’ve heard rumors that his ability is super special, and they want Shibusawa to figure out his ability, what it is and how it works. This was far from being the most confusing moment in Dead Apple, but it did raise several questions for me. The most glaring being: if no one knows what Atsushi’s ability is, how do they know that it’s super special? Unless, he’s not the first person to have this ability. The other question I have is how he ended up at the orphanage after “killing” Shibusawa, when the government clearly had a keen interest in him? Did they think, “oh he’s just a tiger”, and dumped him on an unsuspecting home for children, like...wtf? BSD Japan’s government does some incredibly shady and stupid things. But that’s not important here.

Finally, Fyodor’s reason for being interested in Atsushi is because he states that the white tiger can be used to find the infamous Book. Similar to the government, how would Fyodor know this unless someone possessed the ability before Atsushi?

While there could be other explanations for how the government knew about Atsushi’s ability being special, there’s not much that can explain how Fyodor knows that it can be used to find the book (though, it’s possible he lied about that entirely just to get the Guild to target the ADA), and when we take into account what we know about Kyouka and Tsujimura, and that abilities can be passed to relatives, the simplest explanation would seem to be that Atsushi inherited his ability from one of his parents. We’ve also learned nothing about where Atsushi came from and how he came to be an orphan (though, you know, we haven’t really learned a lot about most of the BSD characters. Like, where are the Tanizaki siblings parents, and how did Kenji, only 14 years old and clearly from a happy home environment, end up with the ADA). Because so much has been made of Atsushi being special amongst ability users, I can’t help expecting that we’ll learn more about his past and that we’ll get the reveal that his ability was inherited from his parent.

2) Asagiri has already given us the ending to BSD

This one is less evidence based and more wishful thinking because it would make for a nice symmetry, bringing everything full circle...even though I really don’t want this ending. This also might be more of a crack theory than anything, but hear me out. Beast is not an Alternate Universe, it is, in fact, the ending of the Bungo Stray Dogs main story line, and the current canon is just the events leading up to Dazai getting his hands on the Book and using it to create the world of Beast. That’s it. That’s the theory. I’ve got nothing to back this up. I’m sorry not sorry for putting that dark thought out into the world.

The End.

Thank you for reading! I’m going back to work now.

#bungo stray dogs #fan theory #bsd #beast au #atsushi nakajima #beast beneath the moonlight

[ramblesamongstardust]

Stressed- an AI x reader

A-35 x gender-neutral reader I’m not thrilled with how this one turned out, but I figured I might as well post it for y’all, because why not? A story where you yell at your AI boyfriend for being a gosh darn workaholic can’t be that bad, right?

---

The outpost they sent you to was a dusty, dingy, backwater world. You were the only mechsuit assignment there, for one. All alone in your class. When you arrived, the team of wearied soldiers and scientists regained a spark of excitement in their eyes. A Radiant-class suit, they whispered among themselves as soon as you would turn the corner. Maybe things will pick up around this dump.

But they didn’t. In a week, you were just as bored as the rest of them. A backwater world with no action. Your assignment there had been not much more than a show of force and a morale boost. This world, far from any front, was about as protected as they came.

At first there were plenty of menial tasks. Things needed lifted and rearranged, so what better to do it than a suit? You and A-35 wrestled around loads of cargo and rearranged the storeroom. Then you went on to do the dangerous jobs- calibrating the weather sensors in deep sub-zero temperatures would be a risk for any of the ordinary folk. You, however, waded through the deep snow with little effort.

Each one was a job well done, even if it involved no actual combat. You and A-35 would write the report for your excursions together. He was a very good analyst, and you knew he could write the reports all on his own, but you liked to pitch in with your own thoughts and experiences, and he happily included them. 

He found it odd. He thought that most humans would have wanted to get out of menial work, not throw themselves into it. But. . . there was no denying that he liked having your input. 

Then the labor jobs ran out. 

It wasn’t through the fault of anyone running the base. There were simply no more jobs to be done that required you to be in the suit. During the last march to the hangar, you debated whether or not to actually get out of the suit when they commanded you. You wanted to hang onto the murmurs of A-35 in your ear and the way that he held you. 

It was only when A-35 assured you he would be fine that you got out. 

It turns out, they did still have a valuable and important use for a Radiant-class suit: processing power. There was no doubt that A-35′s systems were state-of-the-art, and it would be wasteful to leave such a powerful computer sitting out in the hangar. You watched as the tech team tugged thick wires and plugged them into the interior of the suit. 

They had to remove the helmet- your helmet -in order to make the connection. The cables snaking out from the empty shape of the suit made you feel strange, as if A-35′s insides were spilling out across the floor. 

You had asked him if it hurt. 

“Hardly. Although I am designed to be a more centralized unit, I’m just as capable being spread out amongst a larger system.” He had told you.

“Are they making you process things?” You asked again.

“Yes. It’s nothing more than menial calculations. I could do these while powered-down, easy.” He replied.

You were also called to work. Although your training was not being utilized, you were still an extra set of hands, and hands could work. You helped the rest of the personnel keep the base clean, cook the meals, wash the dishes, keep up with maintenance, etc. You almost felt like a recruit again.

You tried to make time to see A-35. You first came every night, but when he asked what you were doing here in the hangar instead of trying to befriend your bunkmates, you couldn’t help but withdraw. He did have a point.

Your cohorts were nice. There was Sarah, and Jason, and Latisha. They invited you to hang out after hours, and after A-35′s encouragement you began to take up their offers.

And so, every night slipped into every other night, and every other night slipped into twice a week, and twice a week. . .

When you two had first began, you had felt a real spark with A-35. It wasn’t just the thrill of getting the suit. It was getting in the suit with him. You began to have dreams about piloting, the feeling of the suit around your body, his voice a steady stream in your mind.

But now? Those dreams were fading. A-35 never reached out to you. Whenever you came to him, he always implied that you should be somewhere else. He spoke as if now you had become an inconvenience, choosing as little words as possible to make you go away.

You couldn’t get your mind off of it.

You sat on your bunk. Sarah was trying to show you her old movie collection and you were just nodding along.

After your last ‘mhmm’, Sarah turned to face you. “You alright?”

“No.” You admitted.

“That’s what I thought. What’s on your mind?”

You couldn’t say him. No, you couldn’t. You shook your head. 

“Look, friend, you got to get your problems out of your head. Holding onto them only makes things worse.”

Sarah’s advice, you knew, was to try and make you fess up to whatever was on your mind, but instead it gave you a new feeling. You gave Sarah a half-hearted excuse and before you knew it your legs were carrying you to the hangar bay.

This bay was tiny, only able to house one or two suits, nothing like the glistening training bays. A-35 stood against the wall. It had been a full week since you talked. Last week he had spared only a few words.

“Hey.” You said. 

There was no response at all.

“Hey, A-35?”

A pulse travelled through a cable, but it headed outwards, to the wall, rather than back into the suit. Still there was only silence.

“A-35.” You raised your voice. “It’s me. Y/n.”

“. . . y/n?”

His voice was slurred, with a hiss of underlying static. It sent a cold shiver through you. You practically ran forwards to the pilot entry ladder. Before you could climb it, the suit’s external lights came back to life and its frame became more rigid, or maybe that was just a trick of the light.

“Hello, y/n. Progress is moving smoothly. Nothing to run but more numbers. What are you doing here?” His usual, smooth tone returned.

“Are you okay?” You asked.

“Yes. Just running the process. Nothing of any note. Nothing much to say.”

There he went again, the polite refrain of please go away. But this time you wouldn’t. This time you needed to stay.

“What’s going on? You’re not acting like yourself.” You bit your lip and stood your ground.

“I am running at functional capacity-” a series of pulses came up the cables and traveled into his systems. 

You reached out to the cable.

“Receiving next data set, do not disconnect.” He said sternly.

His voice was becoming more monotone with every word. You took your hand off the cable, and instead extended it to his plating.

“Wait! Y/n, don’t!”

You let out a cry and jerked your hand away. The metal was hot, and your palm was now an angry red. But you did not spend time to blow on it. You could only look up at him in horror.

“You’re overheating.” You realized

“Current suit temperature: too warm for pilot comfort.” He stated in a rigid cadence, before adding. “Please go, I’m busy.”

“Like hell you’re just ‘busy’! You’re straining your systems!” You countered.

“I’m busy!” He shouted.

“A-35, pilot override: stop your calculations NOW!”

The words were bitter in your mouth. You had told him that you would never need to use the pilot override. The two of you were a unit- two halves of the same whole. You had put full trust in his judgement. Now, though. . .

A flurry of pulses came swarming out of his frame through the cables, random in pattern, disappearing back into the wall. The suit itself shuddered with the expulsion of the data.

You wanted to put your hand on his frame to steady him, and it hurt that you couldn’t. 

“There. You happy now?” He asked.

His voice returned. No more was the stiff modulation. Now, his aggravation spilled through the air, injected with all of the personality you had so dearly missed.

“You told me they were only light calculations.” You said.

“The science team needed more. So?” He replied.

“You could have hurt yourself.”

“’Hurt’ is a word with a very tricky meaning. It applies better to humans-”

“How long have you been running like that?” 

He paused. “Only a few days.”

“A few days? A few days!” You balled your fists. 

“I was doing fine. I was fulfilling my duty on this mission.” He replied.

“If this was your duty, then I should have paid more attention to what they were using for.” You began to pace around.

“I took on the extra work.” He admitted quietly. “The team needed the help. I knew I could get it done faster than any of them could.”

“You could have burnt yourself out. Literally.” You said.

“The risk was low enough-”

“There was risk!” 

“No different than combat risk.” He finished. 

“Then why did you do it?”

“I’m designed for taking risks. I’m a combat AI. What do you expect?” He grew angry again.

“Then why didn’t you think about how it would affect me?” You shouted.

The suit shuddered again. You reached your hand out and brushed his plating. It was still warm, but no longer burning. You pressed your hand against it.

“You weren’t. . .” he began. “You weren’t a part of the equation. You weren’t involved in this operation at all. I’m afraid I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”

“I’ve missed you.” You pulled yourself to him and pressed your forehead against his plating.

“I never left.”

“No, but you weren’t here.” You whispered.

“I-”

He stopped. You could almost feel the electricity of his artificial synapses snapping together in realization.

“. . . I suppose I wasn’t.” He murmured.

You pulled yourself away from his frame and climbed the pilot ladder. The platform at the top was a bit of a mess of wires and diagnostic tech, but you found a spot and sat down anyway.

“It’s okay.” You said, wrapping your arms around your knees. 

