#Not even wish things were better. Laugh at things that are blatantly absurd

[ranvwoop]

I talk a lot of crit abt pokmon here but uhh. average pokemon fan is ambivalent about pikachu, pikachus Pikachu who has been obsessed with pikachu for 16 years is an outlier and pi should not be counted. this context is important I think

[moonknightly]

When Will the Stars Align? : Poe Dameron x Reader

Word Count: 1.6k+

Excerpt: “You wanted Poe to want you just as much as you wanted him, and you wanted him to put his hand on your thigh while he whispered into your ear, but he’d never look at you like he was looking at her.”

Warnings: MORE ANGST BC WHAT ELSE AM I GOOD FOR???? Swearing, uh, completely unedited 3am writing. 

It couldn’t have been more obvious.

You were staring. You were staring so blatantly so and anyone who looked your way would immediately realize exactly what you were doing. And what made it even worse was the fact that they could simply follow your line of vision and know for certain that you were staring at him, nonetheless.

It was so fucking obvious, and yet you couldn’t even find it within yourself to feel ashamed or embarrassed over it. It wasn’t like he had noticed for himself. Yet.

But even with the idea of being caught by him fluttering through your mind, you couldn’t tear your gaze away. If you didn’t know any better, you would say you were almost entranced by him, but you knew it was simply the alcohol coursing through your veins, making you just a little bolder, giving you just a little more courage.

Or maybe you really were entranced by him, because Maker, you couldn’t stop staring.

It was absurd, how truly and undeniably handsome one man could be. Poe Dameron was so perfect, so breathtaking, so ethereal, and those words didn’t even do him any sort of justice. It didn’t make sense to you, how someone like him could exist — you would lay in bed night after night and try and wrap your head around it but you never could. He was truly something unparalleled, something nearly unfathomable.

And of course, you weren’t the only one who thought so, and that might’ve been why you really didn’t care if you were caught staring. Or maybe it was because Poe was your friend, and he wouldn’t think twice of it. No, if he caught you staring, he’d probably think you were just trying to gain his attention, and end up making his way over to your table and plop himself down into the chair across from you.

At least, that was what he normally would’ve done.

Now you doubted he would even be able to feel your gaze on him, he was so preoccupied. You didn’t think he even knew that you were there, sitting in the cantina, watching him flirt with a random woman at the bar during a rare, brief moment of reprieve from the war.

He deserved it. Really, he did. Poe deserved every chance he could get his hands on to just be a normal human being, doing normal things without a threat looming overhead, and that included getting drunk and trying to pick up people at a bar.

Poe deserved it, more than anyone you thought, but that didn’t stop the jealousy from swirling deep in the pit of your stomach, creeping its way up into your veins, turning your blood into fire as it rushed through you. Your emotions — another absurd thing you could never truly comprehend. You shouldn’t have been jealous, he was only your friend.

But it should’ve been you. You wanted it to be you. You wanted Poe to want you just as much as you wanted him, and you wanted him to put his hand on your thigh while he whispered into your ear, but he’d never look at you like he was looking at her.

Just friends. Only ever friends.

You tried to remind yourself that that was fine. You’d made a silent vow to Poe so long ago that you’d be whatever he needed, whatever he wanted you to be whenever he needed you. It didn’t matter what he was in your life so long as he was in it, and as you sat there and stared and wallowed, you repeated that mantra to yourself over and over again, trying to push back your feelings and bury them like you had become so well practiced with.

But it wasn’t working this time, and again, you blamed the alcohol. If anything, the jealousy and the longing grew worse as you watched him laugh at something the woman had said. You wanted to be the reason behind every laugh of his, always.

Maybe if he would just look at you, you could convince him that what he truly wanted was you, even if it was only for the night as you knew this girl would be.

But he was suddenly cut off from your line of vision, and you blinked several times to adjust your eyes, taking in the sight of Finn sliding into the seat across from you, a small scowl on his lips.

He was the only one who knew for certain your feelings for Poe, and you knew he didn’t approve of what you were doing to yourself just then.

Finn peeked over his shoulder, watching Poe for just a moment or two before settling his eyes back on you, gaze just a little softer than it had been before.

“You’re staring at him.”

You scoffed gently, shaking your head and leaning back in your seat, folding your arms across your chest as you forced yourself to continue looking at Finn and not let your eyes travel behind him. “Am not. I just happened to look over and he just happened to be there.”

