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iron--spider · 4 years

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I woke up at 3am yesterday to watch The Devil All the Time and I’ve been thinking about it since. I’m gonna put my thoughts and feelings and a review of sorts behind the cut, because I am gonna talk about it freely, so there will be spoilers! So don’t click if you don’t wanna see. I’ll also be discussing the content of the film and I know that might bother people, so that stuff is in here, too! And it’ll be really long because you know I can’t shut up.

So, I loved it. I loved it loved it loved it. I read the book a long time ago when I first found out Tom was gonna be in it, and the only problem I had with the book was that the POVs would change in the middle of a paragraph lmao, but other than that I thought it was pretty perfect. I knew the movie was gonna be pretty brutal, because the book is brutal, so I was prepared.

-BUT I think the critics HIGHLY HIGHLY exaggerated how bad the content was. Like, seriously, they acted as if this was gonna be a Saw movie. I was preparing for blatant, horrific gore, but it didn’t live up to their dramatics at all. There’s blood and nasty situations, but every single episode of Game of Thrones is worse than this movie, as are most episodes of any crime drama on a paid network. I actually thought they were super, super tactful of all their horrific shit. The dog death was off screen and the shot of the body (described by the critics as literally traumatic) was so quick (enough to shut your eyes) and in the dark. I also argue that particular moment is extremely important for Arvin’s journey, because it’s the moment he truly turns on his father and turns on religion entirely, and he carries it with him his whole life (it’s what he flashes back to when he says “I know what my daddy did” because it’s the marker of all Willard��s mistakes) and it winds up being one of the last things he does before he leaves everything behind. Burying Jack’s bones. So, like, I despise dog death or any animal death in my entertainment, but it’s important here and handled well. And all the worst death scenes are either extremely fast (Helen’s and Gary Matthew’s) or shown in negative (all the photos). I think Bodecker’s headshot with Bobo is probably the worst and is also pretty quick. I don’t know if this means I’m a jaded bitch, but God the way they were all whining and crying, I thought it’d be a million times worse. It could have been, with the book’s descriptions, so it was actually pretty tame. Lenora’s death affected me the most and they cut away from that, too. I guess it’ll still bother some people, but there are many, many mainstream things that are far more violent and gory than this was.

-I thought it was a beautiful movie. I never mind films that are slightly slower but I love ones that use their time to lay things out and really show us what’s going on, build the ambiance and the relationships. I loved the narration (which I was worried about), and it really made me feel like we were visiting a moment in time that was important. Like something that was written and should be learned about. Rumors in a town you’re passing through. The ghosts of past trauma and transgressions looming over everyone that’s left.

-I liked the changes they made with Roy and Theodore because I thought that storyline kinda meandered in the book and I’m glad that Roy was actually gone the whole time and not just neglecting to come back to Lenora.

-The only real complaints I can make, I’ll get out of the way here: I wanted a little bit more time with Carl and Sandy. Carl was really creepy, but he could have been much creepier. In the book he was the one looking at the pictures constantly, Not Sandy, and that really showed that he was the one with the sickness, the one pushing them forward and orchestrating it all. I thought they did well with showing how Sandy deteriorated in her efforts with him through the years, but I would have liked to see a bit more of their personal lives together and her fear of him and her genuine feelings about what they’re doing, because the book goes into that a lot more. I also wasn’t a fan of Lee finding the picture early and knowing some about what they were doing, because I liked how it was a surprise to him in the book and yet he still did all he could to cover it up. And lastly, in the book there’s a scene with Arvin after he kills Sandy and Carl where he’s in a motel and he takes like 18 showers because he can’t get the grime of what he’s done off of him, and he looks at the picture and has a nightmare about killing Sandy, and I really would have loved if they’d kept it in. It would have been another ‘acting’ moment for Tom, and it would have been nice for us to see his direct trauma and reaction to everything that’s piling on top of him.

-BUT that’s it. I loved pretty much every single other thing and decision that they made. The cinematography was TOP NOTCH. You could tell they filmed on 35mm film, you could see the grain, and it really, really added to it. Antonio Campos is a very skilled director and I trusted him at the helm of this story. Everything looked so authentic, all the sets and the costumes. The soundtrack and score were AMAZING and enhanced the film. Technically it was just perfect in every regard to me.

-Acting! Acting! God this was like...a massive testament to the casting department and the talent of these people. Everyone was on their A game. Bill Skarsgård has been on my radar since Castle Rock (which I recommend to everybody, both seasons) and he was so natural and great in this role. Haley Bennet was absolutely adorable as Charlotte, I loved her cute face and her sweet relationship with little Arvin. Riley Keough was so great as Sandy with the limited amount of time she had, and Jason Clarke is one of my favorites but he was unrecognizable in this as creepy ass Carl. Harry Melling was a far cry from Dudley Dursley and he did a great job with his screen time, too. Same with Mia Wasikowska, who didn’t have much to do (same as poor Helen in the book) but she was able to garner our sympathy anyway. Seb Stan was slimy and gross but he pulled it off so well. Eliza Scanlen has been one of my favorites since Sharp Objects (another one that’s brutal as hell but I recommend it, she’s so scary) and she was so, so great here. Robert Pattinson was ALRIGHT, everybody talks him up over this but he felt a little hammy to me and a little too over the top, but there’s no denying his talent.

-Now, the reason we’re all here. Tom. My God. As soon as it was over I just didn’t know what the hell to do, I didn’t even know how to....go on, lmfao. We all know he’s talented, that’s why we’re here, that’s why we love him, but his performance in this is just BEYOND all that. Beyond comprehension. The man is only 24 years old and he’s out here outacting people who have been in the industry for longer than he’s been alive. He is SHOCKINGLY good. I knew he’d be perfect for Arvin as soon as I read the book, but he just completely embodied this role in a way that I couldn’t have imagined. He doesn’t show up in the movie until about 45 minutes in (which doesn’t hurt it because of the strength of the leadup, Bill’s performance and the performance of little Arvin’s actor) but God, as soon as he’s there the whole thing comes to life in a way that it hadn’t before. Tom is literally just a shining light, and he draws your eye in every single scene he’s in, and when he’s not there you’re wondering when he’s gonna come back. Arvin, to me, is a very complex character—he has been inherently changed by how his father twisted religion in his childhood, how deeply he betrayed him by his behavior, but he still has a kind heart and a protective streak and the need to be strong despite the pain nearly breaking him apart from moment to moment. Tom is just outrageously good at portraying all Arvin’s little nuances, how he clenches his jaw, how his voice breaks when he’s afraid or trying to convince someone of something or get his point across, how his hands tremble after he’s done something he wishes he didn’t have to do, how his whole body wilts when he realizes he’s emulating his father. And his eyes. Tom can do so, so much with his eyes that it’s unbelievable. He tells you so much with just a simple look, a glance, a wince, a long blink. I’m not exaggerating when I say he’s just an absolute revelation in this, he cements his place in Hollywood with a firm hand and a tender look, and I will not be forgetting what he did here anytime soon. There’s a reason that everyone called him out for being so stunning in this. He is magnificent. He has a gift.

-I wanna say, in particular, how much I love Arvin’s relationship with Lenora. Their lives were both marked by such tragedy and pain and Arvin just took up the torch of protecting her from the moment he said hello as a child. He wants so badly to be tough, and he IS, but there’s just miles and miles of love in this boy’s heart, and it manifests itself for his family—for his uncle, for his grandma, but for Lenora in particular. I loved how he just showed up when she was being harassed and just ran in there without thinking, and it’s purely devastating that he was out taking care of her bullies while a worse predator was cornering her. The scene where she was sick wasn’t in the book but it was a beautiful addition. Tom sometimes wears this very open, unguarded, honest expression, and this is the only scene in which he shows it, and it really expresses the love between them and how much she means to him. Arvin didn’t find Lenora’s body in the book, but it was the right change for them to make. Tom was devastating here, and that pain and that moment truly fuel every second of his journey through the rest of the film. “My Lenora”. The saddest siblings. Both Eliza and Tom did so beautifully with this relationship and I hope they work together again.

-Favorite acting moments for Tom: when he’s in the car in the rain after beating up the bullies, when he’s in the church crowd and realizes Preston is insulting his Grandma (the way his face changes oh my GOD), when he finds Lenora, when the cop comes to tell him Lenora was pregnant (this is just....so damn good), when he was telling his uncle to look after his Grandma, THE ENTIRE CHURCH CONFRONTATION (the way he trembles when he’s trying to get his attention, how he speaks the whole time, how he slowly gathers his strength), when he thinks Sandy has shot him, the moment where he’s over Lee’s body and just....pleading with his eyes for him to listen and realize what he’s done. And the last scene, in the car, all the emphasis on his face....once again, he can do so, so much with a look, with his eyes. Someone called out the beautiful last shot in the film, and of course, it’s Arvin’s sleeping face. And it was so beautiful (and devastating, to think of him enlisting. Tom draws so much sympathy that you just want Arvin to have a normal life so badly. He deserves it, he does, but will he get it?)

-Last thing I’ll say, I really loved how, despite turning his back on religion, that God seems to be protecting Arvin the whole time. He’s terribly afraid confronting the preacher and that could have easily gone badly, especially when he tosses the book, but Arvin was somehow able to get a shot off and get the upper hand. And with Carl and Sandy, he senses something is off immediately once they pull off the road, and he would have absolutely been killed had Carl not switched out Sandy’s bullets for blanks. And in the confrontation with Lee, he once again shoots at the same time as him, shoots without looking, and manages to come out unscathed and on top. A few spoiler reviews pointed out that the last person that picks Arvin up is supposed to be a Jesus-like figure, almost like he’s finally been saved. It hurts that everyone around him that he loved is almost forsaken by God, but he himself is protected. It’s such a complicated commentary on religion throughout the entire piece, but it’s so interesting and engrossing.

So I’d recommend this movie to anyone that loves movies, loves Tom, can deal with a gritty story that takes its time laying out all the chess pieces. It is definitely heavy subject matter but it doesn’t go overboard with the horror as it easily could have. Yes, there are triggers to look for, but the critics hugely over exaggerated how awful it was. I can probably go get time stamps for certain things if people wanna ask me after reading this, but if you can get through a Tarantino film or any HBO drama, you can do this. And Tom’s performance is one for the ages and not one that deserves to be passed over or downplayed. It is beautiful and heart-wrenching—a magnificent turn that displays his monumental ability to reach out and guide you into any world he decides to make his own.

I loved The Devil All the Time.

#tom holland #arvin russell #the devil all the time #text post #LONG #I’M SORRY

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dadsbongos · 3 years

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Brother’s Keeper

Movie/Game/Show: The Boy Dynamic: Brahms Heelshire/Reader (Platonic) Warnings: idk The Veldt spoilers if you’ve never read it (it’s really fucking good), the parents suck and they’re emotionally manipulative Summary: Brahms likes to play with his baby sister. ~~~

“What a pouty little face you have,” Mrs. Heelshire pinched at her daughter’s cheeks, stretching them upward, “Come on, let me see a smile.”

(Y/n) swatted at her mother’s hands, “I don’t want to.”

Brahms adjusted his tie as best he could for the family picture, letting his father take over after a minute of fumbling, “She’s not going to smile; little brat.”

“Hey!” the three-year-old girl whined, lips pulling into an even deeper pout, “You can’t be mean and the birthday boy at the same time, it’s not fair!”

The boy rolled his eyes, “You’re just upset your birthday isn't for five more months.”

“I’m seven, I’m too old for dolls,” (Y/n) muttered, not wanting to mention why exactly she didn’t want the porcelain doll, “Besides, he’s too fragile, if I drop him he’ll die.”

Death was a new fascination with the young girl after the incident. Though, to be fair, most fascinations didn’t last four years nor did they start with the horrific death of your older brother.

“Nonsense,” her father grinned, taking the doll from his wife and holding it out to his young daughter, “he was Brahms’ favorite.”

Brahms was a word that had become similar to “fuck” in the parents’ minds. Off-limits by the punishment of spanking or grounding unless you were one of them.

“Oh,” she murmured, carefully taking the toy and holding it to her side, “I never saw him play with it…”

“Too scared to break the poor thing,” Mrs. Heelshire reasoned easily enough, “Named after him.”

(Y/n) looked at the glassy object, “Why do I need to have him?”

“You’re going to take care of him, Brahms would want you to,” Mr. Heelshire brushed the girl’s hair from her forehead before leaving a small kiss to the patch of skin, “Be good to him, sweetheart, won’t you?”

Mrs. Heelshire nodded from behind her husband, “You wouldn’t want to disappoint Brahms, would you?”

She glanced between her pleading parents and the doll, pursing her lips before hesitantly nodding, “Alright, I guess…”

By the time 1999 rolled around and the only living Heelshire child was to turn eleven, there were no more friends to play in the house with. Emily, who in many ways had been an older sister to the girl, was murdered by some sick monster who lit the playhouse she was inside on fire. Well, maybe the killer didn’t light the playhouse on fire.

“You’re three, how are you going to take it from me?”

Instead, (Y/n) was left to play with her doll. With a party hat on her head, courtesy of the new grocery boy, Malcolm, she wandered aimlessly through the halls. Birthdays were no longer a celebration in the manor; unless it was Brahms’, of course. She held the doll to her hip, looking at the series of paintings decorating the wall; most of them portraying her big brother.

She frowned, settling a hand on the wall just below the largest mural in the hall. Her fingers brushed upon a small crevice dip in the split of colors in the striped wallpaper, brows furrowing at the ledge. She curled her fingers around it, beginning to pull when suddenly it popped apart from the wall. A panel opening up in the middle of the hallway, she looked down each end before climbing through.

Her eyes adjusted quickly enough, arms squeezing Brahms tighter to her form. She began creeping down the secret passageway, not noticing the sounds of her parents screaming her name.

A sudden turn and she took it. A curve in the path and she rounded it. Losing herself in the hidden walkways within her home. It was only when she realized how lost she was that panic settled in, “Mama…?”

She held Brahms even tighter, freehand leaving the doll to bang on the interior of the wall, “Papa! Mama?!”

It was half an hour before the panicking parents found their weeping little girl hidden behind a panel close to the fireplace. She was crying into the sweater on her doll, cheeks heated in the force of her tears. Not even Mr. Heelshire’s gentle hugging and cooing could relieve her of the emotional aches.

“You’re to never go in those walls again, do you hear me?” her mother grit through clenched teeth.

Never? As much as (Y/n) wanted to be on board with the idea, she wasn’t sure about never being able to go in again. Maybe… maybe she just had to be older, more mature - yeah - that sounded about right.

“Just once more,” she immediately calmed down, now speaking through a raspy, whiny post-crying voice, “I won’t get lost this time, I promise.”

Mr. Heelshire looked over to his wife, “Just one more couldn’t hurt, she should learn about the walls, shouldn’t she?”

As soon as the words left her husband’s lips, Mrs. Heelshire shook her head, “Not a chance. Haven’t you read The Veldt? That’s how the parents die.”

(Y/n)’s eyes widened, glancing between her parents as tears began springing into the surface, “You guys will die if I go in the walls again?”

Neither parent confirmed it, though they didn’t deny it either, before sending her off to bed with Brahms. Leaving her to question what the walls were in the dark solitude of her lavish bedroom; empty winnings for a girl who felt guilty enjoying them.

By fifteen, there was an influx of nannies coming in and out of the Heelshire home to care for a supposedly haunted doll. She wasn’t sure if she believed it but the messes and thumping and flickering lights were beginning to be too much to ignore. They all started after the wall incident - the second incident she could add to her fault - and she was forbidden from going back inside.

Panels were left open and soft, high-pitched whines ringing from behind them; it was more terrifying than alluring.

With no more Brahms by her side, in the real body or in doll form, (Y/n) was left to wander aimlessly down the halls thinking about how unfair it was of her parents to rip the doll away from her. All due to the walls’ tunnels.

They handed her a memento to her older brother - they used her guilt; her fault against her - just to steal it away eight years later. She hated her parents for it, no, not her parents. Her mother. Mrs. Heelshire barely even let the nannies do their job half the time, she just wanted Brahms all to herself. She gave that doll a surplus of her attention and countless replacement caretakers and never even gave (Y/n) the acknowledgment of their shared grief.

Barely gave her the mind to say, “It’s not your fault.”