From here you could see the crystal glow of his interior. You couldn’t enter, not right now, not with all of the wires and cables hooked up. But just the sight was good enough.

“. . . I don’t get what I did to deserve you.” A-35 mumbled.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You asked.

“You’re so thoughtful and kind. I don’t understand it.” He said.

“Maybe,” you smiled, “it’s because you’re worth it.”

“Even when I’m snappy and foolish and generally unpleasant?”

“Then it means I need to remind you to take a break.”

“Oh, perhaps.”

You both laughed a little. You leaned against his frame and closed your eyes. You could feel his warmth and electricity in the air, something you had been missing for some time.

#robophilia #AI #artificial intelligence #artificial intelligence character #sci fi #sci-fi #science fiction #exophilia #robot boyfriend #A-35

[bowieandqueen11]

That’s Messed Up / Ben Hargreeves Imagine

Request: Hello💓 could I request a Ben Hargreeves X Reader where she is stressed because of her job/university and her family is stressing her out and she just needs a good cry or comfort? I hope you are having a good day☂️💜 

This is honestly a big mood thank you <3

Comments are really appreciated and add me on Instagram @bowieandqueen11​!

Ben, when he asked Five to bloop him into your house, wasn’t expecting to see you huddled up in the corner of your room.

The first part of the night involved a lot of waiting.

A little while before, he had been checking his watch at the corner near Griddys, watching it tick on and on before his eyes, every second getting a little bit further away from the time you were meant to meet at, and increasing the fear in his heart, inch by painfully slow inch. 

Ben always had called you his hurricane. Just a rush of love and happiness and such hyper hope that it always whisked him away from whatever fear, whatever self hatred he was feeling. You always felt everything, love, anger, sadness, joy, to such extremes, that in the end, he was so wrapped up in you, he forgot what hating himself used to feel like. All encompassing, that was what you were, and god if he didn’t love you more than the world itself for it.

That’s why, when you’re not there, he notices the silence.

Chilled by the coldness of the metal on his wrist, he finds comfort from turning it to its side and reading the inscription you had left for him.

‘Happy birthday to the light of my life.’

Ben had never thought as himself as light, as anything resembling something bright, and yet he still always found the darkness strange, uncomforting. Living in the heart of the city, he had grown used to having the warm, orange glow of the streetlamps outside your window, filtering through the curtains as he held the most precious thing he knew in his arms. And yet, the light from the nearby lamp felt different tonight, frostier, somehow, and even the stars he had spent his whole childhood looking up at, dreaming of escaping into their light, seemed too far away to make a difference.

That’s when the first inkling began churning in the pit of his stomach, the thought that something was badly wrong with you.

Pulling out his phone, he ignores the other couples walking by on the sidewalk, which on any other evening would have made him smile, seeing his future reflected in them, and instead checks for new messages. Seeing none, he instead flicks through some old photographs stored on his phone: your first christmas together, his birthday, your birthday, your first date, all trying to calm him down. Telling himself to be patient, to wait a few more minutes before doing anything drastic, he places his phone back into his pocket and looks back up at the stars, back into the light, with a frown etched on his face.

When it had been an hour, and you still hadn’t turned up, that’s when Ben knew something was definitely wrong. You never, ever missed date nights.

The second, involved a lot of phone calls.

‘Five, I’m coming over - no, it’s about Y/n. Yeah - yes, yes I know what time it is! I think she’s in trouble, and I need your help, alright. Yes, I know Diego is crashed out, but it’s a two bedroom apartment for a reason, isn’t it? No, Klaus won’t be able to help with this one, plus I’m pretty sure he and Allison went out for the night. I don’t know, I just kind of zone out when he talks half the time. Yeah, okay, I’ll see you in a few.’

Before he starts walking, he decides to try leaving you a voicemail. Then he gets worried, and leaves you another one. Then, when he sets off, and he becomes scared, he leaves you another, and another, and another, until he finds himself ringing the doorbell to his brothers’ flat.

Five and Diego’s place wasn’t much warmer, either.

‘Look, I’m sorry about the mess, but letting Diego move in with me was probably one, if not the worst decision of my life.’

Like everything else in the room, the couch told a story, a testimony to the personality of its twenty year old owner. It was a piece bought more for style than overall comfort, quite cold and demanding and yet Ben still felt himself sinking into it. On top of the beige colouring, he could spot where Diego usually sat from the food stains that had been harshly scrubbed off.

Five pours himself another cup of coffee, sighing to himself as he dumps another cracked eggshell left on the counter into the bin. Taking a swig, he holds up his finger to stop Ben from talking prematurely, before he opens the fridge hidden in the corner of the kitchen and takes out two chocolate eclairs.

‘Eclair? If we don’t eat them now, Diego will eat them both in the morning. Or worse, Klaus will more than likely come crash here when he sees your not home yet, and then they’ll be gone before the sun even has a chance to rise.’

Ben turns down the food, but accepts a glass of water Five offers him in return. He takes tiny sips, trying to swallow his fear along with it.

Five settles into his armchair, placing the newspaper onto the small resting table nearby. Settling down into the cushion, he places one leg over the other and blows harshly over the top of his mug. 

‘Okay, so what seems to be the problem with Y/n.’

As soon as Ben relayed what had been happening tonight, Five abandoned his coffee by the edge of the kitchen sink and transported the two of them straight into the corridor by your home.

When Ben opened your bedroom door with a small knock, and he saw the mess, he knew it was time for him to go, WIshing Ben luck with a small murmur of his breath, a flash of blue light disappeared behind the shutting door, and the two of you were finally left alone.

The third, was like a harpoon through his heart.

Stepping onto some scattered papers, Ben walks into your room and surveys the damage. A lot of your University work lay crumpled by his feet, your desk chair half on the floor and half still resting against the desk, as if a fight had occurred just before he came in.

‘Y/n, buttercup, what happened. Can you tell me what happened? Was it your family again?’

Slowly, so slowly, so as not to jostle you and make everything worse again, he came over to squat down by you on the floor. He places a hand gently on your shoulder, digging into your muscle to try and relax you, but you just try and shrug him away, burying your face deeper into your hands. You knew you had to be the strong one, for both of them. You knew Ben didn’t deserve this stress, more than anyone, but you just couldn’t take it anymore. You couldn’t take the work, your family, but you also couldn’t take Ben seeing you as weak.

Ben watched you with dipped eyes, trying to stop his hand from shaking as he rested it on your knee, trying again to get through. It looked as if you had retreated in on yourself, your touch somehow disconnected, and his voice is arriving over a radio set in another room. So, he does the only thing he could think of, the thing you used to do when he broke down after missions and used to hide under his bed, refusing to get out. Grace often tried, of course, to coax him out with the promise of milk and cookies, and Klaus had often come the closest, but he refused unless his best friend in the whole wide world was there with him.

So, he repays a debt he knows he can never fully repay, and he tells you over and over that he’s really here, that he’ll always be here. He tells you softly yet at a volume that reaches inside and soothes that which ran and hid from him, from all of them.

‘I’m sorry Ben. I’m so sorry. I- I’m...I’m sorry.’

'You have nothing to be sorry for. Y/n. I’m the one who’s sorry. I know how stressed out you’ve been with University, and I know how messed up your family’s been treating you. I thought going to Griddys would make it better, but I was wrong, I was so wrong. I’m so sorry for leaving you alone.’

Ben always said you loved like a hurricane, and he was right. When he moves to take your palms away from your face, and instead replace them with his own, you cried with more violence than any gale. You didn't break quietly, it was like every atom of your being screamed in unison, the wracking sobs heaving into his chest as he wrapped his arms around you.

Resting his head on top of your own, he reached out to rub your back, promising to himself that he would never leave you to fight your battles alone again.

#tua #the umbrella academy #tua season 2 #ben hargreeves #five hargreeves #tua imagine #ben hargreeves imagine #the umbrella academy imagine #five hargreeves imagine #ben hargreeves x reader #ben hargreeves angst #ben hargreeves fluff #klaus hargreeves #allison hargreeves #diego hargreeves #justin min

[liibrii]

Chapter 3: In the light, your name

Ojiro Aran x fem!reader

Series Masterpost || Ch. 1 || Ch. 2

wc: 4.7k

warnings: time skip spoilers, swearing, internalised guilt and shame, intrusive thoughts, self doubt, drinking.

a/n: this only took forever cause I got carried away (what a surprise). if you wanna be tagged in future chapters lemme know, and as always feedback is greatly appreciated! 

A step forward, two steps back. Like a dance, just like his mother taught him, dancing and laughing back home, only this dance holds no joy, only cruel turns and twirls and your hand slipping from his as fate whisks you away.

“One Ace special coming up!“ Osamu places a plate of freshly made onigiris in front of Aran. They look amazing, as if taken directly out of one of those fancy cooking books. The practice had been especially gruelling that day and yet Aran has no appetite. All he wants is to go home and sleep. He would have, if Gao hadn't dragged him to the newly opened Tokyo branch of Onigiri Miya.

More out of politeness than really being hungry he takes a bite. It's good, much better than ones he remembers Osamu bringing to practice. “Woah, this is tasty!“

Osamu practically beams at Aran's praise. Even he has changed, notices Aran. Has he grown a little? The grey of his hair is gone, and he smiles so much more. Aran doesn't remember ever seeing him so talkative.

Has everyone changed so much while he wasn't paying attention?

While chewing he pulls phone from his bag, in some silly hope there'd be a message from you. But the screen is empty and seeing his screensaver is almost a mocking to his hopes. What else did he expect? People don't always mean what they say, but a storm doesn't mean to blow away roofs either.

Lost in his thoughts Aran barely takes notice when Gao says his goodbye and other customers slowly start leaving.

Osamu closes the shop then places two more cans of beer on the counter. Without much enthusiasm Aran opens the can and pours the fizzling liquid into a glass. Which drink was it, third? Fourth? For a moment he considers telling Osamu everything. About you, how he feels and how he screwed up. Just to get it out there. But Aran knows Osamu talks to Atsumu, and Atsumu never learned what keeping a secret means. So he blames his sour mood on practice.

 Even if Aran was a good liar Osamu'd see through his little ticks. They've been the same ever since elementary school and so obvious; the nervous scratching of his nails, rubbing of his neck. Ever since he'd grown a beard he added rubbing it to the list.

“I should probably get goin',“ says Aran before downing half the glass in one long gulp.

“What's a few more minutes?“ Osamu doesn't bother pouring his beer. “I'll clean up later. Don't have any other plans anyway.“

A low chuckle leaves Aran's lips. “Life goin' that good, yeah?”