“Oh yeah?” he hummed, mirroring your actions but adding a quirked eyebrow into the mix. “So why was that look on your face then?”

You tilted your head to the side, genuinely curious. Had you been glaring? Frowning? “What look?”

Finn shrugged his shoulders, seeming to be choosing his words carefully. “You just get this look in your eye when you’re around him. Like you’re staring up at the night sky or something.”

“And?”

He looked down at the table, shrugging again. “You love the stars.”

You were silent, for several long seconds, letting his words sink in, only repeating yourself when you did find your voice again. “And?”

“And you’re going to kill yourself if you continue to just sit here and stare at him.”

“He’s my friend, Finn.”

“Yeah,” he laughed, though the sound held no humor. “Your friend that you’re stupidly in love with.”

He wasn’t wrong.

“Again. And? He doesn’t love me like that and that’s fine. I’m happy for him.”

“No you’re not.”

“I have to be.” You were trying to be.

“So why are you sitting here making yourself miserable by watching him? That seems kind of counterproductive if you’re truly trying to be happy for him.”

You were silent again, trying to come up with an answer, some sort of reasoning, but really, you had no idea what you were doing. Why were you even there? You had no plans to drink, hadn’t been visiting with anyone until Finn came along. Were you really just at the cantina to watch him?

It was pathetic. You were pathetic. Your feelings were pathetic and you needed to get better at bottling them up again, at holding them back so that you didn’t accidentally ruin your friendship.

Friendship. Nothing more, never anything more.

You hated yourself for questioning whether or not it was even worth it anymore.

Finn pulled you away from that thought though, reaching across the table and taking your hand, squeezing it just once.

“Sweetheart, you’re just going to hurt yourself if you stay here and watch him.”

You swallowed the lump rising in your throat, nodding your head slowly. “I know.”

“Come back to base with me. We can sit in your quarters and eat those sweets we bought on Coruscant and do whatever it is that girls do to get over jerky guys.”

You gave a small, genuine laugh at that, shaking your head gently. “There’s not going to be any getting over him, but I’m always down for some sweets.”

Finn and you both knew that as long as Poe played a part in your life, you’d never be over him. And again, you found yourself wondering if holding him close was worth your own heartache anymore. The thought made your chest squeeze even tighter, and you left it alone to deal with another day. Now wasn’t the time, not when you were already hurting. You couldn’t add to it, not then.

And so you stood, letting Finn lead you from the dirty cantina with his hand loosely in yours — a platonic gesture you appreciated to no end. It was comforting, and kept you from getting lost in the crowd.

And for some reason, it kept you from glancing towards Poe again.

But if you had, you would’ve found his eyes — his brown eyes that you loved so much full of a familiar jealousy and locked on you, watching you leave with another man. With Finn.

Why did it have to be Finn?

The woman sitting in front of him lost his interest completely as his mind started to race, his stomach swirling with emotions he usually kept trapped under lock and key, and all he could think about was chasing after you. He should’ve chased after you, but he was completely frozen, unable to remember how to get his legs to work properly. He felt like he was going to be sick.

And so he merely sat there, not even noticing as the woman in front of him excused herself at his sudden lack in response. It didn’t matter, she didn’t matter to him.

You did. You mattered more than anything to Poe.

But he still couldn’t bring himself to move, and he wished that you would just turn around. He wished you would glance over your shoulder and see him sitting there, and notice how he was looking at you as if you were the brightest star shining overhead, burning just for him — the center of his own little galaxy.

He loved the night sky, too.

[lunariasilver]

The Virtuoso / 3. Meteor City Part III

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I couldn't seem to distance myself from the Phantom Troupe. Every time I considered it I found myself somehow spending time with one of the members. It was strange. I had never wanted to spend so much time with somebody before, except maybe Killua; but even that was different.

At the time I was just concerned with showing him and everyone else that I was his superior in every way.

It wasn't long before they gathered new members. Only a few, and they helped lay the groundwork for the Troupe.

Shalnark and Phinks.

Phinks was ok. Pretty fun to mess with, actually. As far as Phantom Troupe members went, I'd say he was the most excitable. I mean, aside from Uvo. But he was a different kind of excitable. I spent a truly unnecessary amount of time bullying the man. Something about the way he reacted was hysterical to me.

He had tried to fight me, however. Luckily I was really good at evading. Plus Chrollo always had my back....even though he told me to stop harassing the man. I didn't though. What was he gonna do? Stop me? Please.