Whipping around at the frail whisper, (Y/n) peeked around every visible inch of the hallway to see if one of the nannies was following her or her father was finally ready to free her of guilt. Yet nobody was there, no mouths to whisper and no audible drafts to blame.

She turned back around and continued walking down the hallway, not as alone as before.

“I’m nineteen, don’t you think I should, I don’t know, explore the real world?”

Mrs. Heelshire simply shook her head, “You can’t leave us!”

“I won’t be leaving!” (Y/n) tossed her arms out in a display of exaggeration, “I just can’t be in this house for the rest of my life!”

“So you will go eventually,” the older woman huffed, crossing her arms, “Brahms and now you.”

That made the teenager freeze. Nothing like the mention of her dead brother to make her question herself. She pulled back from the yelling match to judge and critique every inch of herself. Her leaving the nest wasn’t comparable to dying - and Brahms didn’t abandon them, he couldn’t control the flames. It wasn’t like he purposefully lit the playhouse on fire at his own birthday party.

No, but she could’ve stopped it. She knows she could have.

“That’s not fair,” (Y/n) muttered, though it sounded less like a genuine response and more like she was trying to point it out to herself.

“You know what else isn’t fair?”

“Don’t.”

“Having two kids and the only one alive wants to abandon you.”

Mr. Heelshire watched from the kitchen table, sipping on his afternoon tea quietly to give more space for the sound of his wife and daughter’s argument to permeate through the room. Through the room and into the walls where even the biggest rat hiding inside could hear.

(Y/n) rubbed at her arm, regretting her decision to even bring the topic up, “I’m sorry…”

“Oh, honey,” Mrs. Heelshire cooed, cupping her daughter’s cheeks and pulling at any fat her fingers could get to in the pockets, “It’s okay. Don’t be so pouty, it’s alright.”

She didn’t bother pushing her mother’s hands away this time.

(Y/n) silently dipped her paintbrush into a dollop of vibrant, cherry red on her palette, glancing over her canvas to the muse every so often.

A house can appear incredibly eased and soothed from the frontline and nobody would ever know that inside a family of four was being murdered. They wouldn’t know until the corpses were discovered and the extended family was beating at each other. Vultures flocking to the values left to them by death.

Maria, the newest in the line of nannies, was holding position rather well for somebody who’d never modeled before. Clutching Brahms to her hip with a bright, pearly-toothed smile.

“I saw a few of your works around the house earlier,” the black-haired woman spoke, “Impressive for only twenty-three.”

“Thanks,” (Y/n) strained a grin, she didn’t necessarily prefer silence - you could hear the walls whispering when it was silent - but sadly, her focus wavered with noise, “I just like to paint the nannies; don’t like to forget them so quickly.”

“Oh,” Maria awkwardly chuckled, “well, that sounds nice of you…?”

“Just a personal thing,” the young woman shrugged off before catching something in the frame of her eye, “You’re about to drop Brahms.”

“Shit!” the other woman murmured, readjusting the doll in her arms, “Thank you so much.”

“My mom will go crazy, I don’t want to watch her yell at somebody over nothing,” she pursed her lips, “Not nothing; just something small.”

“Are you serious?” (Y/n) narrowed her eyes at her mother, “You and Dad are leaving for a two-month vacation right before my birthday?”

“You’re turning twenty-eight, dear,” Mrs. Heelshire smiled faintly, “I think you’ll be fine, now if you don’t mind, I’ll go downstairs and teach the new nanny how to properly care for Brahms.”

(Y/n) crossed her arms, watching her father continue to pack his bags, “You’re really just letting her drag you out of town right now?”

“She didn’t drag me into anything, honey,” he sighed, whether he knew how much it hurt her feelings to hear that or not didn’t exactly matter.

“Fuck you,” she grumbled, rushing out of the room and down the stairs, the twenty-seven-year-old woman went into her bedroom, fully prepared to ignore her parents and the new nanny. Blissfully unaware of the pest in her walls, watching with sad eyes and wanting to see her smile.

“Knock it off!” (Y/n) cried out to the man swinging the doll around - a protective instinct burning at her gut as she thought of him breaking it. She immediately regretted the harsh tone when Cole’s furious gaze snapped back to her, “Please… just give him back…”

“Watch it,” Cole threatened, holding the doll further away from her than before, “Pull any funny shit and I’ll break in your pretty little face.”

Yet another mistake against the brute, not that anybody but the secret rat was counting. The first, of course, being his arrival. The last, naturally, was bashing the doll’s head against the lip of a seat.

(Y/n) hiccuped wildly, her burst of tears nearly choking her as Cole shushed the room during one of Brahms’ fits. She’d experienced countless ragers with that doll to blame but this was the worst. Cole put a finger to his lips, commanding the people behind him into silence as he went to the wall, knocking a few times with his ear pressed to it. He went to the mirror next, grinning slightly, “There’s something- “

Before he could finish his sentence, the glass burst apart and forced him onto his back.

As Greta screamed and (Y/n) held her head in her hands in the midst of her hysterics, Malcolm called to the two women.

Large hands pulled onto the mirror frame first, then out came a fully grown man. Brahms Heelshire was alive - and he was big.

(Y/n) fell onto her ass, watching as her previously dead big brother stabbed Colt in the neck with a piece of his broken doll. Brahms lunged for Greta only to be beaten down by Malcolm and when the two were away; (Y/n) did not leave.

She crawled over to his sprawled out form, taking his shoulder into her hands and shaking him slightly, “Brahms…?”

He jerked once - then twice, then pushed himself up, taking a moment to look at his little sister before standing. In a fashion similar to when they used to sneak around the manor as children, he pressed a finger to his mask’s lips before running off.

“I came back for you, Brahms.”

(Y/n) fiddled with her fingers as her older brother was swept upstairs by Greta, following after them like a lost puppy. As Greta pulled back the covers, (Y/n) felt her heart thump wildly in her chest.

Of course, it never helped when he threw a woman across the room.

“Brahms!” (Y/n) shrieked, latching onto her brother’s back and attempting to pull him off Greta, only succeeding when he fell back from his own stab wound.

Greta stopped at the doorway, turning to watch as the Heelshire girl cradled her big brother’s head in her hands in her panic-rich state, “(Y/n), come on. We have to go.”

Looking between Greta and her brother, (Y/n) felt the memories creep back up from the dip of her spine.

“Is that Papa’s lighter?”

Emily nodded slightly as Brahms watched the flame flicker, the little boy speaking up first, “I was interested in it, I’m sure he won’t mind.”

(Y/n) clutched at a lock of her own hair, “You better give it back or I’ll take it myself!”

“You’re three, how are you going to take it from me?” he scoffed before shooing her out of the playhouse, “If you tell Dad, I’ll break all your toys and cut up your dresses.”

She hadn’t told Father - she didn’t take the lighter.

Shaking her head, (Y/n) looked back to her older brother, burn scars on the visible half of his face and suddenly the guilt was rising to her throat again. Her hands smoothed over to the clasp of the mask, carefully unclipping it as Greta ran off to find Malcolm. A wicked sob racked her throat, her voice squeaking up soft and whiny, “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”

A hand came up to brush her tears away, Brahms watching his little sister continue to cry, a small, childlike voice peeking through his lips, “Please don’t cry, (Y/n)… I don’t want to see you cry…”

Calming down only slightly, (Y/n) helped her brother sit up, “I’ll stay, I’m sorry.”

Brahms continued to watch his sister’s tears spill, “You’ll stay.”

It wasn’t a question, he barely even bothered to disguise it as such.

“I’ll stay…”

She didn’t really have a choice, not when her parents kept her under lock and key so strictly. But maybe they anticipated Brahms coming back; maybe they wanted her to have no independence so she wouldn’t leave her big brother.

Not that she’d be able to ask them.

#brahms heelshire #brahms the boy #brahms heelshire x reader

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twokinkybeans · 4 years

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Soulmates Aren’t Real - Soulmate!AU

Summary: Seven years ago, a “study” found that people who get incredibly close to death, meet their soulmate in their minds. People described them as an angel in the darkness, a light at the end of the tunnel. The idea alone made Tony want to hurl. It’s stupid. Bullshit. Soulmates aren't real.

Sure, Tony zapped himself every now and then. Occupational hazard. But as of yet, he hasn’t come close enough to death to object the study with facts. And though he is a curious man by nature, he’s not that curious. His "soulmate" will show up on their own time. And if they don’t? They don’t. Whatever. Tony can tinker all he likes. He’s content in his lab. Even if it’s a little quiet sometimes...

Or: Every time Tony nearly dies in the MCU canon, he sees and talks with Peter (who ages appropriately - aka during Iron Man 1, Peter is 6 years old, etc etc etc). It’s a little Cinderella like, if you ask me, aha!

Author’s note: Hi everyone! This started as a small idea that I just wanted to get out of my brain. Took me two Saturdays to write and it's barely edited, aha. I hope you enjoy it, though! <3 -Lien

Words: 3589

Warnings/tags: Fluff, Angst, Soulmate!AU, Mentions of death (a lot), Mentions of attempted near-suicide, read this however you like, I wrote this as Irondad.

Read Soulmates Aren’t Real on AO3!

Occasionally, Tony wonders how much he resembles Sherlock Holmes. He drinks a lot more than what’s probably healthy and he thinks faster than other people around him. Though, he is of the opinion that everyone deserves a chance, not all deserve kindness. He likes being alone, tinkering, and losing track of the days. He actually enjoys fucking up his sleeping patterns, since it means he’s being productive. He’s in a flow. He’s busy. Right now, he’s absolutely certain he’s Sherlock Holmes. The only reason being this one single thought that keeps bouncing through his head every time he scoffs and rereads the article in front of him. People are idiots. Tony would love to have a Watson by his side, but unfortunately for him, his soulmate has yet to show their face. Speaking of soulmates, the article is about just that. Seven years ago, a “study” found that people who get incredibly close to death, meet their soulmate in their minds. People described them as an angel in the darkness, a light at the end of the tunnel. The idea alone made Tony want to hurl. It’s stupid. Bullshit. Soulmates aren't real. Those people who cheated death claim that some rando they meet is the one they saw when they nearly died. That they belong together. People cheated over this, saying that the person they saw when they died looked nothing like their current partner, or maybe like another friend. The study ripped apart tons of marriages and while that’s partially why Tony thinks people are idiots, there is another reason. The reason that is in the article he’s reading. Death therapy. Jesus Christ, who even came up with that shit? More and more people want to know who their soulmate is. If who they are with now is the right person. If they will ever meet them. If they already lost them. And so, they try to almost die. Drug abuse, waterboarding, even playing with electrical equipment and guns. Idiots. People are idiots. And this whole article is about some kind of soulmate cult where groups of twenty all try to get as close to death as they can just so they can get a glimpse of what their soulmate looks like. Stupid. Stupid. STUPID. The people who organize those things are predators, aiming to get as much money out of people as they possibly can. Let them sign wavers that if they do die, which happens ninety percent of the time, the cult can’t be held accountable. Death rates have risen significantly since the study came out and it’s insane. Soulmates don’t exist and nearly dying for the sake of having a looksie at the true love of your life is psychotic. A money-grab, to scam people who are extremely gullible. And oh, boy, are there many gullible people on this hell of an earth. If only they knew all this crap was fake. So many innocent lives would be spared. Sure, Tony zapped himself every now and then. Occupational hazard. But as of yet, he hasn’t come close enough to death to object the study with facts. And though he is a curious man by nature, he’s not that curious. His Watson will show up on their own time. And if they don’t? They don’t. Whatever. Tony can tinker all he likes. He’s content in his lab. Even if it’s a little quiet sometimes... ... Afghanistan. The deal was supposed to be the greatest Tony had ever shook hands on. And then everything went to shit. The missile. The explosion. Darkness. And then a fuck ton of pain, clawing at his chest. He could hear someone screaming but he wasn’t sure who. Was it… Was he screaming? God, it hurt. Ached. Burned. Scratched. He was gasping for air and he wasn’t sure if his body could hold out any longer- if he could hold out any longer. “Hello, there? Sir?” A small voice asks. Tony gasps and writhes, turning on his stomach before crawling up to be met with a boy. Pale skin, brown hair and brown eyes. Cute. “Are you okay? Mister?” Tony brings his hand to his chest in an attempt to feel where the horrific pain is- was? It’s gone. He’s fine. When did that happen? Is he… Is he dying? Or is he already dead? “Hey, there, kid,” he sighs, somehow grateful that the hell he was in has passed. He doesn’t exactly want the child to be part of his panic, so he takes a glance at his seemingly infinite surroundings and casually asks his question. “Where are your parents?” The boy looks around, pursing his lips and raising his eyebrows. He then turns to stare at Tony with his big eyes. “I dunno.” Tony moves so that he’s at eye level with the boy and studies him. It’s only then that it dawns on him that… Oh, God. Nope. No, this isn’t real. It’s stupid and fake and there’s no way this little kid could be his soulmate. It’s just his dying brain, giving him something to work with before he vanishes into nothingness. Normally, he wouldn’t get anywhere near children. They were quite the liability and honestly the epitome of contrast to his bombostuous life. His biggest fear has always been one of his bed partners showing up on his doorstep, carrying a baby. His baby. He has no time for that. Or well, had. Since it’s his last moments alive, he might as well indulge the imaginary kid. “How old are you?” The boy thinks for a second and then looks at his hands. He raises one, fingers stretched out, and then the other; just a thumbs up. “Six!” “Six?” Tony smiles. “That’s a big number.” “Mhm!” The boy nods aggressively. “Need two hands now.” He waves his little fist around and grins. He then looks down at his hands and looks back up. “How many hands do you need?” “A couple more than you do, kid,” Tony scoffs. “So, you’re like, really old?” Ugh. Kids. “Old enough to be your dad.” “You’re not, though!” “Thank God, no.” Tony sits down on his butt and pats the floor next to him. “Mind doing me a favor, kid?” The boy sits down next to him and pulls in his legs, resting his head on top of them. “Depends, Mister. I’m not actually allowed to talk to strangers.” He thinks for a second and then continues. “And you’re about as strange as it gets.” “Is that a compliment?” Tony chuckles. “Depends on who you ask.” The reply has Tony scoff a laugh, louder, and he throws his head back This kid… “Cheeky little thing, aren’t you?” The boy doesn’t reply. Instead, he hides his face to laugh himself. “So, the favor...” Tony starts, trying to get back the boy’s attention. “Hm?” “Just… Be kind, okay? If you really are out there… Life’s too short to-” Tony opens his eyes, confused. He takes a second to assess his location. He’s lying on something hard and uncomfortable and there’s this dull, continuous ache in his chest. He groans when he realizes… Guess I’m not dying anytime soon. ... He was terrifically wrong about that. The organization that put him and Yinsen in that cave were absolute monsters. Tony knew better than to struggle a dozen men with big guns unarmed, but when they brought him to the trough with water, he fought nonetheless. His head was pushed in. His body convulsed and though his brain was telling him to stay calm and simply hold his breath, he kept fighting the aggression from his captors. It wasn’t long before he saw flashes again. Of the same boy. “Mister?” The voice was muffled through the water in Tony’s ears. He wanted to yell at the boy, to look away from the trauma and ensure his safety, but whenever the kid became clear enough in his mind’s eye, he was pulled from the water for air, and then pushed back in, to start the process all over again… Nobody was to know. He wasn’t going to tell anyone about this… Unnamed boy in his lucid dream. Nothing happened. He didn’t even say what his captors did to him, though with the arc reactor now glowing in his chest, people assumed the worst. If they asked him whether or not he saw someone, his answer was always the same. “No.” Tony regretted not asking the kid for his name, but then, everything would’ve become too personal anyways. And soulmates aren't real. Even though Tony had seen the boy on multiple occasions at this point. He should just stop almost dying, to be honest. Though, with his new job as Iron Man, he wasn’t sure if he could hold off on that. He ignored the boy’s worried touch on his thigh when he was paralyzed after his ex-business partner/mentor ripped out his new heart. He tried to tune out the encouraging words as he crawled down to his lab to push the old one back in. The boy was only a figment of his imagination. He couldn’t be real. He. Isn’t. Real. ... Palladium poisoning. Great stuff. You know what’s even greater? Being haunted by the ghost of an eleven-year-old. Tony never got close enough to death to even be able to say hi to the kid and he wasn’t sure if he was grateful or disappointed. The boy was still smaller than average. Clumsy, even. His glasses were cute, though. Red and gold. Iron Man themed. Adorable. He squeezed his eyes, trying to look through them. Maybe they were the wrong prescription? The first time Tony saw him was when he was in the bathroom. In true horror-style fashion, the nerdy boy appeared in the mirror. When Tony yelped and turned, the kid was gone. He then appeared for a brief moment on the side of the road when Tony was racing the Formula One. The billionaire nearly crashed his car when he did his double take. From then on, everywhere Tony went, the oblivious boy would be by his side. Not being dead enough to talk to the kid, also meant he wasn’t dead enough for the kid to see him. It was torturous to see the boy play and learn and grow without being able to be a part of it. Funnily enough, Tony still didn’t like children. He just… He liked the boy. And no, it wasn’t because the kid was his soulmate. Soulmates aren't real. ... Tony was certain flying the nuke into the wormhole would be a one way trip. He’d see the boy one last time, maybe even be able to say goodbye and satiate his need to know the boy’s name, before he’d kick the bucket. At least he’d die peacefully, knowing he stopped an alien war on earth and therefore protected the boy. Twelve. He should be twelve now. Why Tony even bothered to remember the kid’s age, he didn’t know. “Mr. Stark?” Tony’s vision blurs, the alien spaceship fading to black as his muscles lose tension and his suit gives up on him. He falls. But he doesn’t. “Yeah, kid, I’m here. For the last time.” Tony frowns as he pulls in his legs, seated on the floor. He sniffs once and looks up to see the boy sitting across from him. “Hopefully.” “Wait, you want to die?” The question was awfully direct, which makes Tony scoff. “I’ve seen you so often now…” The barely dead billionaire glances to the side. “That can’t be healthy.” He purses his lips. “Also, the healing process of coming back from the dead is a pain in my butt. Pardon my French.” “I like seeing you.” The boy fiddles with his fingers and looks down shyly. “Do you really see me? Like, for real real?” “I’m dreaming. It feels real, but I don’t talk about it with anyone.” The boy cocks his head and raises his shoulders casually. “I think we both think we’re each other’s imagination.” “Well, we are, aren’t we?” “Definitely.” The kid nods aggressively. He crosses his legs and looks at Tony through his long lashes. “Nobody believed me when I said I think you’re my soulmate because I dream about you. Then again, nobody nearly dies as often as you do.” They both chuckle, but the sound quickly fades. “They just think I idolize you a little too much.” The boy frowns and then straightens his back. “I mean, I do idolize you, I- I think you’re a genius! Your papers on Artificial Intelligence are groundbreaking-” “Kid- you’re twelve, you shouldn’t even be able to read those.”