“Could say that. Could be far worse. How about ya?“

Aran massages his temples. He's getting light headed and still he takes another long sip. “Like ya said, could be far worse. Had a rough couple weeks. Women, ya know?“

Osamu hums and nods, wisely. “Women. Got dumped, did ya?“

“In a way...“

“What happened, did ya forget her birthday or somethin'?“

Aran laughs. Oh no, he knows exactly when your birthday is. “Said somethin' stupid.“

“Just somethin'? If she gets upset so fast then maybe she's trouble.“

“Wasn't like that. She trusted me and I... had a bad day and took it out on her.“

Osamu takes an onigiri Aran hasn't touched yet. “Have ya apologised?“ He asks with his mouth full. “Should start with that,“ he continues after Aran shakes his head, “treat her to dinner. I know some good restaurants if ya want. Or better, cook somethin' yerself.“ He opens the browser on his phone. “What's her favorite food?“

Aran tells him. “Whichever recipe ya find I can tell ya right now I can't cook it.“

“I found a few even Tsumu can make,“ laughs Osamu still scrolling through his phone. “What's she like? More into fancy stuff or more homey? Fried rice's easy but not very fancy, more of a safe bet. Maybe with an omelette. I can show ya how to make it to look like a panda. Success guaranteed!“

“How can omelette look like a panda? It's yellow.“ 

“A yellow bear then,“ Osamu shruggs before putting away his phone. “Does she like bears?“

“Does- I ain't sure...“

“Ya don't know?“

“No! Why would I? Is that what ya ask folk ya take on dates?“

“Usually I ask what they think about apple curry.“

“I don't think she likes apple curry... Or maybe she does...“ He gloomily stares at the empty glass in front of him. “Gimme one more.“

Osamu obliges and pours him one more, deciding this is the last one for him. Aran's eyes are getting glassy and he dreamily observes the white foam before downing half the glass.

“We went down to the Kamakura beach,” he says, scratching at his immaculate fingernails. “She looked s' pretty in the sunset... She likes sunsets... I think. Ain't sure 'bout anythin' these days.“

“Everyone likes sunsets,“ nods Osamu. “Never trust people who don't like seein' sunsets. I'm tellin' ya, buy her some udon. Or bring her here, I'll give ya a special discount.“

Aran bursts into laughter. “He'll know then...“ Osamu leans his head to the side, wondering what his old teammate meant by that. “She's ex of a friend.“

“Ow,“ is all Osamu says. That explains everything. You don't date a friends' ex. “Sorry. She sounds great.“

“Yeah, yeah she is... Kinda almost like a whasit's called again, kotatsu? Warm...“ He's just blabbering now, his mind a hazy labyrinth of disconnected thoughts. He misses you, he misses you so bad, and he fucked up, and he doubts cooking you a dinner would repair the damage he's done. Once it would be pretty easy to bribe you with the right snacks but you've changed. You've changed so much he still fears he doesn't know you at all. “Hey Samu? Hav' I changed?“

“Yea? I doubt the old Aran-kun wouldda come to me for advice.“

Corners of Aran's lips perk up. Why is his glass empty? “Yer a good guy ‘Samu. Can ya call me a taxi? I've got practice t'morrow.“

He has to stop visiting Onigiri Miya on the evenings Aran thinks on another morning after drinking and talking with Osamu till late night hours. The cool breeze of the early morning hours is refreshing but isn't doing anything to ease the hammering in his head. Sky without a cloud promises the day to be sunny and hot. Aran's just glad he found his sunglasses ad that the gym has air conditioning.

There's a distant ringing in his ears. Ringing that doesn't stop and causes other people on the train to send him sideway looks. It's because his phone is ringing but he's too focused on trying not to throw up to notice. He only does so once he's walking the short walk from the train station to the gym. Seeing your name over the 'missed call' almost makes him drop the phone. He calls you back, frantically tapping his fingers on his arm, hoping you'll pick up. You don't.

The sun is too bright. Pouring rain would be more appropriate to his mood. Aran's glad he can hide from the warm rays inside the gym. No matter his mood volleyball always takes his mind off things, and even now he hopes it will help him see things more clearly. The thought of you has become a wind chime, singing at every little thing that makes him think of you. Staying focused on the ball in front of him is harder than expected. But first and foremost he's a professional volleyball player with a new season just around the corner. He can't let his team, his fans down. Since your first year of high school you've been his supporter too. He can't let you down.

When his phone rings again he’s in the middle of receiving drills and this call too goes unanswered. Instead your message waits for him.

           (9. 45) Aran are u free this Sunday? the shrine down the street is holding a festival. wanna come?  

A wide smile spreads over his face. He's more than happy to come he writes back, his smile spreading even wider when only a few moments later you text him place and time.

“Ojiro what are you looking at?“ Gao peers over his shoulder and Aran quickly puts his phone away.

“Nothin'“

“Nothing, ey? Does the nothing have a name?“

Aran rolls his eyes and heads for the showers, ignoring the teasing laughter of his teammates. Honestly, he's too excited to see you to care.

Aran glances on his phone to check the time. Five more minutes and he'll be only ten minutes early. He kicks the small stone form the pavement onto the road. Then he straightens his shirt. Maybe this colour wasn't the right choice after all, maybe you would've liked the red one better. Once in passing Akagi said red looked good on him. He sends you a short message, letting you know he's already here.

Minutes later he catches the sight of your figure manoeuvring between visitors flocking towards the many stands. “Sorry, I got worried all the best mochi'd sell out,“ you apologise, pointing to plate full of different kinds of mochi in your hand. “Samu isn't here yet?“

“No.“ His heart clenches. He didn't even think about the possibility of you inviting anyone else. “He's probably just late,“ he quickly adds, “let me call him.“

“Always late,“ you complain, “tell him I got his mochi but if he doesn't appear soon I'll just eat them myself. Want one?“

He declines the sweet and you shrug. While he waits for Osamu to pick up he avoids looking at you. The call goes unanswered. “I'll send him a message.“

“Tell him every minute he's late is a free onigiri,“ you mumble, your mouth full of delicious mochi. “And he's paying for drinks. I saw a stand with soya smoothies up the street. And a stand with takoyaki.“

“Have ya mapped out all the food stands?“ chuckles Aran.

“Well you know Samu, food is his best motivator. You sure you don't want one?“

He gives in and takes the matcha one. He watches with a fond smile as you stuff an entire mochi in your mouth.

“What?“ you mumble when you catch him staring.

“Ya look like a hamster.“

You roll your eyes in an effort to cover the smile creeping on your face. “Very funny. How's life?“

“It's fine,“ he nods, awkwardly.

“Good.“

“Yeah.“ He rubs his chin. The beard is getting a little long. He glances over at you. He should say something. But what? “I'm really sorry about what I said,“ he finally utters. “I do care. About you.“

“We all say things we don't mean, right?“ The soft look in your eyes makes his throat tighten. He hurt you and yet here you are. Reaching out, again. “It's all water under the bridge. Besides, I really missed hanging out with you. So, where do ya wanna go?“

“Shouldn't we wait for Osamu?“

“Nah. It's his fault for being late, he'll find us. And he better buy us those smoothies. Want one more mochi? You should really try the chocolate one, it's amazing.“

Never again. Aran doesn't want to see you hurt ever again.

The festival is crowded, which is to be expected in Tokyo, and he keeps an eye out for you. The last thing he wants is to lose you somewhere in the sea of people. He stays close, quietly delighting in seeing your excitement over different attractions of the festival. A few times your hand brushes against his, sending a shiver down his spine.

Osamu never shows up, messaging about an hour later he got stuck at work, promising you both as many onigiri as you'd like the next time you come around Onigiri Miya. “A shame. I was hoping to hang out with him while he's still in Tokyo.“

“He'll have time in the future,“ says Aran, doing his best to ignore the pang of jealousy in his chest.

“Probably. But will there be fresh soya smoothie for him to treat me to?“

Aran buys you the smoothie you so crave, grinning upon seeing your excitement. You walk around the festival grounds and from time to time he steals sips of your smoothie. You pout and nag he should buy one for himself but don't stop him. 

As night falls you search for a good place to watch the fireworks from. Just after they start Aran puts his hand on the small of your back to gently push you forward so you'd see better. But you don't budge and he bumps into you, his chest to your back. The sounds of festival fade, as if the crowd disappeared and all that remains is you, looking at him, fireworks reflecting in your eyes. The softness of your gaze causes his heart to do somersaults. You snicker and flick his nose.

Tease, he thinks and tickles you. He wishes he could properly put his arms around you and rest his head on your shoulder. He wishes he was here as more than just your friend. He wishes he alone would be enough of a reason for you to always have the same soft look in your eyes.

But if Kita, the perfect Kita Shinsuke, Kita who knew you better than anyone wasn't enough, how could he be?

His hand lingers on your arm for a heartbeat longer. He could try, he could always love you with all he has and hope you'd love him back, hope he could be enough. But if he failed... he'd only hurt you more, wouldn't he? And you've been hurt enough.

During lunch break his phone rings and his hearts jumps, hoping it's you. But instead Osamu's name is written over the screen. A bit disappointed Aran picks up.

“Aran-kun whatcha doin' this Saturday?“ Not even a'hello'. So many years and still so rude.

“Practice till afternoon, then watchin' a movie.“

“Amazin'! Want some company?“

A boys' night out? Why not? It would be nice to spend some time with someone who wasn't his teammate. “'Course.“

Osamu laughs. “Knew ya would. I happen to know someone interested in a blind date. I'll tell her to meet ya at the cinema.“

“What? Osamu I'm not really one for blind dates-“

“The ex of a friend. She's Kita-san' ex, isn't she?“ Aran's silence is an answer enough. “Ya asked me for advice. This is it, go out, try meetin' someone else. Whatever you want to have with her it won't end well.“

Aran knows. He knows all that. He knows you returning his feelings would be the worst case scenario. Sooner or later he'd have to tell Kita. “I know,“ he says. “I know that.“

Osamu doesn't answer immediately, waiting if Aran will add anything else. “Just go on this one date, see how it goes.“

“I'll think about it.“

He does think about it. The entire day in fact. Meeting someone new would be nice and who knows, she might be the one he's waiting for. A part of him, the guilty part that's been way too loud in the past weeks, stays firmly against the idea. Searching for the right one when you're right here. What if this blind date is just a crazy fan who somehow found her way to meeting him? And what about you, it asks? It would be cruel wouldn't it, leading you on while going on dates behind your back.