“I…” The boy presses his lips on top of each other. “The books I have to read at school are boring.” He almost seems guilty about saying it. “Those papers are filled with big words, though. You understand all of it?” Tony stares at the boy in awe. “I Google things I don’t know, but context usually explains a lot.” A short, stunned silence settles between the two of them. Tony can barely believe how smart this boy is. He calls Tony a genius, yet he is a genius himself. People who graduated university, specialized in Artificial Intelligence, ask Tony to clarify his papers. So either the boy is messing with him, trying to seem big, or he’s actually incredibly bright. The thought alone makes Tony reminisce about the first time he met the boy, when he still had to use two hands to show Tony how old he was. That was six years ago. Six. He’s fairly certain the boy is a terrible liar, though. And he’s not lying now. Tony’s eyes open wide, every muscle in his body clenches at the sound of the Hulk’s roar right next to him. There was so much he still wanted to ask the boy. At least he was still alive. Maybe he’ll find him and if not, Tony hopes he’ll near-die again soon. ... He didn’t expect his own Malibu house crashing down on him and forcing him into the sea to drown being the way he’d go. He’d never been in a worse situation than this. There was no one there to save him. He’d die, never having met his soulmate. Who knows, maybe they’ll meet again in the afterlife, one day. Tony closes his eyes and lets the quiet wash over him as his suit shuts down. The silence is broken by a quiet sob. The sound brings Tony back to the half-afterlife present and he opens his eyes. The boy is sitting right in front of him again, crying visibly and audibly. “Hey, hey-” Tony moves forward to place a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Are you okay?” “I don’t want you to die, Mister Stark.” “What makes you think it’s for real this time?” “You just said it yourself,” he sobs. “There’s no one to save you now.” “You heard that?” The boy nods, face twisted. “Well, since I’m still here, I’m not gone yet,” Tony tries with a smile. The boy looks up, tears streaming down his face and shoulders slightly shaking. His red cheeks puff and he sniffs. “We haven’t even met-” The boy squeezes his eyes shut and pushes in, hugging Tony’s chest tightly. The man raises his arms in surprise, but hearing the kid sob, breaks his heart in ways he never thought possible. He embraces the boy and rests his head on top of his. “I can’t lose you too.” “Too?” Tony’s voice cracks and he clears his throat, trying to remain composed. “M-my parents-” Oh, no. Tony immediately pushes the boy away from his chest and ducks his head, forcing the boy to look in his eyes. “Kid, I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here. I’m going to meet you, ‘kay? Give me your name and I’ll find you.” “Promise?” “Promise.” The boy takes a second to collect himself and Tony wipes his tears with the sleeve of his shirt. “My name’s P-” The second it dawned on Tony that he was still alive, but without the knowledge of the boy’s name, he wanted to cry. And so he did. He was in snowy Tennessee. Many, many miles from home. Who knows, maybe P is somewhere around here? This couldn’t be a coincidence anymore. The boy has to be real. And Tony left him alone. Truly and utterly alone. Just as he is right now. He sobbed quietly as Jarvis shut down. It wasn’t long before he stood up, hugging himself, making the resolute decision that wherever he was, whatever was going to happen, he was going to live. For P. ... Harley filled up the hole P had left for the short while they spent together. Tony learned to care for him, but it wasn’t the same. All he could think about was the other brown-haired boy in the back of his mind. His soulmate. His P. After the whole Mandarin situation was dealt with, there was no way he could go looking for the now thirteen-year-old without seeming like a creep. P. That was all he knew about him. His name started with a P. First name? Last name? Nothing narrowed it down. He had to let it rest. He simply had to. But he couldn’t. For the first time in his life he felt like the people he once called idiots. But he couldn’t afford to die. Not with the boy out there waiting for him. And so, he shut the tab on his tablet, linked to the Death Therapy site. Maybe he wasn’t Sherlock Holmes after all. If only he could find his Watson. ... Sokovia was hell. He got so close to seeing his boy again. So close. But not close enough. He tried to reach for P, but their encounter was cut short. “Mr. Stark! Mr-” P yelled. “I’m P-! Don’t go, please! Please! My name-” “Kid!” “P-t-” It was torturous. Tony wished he could go back to when he didn’t care. When he didn’t think the boy was actually real. But he couldn’t. P is out there. Somewhere. And by God, Tony would find him. Whatever it takes. ... Spider-boy. Whoever it was, the web-slinger caught Tony’s attention. A young hero, wanting to help out the little guy. He was young, though. And so, Tony felt the need to be a mentor. To guide the young man into becoming the hero everyone would root for. That and whatever the boy was wearing was absolutely unsafe for the job. Tony wanted to give the kid something he could work with to make it all safer for everyone. Plus, he needs someone Steve would go easy on, should Berlin go South. Pepper did most of the research and the phone call went by quickly. Tony didn’t really feel like talking anyways. “Alright, so he lives on 15th street. I’ve texted you the building and the address.” “Thanks, Pep.” Little did she know Tony was already at the front door. “Oh, and his name is-” “Bye, Pep.” He hung up and knocked. The door was opened by a lovely woman in her late forties. Of course, she immediately recognized him and let him in, offering him a seat on the couch. “My nephew is probably your biggest fan,” she yelps, clapping her hands with excitement. “You are here for him right? He applied to your scholarship a couple weeks ago.” “Yes!” Tony clears his throat. “That’s exactly what I’m here for.” He raises his eyebrows and continues his lie. “He got the scholarship, so I wanted to let him know personally. As I… eh, I do with all other people who got it.” Not every hero shares their identity with the ones they’re close with. It’d be better for Spider-guy if Tony played it safe. ... Not much later, the door opened again. Tony looked up with a smile, knowing it’d be the friendly neighborhood hero he was going to recruit. His expression faltered when he saw the boy’s face. His boy’s face. P. That’s P. “Ah, perfect timing!” May exclaims cheerfully. “Look who’s here to see you!” Tony blinks and clutches his chest. He’s having a heart attack, isn’t he? He’s dying. This isn’t real. This isn’t happening. Peter seems just as taken aback, seeing the billionaire of his dreams - quite literally - on the couch with his aunt. After a short while of amazed silence, May breaks it. “What’s up with you two all of a sudden? It looks like you’ve seen a ghost!” They can’t help ignoring her. Tony slowly stands up and shuffles closer to the boy who drops his backpack to the floor. “Mr-” “Say your name-” Tony whispers, inching closer and closer until he invades Peter’s personal space. “Please, tell me your name.” Peter looks up at him, wide-eyed, flustered. His lips part, but he swallows before he speaks. “Peter. My name is Peter Parker.” P. Peter. Parker. Peter Parker. Holy- It fits. Everything fits. Sherlock has found his Watson. Everything feels so insanely right in this moment. Tony slowly raises one hand, placing it on Peter’s fast beating heart. Peter curls both hands around Tony’s and opens their palms, sandwiching Tony’s hand between his. “Need three hands,” Peter mutters. “Four soon.” He moves his hands to Tony’s chest, feeling the scar of where his arc reactor used to be push through the fabric of his dress shirt. “You’re not dying again, are you?” Peter asks quietly, almost scared. “No, kid,” Tony sighs. Content. Finally. “I think this is real.”

#irondad #soulmate!au #peter parker #tony stark #spider-man #ironman #fanfiction #marvel #mcu

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stayarmytinyzenmoa-l · 3 years

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TW: Ouija Board Use, Disturbing Topics, Ghost Mentions, Possession Mention, Talks about the Sixth Sense, Blood Mention, Suicide Mention

**Don’t read this if you’re easily scared**

There’s this thing that I just can’t get out of my head.

I figured that if I shared it maybe the nagging thought would leave me alone, so I’m writing this here to account it with that hope.

Last night I was watching a horror movie with my sister and her girlfriend and it just reminded me of someone that I knew back when I first started Uni.

But first full disclaimer here, I was never really close to this person, we had just met in my English class because we sat next to each other and had a couple of group work assignments together, but that was it. I’ll only talk about my experiences while I was with this girl, we’ll call her B for the sake of this recounting. And yes, this actually happened, but as you should with anything you read off of the internet, take it with a grain of salt because even I don’t know if I’m recounting everything perfectly, it happened a couple of years ago now and I’m trying to remember them as I write this.

I’m a very superstitious person, also. I totally buy into that bad luck stuff about ladders and mirrors, but my belief stems from I simply don’t want to try it if it ends up being true. That and from my Filipino descent I have many relatives who are superstitious also, not to mention the sixth sense runs in both sides of my family and is floating around somewhere in my generation so I don’t want to suddenly awaken that shit, no way (I’ll include a bit explaining that at the end of this post if you’re curious). Hell, I’m so superstitious that I won’t watch certain movies that deal with summoning entities just in case, or at least, I won’t watch them at home. But onto the story.

Anyway, the movie we were watching mentioned a Ouija board once or twice, which is what reminded me of my classmate, and it just sent chills down my spine and I’m still thinking about this even now because, my god, I am certain that she was possessed by something.

If you don’t know what a Ouija board it, let me crash course you. Essentially it is a tool to communicate with otherworldly creatures. Its a board with letters, numbers, and a yes/no option, and you hold on to the planchet (which is a huge triangle with a magnifying glass in the middle) and theoretically the spirit you contact will move it around to respond to your inquiries. However, this is not always the case, the board serves as a portal, and it is very rare that the entity you are trying to contact is actually the one interacting with you, and such it is considered a profane object. Once you bring it into your home alone you open your home to immense amounts of negative energy and it is now somewhat of an area of thin protection in which otherworldly entities can walk in and out of.

Basically, don’t fuck with them.

Now B is a huge occult fan, she loves the stuff, has read books on it and everything but, go figure, she’s a religious studies major and she wanted to specify in more occult practices, and with that you’d think she’d know never to dabble in those things, but I think her choice of major stemmed from a different kind of fascination in it. I think her thing was that she wanted to see if this occult stuff was real, I think she was a true skeptic and she just got a kick out of playing dangerous games and inviting dangerous creatures. I remember being appalled when she recounted her experience playing the dangerous game known as the [Midnight Game], which still gives me nightmares to this day. Either way, it would be an understatement for me to say that I wasn’t worried about her.

One day around week 8 of the quarter, meaning we were finishing up the quarter and starting to study for finals, while we were working together in class, she brought up to me and the other two group members (C and D for simplicity and anonymity) that she recently purchased a ouija board. And I immediately voiced my concern.

“You’ve already fucked with spirits before in the Midnight Game and [Dry Bones], are you trying to piss them off even more?” I was genuinely worried about her.

“Come on, Crys, they’re not real.” She insisted that towards me, but me and C made eye contact, both of us being Filipino and highly superstitious, we warned her again to give it back to where she got it from but she refused.

“What are you going to talk to anyway, B?” D asks her.

“Dunno, maybe I’ll talk to my granddad.”

“Or you could open your apartment to a poltergeist who will possess you and kill you slowly,” I said with a half joking tone, or at least that’s how I intended it to be.

“If you’re going to be so uptight about it then ignore me, Crys. It’s just a game,” she scoffs.

“Sure, yeah, I just think it’s smarter not to try anything. You’re already walking around with a target on your back because of the other games you’ve played, I’m just worried that something bad will happen to you this time. They come in threes, B,” I continued on. I didn’t know if it was fear for her or for me.

Needless to say she didn’t show up the next class. Me, C, and D just brushed this off as maybe she decided to skip class, which she had done many times before, and didn’t think much more of it. Of course I was still worried, I had a feeling that it had something to do with the board, but she looked really pissed when I brought it up to her so I didn’t want to overstep more than I already did.

But when she didn’t show up for the next week’s worth of classes, that’s when we really got concerned. We asked my professor about it just in case she just dropped the class and didn’t tell us, but no, she was still on the roster. So we decided to pay her a visit and make sure everything was alright.

Now we knew where she lived, it was an off campus apartment a couple of blocks away from school so it was an easy walk, and we had been there a handful of times already for group work. It was a relatively new apartment she had moved into before school started and, to our knowledge, she hadn’t tried anything there yet up until the board. But when I stood outside of her door, something just felt off. The air felt still, and something just wasn’t right. I knocked on the door and nothing. No shuffling, no movement, we thought she wasn’t home. But right when we turned to leave, the door opened.

Now B looked horrible. Her cheeks were sunken in and the bags under her eyes were more than just concerning.

“Hey, are you okay?” D asks her.

“I just have the flu,” B responds. Her voice was hoarse.

Now here is where I am conflicted. As you all know, I’m a premed student, and as you now know I am superstitious to a fault. My rational side says “ah, I get it now” but my superstitious one told me to call a priest. Like yes, the flu can do this to you, but it’s been a week.

Either way we’re backing away from the door. She opens it wider, as if to let us in, and when I tell you the apartment looked unrecognizable, I mean it. It looked nearly unlivable actually. I swear there was probably something alive hiding under the piles of pizza boxes and clothes. And this really concerned us because we knew B to be a very clean person, she always was throughout the quarter and would even reprimand C for being so messy himself, so the change was very jarring for us.

“You can come in if you want,” she says. “I haven’t been upholding my end of the group project.”

“No, it’s fine,” I declined for the group.

“I insist.”

“You have the flu, we could catch it.”

“You won’t, I know you’re all careful,” she says. Keep in mind, C and I are premed and D is accounting.

“We just wanted to check in on you,” D steps in now, seeing that I’m uncomfortable.

“Then why did you come all the way here and bother me?” She snapped. We were taken aback and she just shook her head. “Forget it, I’ll be fine by the presentation date. Just email me what I have to do.” Then she closed the door and was gone.

She never came back to class, and I learned later from another person in our class, who I’m assuming she was close with, that she dropped out of uni altogether. She never really told us either, so we had to rush to finish her part of the project, which was horrific, but that’s besides the point.

It’s just... this superstitious nature of mine typically gets in the way of a lot of things I choose to do. It’s always the first thing I put into consideration. And it’s a bit strange considering how... bad of a Catholic I am. Either way it’s just terrifying. Maybe I’m just more hyper aware of it because of how “close” I am to otherworldly things. I have cousins who’ve played games like [The Hosting Game] or [Lady Spades]. So I can sometimes feel things when they’re not right, then of course there’s the whole sixth sense running in both sides of my family thing so there’s that too. I don’t know, the whole thing just rubbed me wrong and still does to this day. I guess I’m more afraid of these negative energies reflecting back on me somehow, who knows?

I don’t know, maybe this was just me vastly overthinking things, maybe I’m just being paranoid, but something just didn’t sit right with me with that last exchange we had, who knows? The movie I watched last night just reminded me of her so much and I started getting worried again, I just hope she’s alright.

As for the promised bit about the sixth sense running in my family, here’s an abridged version from what I’ve learned:

On my mother’s side, it skips generations (therefore it is in my generation). The most notable one with this sense currently is my Uncle, who can see the auras of spirits (white for passive ones, red for aggressive ones, etc.) he’s helped other family members and extended members for many things involving these. There’s a certain term for him, actually, in the Philippines that is. He’s definitely not a shaman, no way, but the term escapes me for now. But it stemmed far back in our family’s lineage when we did have shamans and albularyos (witch doctors), if you looked up my mother’s maiden name in the Philippines you’ll even find an extensive history behind them (Obviously I won’t share that, but they were a very prominent Clan throughout the Philippines and still are in some islands). They have a history of communicating with enkantos (which are environmental spirits), the strongest one in our family to date being my great-great grandfather. I also have a cousin who sees spirits as they died, like if they happened to jump off of a tall building (and I’ll spare you the details because the aftermath is bloody) he will see them like that, it was so bad that he even went to the best therapists in the UK to treat it, but something like that isn’t exactly... treatable. So there’s that.

On my father’s side it’s a bit more muddled. We don’t understand the pattern it’s in, we just know that some people have it and most don’t. And if anything, it’s more of a curse. In every generation there has been someone who’s literally gotten possessed (one of my aunt’s did in the Philippines, she got possessed by a duwende I think? I’ll have to ask again). Haven’t had a possession yet in my generation (and no that’s not an invitation), but we’ve had hauntings many a time that my previously mentioned uncle helped us out with. There’s also a spirit who appears to every male who carries the name, and apparently when she is seen said male should not travel anywhere, some cases being my grandfather’s usual transit bus which drove off a cliff, my dad’s brother’s motorcycle combusting, etc. Whatever is going on in my dad’s side likely got passed down to me so I’m being extra careful.

TL;DR: I’m very superstitious because of the shit that has happened on both sides of my family and that probably fed into my fear for B.

Anyway, if you guys want scary stories, trust me, I’ve got scary stories.

#crys talks #personal

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lobster-mobster-aq · 4 years

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A Deep Dive Into the SAO I Thought I Was Watching

Read below the cut or here.

Have any of you ever read or watched a thing and thought it was well written and executed? Have you ever looked back a few years later and realize that you put way more thought into that piece of media than the author did? That perhaps maybe it was more of an accident that it was enjoyable than any real skill from the author? That the themes and symbolism and characterization weren’t really what you thought they were at all? That the elements that you thought were interesting and unique where just copy pasted from things that did them more cleverly but you just didn’t realize because you just hadn’t seen those things in other pieces of media before?

That was me with Sword Art Online.

The first part of season one at least. I unironically loved it. It wasn’t like I thought that it was perfect, but there was just something about it that I really enjoyed. I couldn’t help but wonder why people were so hard and down on it. It was a bit stupid but honestly name one anime fantasy show (or I guess SAO was technically sci-fi) that wasn’t stupid in some regard. And then there came the Alfheim arch and I um…kind of realized what everyone was talking about. I still held out for a bit. This was adapted from novels after all. Clearly they just rushed this part in order to get it to be the correct number of episodes.

*sigh*

But this isn’t going to be another essay about why SAO is…not objectively great. To be honest I still really like the first part. I recognize at this point, since I don’t really like anything else by Reki Kawahara that it is more chance and luck that I like the first part of season one of SAO than the fact like I like his writing. No, what this essay is going to be is an analysis on the show that I thought I was watching. A deep dive into the themes and ideas that I had assumed this show was about. I put tons of thought into watching the show, somewhat in defense of all the complaints it was getting. No guys, you have to realize, its actually good. Okay, here we go.

Our world has been shaped by electronics. The fact that the internet exists has completely and radically changed our culture. The way we communicate, the way we think, and the way we experience relationships have all changed dramatically due to it. There have been many pieces of media that have explored it’s affect on culture, some mourning the change, some fearing it, and some embracing it. Today I want to talk about a show that touches on all three.

Sword Art Online, at it’s heart, is a show about how the things that happen online, in the digital world, mean something, whether those things be positive or negative. Any of us who have met people, or have internet friends, been bullied, or spent time in a video game have probably been told that it doesn’t count, since it is online. They’re not real friends, why bother spending time decorating a fake house in a game, it’s all just fake, why don’t you go outside and experience real life?

SAO is an unassuming, light hearted stab at that argument, and it does it by making the digital world a horrifying reality.

The premise of SAO is by no means unique. People get stuck in a video game, in this case the name of which is Sword Art Online, because the game is online, and they fight with swords. I’ve seen this trope before, you’ve probably seen this trope before, but SAO is the first time I’ve ever seen it where the stakes feel so real. Where the fun fantasy game takes on the harsher sides of real life, striping away the sense of safety that online interactions usually have, you don’t die for real, you have the ability to pretend to be someone you’re not. If the characters die in the game, they die in real life.

The main character is Kirito. Total loser nerd, real “you just don’t understand me” otaku, can’t talk to real people type. At first the main character throws himself into the world, instantly getting close to people and participating with others, becoming fast friends with another person Klein. Kirito seems to not care about his image, just loving to live in the world. Others buy the fact that he is an emotionally mature, competent, and cool individual.

Then blood drips from the ceiling of the game and some creepy, giant, cloak dude announces that you can’t log out of the game, and if you die in the game you die in real life. That the only way to escape the game is for at least one person to clear all one hundred levels. Akihiko Kayaba, the creator of the game, has for some reason no one can figure out, trapped everyone there. Oh, and also you no longer look like what you chose your character to look like, you are yourself. The aspects of the digital world, the safety net, the training wheels, are off.

Kirito flees. In the face of having to interact with people without the veneer of playacting, he falls into old habits, withdrawing into himself because he’s too scared to interact with people, he’s frightened of real human interaction. He puts on a front, claiming to himself it’s because he can’t be held back by the weaker characters, that the reason he flees from real human interaction is because he needs push himself to the limits of his character, and he can’t do that with all the dead weight. But it’s clear that’s just the lie he tells himself to cover up the truth. He, like many people, can’t stand his own self, and the internet was a good way to hide who he really was. He abandoned the connections he made at the start of the game, and he never fully repairs some of them. Klein was set to be a close and important friend, instead he becomes, at most, a distant acquaintance.

Kirito goes about his life, keeping himself from others, becoming incredible at the game, putting himself on a pedestal and telling himself that’s why he can’t interact with the riff raff, because he’s better than them. He is set apart from them because of his skill, and not because he has horrible interpersonal skills and doesn’t know how to actually interact with people without a false persona to hide behind. But then one day, he finally breaks, and a rag tag team convinces him to join their guild.

And everything goes to shit and everyone dies except Kirito. And these people are dead, for forever. This isn’t just something where they can log into the game again. Real relationships can hurt, because the consequences will have lasting effects, your can’t just log in later with a new avatar and start over. True, the consequences of a real relationship usually isn’t that the people you’ve come to care about die horrific deaths, but the point is still made. This world, which Kirito had entered in the hope of escaping a reality that he hated, had all the things of the real world he had been trying to escape. The fear of connection, the fear of being known. Even if he is a skilled and talented person now, instead of some hopeless loser good at nothing, somehow all the pain of real life still followed him. It doesn’t matter, this wish fulfillment is shallow, it doesn’t fulfill the wishes that Kirito actually cares about.

So Kirito withdraws even more, more convinced than ever that the only way to return to his reality, to get away from the hell that is the game is to set himself apart. Still playacting the part of some noble and untouchable genius, too advanced and cool to deal with the riff raff. He has a couple other adventures, where he denies himself real human interaction and keeps a cool appearance. Never getting too close to the people he interacts with. He keeps them at arms length. They look on at him as some distant and noble hero that can’t be understand, and Kirito wants to keep it that way, so that no one can meet the real him, the him that is weak, and pathetic, and a loser, and doesn’t know how to talk to people. Let them think he’s quite because he’s thoughtful, not because he doesn’t know what to say, let them think that he’s too far above them to form a connection, not that he’s terrified of vulnerability.

But then he meets a girl. She goes by the name Asuna and she just, kind of, doesn’t seem to get it. She just sort of acts like an actual person, and doesn’t seem to get the memo that she’s supposed to treat Kirito like some anti-hero loner. From an interaction that he actually had with her earlier on in the game, Kirito knows that she didn’t have much experience with video games before SAO. She has come into her own though, and she’s come into her own by acting like a reason person. In a way, she represents the exactly opposite of Kirito. Kirito hides his true personality and feelings behind a bit, because this world is too real to him, has all the aspects of real life he fled from. Asuna treats SAO like a game. She’s a pragmatic person who just wants to defeat the final boss so they can get out and get back to her real life. She doesn’t feel like the relationships here are real. Sure, they could lose their lives, but everything else is fake. The people you meet, the time you spend, just all twiddling your thumbs. Fake, not real, just a silly pass time for silly people.

This difference is driven home at the end of the show, where Kirito shares his real name, and asks what Asuna’s is so that he could find her. Surprised, Asuna says that she has been using her real name. The whole time, Kirito had been playacting a character, where as Asuna had just been herself.

They filled in a void in each other. Asuna get’s Kirito to really interact with people again, instead of keeping them at arms length, and Kirito helps Asuna see that the relationships you form online do matter, that, even in a silly game, the things you do and the people you meet have a lasting effect even when you log out.

There are a couple of arcs where Kirito and Asuna interact. The arcs continue to explore the idea of the difference between the importance of the digital world and reality. Including one of the best arcs of the entire show, where Asuna and Kirito have to solve the mystery of how people are dying in a safe zone, an area of the game where people aren’t supposed to die.

Kirito and Asuna predictably fall in love. Kirito showing Asuna that the relationships formed in the digital world do actually mean something real, and Asuna bringing Kirito out of his edge lord shell that he made for himself, to reveal that in truth he’s kind of an awkward dork. Once they actually fall in love the show takes an interesting turn. Their relationship looks nothing like that of two teenagers both experiencing a romantic relationship for the first time. It looks like an idyllic old married couple. They even do get married and adopt a child in the show. At first glance it may seem too unrealistic, but was actually one of the most clever character developments about the show. This development was meant to show case the effects that living in a “fantasy world” had put on these two young people.

Both Asuna and Kirito were living in the kind of world that teenagers dream about. What had been a fantasy and a form of escapism for them both was now reality. And it was awful, when the fantasy world had real stakes and real consequences. So what do these two do when they fall in love? They create for themselves another form of escapism. That of an old suburban married couple. In a way their marriage is an act, a way to lessen the stress of living in a dangerous world. Just two simple people, living a calm, unexciting, but never the less content life, because they had each other. The show never addresses how aware they are they that they are in fact acting out a part. Do they realize that they are playing parts? Or have they convinced themselves this is how a normal couple acts. The show never really gets into it, merely using this time to show how desperate the two are for a “normal” life, after the pain and horror of their escapism becoming reality. These few episodes, where they take a vacation after getting married, more clearly illustrate how much they have suffered more than any dramatic wailing, or desperately pained speeches they could give. Every moment they snuggled in bed, made food for each other, and took walks in the forest, spoke of the desperation they felt, even if it was for only a little, to get as far away from the world that they lived in.

After Kirito and Asuna live their escapist fantasy of being an old married couple we come to the climax. They are only on level seventy-five of one hundred, but they still barely pass. During it though, Kirito finally realizes something.

The person who had designed the game and trapped them all in there, Akihiko Kayaba, was playing. Kayaba was playing a character with all the skills, one of the best players in the game. Kirito realizes that Kayaba is living out his own fantasy, that this world was created, not for some grand purpose, not for a political statement, or to accomplish something grand. Simply to live out his fantasy. Who Kayaba is as a person is never really explored, all we know about him is that this world was for him, a way for him to make reality the world he always wished to live in. A world where he was important, a world where he was the leader and people respected him, and he lead others bravely.

Kayaba becomes the final boss, and predictably he is beaten after a grand fight of a lot of sword thrusts and sparkle animations. Once Kayaba is defeated, the world begins to slowly fade, as if to reaffirm that, yes, without Kayaba alive, the world has no purpose, since it was created for him.

Kayaba even speaks with Kirito and Asuna. A meandering, pandering discussion, where Kayaba tries his best to hold onto some remnants of the man he was pretending to be. We see a brief glimpse of the kind of limp, spineless jerk Kirito would have become if he hadn’t grown up. We see Kayaba in his real form, not his game avatar, but still he speaks in vague poetic language, he talks about having a dream about a city in the sky and makes his base and selfish desires to be important sound like some noble hope. He claims he “doesn’t remember why” he trapped them all in there. In a way that’s true. Because until the very last moment, SAO was real to everyone trapped in there, except for Kayaba. He had the power to change things, to hack the system, to live as a god. For him, the game was his personal fantasy manifest into reality.

After Kayaba dies, and is defeated, he realizes this, and covers his own disappointment of his project with his pretty language. He didn’t “forget” he just realized that it was pointless. None of the attachments he ever made were real, the life he led in the game had, for him, merely been a game. The only real moment was when he let Kirito kill him. He could have hacked the system and made it so he didn’t die in real life but he didn’t, in some desperate attempt to live something real as the world he had created crumbled apart.

Kayaba leaves, and Asuna and Kirito promise they will find each other in the real world. They will meet the real versions of themselves. What they experienced in the digital world was real, and they will cling to it in the real world too.

The world continues to fade, and then Kirito wakes up. His real body thin and weak. The show ends with him getting out of bed and walking through the hospital. No epilog, or final comments. We don’t know if Kirito is looking for someone specific, or simply looking to tell someone he is now awake, he’s come back, and he’s ready to become the real him.

…

But that wasn’t the end of the show and every episode after that one just reaffirmed the fact that I probably thought a bit more about the themes and the characterization that Reki Kawahara did. He seems like a nice enough guy but…after reading some of the books and watching more of the material, I don’t think he meant most of what I just described. Maybe a bit of the whole, what you do in the digital world matters and is real, but not much of anything else. I’m thinking that Kirito was supposed to be taken literally, not as an antisocial teenager terrified of real connection putting on a front. I’m pretty sure that the relationship between Kirito and Asuna wasn’t supposed to be seen as a form of escapism fantasy, and that they actually weren’t putting on a front when they acted like an old married couple. Also I might have read way more into Kayaba’s motivation than I was meant to.

At the end of it all, I still like the first part of season one. I like my interpretation. Yes there are still problems with the pacing, the end feels like it just sort of…happens, instead of getting to it naturally. Kirito just, suddenly realizes the truth. The second half doesn’t carry nearly the weight it should in terms of “holy shit this world is real if you die in the game you die in real life” which lessens the strength of the themes. There are, of course, a few other small things I thought could be changed, but that’s not really what this article is for. Perhaps in a way this is my defense for liking that part of SAO, or at least an explanation for why I’ve watched it multiple times even though I’m not fond of the rest of the franchise.

Bonus:

This isn’t really big enough to have it’s own post so I’m just gonna put it here, the way SAO ends in my head.

This, of course, takes place at the end of the first part. Pretty much everything stays the same all through the credits as Kirito takes his painful and slow time walking down the hospital hallway. Then the music end, and instead of going black, we see Kirito stop. He looks to his side, where one of the hospital doors are open. Inside the room is a frail looking girl staring at a NervGear helmet, her hair is chestnut brown. She looks up and her eyes go wide as she sees Kirito. We switch back to Kirito, his eyes are also wide. They tear up the slightest amount, and a faint smile touches his face.