But he isn't leading you on, Aran argues with the voice inside his head, you're just a friend anyway. He cares about you yes, but only as a really good friend. Osamu is right, you should never be more than that. You're Kita's ex. And you don't date your friend's ex. So why break his heart further?

           (17.48) I'll go on the date. send me time and place.

That's the thing about making plans, the moment you make them something else comes up. Just the following day his phone rings, making his heart flutter when he sees your name.

“Hey.“ Your voice alone makes him smile. “I, uhm, I have a request.“

No beating around the bush. It makes Aran wonder if you've been hanging with Osamu so much you picked up his habits. “Oh, do ya?“

“Yeah. It’s is a bit awkward... Listen, I have a very important exam next week but my roommate's gonna have her boyfriend over for the entire weekend. Let's just say earplugs aren't helping and leave it at that, yeah? So, could I maybe crash at your place till then? I just need a quiet place to study. I can sleep on the couch! Or the floor, I really don't care!“

“'Course ya can,“ says Aran without hesitation.

This is how we finds himself sitting with a bunch of your notes in his lap, you leaning on his back explaining one of the questions. There are at least 4 empty mugs on the desk of his living room. He hopes you've left some coffee for breakfast.

He's amazed by how naturally you fit into his life. Almost like the space beside his shoes in the closet was meant for yours and the jacket hanging beside his was always meant to be there. You've even found your favourite mug already. The bedroll on the floor of the living room is the only reminder you're only crashing at his place for a couple of days. If you asked he'd let you stay longer.

The next morning you wake up the same time as him, sipping your first cup of coffee for the day, half asleep and draped in the hoodie he strategically left on the counter last night. You don't even raise a brow when he takes your phone and asks you to unlock it. “I'll send ya a playlist. Just some classical music. It's good for studyin'.“

“Sure,“ you answer in a groggy voice. “Have fun bouncing the ball around,“ you wave him off when he gets ready to leave.

Your sleepy face makes him smile for the rest of the day. Practice runs longer than usual and he returns late, stepping over two stairs at the time. The lights are still on when he enters but there's no answer when he calls out. He finds you behind the desk, so absorbed in your notes you don't notice his approach. When he places his hands on your shoulders you jump and shriek. “Aran!“ You remove your headphones. “Do you want to give me a heart attack?!“ He laughs and you smack his leg before he sits on the floor beside you.

“Is the material so interestin'?“ He looks over your many notes and pushes an empty mug to the edge of the table.

“I was listening to music,“ you rub your eyes. He notices they look a bit reddish. He takes your phone and clicks the play button and music continues. It only takes him a moment to recognise the piece.

“Dmitri Shostakovich, Waltz number 2. My mom's favourite. Used to dance to it with dad every Thursday.“

“That's sweet.“

He stands up and offers you his hand. “Come, ya need a break.“

You take his hand without question, only raising your brow when he places his left hand on your back. “Ya have to put your hand on my shoulder,“ he grins to your more than apparent confusion.

“Oh, right,“ you mumble. “I can't really dance you know. Not waltz at least.“

He gently holds your right hand in his and gives you a reassuring squeeze. “Don't worry, I'll teach ya. I start with my right foot forward, ya step back with yer left, yep, just like that, then my left foot forward,“ you jump in surprise when he turns you around, “and the first turn, now yer right foot forward, then left, and turn. See, it ain't hard.“

“Easy for you to say,“ you disagree, your eyes fixed on his feet and your mind preoccupied with trying not to step on his toes.

“Just follow my lead,“ grins Aran, gently pulling you a little closer.

He counts the steps and beats in his head and step after another you relax and follow his lead. All those Thursdays when dad wasn't home and mom pulled him into taking his place are finally paying off.

“I didn't know you could dance so well.“

Aran laughs at your words and gently pushes you into a twirl under his arm. “I guess there's a lot ya don't know,“ he says when he pulls you closer again. 

You follow his steps and soon begin catch on the slightest of his moves. Music changes but you don't let go so you dance on through his living room, off beat and saying quiet 'Sorry's,' every time you step on his toes. The way your brows furrow when you mess up is adorable but Aran doesn't give you the time to ponder over the mistake, pulling you into the next turn with ease and certainty of someone who has danced these steps countless times.

When the last song ends Aran leaves his hand on your back. You're so close, your hand in his. Looking and smiling at him. His eyes linger on your lips. It would take so little to close the space between you. So little that would change so much.

He pulls away.“ Do ya want tea?“

“Don't I always?“ you muse and head to put the water on, then open the cupboard but the last cups stand on the highest shelf and even on your tiptoes you can't reach them. Aran gently pushes you to the side and reaches for them. “Here.“

He pours himself a glass of water then pulls his phone out to check the time. Shit. The blind date. That's today! He glances over at you, making your tea, humming the melody of the last song you danced too. His heart drops.

What is he doing? He can't... This is getting out of control. He clenches the glass tighter. You're so close, he wouldn't even have to fully extend his arm to tap your shoulder. If, right here and now, he told you how he feels, how would you react? He lifts the glass to his lips. Probably not in the way he wants you to. A leap of faith, one that could take him anywhere. To the love of his life, he thinks watching you stir, or to the stone to shatter the friendship you both tried so hard to rebuild. A risk he doesn't have the courage to take.

The half empty glass he leaves in the sink draws your attention. You watch Aran head for the bedroom and you don't think much of it. It's his apartment, he can do what he wants. It's only when almost ten minutes pass that you decide to poke your head through the door to see what he's up to. The clothes he's wearing certainly aren't what one would wear for staying at home. “Going somewhere?“ you ask, curious as to why he's wearing a pretty alright polka dotted shirt.

“I have a date.“ He awkwardly fixes his collar. He doesn't want to meet your eyes.

There's a short silence before you answer. “A date? In this shirt?“

Your judgemental tone makes him turn. “What's wrong with this shirt?”

You scrunch up your nose. “It gives you that,“ you wiggle your fingers, “successful businessman in his forties looking for a wife vibes.“

“What's wrong with that?“

“What's wrong with-?! Aran! You're a professional athlete!“ You enter his bedroom and start looking through the closet. “Don't you get invited to fashion shows and stuff? One would expect you'd get some fashion sense purely through osmosis. Ouch!“ you yelp when he playfully smacks your shoulder. “Here, this one.“ You hand him a shirt of dark violet colour.

He takes it from your hands and inspects it. Then he hands it back. “I like this one better. And I'm runnin' late already anyway.“

You shrug and hang it back. “As you wish Mr. CEO. Wait, are you bringing your date back here?! Shit, I need to clean up my stuff.“

“Relax. I'm not bringin' anyone back. It's a blind date anyway. Ya keep studyin' alright? I'll be very disappointed if ya don't get the highest mark.“

“What do you mean a blind date? Damn, I didn't expect that from you player boy,“ you tease and it's a distraction enough for Aran to miss the forced smile.

“Osamu's idea.“

A small “Ah,“ is all you reply at first. “Get going then, being late is the worst you can be on the first date!“ You push him out of the room. “Have fun, don't say anything stupid, and don't only talk about volleyball.“

“It's not my first date y/n, gosh, stop bein' such a mom. Why are ya so excited anyway?“

“Probably too much caffeine.“

When he returns you're still up. You have two cups of tea ready before he even takes his shoes off.

“So, how was it?“ You push the cup across the table. “Come on, come on, no need to be shy,“ you grin, “tell me!“

Aran rolls his eyes at your sudden excitement. “It was nice, but nothin’ special,“ he tells you.

“Just nice?“ You tap your fingers on the table. Aran recognises the rhythm, it's one of your favourite songs. You sent it to him a few days ago. “Dating must be harder now that you're famous,“ you say, absent-mindedly. “Or is it easier?“

Before answering he takes a cracker from the bowl on the table. “Harder,“ is the answer he settles on. “Ya never know if they're attracted to ya or yer status. What about ya?“ He focuses on chewing crackers and taking small sips of tea, anything to keep from glancing at you.

“Ah you know,“ you sigh, “have enough other problems at the moment. College is messing with my head enough already. Why put another person in the mix?“ This time Aran doesn't miss how your voice trembles, and how you rub your forehead. Maybe you just have a light headache. You do look exhausted.

He changes the subject, feeling the talk of dating is quickly approaching dangerous territory. “How are ya feelin'? With studyin' and all?“

You lean on your hand. “Could be much worse. It's just a lot. Probably should have started with studying earlier.“

“But with work ya didn't even have enough time, right? Don't be too hard on yerself.“

“Actually, I quit. I thought it would help me focus on studying,“ you say upon seeing his questioning gaze.

“Ya know what will help ya study better? Some good night's sleep.“ He takes your empty cup. “I'll do the dishes, ya go ready for bed. No talkin' back,“ he points his finger to your face, “ my house, my rules. No stayin' up past midnight.“

“It's one in the morning.“

“Past time for ya to go to bed then young lady.“

After that you don't protest and before he even finishes doing the dishes you're snuggled on your bedroll and half asleep. Seeing you fills him with warmth. He could get used to this, coming home to you every night. He turns the lights off.

When he lays in his bed he wonders what's with the sinking feeling in his chest. There's anger. Why were you so excited for his date in the first place? Why did you look almost disappointed when he said it was nothing special? He hugs his pillow, thinking he'd much rather it was you in his arms. You must be soft. If only you'd be here, his nose filled with the scent of your shampoo. Teeth of shame sink in his heart. Why does he have to feel like this?

He wants you to be jealous. It's so damn childish, he knows that. It's something his teenager self felt when you hugged Kita after a game but only gave him a high five and a head pat.

How long is he going to keep lying to himself? He's in love with you. Not the you he remembers. You here and now. You sipping your fourth cup of coffee, you frantically flipping through notes wearing one of his old hoodies. That at least hasn't changed; you still steal any hoodie you can get your grabby little hands on. Not steal, he corrects himself, borrow. You borrow them. For an undetermined period of time.

He buries his face in the pillow. You're not the always cheerful manager he remembers anymore. But you are still you.

Tag list: @aonenthusiast @rosecaffelatte @kara-grayson04

#ojiro aran #ojiro aran x reader #ojiro aran imagine #ojiro aran x y/n #aran x reader #aran x y/n #aran x you #hq #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu x reader #inarizaki x reader #inarizaki x y/n #all that is gold #libri scribbles

[dessarious]

Guilt and Consequences Pt3

Okay, so I am still working on my other stories I just haven’t been able to get much down. I’m working a crap ton of overtime at the moment and I’m just fried when I get home. I’d say hopefully I’ll be more productive on the weekends but right now I’m working Saturdays and and Sundays are becoming catch up on sleep days. So sorry for the delays, but I’ll try to get back into a headspace where I don’t just want to pass out whenever I’m not at work. Oh and I think I got everyone tagged who asked but let me know if I didn’t or you want to be added.