We cut to black.

The end and nothing is ever done with this franchise again.

#soa #sword art online #kirito #asuna #reki kawahara #alexquillian

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nefariouscryptid · 4 years

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Hello there (that was Obi Wan voice). Your gallery is a recent find of mine. Ohohoho, I hope you are willing to talk about relationships of fictional characters 'cause yours have poked my gears! So... What kind of relatioships Peter has with his subordinates/close pals? Type, likes/hates about them and vica versa, stories of them, why they are a team etc,etc. Not just shallow stuff, hit me with the deets! Apologies if I'm being invasive, oblige as much as you feel comfortable (if at all LOL).

Peter isn’t really close with anyone. But anyone he has a past connection to he consideres an associate, and not a employee.

Peter and Anahii: Peter and Anahii met during highschool when she was a freshman and Peter was a sophomore. They had immediately hit it off after seeing Anahii nearly kill a girl in a school fight. At the time Peter had great respect for her. This bitch is crazy! I love her! But as time went on that began to fade, and he became more and more drained and annoyed being around her. While they were still dating, he proposed to her because in the end he’s never going to get with who he actually does, and he needs to get married. She felt the same way, although she actually liked him a lot longer then he did. As adults, married for however long they were, they both constantly fought and hit each other, Anahii using him for his money and Peter using her for sex only. He just saw her as an object, something that gave him title of a husband and made him look better and more capable of people liking him. She was a trophy wife to him. Anahii was miserable in the relationship but at least she was rich, and at least she had protections. Well she thought so. There was still a part of her that wishes he’d just love her.

Peter and Jason: Peter and Jason met either in elementary or middle school, they couldn’t tell you. But they didn’t become friends until late 8th grade- freshman year of highschool. Much like Anahii, Peter instantly hit it off with Jason. They quickly became best friends. They were each other’s ride or die, if someone got into trouble, the other was “shit guess I’m going down too”. Peter hasn’t met anyone in his life that had been willing to put themselves on the line for him. He became obsessed and infatuated with Jason. He was everything he could ever want. It was at this point Peter realized he was bi, but he didn’t even care at this point. He could defend himself, people ain’t got shit on him. Both he and Jason did football together, Jason being quarterback and Perer wide receiver. Peter got kicked off the team after foul play and was took it as he was shit at playing, but Jason was just as good as he was! How fucking dare they?! He became somewhat jealous of Jason, that he could keep his cool and get people to bow for him easily. So he observed, and by the next school year he had adopted the same charm as Jason. As adults they’re still each other’s ride or dies, Peter being tired and finally trying to make moves on Jason, and one thing led to another and now they’re dating, and are now an affair. The relationship wasn’t healthy, Peter being extremely possessive, but it’s better then what he and Anahii had. He truly loved him and was happy. Couldn’t wait to raise his son with this man.

Peter and Cooper: the only type of past connections they could of had was they went to the same highschool, but even then Peter had already graduated by the time Cooper got in. During a failed encounter with some potential buyers of weapons, Cooper had found Peter half dead on the ground. His face was sliced open, blood pooling out of his cheek and eye, and with quick thinking Cooper picked him up and raced him out of the building, defending the both of them, throwing him into the back of the military truck they had, and zipped off. At the time he didn’t even know that was his boss, he just saw someone who most likely worked with him half dead. Peter, grateful, ended up giving Cooper multiple promotions, healthcare benefits, loads of loans and money, and benefits for his family. It was also the last time Peter ever showed up to a deal or a confrontation. Cooper became his main guy to send if Jason was out.

Peter and Plethora: after the incident with Cooper, he began to look more into his family. An odd one at that. While Cooper was married to Cassandra, it appeared they had a shared pseudo husband as well. And this guy can shoot! He has never seen a man able to snipe 20 men all in one shot, not even Jason. He called him down to his office one day and promoted him, giving him the opportunity to assassinate higher ups, like government officials. While a great idea at the time, this led to Peters greatest mistake and his downfall.

Peter and Cassandra: Like Cooper and Plethora, she had gone to his old highschool. However also unlike her husbands, she didn’t seem to have a job. Looking more into her profiling he saw that she was great with numbers, stocks, and even hacking. So he called her down, proposed her a job, to which she took instantly, and had monitored her progress over time. Her working in the stock market had opened up a new branch to the organization, while they were already dealing with stocks he had never seen anyone change numbers so quickly and so drastically, and when she stroad into his office one day with files on their threats, background information no one knew, he knew he had made the right choice.

Peter and Michelle: highschool flings. He had promised her money, promised her everything she could ever want, healthcare, the best education at the greatest university, anything she could have ever wanted. She was desperate. And now she’s trapped. He sees her as the perfect soldier. So easily manipulated and now stone cold, yet still easily controlled. He has no further opinion on her, she means little to him, but she hates him with a passion. He lied to her, and now she’s stuck doing something so horrific. She’s betraying everyone she knows, the people she grew up around. And she’s going to get him back.

Peter and Gwen: Gwen was... an experiment. Bother her and her sister Aj. They wanted to see how manipulated young kids from the lowest of income families could be, if they could take them from their families, cover up the crime scene or label them as runaways or the media’s favorite excuse, a suicide, and turn them into their workers, like their soldiers. The experiment was proven to be a semi success, it turns out the younger they are the harder it is. The older they are the easier, because they have a concept of morality, and are forced to comply in fears of dying. Gwen was an acception however, her being 3 when kidnapped. She shows extreme potential and loyalty. She’s ruthless, while also charming and showing a youthful aura. Peter had felt fond over her, while seeing her as mainly a weapon, he enjoyed aiding in her teaching and saw her almost as a daughter. She was eager to comply in what he wanted, although began to question everything as time went on. Began to rebel. What ever happened to her mom and dad? Why is Aj so angry at the association all the time? ...why am I here?

Peter and Aj: constant gaslighting. Peter plays himself as the good guy and that Aj is just the angry teenage girl. Aj knows what they did, at least she has an idea. She doesn’t like being a soldier and she doesn’t like being forced to kill people. She hates her life, she hates Peter, and she just wants her sister to live normally. But Aj doesn’t even know what normal is. At least she has food, constant shelter, access to the best technology... this is normal. This is normal.

Peter and Ivan: were at a constant truce until Peter had sent Plethora to assassinate someone very important to Ivan, later on revealed to be his wife. Then their relationship turned into a dangerous rivalry where everything would soon fall apart.

#alex banters #my ocs #peter durante #jason byrne #cooper valentino #plethora valentino #cassandra valentino #ivanoff frikoski #gwen richman #aj richman #anahii durante #michelle wilson #asks

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nekokoaa · 6 years

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hello, can i please get a Bakugou angst where his s/o breaks up with him because he doesn’t appreciate her enough and he priorities his hero work than her than their relationship and then finding out that she turned to a villain and is now with Dabi. thanks xox ((sorry if u get 2 messages like this my phone died as soon as i hit ask and didn’t know if it sent))

Fandom: bnha

Character: Bakugo Katsuki, eventually Dabi

Warning: Angsty

Word Count: 3.7 (Kind of long lol)

Ooooo, these always break my heart. Way to go, Anon-love, bring. on. the. ANGST. It’s in 3 parts btw.

————————————————–

“Oh, so now you’re making me look like the fucking bad guy, right?” Narrowed red eyes traced your figure as you stormed through the apartment and into the dining area. The table violently shook when you slammed your suitcase on it. You thrusted it open so hard that you knocked over the dirty glasses on the table and they fell upon the floor and shattered into pieces. It was like it was a model of your very being, you felt used and most importantly, broken, and Bakugo was the object that caused it. You ignored the words that came flying from his lips, you had to bite down on your own because you were afraid your next words would make you lunge at him. Oh, you so wanted to lunge at him.

You swiftly turned around and you came face to face with his chest all puffed out and an intense glare was beaming from above. The hands at his sides were curled up and it looked as if the muscles of his arms were pulsing. The dining room was dimly lit by the living room’s lighting pouring through the archway that separated the two rooms. You were too caught up in your fury that you didn’t switch on the lights and neither did Bakugo. The shadow that casted his entire front was a little frightening, but you didn’t allow yourself to cower from his presence. You tried to take a step past him, but he quickly cut in front of you. He was blocking your way and in turn, you kept your eyes to the floor. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of acknowledgement.

“And now you’re gonna just fucking leave?” He growled those words, the very end of it rolling in a bath of toxic waste. You still weren’t responding to him and you brushed passed him to get away from the man you once loved. You couldn’t stand to be around him. And now when you decided to leave, he wanted to give you all the attention in the world. Fuck him. You thought as you left the dining room and walked down the hall to the bedroom you used to share with him. Bakugo was right on your tail, his footsteps louder than the thundering heart within your chest. He grabbed your wrist to stop you, wringing you around so that you could face him. You ripped your hand almost immediately out of his grip, your eyes narrowed into slits.

“Don’t touch me!” Were the words that finally burst out of you, your voice cracking as its pitch grew higher with every syllable. Bakugo seemed unfazed by your behavior. He held that same scowl, and his red eyes looked deadlier than ever as they added to the rage of his physical features. “I don’t have to answer to you.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Are you serious, Katuski? You’re never there for me! Now you’re suddenly interested in talking to me, in asking me questions? Where was all this for the past few months?”

He groaned, maybe growled. He looked at you in disbelief. “I have a job to do, ____! What ever happened to supporting me in my hero work, huh?!”

“Not when you practically gave your fucking life to it. Like gosh!” You made a bitter laugh. “It feels like we’re not even dating anymore, like I’m just a maid and your personal fucking whore!” You marched away from him and straight towards the closet. You started rummaging through and ripping your clothes out from their hangers and racking them up on your arm. You started moving back and forth between the dining and the bedroom, filling up whatever you can in your suitcase. You knew you couldn’t take all of your things, but you needed some to survive. Your phone was buzzing in your pocket. You knew who it was, but you couldn’t necessarily answer with Bakugo breathing down your back. So, you continued packing your suitcase and ignored the vibration. Bakugo was still saying anything to maybe deter you from leaving, you couldn’t really tell. Everything that left his mouth was just filled with toxicity and questioning.

“I should’ve just listened to my parents.” You grumbled, slamming your suitcase shut and zipping it close. “I should’ve just stayed away from you.”

He scoffed. “Those pieces of shits were never right about anything.”

“Well at least they were right about you!” Immediately, you barked back, pulling your suitcase off the table. You looked to Bakugo who seemed stunned after your comment. He usually always had something to say but he stayed silent. And the two of you glared at each other like it was your only means of communication. He looked so menacing as he stood in the corner. You found it amazing how different you looked at him now. He used to be your rock, someone you always counted on, someone you loved. Now he just looked like a stranger. You didn’t know who this man was anymore. “I’m leaving…”

“Whatever. Fucking leave. I didn’t care about you anyway.” He turned away as he spoke. You didn’t watch as he disappeared into the kitchen, opened the fridge and reached for a bottle of beer. You could still hear him as you began to roll your suitcase into the living room. “If you’re expecting me to beg you to stay like some fucking pebble on the side of the road…”

“I’m not expecting anything from you, Katsuki!” You yelled back and quickly wiped the tears on your cheeks. You headed towards the front door and left the apartment. You didn’t look back as you quickly ran out of the building complex. You reached for your phone in your pockets the moment you stepped foot on the street and called back the number you missed. You were thinking he wasn’t going to pick up at first because it rang for a while, but you sighed in relief when you heard his smooth voice on the other end.

“____.”

“Hey…”

“You weren’t picking up. Thought somethin’ happened.”

“I’m okay…” You sighed. “But I need a place to stay for a bit. Do you mind?”

You heard a soft chuckle and his teasing voice came after. “You sure? I’m not really the best of company.”

“Anything to get away from here.”

“Sure. I’ll text you the place.”

You smiled lightly. “Thanks, Dabi.”

II.

Everyone would probably call you stupid for walking into the hands of a dangerous villain. But Dabi was, surprisingly, one of your closest friends that no one knew about. You met him when he was injured and running from the law. Bakugo was almost never home, so you treated his wounds in your apartment and hid him until the law settled down. You even lied to the police when they came to question people in the area. You thought you were pretty stupid for protecting Dabi, for all you knew he could’ve killed you and escaped but there was something about him that you couldn’t put your finger on. You wanted to know more about him, more about the man behind those crystal blue eyes and horrific scars.

“Make yourself at home.” Dabi walked ahead of you as your suitcase trailed behind him. You thought it was sweet of him to help you carry your things in his apartment. It was definitely a downgrade from the apartment that you shared with Bakugo. It was located in not the best area of the city, it was quite dingy and lathered with questionable stains. There was a living room, a bathroom, a tiny kitchen, and only one bedroom which you wondered if he was going to let you borrow. There were crumpled up papers all over the table in front of the couch and the television at the corner of the room was small and viewed of nothing but soundless static.

“Only the local channels work.” Dabi commented when he saw you looking at the tv. You gave him a sheepish smile. You hoped you didn’t look too disappointed.

“It’s alright. I’m not much of a tv person anyway.” Dabi didn’t go far with your suitcase. He stopped by his couch and threw himself on it. He grabbed the remote that laid in between the cushions and just as he said, no other channels worked but the local ones. He stopped on the news channel and they were speaking of a huge rescue the heroes did a couple of days ago. Bakugo was a part of it and he helped saved children and adults from a collapsing building. They had flashed his face during the segment and you were reminded of the event that happened just a few hours ago.

“What did you see in this guy anyway?” Dabi had said, catching sight of your pained expression when Bakugo showed up on tv. You couldn’t really answer him. You looked to your feet which was covered by your slippers. Dabi’s gaze didn’t leave you. He watched you as you moved to sit beside him on the couch, a frown on your lips that separated for the sigh that slithered through them.

“I don’t know… I loved him.” You shrugged and Dabi laughed. You felt his fingers wrap around your chin, making your head turn to look at him.

“You’re better off.” He spoke under his breath, a small smirk on his lips. Those sapphire eyes that stared so strongly in your own was tough to look away from. Even with those scars on his face, he still looked handsome. Some people would probably call you crazy for thinking that way but perhaps the saying, ‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder’ held some truth. You always found Dabi attractive even when he was injured on your couch and looking at him face to face right now was doing a number of things to you.

“What made you want to stay with me? I’m sure you have other friends that aren’t…” He let go of your chin and snorted but he still remained in close proximity to you. “Villains.”

You looked away from him and sighed softly. “I-I guess I just wanted to disappear. We have mutual friends, so I didn’t want Katsuki to find me.”

“If you really want to disappear, just say the word. I’ll make it happen. And you don’t have to worry about that noisy shit or anyone else.”

Your voice was mere whisper. Was it safe to believe him? “Can you really…?”

“Yeah, dollface.” His hand snaked down to your sides. Strangely, you weren’t bothered by his gesture. Disappearing from all of your problems really sounded like a dream and if Dabi can make it happen, you mildly wanted it.

“Then where will I sleep? On your bed?” His smile grew wider just as his hands were moving dangerously low on your body. Your face started to flush. Something was blossoming within you. Your mind started to shout against this.

“Yeah, if you want. I’d like your company. Just say the word.” His suggestion couldn’t be more obvious. You knew exactly what he was implying. If the hand rubbing on your thigh wasn’t obvious enough. You knew Dabi always had a thing for you. He was always flirtatious in his wording and you never missed his gaze that seemed to always trace your figure.

Your rationality was making a ruckus and trying to knock some sense in your head, yet your heart was full of holes that you wish was mended. You were well aware of the weakness within your heart. You couldn’t help but think if Dabi could treat you better than Bakugo ever did. Your arms wrapped around his neck and you bore into those sapphire eyes. Your body was heating up under that handsome smirk, and your skin was suddenly sensitive to his light touches.

You whispered softly, “Make me disappear, Dabi…” and instantaneously, his lips crashed into yours.

III.

“It’s been a year since she left, and they couldn’t find anything!?” Bakugo clicked his tongue as he listened to Kirishima’s rant. He knocked his head back against his couch, his phone loosely slipping from his fingertips.

“You know how shit the police are.” Bakugo grumbled.

“Where could she have gone?”

“For all we know, a damn villain could’ve gotten to her.” Bakugo was well aware of the villains targeting him and his family. It was the reason why he worked so hard. He wanted to prevent any tragedy from happening to his love ones. He did so much to protect you. Why couldn’t you see that?

“You don’t think she is…”

“Let’s hope not.”

“Well, I’ll do more investigation on my side. Hopefully we’ll find something.”

“Alright. See ya.” As soon as Bakugo hung up the phone, an exhausted sigh left him, and he buried his face in his hands. Things just haven’t been the same since you left. Bakugo was honestly expecting you to come back. He had some hope that you would on the account of you didn’t take all of your things from the apartment. He was thinking you needed some time alone after that big fight. But time turned into days, and then weeks, and now months. Every time he called your phone, it would say the number has been disconnected. He even called your shit parents and they had no idea where you were. It was like you disappeared off the face of the earth. There were no signs of you except for your belongings that you left in his apartment. He swore if he found out a villain took you away from him, he would do anything he could to rid that villain of his life.

Not only was he dealing with your disappearance but also an appearance of a new villain called Sol. This villain was probably the deadliest he’s seen. He hasn’t faced her yet but the stories he heard about her from the agency seemed like she was no joke. Her quirk was unidentifiable, but it seemed that every time she strikes, her victims would be lying in a bath of lava, and it’ll be spewing from their mouths, eyes, nose, and ears. She’s already taken several lives of civilians and one or two rookie heroes. He and Deku were in charge of finding this villain and subduing her.

“What?” Bakugo’s phone rang again and he immediately answered, hoping it was news about your location, but it was only Midoriya, informing him that he obtained information about Sol and where she was going to hit next. Apparently, it was a heist at a bank and Sol and Dabi were heading there tonight.

“It’ll be a good opportunity to intercept them there.”

“Yeah, I got it.” Bakugo grumbled. “I’ll meet you there.”

“And Kacchan…?”

“What?”

“Ah-I’m-uh sorry about ____.”

Bakugo stayed quiet. Not really knowing what to say, he hung up the phone on Midoriya. He didn’t need someone like him pitying him for his mistakes. Bakugo knew he should’ve treated you better, but it wasn’t his fault that you couldn’t understand he was doing it for you. All he wanted was to protect you, it was the only reason why he worked so hard and achieving number one hero would’ve help tremendously. Bakugo made another heavy sigh before standing up. Excuses. That’s all he seemed to make. Excuses.

After a couple of hours, nightfall arrived and Bakugo met up with Midoriya near the bank. Midoriya already informed the bankers about the heist and advised them to act normal. When the time was right, Midoriya and Bakugo would intercept the villains before anyone gets hurt. But as usual, Bakugo wanted to do things by his own rules and when the opportunity came to confront Sol and Dabi, Bakugo rushed to them. He blasted himself through the ceiling windows of the bank, ignoring Midoriya’s scream of his name. The glass shattered in seconds and fell upon bankers and civilians, they screamed and braced themselves from the upcoming shards. Bakugo sore through the bank like a bullet. In a blink of an eye, he already had his hand on Sol’s masked face. The palm of his gloved hands started to spark and crackle.

“You ain’t robbing nothing!” He shouted with a large grin on his face, his eyes wide and alert. He ignited an explosion from his hands and Sol screamed before a wave of blue fire rushed at Bakugo. He let go of Sol’s face and back away to dodge the harsh flames. Sol fell to the ground, holding her face as her mask starting to disintegrate off its bindings. Dabi moved in front of her, glaring at the smirking blond man.

“Bakugo Katsuki. Still as annoying and loud as ever.”

Bakugo laughed. “And you still look like a fucking ashtray. Want me to add more scars to that shitty mug?”

“I’ll gladly burn you to ash, so that you could shut up once and for all.” With a fling of Dabi’s arm, a wave of flames flew towards Bakugo. He deflected it with a small explosion and with his other hand, he propelled himself forward.

“Kacchan! Wait!” Midoriya finished evacuating the bank of its workers and civilians. And he called to Bakugo who just recklessly rushed towards Dabi.

But it wasn’t Midoriya’s desperate cry that stopped Bakugo’s relentless assault. It was when he caught sight of Sol ripping off her damaged mask and her face was shown in his direction. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He hasn’t laid his eyes on that face since that dreadful night. His entire world started to shake, and his fingers began to tremble. If his jaw could, it would’ve dropped to the floor along with his knees that threatened such an action.

“____?” He found his voice shaking as well. He hated how he was reduced to a puddle at the sight of your beautiful face. It’s been so long since he’s seen it and already the feelings he kept hidden within started flowing out. He was relieved yet confused. He had so many questions and he didn’t know where to start. Where have you been? What have you’ve been doing? What are you doing with Dabi? Why… didn’t you come back?

“Katsuki.” Dabi held out a hand for you and you stood up with his help, and you continued to hold his hand as you stood next to him. Bakugo noticed and started to glance between the two of you. His wide eyes were slowly narrowing into slits, just like how they looked the night you left him. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, it has.” He was now glaring. “So, you’re Sol?” Even Midoriya who was quietly watching, was surprised at the reveal.

“I thought you would’ve already known because of my quirk.”

“I’ve never seen you use your quirk like that.”

“Well, Dabi taught me a few tricks.” You and Dabi shared a small look and Bakugo’s face twisted in disgust.

“So, because I didn’t give you enough attention, you left to become a shitty villain and now you’re fucking with Ashtray?” Bakugo almost couldn’t believe the words that left his mouth. He really hoped you would deny it. But that offended look on your face made his tongue grow dry. He was terribly correct.

“You know damn well that’s not the only thing you did. And Dabi was the best thing that happened to me. He opened my eyes and helped me. Unlike you.”

“I was doing everything to protect you. And you’re telling me this guy was the best thing that ever happened to you?” Bakugo’s words came out slowly, but every word was tense. You could tell he was holding back on attacking. His entire being was visibly twitching as he held his fists at his sides. His eyes were tightly shut, and his eyebrows were heavily furrowed. It was like he was a ticking time bomb just waiting to explode. Dabi took on a defensive stance, but you remained how you were, anger slowly consuming you.

“What were you doing? Ignoring me? Leaving me all alone in that huge apartment? Telling me you never cared about me? Is that your way of protecting me, Katsuki?”

“Kacchan…?” Midoriya softly called him, just as Bakugo started to grind his teeth.

“You were never there for me! You never loved me! You didn’t even stop me from leaving! You just let me go!” You felt your tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You still weren’t over how Bakugo just let you go without a fight. You had been together with him for years. Was it that easy for him to accept your parting? Did he ever truly love you? “So, I picked my own path. Leaving you was the best thing I did for myself.”

Something seemed to glimmer in Bakugo’s eyes once he opened them. It was a look worse than what you saw the night you left him. That smirk he had on at the beginning was long gone and replaced with a frown so deep it created wrinkles around his mouth and cheeks. His very being was screaming with the intention of killing.

“You know what? You wanna be a fucking villain?” He pointed his gauntlet at you and a finger was curled around the trigger. His narrowed red eyes darkened, and his voice sounded as low as a rumbling earthquake. It shook the entirety of your body and sent a cold shiver down your spine and possibly your very soul. You took on a defensive stance by instinct. “Alright. I’ll treat you like a fucking villain!”

And with a single click, the trigger snapped off and a wall of fire blasted in your direction.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bakugo katsuki #Dabi #bakugo x reader #dabi x reader #angst #nekokoafanfictions #bnha request

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solerey · 4 years

Text

Some initial TROS thoughts, unpolished and rambling. Feel free to come chatter.

So...”Rey Palpatine” is kind of stupid, but also kind of the best option that they had available to them short of just...doing to TLJ the same thing that TLJ did to TFA and just kicking it apart and tossing the pieces out the window. And I guess JJ and the other folks working on this movie weren’t that level of asshole, okay.

How the hell does Poe being a spice smuggler fit his backstory? Was it a Resistance mission and he didn’t want to spill those beans in front of everybody mid-mission? Because seriously, how the hell is that supposed to fit even time-wise into the history we’ve been given, let alone personality-wise? Was JJ just trying real hard to make Poe “this movie’s Han” or something? Because I hate to break it to him but Poe is the new trio’s Leia and he’s the one who established that fact so he really should have remembered it okay. I mean...at least we do have the canon of Han Solo being a spice smuggler, so we can kind of say it’s not as bad of a Bad Racist Stereotype as it would be to pull the equivalent shit in our world...but at the same time, smuggling space under the Empire is rather different from smuggling spice under the New Republic, which is not a horrible totalitarian government...and for that matter, Poe had nice loving parents and a good childhood, unlike Han, so how the hell did he even end up starting that in the first place? It must have been some kind of undercover mission. It must have. Nothing else makes sense.

OH GODS THAT KISS ASJLK:SGOIWEUGHUAKBN:KNSFN WHYYYYY. I legit let out a noise of involuntary disgust and horror that was some kind of scream-turned-into-a-gurgle that I really, really wish I could duplicate but I don’t even know how I got my throat to issue that sound omg. Made half the theater giggle though whoops. Thank every power in the ‘verse that he died then, at least; if Kylo Ren had not only gotten a “redemption arc” but also lived I don’t know that I could have stomached it...

P.S. “I realized that I’ve been a complete monster and have murdered tons and tons of people for bad reasons and now I feel bad about it, so I’m going to go kill some of my old allies now and then give my lifeforce to someone who’s actually a Good Person so they can survive in my place and improve the galaxy in ways that my shitty whiny evil ass never could” is not the kind of “redemption arc“ that actually turns someone into a good person. Just like with Darth Vader, none of the horrible deeds that Kylo Ren did were erased by the fact that he had a last-minute epiphany and actually killed a few of the right people at the end. He is still a villain -- still a mass-murdering monster. He just managed to do one right thing before he died. He is not Zuko. But gosh, am I looking forward to watching the fandom elevate him to Character Sainthood for that. What is it with people and their inability to enjoy a villain without painting him as some Innocent Woobie? In my day, we could look at our Magnetos and our Doctor Dooms and say “oh yes he’s such an interesting character, I love reading about him, definitely a favorite!” without also convincing ourselves that he was a Good Person who Never Did Anything Wrong Ever...I say, grumbling, from my rocker on the porch of The Fandom Elders.

He’s worse than Kyp Duron and tbh I think Kyp Duron should have gone to jail.

Anyway...I kind of hated the Han scene? And not just because it was part of the “absolve Kylo Ren’s horrific crimes” subplot, but because it just didn’t make sense.

SPEAKING OF...what the hell was up with the “we can teleport objects across massive distances with the Force” nonsense? And people were upset that Leia used the Force to pull herself through vacuum okaaaaay...

Oh Leia. Oh Carrie. At least we got something. Thank you. Thank you to everyone who gave us that; to everyone who salvaged that. Thank you.

Also I really really wish that someone writing for the New Canon would go back to watch the first movie and figure out how hyperspace works. Ughhhh...

Not a lot of Rose in this movie, alas -- I guess she was “the Lando” of the films, huh? Shows up in the second movie and is awesome (really the only good thing to come out of TLJ wasn’t she?) but then gets pulled back to supporting-character role in the third... Hopefully the new expanded universe will do a better job of keeping her around and engaged in the further stories than the original EU did with Lando!

Even less Connix, which is sad. I wonder if it was hard for her, coming back to Star Wars without her mom? Oh Carrie. My princess eternal.

What was the point of the new droid? Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t annoyed by it or anything -- I just didn’t get what he was actually there for? Whatever.

THANK THE FUCKING FORCE THEY DIDN’T KILL CHEWBACCA. I THOUGHT I WAS GOING TO EVAPORATE RIGHT OUT OF MY SEAT WHEN THAT SHIP BLEW UP.

So I’m guessing “Junior” is a baby Ackbar, right? Too bad they didn’t go with Jesmin.

WEDGE. WEDGE. WEDGE. WEDGE ANTILLES!!!!

Thank the Force they didn’t kill Wedge, either. (They didn’t, right? I mean, I was watching, but things were kind of chaotic, and I only found out that they’d killed Ackbar in TLJ because they fucking said it afterward, since there had been nothing to indicate he was there before that...but they wouldn’t kill The Survivor, RIGHT?)

Oh man it was so nice to see Lando. I kind of wish he’d been in it more, but at the same time, the bits he was in were so perfect. I hope we get a book about him helping Jannah and the other former stormtroopers tracing their origins.

So real disappointing that we didn’t get to see Finn inspiring any stormtroopers to defect, huh? When they got surrounded on the Star Destroyer, I was so hoping that the stormies were going to suddenly recognize him and lower their blasters...SIGH.

Still, at least Finn is going to be Rey’s first New Jedi Student now, right? Right?

I did really like the group of defecting stormtroopers in general, though. That was excellent. They make me want to actually read a New Canon book although it’s a shame Aaron Allston isn’t here to write one about them because his style would be a kickass fit for that story, wouldn’t it? Whoever they get, I hope someone writes it.

I’m still torn on whether or not I like that it was Luke who lifted the X-Wing out. I do know that I don’t like the Force Ghosts Can Interact Tangibly With The World idea.

JEDISTORMPILOT hug at the end? HELL YES. That is the only ship I want to see in this movie. Okay no that’s a lie I would have also been delighted with Finn/Poe and happy with Finn/Rey but since they didn’t want to give us anything more than bait-and-switch bullshit in this trilogy, I will just sit back and be thrilled by the lack of (likely heteronormative) Mono Ship Resolution and enjoy the fact that the closest we come to actual canon is this charming polyship. Even though all these of these characters deserved BETTER than the weird quasi-love triangle/whatever the fuck was going on there...and we’re not talking about the kiss again ever yuck.

I really wish they hadn’t opened Zorii Bliss’s helmet. UGH.

Speaking of: disappointed that Phasma didn’t come back again lol. Could have gotten her ass kicked again by Finn...only better this time, like the deleted version.

Also why are all of the main characters humans? Come on man...the Resistance is not the Empire (or the First Order, or Final Order, or whatever they’re calling themselves; it’s just a fresh coat of paint on the same old xenophobia). There should be way more non-humans in the ensemble scenes...and a few more aliens as full characters. Someday we’re going to get someone who actually understands the world building of this universe to write a SW movie... You couldn’t even paint Zorii Bliss a different color? Ugh. All we really got was Chewie and a few background extras/jokes/one-liners...and Chewie was pretty underutilized too, imo.

SPEAKING OF, WHY WASN’T THIS MOVIE DEDICATED TO PETER MAYHEW?

#star wars spoilers #tros spoilers #rise of skywalker spoilers #sw spoilers #spoilers #ooc ramblings #sw tlj criticism #sw tlj #sw tros #jj abrms salt #tlj criticism

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queer-ii · 6 years

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I Need Advice, Please

Here is my situation;

(TW; racial stuff, rape, molestation, abuse, self harm)

My parents are super racist

This is pretty ironic since only one of my parents is white, and I'm a mixed child. They often say things like "this area has gotten so ghetto" when anyone that isn't white is around. They told me when we moved that they looked for a school that was "predominantly white so you will get better education, and we won't need to worry about the other students' behavior." They even speak about other mixed kids and praise the lighter skinned as "good mixes" while shaming those who inherit darker tones.

My parents are super sexist

They often say things like "you need to marry rich" to me and it's just horrific. Considering they're both women. They'll often slut shame anyone who is open about their sexuality, they justify any actions a guy does to a woman because "guys are more rough." It just pisses me off. I'm honestly too tired to write out all the stupid shit they said here, so I'll just leave you with that.

My family is abusive

They are very big about hitting, beating, throwing down, throwing things, and so on. They were the kind of people that forced me to eat my food from the trash can as a child because I was a picky eater and would try to throw it away--they also threatened to force me to eat my vomit if I ever threw up. I don't think I can recall every belt, broom, mop, or wooden object that has been broken over me, but I can assure you it's a lot. It got to a point where my father sprained my leg and yelled at me for limping on it because it impeded on my ability to continue my chores. I was nine.

There's also the emotional stuff. They'll be cruel to me in so many ways. For example, they would praise my brother--he's the favorite--for things that I do. There's also times like when I was sent to suicide watch, where my mother clung to my arm and made everything about her. My father yelled at me the entire time. They're both manipulative as fuck, for instance they will try to buy my affection and trust, and then the next day throw everything I own away(which they have done numerous times.) They're controlling. I haven't been allowed outside on my own in almost five years. Then there's examples like the most recent time my father kicked me out of the house. They blamed me and claimed I was a runaway, yelling at me for not answering my phone. Right after kicking me out, my father had taken my phone and thrown it down the hallway, away from me. Just to give you an idea of that. And I don't even want to get started on my brother.