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The silence stretched on and Lila could only sit there. She knew the others were likely staring at her. Wondering what she’d done to make her mother react like that. She just wished she had an answer for them. Even before everything with the schools they’d never been close. Her mother pretty much only talked to her to tell her what she needed to improve. As the atmosphere became more and more uncomfortable Lila finally broke the silence.

“So… would you consider that a yes or a no?” More silence before M. Dupain cleared his throat.

“Marinette why don’t you go with Lila to pack an overnight bag? We’ll get dinner and some treats started. Is there anything you can’t eat or something you’d like to have?” It took her a moment to realize that last part was aimed at her. When she managed to look up his expression matched the gentle tone of his voice and she just got even more confused.

“No sir. I’m not picky.” Her mother rarely made it home to eat with her and even then it was always take out. She’d gotten used to left overs or eating whatever random things were in the house.

“Make sure to pack all your medications as well.” Madam Cheng’s voice sounded a little strange but when Lila managed to look up at her she wasn’t glaring and she didn’t look annoyed. She was definitely more stiff than she’d been before though.

“It’s okay if you don’t want me here anymore. I get it. Even offering is more than most people would have done in your situation.” She still had no idea why they did either. After everything that had happened to their daughter because of her they should be throwing her out, at the very least. The woman’s expression turned to one of motherly concern and it honestly made her more nervous. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had aimed that kind of look at her.

“You’re welcome here, anytime you need somewhere to go, as long as you stop all this lying. There are better ways to deal with your problems.” Lila could only hang her head and mumble another apology. While she agreed that the lying in this situation wasn’t a good idea, it normally didn’t backfire like this and she had tried other things first. Maybe it was different for other people. She heard the woman let out a frustrated sigh. “You two go on, we’ve got to finish closing up the bakery before we start on dinner.” She let Marinette pull her out of her seat and down the stairs. She was still too busy trying to understand what was happening to even consider arguing.

“Did your mom really put you on medication just to keep you in school?” She glanced at Marinette. There was no accusation in the question. More like she just couldn’t understand how someone could do something like that.

“Yes but I don’t take it. Well, except one of the anxiety meds every once in a while when I can’t sleep. As she said on the phone, she thinks I should be responsible for myself so she just assumes I’m actually taking them.” She hadn’t understood at first why her mother would work so hard to get the meds and then not bother to monitor their use. She’d come to the conclusion it was so that when the school finally called about her ‘behavioral’ issues she would have a paper trail to be able to sell them on the fact that Lila was just sick and needed special accommodations. That or she really didn’t think Lila would disobey her on this.

When they got to the apartment building Lila wasn’t really paying attention. She heard something that sounded like a cough but kept walking towards the elevator until Marinette tugged on her sleeve. When she looked over at the other girl Marinette motioned to the side and Lila saw three rather annoyed looking staff members.

“Guests have to be signed in.” She blinked at the woman who spoke, not really processing the words.

“I’m sorry, what?” The woman just rolled her eyes.

“This is a high security building Mlle. Rossi. All guests have to be signed in.” Oh, right. She vaguely remembered something about that from when they’d first moved in. She just had never actually brought someone home before.

“Sorry, I forgot. Umm… how exactly do I do that?” The woman just looked exasperated now, but the man behind the desk offered a smile and motioned them over. There was a clipboard on the desk and he handed her a pen.

“You just need to put your name, apartment number, and your guests name.” He pointed to each column in turn . She filled them out as he asked and handed the pen back. “Thank you Mlle. Rossi, have a nice day.”

“Thank you, you as well.” She could still see the disapproving look on the woman’s face as they continued to the elevator and couldn’t help but wonder how she still had a job if this was how she normally treated tennants. Personally she couldn’t remember any of the staff and didn’t really interact with them. Generally once she was in the building it was a habit to keep her head down and get to her room as quickly as possible. She’d found that the less interaction she had with people the fewer things her mother had to lecture her about. Her social interactions were always lacking in some way and she could never be certain what her mother would latch onto.

When they entered the apartment Lila noticed Marinette frowning as she looked around. She couldn’t really blame her after seeing her house. The apartment was clean bordering on sterile due to the service her mother had come in daily. There weren’t any personal touches either. No pictures, no nicknacks, nothing that said people actually lived here. She didn’t really think about it. It had been this way as long as she could remember.

“Your place is nice…” Lila actually grinned as she watched Marinette try to come up with something good to say about it. “Lot’s of natural light.” Lila let out a snort of amusement. The girl was the essence of cheerful and that was all she could come up with. It was a bit sad really.

“My room’s this way.” When they entered Marinette perked up immediately. Lila could only assume it was due to all the pictures on the walls since it was the only real difference between here and the rest of the house.

“Wow, these are amazing! Do you collect them?”

“They’re not that good. Just pictures I’ve taken to remember where I’ve been.” She liked taking pictures, especially of nature. She found it soothing and having something to look back on made her feel a little less disconnected. Marinette was staring at her in what looked like awe.

“You took all these?” Lila just nodded. “These are amazing! I’ve seen professional photographers whose work doesn’t look this good.” Even knowing Marinette was just being nice, Lila couldn’t help but bask in the complement for a moment. But only for a moment.

“So what exactly should I be packing? I’ve never done the whole sleepover thing before.” Suddenly Marinette was looking at her like she’d kicked a puppy and she couldn’t figure out why.

“You’ve never had a sleepover? Ever?” Lila just shook her head. Wasn’t that what she’d just said? “Oh my gosh! We have so much to make up for. Obscene amounts of junk food and games and movies and makeovers and ghost stories and-” She just kept going. Lila had no idea what she was rambling about and it didn’t answer her question at all. Marinette finally paused to take a breath and she was able to break in.

“Okay, but what should I actually pack?” Marinette paused to think it over. The expression on her face seemed far too serious for such a common question.

“Your most comfy pajamas, whatever you want to wear tomorrow, and a toothbrush. I’ll take care of everything else.” Well that sounded slightly ominous. Regardless, she packed what she was told along with all her medications. Dumping those in the bag got a strange look from Marinette, but she wasn’t certain why. Maybe it was just how many there were. In less than ten minutes they were back out on the street, headed towards the bakery.

“Lila!”

“Shit.” She said the word under her breath as she looked behind her. Of course it would be Alya. They’d been on the street less than five minutes, only her luck could be that bad. She tried to use her body to block Marinette but she wasn’t quick enough. Alya’s expresion turned sour as she tried to reach around Lila.

“I thought we made it clear that we wouldn’t tolerate you bullying Lila anymore!” Lila grabbed the girls wrist before she could grab or slap Marinette. That stunned her enough to let Marinette get some space.

“You touch her again I’ll break the offending appendage.” Lila didn’t recognize her own voice in that deep threatening tone, but Alya just rolled her eyes.

“This is why we didn’t tell you what we were doing. You’re too nice and let people like her get away with anything.” She wanted so badly to just slap some sense into the girl but honestly she didn’t think it would work.

“I’m not nice, and you’ll find out exactly how not nice if you don’t stop harassing Marinette.”

“But if we don’t do something she’ll just keep bullying you!” Lila could only sigh. How many times was she going to have to have this conversation.

“Marinette is not now, nor has she ever bullied me. Which I already told you.” Alya let out a patient sigh, like she was explaining something simple to a small child. Yeah, someone was going to get hit before this conversation was over.

“She’s constantly calling you a liar and trying to turn everyone against you. Why would she do that?” Yep, the kindergarten teacher tone was definitely a good way to piss her off. Lila, of course, defaulted to sarcasm.

“Oh gee, I don’t know maybe because I was lying?” Alya looked like she was about to argue but Lila just kept going. “If you had bothered to look up literally anything I said you would know that.”

“An absence of proof is not proof of absence.” It took a minute for the words to penetrate as Lila was just getting even more annoyed by Alya’s self righteous tone but when they did she had to stop herself from lunging at her.

“Are you saying that you looked up my claims, found absolutely no proof and still took my word over Marinette’s?” Her voice was soft, more because her throat felt like it was closed in rage than anything else.

“There wasn’t any proof that you were lying either.” Alya’s smug tone finally snapped something inside her.

“Have you lost your damn mind?! Jagged stone has said in multiple interviews that he doesn’t even like cats. And in what universe would my mother’s PR team not have it in the news that I do charity work? She’s a public figure Alya, anything that can make her look good would have press releases for days. That in and of itself proves that I was lying.” The girl seemed to ponder this for a moment before she sent a glare to Marinette.

“What did you threaten her with to make her agree with you?”  Knowing that she’d been right about who Alya would blame for this was a small consolation.

“Lila you need to calm down.” Marinette’s voice was soft, soothing even but she was in no mood to pay attention.

“I will not calm down! This wanna be reporter couldn’t find the truth if she fell into a river of it. You should consider a career in fiction by the way since anyone with journalistic integrity will simply laugh you out the door.” Alya was still glaring at Marinette, like all this was her fault. What was wrong with people? Marinette actually grabbed her arms and forced Lila to face her.

“Please. You really need to calm down. Just breathe with me okay? You don’t want to get Akumatized again.” Those words acted like ice water. Yes, this was beyond stupid, but it wasn’t worth that. She calmed her breathing as Marinette asked but made sure to keep a line of sight on Alya as well. There was no telling what someone like her would do at this point.

“We should head back to your house, your parents will start to worry.” She had no idea if that was true or not but she hoped it would get Alya to back off. Pretty much everyone agreed that Marinette’s parents were great people, but they were also scared shitless at the thought of pissing them off. After their talk earlier she understood why. It did the trick too. Alya mumbled something about finding out what kind of dirt Marinette had on her so Lila could stop pretending she’d been lying as she left at a brisk walk. She’d read about willful ignorance but she’d never expected to encounter it to this degree. She was starting to hope it did have something to do with Hawkmoth, but considering some of the things people were willing to believe she wasn’t very optimistic.

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[tsuu-mikii]

glued

chapter one

masterlist

　　　　　*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

People were always shocked when they found out that Eren Jaeger was your best friend. You were polar opposites, like fire and water. You were level headed and responsible, while he was rash and had a tendency to mouth off.

You’d met when he transferred into your third grade class. His almost permanent scowl and extreme competitive spirit had kept most of the class away from him, but your stubborn empathy wouldn’t let you leave the boy friendless and alone, and you found yourself sitting down next to him at lunch a few weeks after his arrival.