My parents are transphobic to nonbinary folk

They equate nonbinary folk to drag queens and girls who like to wear pants. They like to shout about how their existence is fake and a cry for attention. When I came out as nonbinary(which was over four years ago) they ignored it until it was right in their face. Then they yelled at me and did as they always did--push unnecessary arguments that don't make sense and punish me for not being who they wanted as a child. That's an entirely different story, about the time they told me they would have forced me to be female, even if I wasn't born as one.

My parents are transphobic to anyone who is under the age of 20

It's bad enough that they don't respect the fact that I am trans. They disrespect EVERYONE. All of my friends. Kids younger than me. You name them--my parents will ignore it.

My father--WHO IS A TRANS WOMAN--also doesn't like "new age" trans folk for having plans on how to transition(such as when to start horomones after taking blockers for younger kids). For not experiencing the same prejudice--like being forced through shock therapy. For killing themselves over something "so small" when peers push them too far. From what I gather, her mentality is "How DARE you not suffer as much as I did? You haven't earned the right of passage."

I have known I was trans since I was very young. It took me time to know just what it meant, but I have known since I was in elementary school. Yet both of my parents like to remind me that I'm not trans--because I couldn't possibly understand what it means to be trans.

My parents are narcissistic

They really enjoy complaining about everyone else's behavior, and then do the exact fucking thing they were complaining about. My mother brags constantly and acts like everyone around her is a child that doesn't have basic knowledge. My father down plays everyone's achievements--including the fact that I have written over a dozen books while she's only finished one--and says that they will never be good enough.

My parents ignore me and do not respect me

They will ignore nearly everything I have said. They ignore me when I try to show them something important to me. They ignore me when I ask them to stop calling me things like "baby" or "lovies" or even any of the countless insulting nicknames they've come up with for me.

Then there's the bullying. They will sit there and pick apart every detail about me. My hair? Ahh, that looks stupid, let's mock it and laugh! My stomach is visible? Better remind our child to suck it in! Keep in mind with that last example; I'm the skinnest one in my family.

Oh! And then there is the family business. Once, back when I first joined Tumblr and tried to reach out for help after I realized I had been molested and raped for years as a child--it suddenly became the family scandal, and I had to hide in my room for hours because EVERY. SINGLE. ONE. Of my relatives was calling to ask why I would ruin his life (I'm not going to say who it was, but know it was a family member). Keep in mind, my account was not open to anything they would have normally seen. No, instead my parents have a list of all of my accounts and passwords. They have access to my original email. And they demand to have the passwords to every other account I've made.

I'm financially under the thumb of my parents

When I turned 18, the funds from my previous work was moved into an account I had access to. However, my mother made sure that HER name was on the account, so I cannot close it without her permission or remove funds without her knowledge. In the time from when I lost my first job to the time I gained access to my bank account, about a thousand dollars went missing. Anyone want to guess where it went?

My parents prevent me from seeking help for my mental problems--and will chastise me for having them

Ever since I can remember I have been punished for crying. I have become more than aquainted with the phrase "You want to cry? I'll give you something to cry about." Except i was almost always crying because of what they'd already done to make me cry. I've had panic attacks regularly since I was seven years old because of them. Fuck, I've had nervous breakdowns increasingly too.

Then there's the time they found out about the years of sexual abuse--which, by the way, I confided in a friend online about, and they learned of it by snooping through my accounts. They sent me to therapy because they thought I was lying and was trying to ruin his life. I was not allowed alone in the room with the therapist. I was barely allowed to talk. All of it was everyone screaming at me and saying things like "you want to ruin him? Send him to prison for the rest of his life? Is that what you want?" Or things like "you want to sue him, right? No? Then he must not have done anything wrong." Think of a ten or eleven year old going through that. I would also like to mention that I contracted a urinary tract infection from it--something commonly caused by not urinating after sex. And they ignored it until I was clawing the skin off my arms from the pain.

Then there is the time I was sent to suicide watch by my former high school. I was punished for being sent there. I was punished for self harming. I was guilt tripped and yelled at for feeling so stressed that I needed to cut--and they ignored me when I asked to seek help because I actually cut when nothing fells real, and only the pain could make me see what was real and what wasn't.

Keep in mind, I am now a legal adult. I was unable to emancipate myself because I have no where to go. I have no money, I have been unable to find a job, and I unfortunately still live with them.

I would also like to bring up that I can't bring charges against them. I can't contact police about any of this. I don't have any proof anymore besides my word against theirs, and even if I did, there are other reasons of why I can't. It will impact how people view trans women. It will impact how people see interracial couples. It will impact how people see two women raising children. Those people who like to think abusive childhoods cause lgbt kids because of how many experience it. With the struggle of people barely accepting the community--if at all--I can't put people through that because of what they did to me. It wouldn't be fair.

What can I do?

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glitchinthesystemspiderbyte · 6 years

Text

[41] Glitch in the System - Running Forward

By E.

A discussion of coping happens.

The blaring sound of an alarm pulled Sombra out of a deep, dreamless sleep into a very confusing and loud reality.

“Widow,” she said, rolling over and blearily smacking at the other woman’s face. “Widow.”

The spider looked at her through her sharp golden eyes. “I am awake, Sombra.”

“Alarm’s going off.”

“Yes,” she replied. “That is what woke me up.”

“Oh,” Sombra said, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. Widow woke up with such clarity, in stark contrast to Sombra who emphatically did not, and it always took her an embarrassing few moments to catch up.

“Gabe?” she yawned, speaking through her internal connection to the Talon network. “Why is everything terrible?”

“Gas leak,” came the response from a voice that was decidedly not Gabriel’s. The soft brogue in Moira’s voice sounded strained, like a wire stretched too tight. “Please exit the building.”

“What did you do, Moira?” Sombra asked, fatigue fleeing her body at the potential of there being an actual threat at hand.

“There was a mishap,” she replied, voice flat. “In the lab.”

“A mishap?”

“Please exit the building, Sombra,” was Moira’s deadpan response, and the connection was broken.

“Explain?” Widowmaker said, already out of bed and getting dressed.

“Get the cat and meet me on the roof,” she said. “Moira broke something.”

It was chilly outside, and Sombra made liberal use of the thermal heating upgrades Widow had installed in her jacket for the holidays. Toulouse seemed fine swaddled in blankets in his carrier, and Widowmaker was the same sentient icicle as always.

“Not cold?” Sombra asked, just to make sure.

“I don’t even feel it,” was Widowmaker’s casual reply. Sombra rolled her eyes, setting Toulouse down in an alcove out of the light breeze before placing herself beside him, cross-legged on the cold stone.

“I wonder what happened?” Widow mused, sniffing at the air. She peered over the edge of the roof to see Akande frantically waving at someone on the inside, and they heard the sounds of windows being opened one by one.

“Probably some horrific experiment. Here’s hoping the building doesn’t blow up,” Sombra groaned.

“Coming to the roof was your idea,” Widowmaker said, crossing her arms.

“Yeah, well, I’ll risk considerable physical injury to avoid having to deal with Moira while she’s flustered.” She patted the space beside her. “C’mere. Check this out,” she said, pulling her hands apart such that long, string-like slivers of light stretched out between her fingertips, flashing purple in the dwindling light. Twisting her fingers, she flipped her hands around, manipulating them like physical objects until she turned the strands of light into what looked like a small, much less detailed replica of the Eiffel Tower.

“Are you playing string games with hard light?” Widowmaker asked, amusement edging her voice.

“Come here,” she said again, gesturing with her head. Widowmaker obliged, sitting down beside her and looking in her direction quizzically.

“Take ‘em,” she said, holding it out.

“Where?” Widow asked, confounded at the request.

Sombra rolled her eyes. The sniper’s occasional befuddlement at the simplest of things was a constant source of amusement for her. “Here. Right in the center,” she said, and four of the strings flashed brightly. “Pinch them.”

Widowmaker, reached out daintily, stopping just short of committing. “These?”

“Didn’t you play string games as a kid?” Sombra asked, laughing.

“I did not play games,” she said, frowning. Leaning forward slowly, she closed her fingers against the light.

“Of course you didn’t,” Sombra sighed. “Now - pull.”

Widowmaker did as she was told, and when she opened her hands, the light created a latticework ladder between her hands. She frowned, holding it above her head, peering beneath the glowing strands as if to locate some trap or mystery she couldn’t see from the top.

“What did you do?” she asked, flexing her hands. The light danced whimsically.

“Nothing, araña. It’s just clever manipulation of patterns.” Leaning forward, she pressed a finger against the center of the lattice. “Boop,” she said, and the light vanished into a shower of painless sparks. “I used to do this for the street kids, before I disappeared. They loved it. Thought I was some sort of magician.”

“It would not be too far from the truth,” Widowmaker replied, watching the remnants of the shattered light waft in the air until it flickered out.

“No magic, only tech,” Sombra replied, shrugging. “Frankly I felt more magical before all the upgrades. Back then was like pulling digital rabbits out of other people's’ hats. Now I’m the hat, and people just kind of give me their rabbits without realizing it.” She didn’t think back on her early years very often, although the memories were still sharp as knives.

“It is strange to think of you entertaining children,” Widow said, leaning back on her elbows and looking at the hacker.

Sombra laughed. “I love kids. Blank slates.”

“You’ve mentioned.”

“Also capable of accepting more than most adults. Kids are malleable, less judgemental, and bounce back faster. Especially kids who’ve seen some shit.” She shrugged. “I guess I empathize with that flexibility. I had to embrace it a lot myself.”

Widowmaker looked away, those golden eyes intense as always as she stared into space at some unknown point on the horizon. “You do not speak much about your childhood.”

“There’s not much to know”

“I find that unlikely.” Widowmaker paused, and Sombra could tell there was a knot of words sticking in her throat that she was doing her best to untangle before speaking them. “It is just that there is this large blank spot that I do not know about you.” She turned her head, her expression neutral, positing a request Sombra hadn’t prepared herself for. “I would like to, perhaps.”

“Oh,” Sombra replied, the lighthearted nature of their rooftop getaway fizzling like dust in a breeze before her. “It’s a common enough story: young girl watches parents be murdered by rogue omnics, survives with a wild band of other orphans until city gang notes her talents and takes her in.” She held her hands up as though displaying a billboard. “You know - the usual stuff.”

Widowmaker chuckled lightly. “There is nothing normal about you, cherie,” she said, kissing the top of her head.

“You’re so sweet,” Sombra said, grinning back.

“Do you, ah,” Widow continued, stretching her legs out restlessly before her, “remember your parents?”

Sombra tilted her head slightly. “Of course. In vivid detail. My mother used to sing me lullabies to help me sleep. I always had trouble, you know - too many thoughts, not enough time to get them out during the day.” Laughing, she pressed herself closer to Widowmaker, nuzzling her cheek into her shoulder. “Sometimes I wonder if she’d be proud of who I’ve become.”

Widowmaker looked at her expectantly, not offering an opinion in the matter.

“Probably not,” Sombra eventually followed up on her own. “She was terrified of technology. Ironic, really, considering how she and dad died.” She felt her voice falter a bit as she spoke, a wave of unexpected emotion pressing against her throat unbidden.

“You sound as though you miss them,” the sniper said, sounding a trifle awkward as she picked her words.

Sombra shrugged. “Of course I miss them. I - their death stayed with me for so long. Weighed on me like a lead blanket; kept me warm on cold nights spent huddled on the streets with the other orphans. We’d all lost so much, you know?” She looked up at the sky, the sun shining out from behind a cloud, basking them in its warmth even as the air around them was chilled. “Some of us let it destroy us,” she said, running a hand idly through her hair. “A lot of my friends just sort of dried up slowly.”

“Not you, though,” Widow said, brushing her fingertips lightly against the back of Sombra’s arm.

Sombra shrugged a shoulder. “I guess I just figured, if my life was going to be destroyed, then I wanted to rebuild it how I wanted. I needed something to control, and the only thing I really could reliably was myself. I let the loss drive me; push me forward until I was running.”

Reaching over, she undid the lock from Toulouse’s carrier. Widow made a halfhearted attempt at stopping her, but the big tom pushed his way out of the crate and directly into Sombra’s lap with little resistance. Sombra ran her hand along his fur, feeling the comforting rumble of his chest against her palm. “At first it felt a lot like I was running away from the past, but at some point I realized I’d started running towards the future.” It was a thing she’d not given much thought to over the years, but as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized how true it was.. “I guess I haven’t really stopped running yet.”

“I am...sorry,” Widow said, reaching a tentative hand out to comfort her. Sombra felt her palm settle between her shoulder blades and smiled.

“It’s not a big deal. I like being in motion.”

Widowmaker stared at her, struggling with something. “You do not seem to be a creature of struggle,” she said, then blanched slightly. “I did not mean that as...I do not mean to dismiss your experiences.” She pursed her lips, eyes narrowed as she sought out the proper words for what she was trying to say. Sombra waited, patient as ever, for her to settle on them. “I just mean that you do not wear your trauma. Not the way Gabriel and...I do.”

Sombra looked curiously up at Widow, seeing her in a new sort of light. She’d always struggled to understand how Widowmaker couldn’t use her experiences as fuel to push herself forward, to forge a way for herself in the world despite her pain. Now she considered that, while she’d started running to cope, Widowmaker had simply stood still.

“I wear it everyday, Widow. My trauma shaped me, sure - they’re experiences that made me who I am today. But I’m not my trauma, you know?” she said. “I was just there for it; I grew from it. It will always be a part of who I am, but,” she considered her words carefully for a long time. “But it informs who I am, not the other way around.”

“How do you reconcile your loss?” Widow asked, pointedly, and through the veil of some muted agony. “To press onward despite all that was done to you?”

Sombra frowned, thoughtfully, letting her mind wander back to some of the memories she had held onto over the years. “I had a cat, once, when I was very young. My father got him for me as a birthday present.” She reached down and scratched behind Toulouse’s ears, smiling as he pressed his head against her palm. “I loved that cat more than anything else in my life. More than my computer, more than my friends, hell,” she looked up, “more than my parents sometimes, it felt like.”

“The start to this story makes me very nervous,” Widowmaker said, using one finger to scritch Toulouse under his chin. He purred louder and lifted his chin up, eyes closed.

Sombra smirked. “A year after I got him, he escaped the house and got hit by a car, right in front of my eyes. I was a wreck - inconsolable for days after. I wouldn’t let anyone in my room and I barely ate.”

Widowmaker squeezed her hand underneath Toulouse’s rumbling belly. “What happened?” she asked gently.

“Well, eventually I’d cried myself into silence, and stopped treating my parents like the bad guys. My dad came in with my favorite meal -”

“- sugary cereal?” Widowmaker interjected.

“Tamales, jerk,” Sombra laughed, bumping against her with her shoulder. “He brought me fresh tamales, set them down next to me, and said ‘Olivia, you will miss Manzanita for the rest of your life,’ and I looked at him like he was crazy until he continued. ‘But love is what gives loss its sting, which means that you will always have that love for him, too.’” Chuckling to herself, she shook her head. “I think that’s what really got me through it all, you know? The knowledge that, while I have lost more than most, it also means that I have loved more than most.”

Widowmaker watched her, mired in a deep silence that lasted well over a minute. Sombra couldn’t imagine what it was she was thinking - when it came to emotions, Widowmaker was either a fountain of confusion or a tight-lipped vault. Right now, though, she mostly seemed thoughtful, contemplative and, perhaps, a little sad.

“I am happy you had that solace,” she said, finally, raising a hand to brush her knuckles against Sombra’s cheek. “And I am pleased at the woman you have become.”

“Thanks spider,” she replied, grinning like an idiot.

“I do have to ask you something, though.”

“Shoot.”

Taking a deep breath, Widowmaker closed her eyes for one long, exasperated moment. “You named your cat Little Apple?”

Sombra laughed, shoving her playfully, interrupting Toulouse’s snooze. “Jerk,” she said. “Now hug me, I made myself sad.”