After offering him a juice box as a peace offering, you managed to get him to talk to you. And the rest was history. The two of you just worked. You balanced each other out.

“Eren, how many times do I have to tell you that you cannot use a comma right there?” you huffed, dragging your hands down your face as you attempted to tutor the teal eyed boy you called your best friend.

Eren groaned, scrunching his face and leaning back against the wall behind your bed, “Not all of us can be English majors with genius writing skills.”

“I am the best.” you teased, sticking out your tongue at him. He rolled his eyes.

Suddenly, his phone pinged. Judging by the childlike smile he grew, you could tell it was his mom.

“Tell Mama Jaeger I said hi!” you said, flitting your eyes across what he’d completed on his paper so far and inserting edits he needed to make.

He rolled his eyes but continued typing, “Y’know, sometimes I think you like my mom more than you like me.”

You brought your hand to your chin faux pensively, “Well, she does give me snacks whenever I come over…”

He shoved you playfully before pushing his phone back into his pocket, “You’re evil.”

He turned his eyes back onto his laptop screen, taking in the slew of markups you’d added to it. His face soured, his expression of happiness immediately turning into one of confusion.

You laughed before shutting his laptop, “Why don’t we call it quits for today’s session, yeah? Don’t you have a party to get to? It’s a Saturday night.”

He gave you a pointed look, “You’re being judgy right now, y/n, I can feel it. Don’t be judgy.”

“I am not being judgy! You already know I don’t care about how many girls you hook up with.” you replied with a gentle shove of his arm.

He frowned but didn’t say anything further, opting to stand up from your bed and straighten out his clothes.

As he stood there before you, you couldn’t help but take in his appearance. You’d known Eren since elementary school, and it would be a lie to say he hadn’t changed. His brown locks had grown long enough to tie into a small bun, his jawline had become more defined, his previously scrawny arms had become defined with lean muscles and his ears were riddled with piercings.

Your best friend was attractive, and everyone knew it. Despite the tiny remnant of feelings for him that lingered from your childhood, you’d never truly judge him for living his life the way he wanted to. It wasn’t your place. That didn’t stop you from poking fun at him, though.

The silence of the room was comfortable as he packed his things, and after collecting all his belongings and securing them in his bag he turned to face you.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna come with?” he asked with a small smile.

You snorted, “And watch you and your little frat friends get shitfaced? I’ll pass.”

You pulled him into a brief hug, the gesture natural to the both of you, “You have fun, though. And stay safe! I mean it.”

He chuckled and gave you a two finger salute, “I promise to be on my best behavior, Captain.”

You rolled your eyes before ushering him out the door. “And don’t forget to finish your paper!” you shouted to him as he retreated down the hall. You knew him too well, and could already tell that come tomorrow morning he’d be calling you to bring him a detox and food because of his hangover. 

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･

It was around 1 am when your cell phone rang, ripping your attention away from the random Netflix original that played on your TV. You quickly grabbed it to see Eren’s contact photo occupying the screen. Without hesitation, you slid the call button to answer.

“Hello?”

“Uh, y/n?” a voice that definitely wasn’t Eren’s replied.

“Jean?” you asked, realizing that the mysterious caller was a fellow member of Eren’s fraternity.

“You remembered! Anyway, your idiot’s way more drunk than usual. Like about to pass out drunk. Can you come get him before he pukes on someone?”

You heard a retching sound in the background, followed by a shriek.

“Too late,” you could practically hear his cringe through the speaker, “So will you come get him?”

You sighed, “I’m on my way.”

Disconnecting the call, you made quick work of replacing the pajama shorts you were wearing with leggings and shrugging on an oversized hoodie you’d stolen from Eren in high school. You slipped out of the door quietly, careful not to wake your roommate.

Despite your anger at having to leave your dorm so late at night, you couldn’t help but feel a pit of worry settle at the bottom of your stomach. He was by no means a lightweight, so him getting drunk enough to hurl meant that he went way overboard. Something he only did when he had something big bothering him. It honestly stung a bit that he hadn’t shared anything with you, despite him having been in your dorm for hours before he left for the party.

You shook the negative thoughts from your head as you approached the frat house. Before you could even knock on the door it swung open, revealing an absolutely trashed Eren being held up by a very pissed off Jean.

Jean tapped Eren’s cheek with an annoying grunt, “Oi Jaeger, your friend is here.”

You winced as he transferred his weight onto your shoulders, “Sorry about him.”

“Don’t be. He was in here whining all night about how some lady friend doesn’t like him back, feel sorry for her.”

You frowned, having been unaware that he was interested in someone. Even though you swore your feelings for him had fizzled out in the tenth grade, you couldn’t shake the heavy feeling in your chest.

You plastered on a small smile regardless, “Later, Jean. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

He returned the smile and nodded before returning to the party.

After several unsuccessful attempts at walking, you nudged Eren with a scowl, “Eren, I need you to use your legs too.”

He mumbled incoherently and let out what sounded like a whine before ultimately complying with your request.

Halfway through your trek back to the dorms, he began to speak.

“Why doesn’t she like me back?” he mumbled drunkenly into your shoulder.

Your heart rate quickened and you sped up your stride, desperate to reach his dorm.

“What?”

“I like her so much. But she just thinks of me as a friend. She doesn’t even care when I hang out with other girls.”

“Eren what are you talking about?” you asked, heart practically in your throat at this point.

He looked at you, eyes piercing, “I’m in love with her.”

You were outside his dorm by now and you weren’t sure if you wanted to dump him on his bed and run or grill him for questions while he was still in his drunken stupor.

You chose the former.

You made quick work of removing his shoes, laying him down and covering him with a blanket. As you turned to exit he caught your wrist, holding you back.

“Stay?” he asked, eyes closed and speech still a bit slurred.

You shook your head, “Absolutely not. You’re drunk.”

He frowned and shook his head, pulling your hand up to his face, “Not like that. I just want you to stay.”

You sighed, it was always hard to say no to him, “Fine, but only until you fall asleep.”

He hummed contently in response as you sat on the little empty space left on his dorm bed. As you ran your fingers through his silky brown hair you couldn’t help but think about what he’d told you. Who was he in love with? Did you know her? When did he meet her? Why did it hurt so bad?

Despite your best efforts, you found yourself dozing off, mind still swimming with unanswered questions.

Four hours later you awoke, still in Eren’s bed. You quickly shot up to leave, only to be stopped by the weight of his muscular arm pinning you in place. He had always been grabby in his sleep, and when coupled with the fact that he worked out five times a week, it was almost impossible to get out of his grip.

Luckily for you, years of being his friend had made you relatively good at escaping him, and with a little effort you carefully removed his arm from you and slid a pillow into your place.

You quickly slid your shoes back on and dashed out the door, not even breathing until you were in the hall. Your heart was pounding as you exited his building and made your way to your own. Luckily it was early, so the only people around were a spattering of students trekking back from parties.

You reached your dorm with little fanfare and quietly slid in, kicking your shoes off and sliding down the door. You massaged your temples and screwed your eyes shut, why did it bother you so much that he liked someone else. You’d long passed the point of being a lovesick puppy over him.

“Y/n, is that you?” your roommate grumbled sleepily, not moving from her spot on her bed, “It’s like, 5 am, go back to bed.”

Her ears had always been sharp, but you were still surprised the little noise you’d made had woken her up. “Sorry, Sasha.”

She simply mumbled in response before going right back to snoring.

You climbed into your bed after stripping from the hoodie and leggings you’d put on and settling back into your pajamas from earlier. Despite your efforts, you couldn’t sleep a wink, your thoughts consumed by Eren’s words.

Who was he in love with?

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･

a/n: hey besties! just wanted to get the cross posting out of the way first lmao. hope y’all enjoyed !

#aot fics #eren x reader #eren yaeger x reader #eren jaeger x reader #glued

[stellocchia]

Just getting out a few thoughts on Wilbur’s revival stream now that I’ve had time to think about it slightly more...

Fair warning this is extremely critical, which is why I’m putting it under the cut for those who don’t want to have negativity clog their dash...

So... are we gonna talk about how the random change of plan to have Ghostbur be the one getting Tommy in the prison made no sense? Especially considering that Sam said he wouldn’t let anymore people into the prison?

Also why was Ranboo there? Was it just so he could be our info-dump machine for all the characters who are disconnected from the main narrative to find out about the resurrection instead of that happening naturally with them meeting Revivedbur? Because just the day before Tommy was opposed to telling him and he honestly added nothing to the whole thing...

Also what was Dream’s plan in all of this? Everyone knows that a hostage becomes entirely worthless once they’re dead. Is he betting everything on Wilbur somehow freeing him out of a sense of gratitude for bringing him back to life? Why is he convinced that Wilbur can help him? Man’s never been particularly strong in pvp, I’d say he’s probably one of the weakest in the server and he is not redstone genius either... how does he expect him to be able to break him out of prison?

Quackity’s and Wilbur’s friendship may be important for the plot from here on out, as I’ve seen people theorize, but it was poorely constructed at best. All we have of it is literally one flashback and that’s it. Basically, if there really is gonna be a team up between the two it has 0 build-up.

I love Fundy as much as the next person and I think he is an amazing and amazingly underrated character, but while him and Wilbur were close at the beginning, they literally drifted off to the point were Wilbur told Fundy to his face that all he felt for him was hatred, so I have my doubts that Fundy will truly be the one to get him to repent, as I’ve seen some people say. That said, I’m rooting for him!

Also, everyone harping on Tommy saying “you should feel worse” under his breath in anger while completely ignoring the history of abuse between him and Wilbur, the fact that he’d just seen Ghostbur die in the same exact way he previously did so he probably wasn’t in his right mind and the fact that Wilbur was positively gleeful about the crater, mocked Tubbo for being “president of that” and called Dream his hero in front of him (which were all positively triggering behaviours) all the while dodging any confrontation about what he’d done with some guilt tripping (saying “are you trying to make me feel suicidal?” when confronted with the fact that your actions hurt others is not a good response, that said, Wilbur was understandably not in the state of mind for a confrontation either) and instead acting like that comment came out of nowhere is the exact same thing as people going “but he killed the cat” to justify Tommy’s murder or saying “but he said that the disk were worth more then Tubbo” to say that he is a horrible person. You’re not being as smart as you think you are, you are just ignoring everything surrounding the situation and judging everything as if it was in a bubble.