“I am here, cherie,” the sniper murmured against her ear, wrapping her arms around her and the black and white ball of fur in her lap. Listening to the occasional loud outburst from the yard below, they settled for a quiet afternoon of watching the clouds pass by until the mansion was ready for them to return.

*Read from the beginning or check out our intro post! All stories tagged under #glitchfic. Table of contents located here.

#spiderbyte #sombramaker #widowsombra #sombra x widowmaker #widowmaker x sombra #sombra #olivia colomar #widowmaker #amélie lacroix #amelie lacroix #overwatch #overwatch fanfic #overwatch fandom #overwatch fic #glitch in the system #glitchfic

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the-healingprocess · 3 years

Text

8/31/18 - 9/1/18

The worst day of my life.

“Days” I guess if you want to get technical - I didn’t sleep for well over 24 hours. I would have lost you if I did.

I’ve dealt with some pretty horrific shit in my life, but this is definitely up there.

You were a recovering alcoholic. You’d been misdiagnosed with your mental illnesses - for years you figured out. On the wrong medications for so long. How unfair to you... you were hurting so much. You just wanted to live without pain.

You understood that I was in pain, too.

You were there for me and with me through everything, just like I was for and with you.

You were my only friend at school through all of my abuse. My best friend...one of the best I could have ever asked for. I mean, I thought at least. You saw my pain. You felt it with me, just like I felt yours.

In retrospect, it was a mutually unhealthy relationship to some extent.

We bonded over being hurt. But at least someone finally understood.

Depression hurts so much. Few people honestly understand that.

I didn’t know what anxiety was before I went through the trauma of an abusive relationship. You helped me through the sickness of developing it because you had been dealing with it your whole life.

Yeah, it was a trauma bond, no doubt.

You were literally the only person I could trust.

A girl best friend, too. I struggle a lot with trusting women.

You believed me when no one else did.

No one fucking believed me.

You would have done anything for me and I would have done anything for you. For the first time in my life, I felt like I really had a true friend at school. Someone who cared about me and wanted me around. Someone who saw the value in all I have to offer as a person and a friend. I actually had stuff in common with someone. My maturity wasn’t seen as cocky or threatening. It was understood. I wasn’t alone in a crowded room anymore.

I have so much love to give. Now, that scares me.

You started telling me that for years, your plan was never to see college graduation. Your graduation was December 2018.

You were struggling to hold on. You stopped acting like yourself.

You were so angry and upset. Drinking more. Frustrated. Protective of me. Letting me know you loved me and that you were going to be okay.

At this point I was fearing my own life. People around me were fearing my life. He wanted me dead and made it clear. I was so mentally far gone that I wasn’t even sure if I cared anymore sometimes.

That night, 8/31/2018, you came to the bar with friends and me.

I told you I was really scared he would come after me again. You had my back.

You got much drunker than usual.

You needed more reassurance from me than usual.

You kept telling me you loved me. You were being overly protective.

My ex called and threatened me. I was really scared. I had to go see him or else who knows what would have happened. It was illogical.

You went back to our complex with my roommate when you guys finished the night. I was shaking in fear of my life.

It was around 3AM, maybe a bit later when my roommate called me freaking out to get home saying it was urgent. You weren’t okay.

When I got there you had wandered up from your floor to mine. You were at your wrists with my steak knife belligerently drunk and sobbing trying to end your life. For the first time, I had been grateful the knife was dull.

I didn’t think I could be more traumatized after all the shit I had been through but life surprises you.

I lived on the 16th floor. You kept trying to run and throw yourself out the window. I never thought I’d have to fight one of my friends.

My roommate was, and is, a piece of shit. She is no longer my roommate or friend - never in my life again. She said “this shit isn’t my problem” and went to bed. Your life meant everything to me. How do people just not care? It’s so easy to feel alone in this world. You knew you had me and you still felt so alone.

A class friend from the nursing program who I woke up to drive me was there to help. She managed to call 911 to help you. I didn’t know if it was the right move but I couldn’t do it alone. I wasn’t mentally okay at that point.

You told me what you left behind for me, how to take care of your dog, how to live without you and still feel okay. I remember these conversations like they were five minutes ago.

I remember holding your wrists.

I remember holding you down so you wouldn’t grab the knives again.

Hours passed. I didn’t blink aside from when I sobbed.

You knew how to check yourself in and out of the psych hospital - you worked it all with the police - they didn't answer me when I called. The female officer said I could call her and check in with her. She failed me but whatever it didn’t really matter.

Almost 6AM, there’s a pound on my door - it’s you.

You checked in and out yourself. You were manic beyond belief.

You sprinted through my apartment looking for the next object you could use to slit yourself open with. I will never forget that.

I had to wrestle you down to the ground and fight you. Again.

I had to hold you down in my bed with my knees on your shoulders for hours so you wouldn’t take your life. The pain in my heart was a feeling I wouldn’t wish on anyone. I still feel it every day.

You told me that you told your family you would drive home to where they lived, but you planned on plugging your exhaust and poisoning yourself in the garage or smashing into the siding of the bridge if someone caught that. The plug was true - a friend found it.

You laid there sobbing. Fighting the ever living fuck out of me. Hurting me.

You began to stare at me, waiting for me to fall asleep so you could take your life.

You were hurting so bad.

I knew this wasn’t you anymore. You weren’t in the right headspace.

You hadn’t been for a while.

I had to beg your mother for hours to come help her daughter.

She did eventually, but fuck her for that.

After you went home, you stopped talking to me for a bit. You needed time and so did I really. I had screaming and sobbing nightmares every night of you bleeding out in front of me. I don’t even think “nightmares” does the thing justice.

Every.

Single.

Night.

I still have them, but not nearly as often.

You made it to graduation. I was so fucking proud of you. I still am.

You don’t talk to me. You cut me off. I never got closure.

I saw you once over the summer after grad and I lost my mind.

The reality of what had happened to you, to me, had began to set in.

You don’t answer my calls or texts.

I get it’s hard for you, but fuck, imagine how I feel?

I need closure.

I can’t trust people.

I take on everyone’s issues so deeply to the point where I’m terrified if I don’t help, I’ll lose them.

My heart hurts every single day over this.

I can’t let anyone in.

That night plays over and over in my head.

This is trauma I’m afraid I will never heal from.

I wish you would just talk to me, but I don’t even know what I would say.

A friendship would not be healthy. I am too empathetic.

I hope you’re okay.

You deserve to be okay. So do I.

But why the fuck did you do that to me?

That may be selfish, but what you did was selfish, too.

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demoniclovedbz · 7 years

Text

Namekian Super - Waking Up

A/N:- So this is a sequel to my most recent one-shot The Start. I've decided to make a series of one-shots for this request called Namekian Super. They'll possibly get their own sidebar on the desktop page, and they already have an entry on AO3 so feel free to leave kudos/comments/reblog :D Thanks!

xxxxx

Piccolo lay quietly, trying to stop his fever-ridden head exploding as he watched Nail sleep. He’d woken up himself about an hour ago. The last thing Piccolo remembered was being at Gohan’s house for dinner, and he was sick from a bug he’d caught from Pan. Then he’d felt weak… even weaker than he already was, and he thought he was going to puke… Then suddenly, he'd found Nail lying on the floor in front of him, unconscious and bloodied, and then… Piccolo had passed out, apparently. He didn’t remember anything after that. He didn’t even remember collapsing, but when he’d woken up Gohan had explained what had happened. He and Nail had defused, somehow. Bulma had come over when they were unconscious, to check on them. Her theory was that Piccolo’s immune system had attacked the virus – like it was supposed to, to be fair – but in doing so it had expelled Nail from Piccolo’s body as well. Actually, Bulma was surprised that Kami hadn’t come out with him, but with what little knowledge she had of namekian biology she had come to the conclusion that perhaps it was because Kami shared the same DNA as Piccolo’s father, so Piccolo's body didn’t recognise Kami as a foreign object. Either that, or Kami was too old and weak for Piccolo's immune system to consider him a big enough threat to expel. Either way, Nail was the only one here now. He was still unconscious.

They’d defused about three hours ago; Bulma had come by not long after. She was downstairs with the Sons. Piccolo had awoken an hour ago beside Nail, confused as hell. Gohan and Bulma had explained everything, and then Bulma had ordered him to come back up here and rest. Piccolo didn’t want to rest… but he needed to. He’d started by sitting on the bed beside Nail, but even that had become difficult after not too long. His head was killing him, and he felt so dizzy he couldn't sit up without swaying. So, eventually, Piccolo had been unable to do anything except lie down. He felt horrible. He felt so weak… even weaker than before. Nail’s power had left him, that much was obvious. Piccolo could tell – he was weaker because of the sickness, but even without that he could feel that his body wasn’t the same. It would never be the same, even after he got over this bug. He'd lost Nail's power forever; he would have to train hard to get his lessened body back to where it was… Piccolo wanted to start now, but his sick body wouldn’t allow it. He could barely stand. He had a headache. His throat was sore; he felt dizzy… and all this was made even worse because he no longer had Nail’s power to help him. This was horrific…

Still, though… as bad as Piccolo felt, he could only imagine Nail would feel much worse. Bulma had checked him over, and done what she could. Then Dende had come by – he was downstairs now as well. He’d healed Nail’s injuries – injuries that Nail still had from his battle with Frieza. It was as if the past couple of decades hadn’t even happened for Nail; his body was exactly the same as when he’d fused with Piccolo. That was why Piccolo was dreading Nail waking up. He had no idea how Nail would react. Had he been conscious all this time? Did he know how much time had passed? Did he know what had happened to his family? To Dende, and to Planet Namek? Did he know his father was no longer around…? Even if his body was healed, Piccolo could only imagine what sort of troubled state Nail’s mind would be in. That was why he was resting in here, and not in one of the many spare rooms in Gohan’s house. He imagined Nail would wake up confused, and he wanted to be here to calm him down… or stop him blowing this place up, Piccolo had no idea what Nail’s response to confusion was. Either way, it seemed to make sense for Nail to see a face he recognised – and Piccolo’s had been the last face he’d seen, so everyone agreed maybe it would be less confusing for Nail if it was at least the same face he woke up to. Dende would probably make it worse – Dende had aged, after all. There was a chance that Nail knew all of this; there was a chance that Nail had been completely conscious and aware this entire time, and he wouldn't be at all confused or afraid when he woke up… but it was unlikely, everybody agreed, and in the likely scenario that Nail was completely clueless, having him greeted in a strange place by a brother who had suddenly aged almost twenty years seemed like a bad idea.

Piccolo stared at Nail, watching through fuzzy, tired eyes as the other namekian slept. It was… odd. It was surreal, seeing Nail… Piccolo never thought he would see Nail again; he’d never even thought about him once all this time. To be honest, he’d assumed that Nail had slipped away into non-existence by now. To think that Nail had been alive within him all this time… it was… unsettling. Piccolo wasn’t sure how he felt about the separation. He missed the power – this sudden drop in strength was irritating to say the least, and it had made his sickness worse. Still, though… in a way, it felt like a good thing. Piccolo had been reluctant to fuse in the first place – both times. He just didn’t like the idea of not being himself… He’d been the dominant party in both of his fusions, but still… now that they were apart, it was like he was… ‘him’ again, whatever that was. Like he finally had control of his body again, and his mind. Not that he didn’t have control of it anyway… Piccolo hadn’t noticed anything about himself change in his fusions except his power. Others might have noticed he was a little calmer and wiser after Kami, but still… that was up for debate, as far as Piccolo was concerned. He didn’t think his fusions had affecting his personality at all. Now, though… now that they were separated again, Piccolo had a reluctance to re-fuse. He didn’t want to lose who he was! Even though he knew it didn’t make a difference… he just liked being him. Presumably Nail would feel the same.

Piccolo flinched slightly when Nail started to stir. Crap. This was it. Hell… Piccolo wasn’t ready for this. He didn't have the mental energy for a big conversation; he was already regretted agreeing to stay in here with Nail alone. Couldn’t Dende do this? It was his brother! Or Gohan? It was Gohan’s bug-ridden brat that had started this whole thing off in the first place! … No, that wasn’t fair. Pan couldn’t help it if she – fuck! Piccolo’s eyes widened. Nail was opening his eyes.

Piccolo’s heart stopped. He stared at Nail, and Nail stared back at him… and Piccolo suddenly realised how close in proximity they were. This was awkward… Shit. What was he supposed to say? Piccolo had no idea, and every time he’d tried to plan it he’d lost concentration. He couldn’t think about anything right now; he could barely even drink. He was too sick to deal with even being alive. But… he had to. Nail was staring. No doubt confused. No doubt afraid, and wondering where his family were. It was up to Piccolo to tell him what had happened over the past seventeen years. So… battling through the dark haze of his sickness, Piccolo spoke. “Hey.” He mumbled. He then went quiet, and gave Nail a chance to respond, a chance to work out who he was… he hoped that Nail recognised him at least. “Hey.” Nail grunted. He sat up, and rubbed his head. “Jeez… Heh.” He sniggered a little, sleepily running his hands over his eyes. “I feel better.” “Yeah…” Piccolo answered, assuming Nail was talking about his lack of injuries. “Dende healed you.” “He’s pretty good at that.” Nail smiled. “But… actually, I meant you. You’re sick, Brother.” “What…?” Piccolo uttered. Wait… Piccolo frowned, his tired mind trying to decipher Nail’s perfectly simple word. Did he mean…? “It can’t be helped. I think you did catch it off Pan.” Nail said, and looked at Piccolo with a calm smile. “You should rest.” “You…” Piccolo mumbled, becoming more bewildered by the second. “You… know Pan…?” “Yeah.” Nail answered, flinching slightly in confusion. “Of course. You think I’ve been sleeping all this time? I mean…” He shrugged. “I have been sleeping, mostly. But I check in from time to time. It gets boring otherwise.” “Wait!” Piccolo sat up quickly, and immediately regretted it when a sharp, throbbing pain thundered through his skull. Oh… this was agony… “Whoa!”

Nail placed his hands on Piccolo’s shoulders, supporting him as he started to look dizzy. “No sudden movements. You’re sick. You got water fever.” “What…” Piccolo grunted, scrunching his eyes shut in an attempt to ease the heavy pain. “What’s water fever…?” “It’s what you get from drinking bad water.” Nail said. “It’s pretty common in babies. Guys our age don’t tend to get it… but I guess you never drank bad water as a kid.” “All I drank was bad water.” Piccolo mumbled, rubbing his aching head. “She’s just got a cold.” “A what?” Nail blinked, seemingly unfamiliar with this Earth concept… although it seemed to be the same sort of thing he was talking about. “A cold. A virus!” Piccolo growled. “Humans catch them. I’m normally immune, but I guess because she’s a saiyan - - wait.” Piccolo flinched, suddenly realising… what the fuck were they doing? Why the hell were they comparing sicknesses! Nail knew everything! “You’ve been awake all this time?” Piccolo cried, in as loud a voice he could manage with his sore throat. It wasn’t very loud… “Yeah.” Nail laughed. “You thought I wouldn’t know what was going on?” “I – I thought you’d stopped on Namek.” Piccolo answered. “I thought I’d have to explain the last two decades to you!” “Nah, you don’t.” Nail replied. “I know Namek blew up. I know my father died – peacefully, with all my brothers around him. I know they went to live on a new planet, and I know Dende stayed here.” He grinned. “But wow, imagine if I didn’t know any of that? That would be such a nightmare for you!” “Y-Yeah…” Piccolo choked, staring at Nail in bewilderment. He didn’t’ get this. He honestly hadn’t expected Nail to know everything – it was good that he did, and Piccolo hadn’t completely ruled it out as a possibility, but still… even assuming that Nail had been aware all this time, Piccolo wasn’t expecting him to be so calm. Why was he acting so calm…? “I’m just glad I’ve not got water fever anymore.” Nail said. “Will you stop calling it that?” Piccolo growled. “It’s a cold.” “Okay.” Nail said, getting off the bed. “Well… you should rest, Brother. It’s obvious you need some sleep. You stay here, and I’ll go and say hi to Dende.” He shot Piccolo a reassuring smile, and left the room, as if he was totally cool with everything that had just happened. Piccolo tried to go after him, but by the time he built up the energy he’d already collapsed onto the bed. Carelessly, and with the sudden attitude that Nail was no longer his problem, Piccolo gave in to his sickness and closed his eyes.

#piccolo junior #piccolo #nail #picconail #request #reblog #namekian super

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