Also yes, Wilbur needs help, but so does everyone else in this godforsaken server and no-one is equipped to provide it, so if we want a redemption arc man has to help himself and that’s the reality of the situation. Also none of the people he hurt owe him either forgiveness nor understanding, they didn’t before he came back and they don’t now just because a part of the fandom suddenly remembered that he’s their fave. 

#dream smp critical #c!wilbur critical #long post #this is just me ranting here... #sadly I'll admit I didn't like much of that stream #and I didn't even talk about my problems with sam's characterization here because that stream messed it up big times #I have a feeling that the plan initially was something else but they forced the resurrection plot in there #just because it had to happe at some point #even though it really didn't fit in the way they introduced it #it also brings up more questions about resurrection which at this point feels more like a deus ex machina then anything else

[catharsis-in-a-bottle]

A very long post about romantic attraction, social situations, sexual orientation, etc.

In short, a slightly organized brain dump involving some of my personal experiences and hopefully some takeaways. 

There are many things I’ve learned, both in general and about myself, simply by investigating online resources about the acespec and arospec communities.

Some of these were things that I think I already knew internally, but that I had never voiced before because I didn’t have the words or the terms to describe them. 

I’ve learned about different types of attraction, and I’ve realized that I can categorize them internally. For example, I’ve definitely mistaken platonic attraction with romantic attraction in the past. The term ‘squish’ - basically a sort of friend crush - can be applied to several of my experiences, and honestly, it really explains my conscious disconnect towards romance. I’ve realized that wanting to get to know someone better does not equate wanting to date them.

I’ve learned about other arospec identities, like greyromantic and demiromantic, and how they might apply to me. I’ve realized that my romantic attraction has essentially been limited to one person, and that otherwise my desires have been platonic - again, wanting to get to know someone better because I find them interesting, or else having a deep admiration/respect for them. None of these things are romantic attraction, and it’s been very relieving to discover this. It makes sense. 

I think I’ve always had a weird feeling towards all the societal cues and expectations associated with romance. Why are certain things associated with wanting to form a romantic relationship? As a child, I thought I was a girl and I knew, just from the social code of school life, that becoming friends with boys would be seen as some romantic advance (despite the fact that we were all literally elementary schoolers.) In first grade, everyone thought I had a crush on this kid I was friends with, and I always laughed at them. I was just looking for friends. Friends isn’t a freaking gender-specific term. I think I’ve always kind of tried to “play it cool” with the boys, especially in middle school, simply because I didn’t really want anyone to think “haha, so-and-so is dating so-and-so” just because I had a conversation with another person. And what sucked is that when I thought I might be bi, I kind of consciously did the same thing around girls as well - I tried to be socially adept and “cool” and not too overly open, just because of all of these social codes that indicate romantic intent. 

One of these strange codes that confused me was this: “if so-and-so has a crush on you, you should totally date them!” What if I didn’t like so-and-so back? Why the hell would I date them? But something that I witnessed happening quite often in middle school was kids finding out someone ‘liked’ them and then wanting to ‘like’ that person back, despite not having formed attraction in the first place. It felt like a puzzle. It was something that I observed and maybe sort of over-analyzed, because dissecting social situations and laying out pieces of the puzzles on the floor is something I just do. I reckon that kids were not only beginning to experience romantic/sexual attraction individually, but that they were also recognizing the social standards that were beginning to form. The first batch of kids wanted to form relationships (if not long-lasting ones), and so they did; other kids who were experiencing attraction subsequently felt a little bit of pressure to get with someone fast. The complaints of “I’m so sad I don’t have a boyfriend” and similar phrases rang free throughout the hallways. In short, allo- and heteronormativity seems to have influenced a lot of people. Which is fine for many, but also restricting for those in the lgbtq+ community (but of course, the jungle of school life does not intend to cater to the minorities) It was simply a thing that happened, and a thing I’m seeing a bit more clearly now. 

[Also, the concept of using the word ‘like’ to describe adolescent romantic interest in another person always confused me. I never got why ‘like’ had romantic intent - I liked people that I’d formed friendships with. No one ever outright said “I have a crush on this person.” They just said like.]

There’s only one occasion on which I’ve known how to react emotionally to someone telling me that he had romantic interest in me, and that’s only because I personally ‘liked’ them back. I had already imagined that situation, and I welcomed it. [Amusingly enough, we both kind of ignored our confessions for a while, but eventually we formed an actual relationship. Ah, the joys of social situations.] But in terms of other people admitting their interest, which hasn’t happened all that much but has still happened, I’ve had very mixed reactions. One time a couple of years ago, it was my friend whom I cared very deeply about. I didn’t really know how she knew that I didn’t have interest in dating her, but somehow she did, and she told me so. This made my reaction less clouded and more simple, and it wasn’t really an uncomfortable situation; I confirmed easily enough that I didn’t have any interest in dating her and the situation resolved nicely. Basically, although it wasn’t an ideal occurrence, it didn’t affect our friendship in any way.

But there have been other times where it’s been extremely uncomfortable. Once, I joined an after-school club in which I barely knew anyone. During one of our meetings, we took a walk to a local coffee shop to just sort of hang out. And this girl - I’ll call her ‘C’ for online purposes - sat down and started talking to me. This was fine - why not have a bit of conversation? She talked about K-pop a lot (which eventually got very annoying lol) and just seemed like she wanted to be my friend, and internally I told myself well, I don’t really know her and she doesn’t seem like the kind of person I want to hang out with but we’re at a coffee shop and I’m bored. At the end of our coffee shop trip, C asked for my phone number. I didn’t take this to mean anything beyond the fact that she wanted to talk to me more, and though I felt inclined to decline her offer, I really didn’t want to hurt her feelings (again, the joys of social situations.) So now she had my phone number. Here’s where things got weird. For one thing, she sent me a bunch of random pictures of K-pop singers, saying things such as “omg he’s so hot” which was already uncomfortable in itself. Me, being a bit of an idiot, didn’t stand up for myself, or even block her number. Then, she came out to me as pansexual and told me she had a crush on me. When she told me this, she did not imply in any way that she didn’t have an intent of dating me or something, so I was very, very uncomfortable for several reasons. Firstly, I didn’t know her that well - I didn’t really even consider her a friend. Secondly, I definitely did not want to date her because I didn’t really know her. And thirdly, I didn’t know how to react. I think I said something along the lines of “Oh, well, um, okay, I don’t have a crush on you” and left it at that. For the final puncher, she started finding me in the hallways after school as she left for the bus and giving me hugs. I am typically not a physically affectionate person, so this was just weird as hell for me. Again, like an idiot, I didn’t stand up for myself, and so I just kind of stood there... all of this took place right before my school shut down because of the pandemic, so I was literally saved by everyone getting kicked out of school. Thankfully, I did not see her anymore, and finally I blocked her number as I should have done much, much earlier. [I didn’t intend to make that story so long, but there it is anyway.]

The point is, I found it extremely strange that someone I barely knew had a crush on me. This feeling was amplified when, a couple months ago, something else happened: someone on Instagram, who I didn’t know at all, expressed interest in dating me. I was extremely confused. Apparently they sort of knew me because we were in the same school system, but I’d still never met them.

I simply mean to say that romantic attraction drives people to lengths that I personally find strange and inconceivable. Looking into the aromantic community has taught me that essentially all of what we deem ‘romance’ is socially constructed. The rules, the implications, the things you’re supposed to do. You’re supposed to flirt with the person you ‘like’. You’re supposed to get all nervous around them. You’re supposed to only form a relationship with one person or else you’re considered weird and even perverted. Flirting seems like a ritual, nervousness seems like a prison - why can we not do away with the expectations and simply do what feels comfortable to us individually? I have learned about the term relationship anarchy, which means doing away with and rebelling against all of these expectations. The expectation of monogamy, of ritualistic performances, of a certain type of romance, of what actions are deemed romantic or sexual, of having to have a romantic and/or sexual relationship, etc. I find that relationship anarchy is a very appealing concept. People should have whatever relationships or lack thereof that they wish. Queerplatonic relationships should be normalized. Loveless aromanticism should be understood and not demonized. Polyamorous people should not be alienated. In short, these societal expectations that we’ve established have no purpose beyond defining what a “real relationship” is, and by ensuring that romantically loving one other person is what “makes us human” and deems us “normal” in society. Platonic and familial love should not be put below romantic love, yet we’ve created a hierarchy. Me platonically loving my true friends should not be “less than” me romantically loving my boyfriend. And people who just don’t want any sort of relationships or attachments to other people should be respected, because they are not negatively affecting anyone in any way. Except by hurting the feelings of bigots, and I’d pay anyone to do that any day if I had the money. 

Though I love my friends and my boyfriend in different ways, I realize that I have extremely similar criteria for a friend versus a partner. Beyond my general confusion regarding romance as a concept, this is another thing that has led me to believe I am arospec. It’s always been very difficult for me to imagine romantically loving someone who I couldn’t consider a friend - how, then, would my relationship even work? One thing about society’s ideas of romance that I do resonate with is the fact that your partner should be your best friend. [For me personally. I’m not just making a general claim.]  It’s hard to see myself dating someone who I hadn’t known before, who I hadn’t befriended, who I hadn’t considered a best friend because we knew each other and had come to form an actual bond. I would be happy spending my life with someone who I considered both a best friend and a romantic partner. I don’t think this is something that is of absolute necessity to me - I could see myself without a romantic partner, which is another major reason I’m beginning to consider myself arospec [maybe greyromantic or demiromantic.] And of course, I have conflated romantic and platonic attraction in the past; upon reflection, I think I’ve only experienced genuine romantic attraction once, which of course also prompts me towards arospec. 

Many resources - tumblr accounts dedicated to aspec experiences and questions, online stories, even just bare definitions of terms I didn’t know - have been extremely helpful in not only my understanding of myself, but also of the variety of experiences that lie with others. There is a beautiful array of diversity out there in the ways people think and feel, and it feels as if I have discovered a gold mine. [Hehe - do we place value on gold in the same way we place value on romance?] Simply learning about the multitudes of people out there with so many different experiences has been wonderful.

Upon reflection, I’ve also begun to wonder if I am acespec. Society is at it again - placing inherent value in certain concepts, associating expectations between categories. Specifically, the categories of romance and sexual attraction. In most movies with romantic subplots - which is a shit ton - sex seems to always be attached to the development of a romantic relationship. Here’s the thing - most people don’t think about the Split Attraction Model (SAM), which separates romantic and sexual attraction. It’s either you’re attracted to someone, or you aren’t. But for those who do use the SAM for whatever reason, romantic and sexual attraction are separate terms [though they can of course be intertwined.] I find it strange that romance sort of necessarily leads to sex - why? You don’t need sex to have a healthy relationship - but of course, many people want it and so it happens. And because sexual attraction is often tied to peoples’ romantic partners, sex is just associated with romance. [And also apparently sexual attraction can happen towards random people, which I didn’t know lmao.] The SAM is useful for many [not necessarily all] aspecs, as it creates this differentiation between wanting to date someone and wanting to, well, do the do with them. Through investigating common terms used by aspec people, I also find the terms aesthetic and sensual attraction useful, because I believe I have conflated aesthetic and sensual attraction with sexual attraction. [Also, in the past, for some reason I didn’t really know that sexual orientation referred to people that you literally wanted to have sex with. I thought it was just the people that you ‘liked’.] These specific terms have been quite useful to me personally, as I’ve realized that I really can tell the difference between the types of attraction that I experience. The issue is, I’m just not sure about my sexual attraction - have I actually experienced it, and if so, in what ways? It does get frustrating to question so much, but it’s an interesting exploration all the same. 

Am I actually acespec? Maybe not. But even if I’m not, I’ve still learned a lot about acespec people, and again it’s wonderful to read about how many different experiences exist in this world. Looking back on my past has been interesting. Thinking about my present and my future is intriguing. Wondering what I am and where I’ll go is a mixed bag of emotions, but it’s here and I’m stuck with it. I think I’m probably arospec, and that discovery is honestly relieving. It feels like a weight lifted. It clicks into place. I’m just going to keep living and figuring out what the hell my sexual orientation is, and I’ll vibe with it, I guess. The general, whole, main point is: learning about these communities is an enlightening experience, and it has perhaps reshaped part of my view of society. And also, I write too much. 

If you read this whole thing, I commend you for making it through my massive overshare. I hope you gained something from it, whether that be entertainment or knowledge or simple resonance with an idea. 

#whewwwww that took a while #but it feels good to empty out the brain you know? #aspec #acespec #arospec #asexual #aromantic #demisexual #demiromantic #greysexual #greyromantic #ace community #aro community #long post #personal #random #thoughts #brain dump #lgbtq+ #relationship anarchy #hell yeah #queerplatonic #relationships #so many words damn ouch my brain hurts

[sincerelyasomebody]

Bound To Happen || Jose "Sad Eyes" Guzman

(GIF Credit: @merakiaes)

A/N: A requested piece! My first requested piece, which I hope lives up to your expectations. Mrs Turner's name will be Lynn. Unsure if it's been mentioned in the show. Also the text exchange has been included in the word count - the lesser amount is if it were not included. Hopefully, that makes sense. Apologises for grammatical errors. Feel free to let me know about any corrections I need to make with the Spanish translations, thanks!. 

Pairing(s): Sad Eyes x Turner!Reader ▪︎ Jamal Turner x Sister!Reader ▪︎ Turner!Family x Turner!Reader 

Requested: By @briannab1234

Summary: Relaxation comes in different forms.

Warnings: fluff, language, mentions of 19th Street incident with DJ's, playlist of songs, slightly smutty?, steamy make out, talks of murder, 

Word Count: 1423 ¤ 1409

- ♤ -♡ - ◇ - ♧ -

(Y/N) bopped her head along to 3LW's Playas Gon' Play echoing through her portable speaker as she carried it and her phone into the kitchen. Carefully placing the two on the counter she searched through the fridge, trying to find the food she had hidden in a container at the back. As soon as (Y/N) heard the theme song for The Goonies cut through the second verse, she didn't need to see the name on the screen to know who was calling. 

She disconnected her bluetooth, pressed the green button and put it on loud speaker, and answered, "hey."

"A sum of thirty five dollars is owing on your account, please transfer funds effective immediately. Thank you."

At the sound of a beep, (Y/N) stared at her phone for a few seconds before laughing. Her brother was something else. She logged into her (bank) app and made the transfer. Thankfully they were with the same bank. Once it was finalised, she sent a confirmation message. 

(Y/N)

Owing balance has been cleared.

She then proceeded to reconnect her phone to the speaker and clicked shuffle on her most recent playlist. She grinned upon hearing Love Like This by Faith Evans playing. Swaying her hips, she grabbed the container and popped it into the microwave for a couple of minutes. 

Feeling a familiar pair of arms wrap across her body, she laughed, "was I away too long?"  

Jose kissed the top of her head, "yes."

"So needy," she giggled and turned to face him, reaching out and pinching his cheeks, "such a needy baby," she puckered her lips, "beso." 

He snickered, but gave into her demand. His hands wandered down her back, deepening the simple kiss. They eventually found their way to her ass, giving it a squeeze. (Y/N) allowed him to take control as her own hands wandered up and down his solid body. The kiss lasted a lot shorter than she anticipated, causing a whine to fall from her lips.

"What's the matter, mi amor?" 

She pouted, "nothing." 

Laughing, he squeezed her hips, "aw, looks like somebody's a needy baby," he moved his hand to tilt her chin up, "who's a needy baby?" 

She huffed, "I'm the needy baby," she was given a peck to the forehead, "but you love me." 

"Always, baby." 

They held each other close, enjoying the calm atmosphere surrounding them. They had the house to themselves and were going to take full advantage of it. (Y/N) only removed herself from the embrace when the microwave beeped and TLC's No Scrubs hit a blimp. 

She glanced over at her phone and pressed her messages. 

Jamal

Enjoy the rest of your day. 

"Who's on watch?" She asked, popping open the microwave. 

Since the 19th Street attack on her dad and his business, Spooky had Santos members watching the house. The image of her father on that night is something (Y/N) would never forget. She was relieved to know that he, as well as the business, would recover but she was upset at the way 19th Street tried to assert their dominance, now that the Prophet$ were out of the picture. 

The only thing stopping her from beating up a couple of punk ass bitches, was her conscious reminding her that igniting a gang war wouldn't be the answer. The upside to the incident was getting time off from the hospital to take care of her father (she temporarily moved back in) as well as spend time with Jose. When she came clean to her family about him being her boyfriend, Jamal had leapt off the couch in the living room; did his victory dance and practically shoved his hand into their parents faces. 

(Y/N) couldn't believe that they had a betting pool about her and Jose, but they simply shrugged her off and claimed it was bound to happen - she had fallen into the 'best friends who become more' category. But, it was a place she was more than happy to be. 

"Joker," he said, bumping his hip with hers, grabbing a tea towel and placing it on her hands, "quit doin' that shit." 

She had a habit of grabbing things out of the oven or microwave without anything protecting her hands. With an eye roll, she accepted the tea towel, "okay, okay." he watched as she covered her hands and pulled out the container. Before he could grab some plates, she put a fork in his hand. 

"Maldito perezoso."

"Shut up," she replied and shoved a forkful of the stir fry into her mouth, "if you wanna wash more dishes, go ahead." 

He gently tapped her cheek, "don't talk with your mouth full," he clicked his tongue, when she opened her mouth wider to show off the chewed up pieces of food, "(Y/N)!" She laughed, but her laughter turned into a coughing fit. Luckily, Jose knew that was bound to happen and held out a glass of water for her. (Y/N) gulped it down, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and grinned happily, "you're the best." 

Shaking his head, he helped himself to some of the stir fry, "and you're something else." 

They continued to eat and chat about different topics; their families, Santos business (they had a non-disclosure agreement), and a few of (Y/N)'s  gossiping coworkers. When they were done, they quickly rinsed their hands off in the sink and wiped them on the tea towel. (Y/N) then dumped the empty container and their forks into the sink. Dip It Low by Christina Milian started to play, which gave her an idea. Her hands trailed up and down his chest, Jose groaned as they wandered lower. She giggled at his reaction and turned around, moving to grind on him. Feeling him getting hard, she continued. 

"Si sigues con esto, ya sabes qué pasará," he groaned, gripping her hips.

(Y/N) turned back around and stared up at him, her eyes innocently peering into his, "is it too soon for round three?"

Without a second thought, he lifted her onto the counter. (Y/N) caressed his head with one hand, while the other switched off the music. He moved to suck on her collarbone, earning a moan of approval. She tugged on his shirt and admired his toned body when the shirt was thrown off. Jose smirked, as he connected his lips with hers, helping her to get rid of the tank top she was wearing. 

He watched as her boobs bounced, before cupping them both. Taking a nipple in his mouth and fondling with the other, sent (Y/N) into a state of bliss. When Jose turned his attention to the other nipple, she clutched the back of his head.

"Baby," she moaned.

The sound of something dropping followed by a shout of, "OH HELL NO!" is what alerted the couple that they weren't alone anymore. (Y/N) pushed Jose off her, throwing on her tank top and hopped off the counter. She hid herself behind him, peering around his arm to see the bewildered expressions on both her parents faces. Although, her dad looked like he wanted to murder Jose.

Like the smartass she was, she blurted, "mum said no cussing in the house." As soon as she said that, she hid herself fully behind Jose. 

"(Y/N) (M/N) Turner, front and centre." Dwayne called out to his daughter, when she followed through he continued, "you're sanitising everything in this kitchen," his eyes trailed over to Jose, "you're helping her, and the next time you're both feeling… frisky - just… you're gonna, you know… you understand me?" 

Lynn stepped in, "we understand the sexual desires -" 

"No, mum, please, don't." 

"I know it's an awkward subject to discuss -" 

(Y/N) cut her off, "especially in front of my boyfriend." 

"And father," Dwayne chimed in. 

"- but, it's completely natural." She continued.

"Okay, mum thanks for that," (Y/N) wanted to crawl underneath a rock, "anyway, we've got some stuff to do," noticing her father's watchful eye, she laughed, "non-sexual stuff, dad." 

Dwayne wasn't convinced.

Lynn pulled her husband towards the hallway, "come on, let's leave them to it." As they walked off, they could hear Dwayne telling his wife that he was right to be suspicious of the skinny kid who offered his daughter a toy car to play with back in the first grade. Once they were out of view, (Y/N) wrapped her arms around Jose's waist. 

"Round three in the shower?" 

- ♤ - ♡ - ◇ - ♧ -

Spanish Translation(s): 

Beso - kiss

Maldito perezoso - lazy ass

Si sigues con esto, ya sabes qué pasará - if you keep this up, you know what's gonna happen.

#sad eyes #sad eyes guzman #sad eyes x reader #sad eyes x turner reader #sad eyes guzman x reader #sad eyes guzman x turner reader #oscar diaz #oscar spooky diaz #spooky diaz #dwayne turner #mrs turner #jamal turner #the turner family #reader insert #x reader #on my block #onmyblockfanfiction #los santos #freeridge #sincerelyasomebody