I hated Shalnark. I had no idea why. I just did. He was the worst. He was entirely too cheerful. He, however, was determined to be my best friend. Whenever I was doing anything he just turned up and started pestering me.

"Ivela!"

And there he was now.

I elected to ignore him, instead continuing to play my violin in a secluded alley.

"Look, I brought you a crown!" He exclaimed, carrying with him a ridiculous silver circlet with a red gemstone centered in the front.

My violin screeched. "What?"

"Look how pretty it is!"

"I hate you."

"Aww, but you're my best friend!"

Naturally, I took the crown. I had hopes that he would give me a different gift sometime in the future, but I always need more gifts. Gives me more things to summon.

Chrollo and I had already talked about every book he had, and now we had started sharing our own stories with each other. Only told orally, because there was no way we were wasting paper on that. Plus I blatantly refused to write on the dirty paper that could be found here. It was gross.

It was kind of fun to bounce ideas off of each other. These sessions usually ended in the two of us chuckling at the absurdity of what we had just come up with.

"Did you make yourself into a character?" Chrollo asked me one time.

I furrowed my eyebrows. "No, she's-"

"She's an assassin born girl banished from the family trying to prove herself worthy so she can go home." He deadpanned.

I paused. "Alright so I might have made myself."

He laughed at me, the bastard. I joined him a few seconds later. It was, admittedly, kind of funny.

My time spent alone was filled with, surprisingly, composing. It was something I had never really had much time for after Killua was born, but I had enjoyed the hobby tremendously when I was still the heir. I wasn't sure why I had started writing music again. It felt kind of nice. They were all little songs, though. I didn't think I had it in me to write a full length one. Or, rather I didn't really have the inspiration.

I tended to meditate a lot while I was alone too. Basic nen training, I guess. It was incredibly important that I get stronger. I wouldn't let myself fall behind the others- the members of the troupe. My nen prowess grew by the day.

I was worried I was becoming an alcoholic with the amount of time I spent drinking with Uvo and Nobu. It was a good thing they never had enough alcohol to keep me buzzed for more than an hour. I didn't think Uvo ever had enough, either. He was always talking about how much he wanted to get me to an actual bar so he could "drink me under the table."

Personally I thought that I would beat him in a drinking contest.

I had started sparring with all the members of the troupe when they were up to it. There was no better training than actual combat. Well, not really actual combat. None of them wanted to kill me. I hoped.

"Ivela!" Machi called to me as I was walking. Her tone seemed...clipped. I didn't like that.

I paused my gait and half turned to see her approaching me.

"Machi." I stated.

"Did you take my dagger?"

I paused, furrowing my eyebrows. "Why would I do that?"

"You said you liked it." She replied, her eyebrows twitching.

I nodded. "It is a nice dagger."

"So you admit it?"

"No. I have a dagger."

The conversation continued in this fashion for a few moments before Machi stormed off, still convinced I had taken the dagger. I had no idea why she assumed that I would steal from her, but I had been unable to convince her otherwise. I spent the next week on my guard, fully expecting some kind of violent retaliation. It's what Illumi would have done, and they were about the same age. It was strange, despite Meteor City being a place in which I should've always been on my guard in, I realized that I had been oddly relaxed here. It was jarring to go back to a state of hypervigilance.

The next time that Machi approached me, it was again outright. I was honestly expecting some kind of ambush, but couldn't find any signs of one.

"Do you need something." I asked her after a moment of examination. She seemed to be struggling with something.

Honestly her demeanor was terrible. It was obvious she was about to do something she didn't nessecarily want to do, like stab me.

"I..." She paused again. I sighed. I wished she would just get this over with.

"I found my dagger." She finally said. What? "It turns out I just misplaced it."

I narrowed my eyes at her. She was absolutely planning something.

"I uh, came to apologize."

My eyebrows raised practically to my hairline. "Apologize?"

"Yeah, I'm uh. I'm sorry I accused you."

I continued to stare at her for a minute. "Are you not going to stab me? Or....I don't know...try to set me on fire?"

"Not unless you stab me first!" Machi quipped before laughing.

.....Why.....was she laughing I was being completely serious.

"My hair has gotten longer." I noted. Chrollo and I had just finished discussing another ridiculous story when I brought up my hair in a lull in the conversation.

"That tends to happen." He replied.

I stared at him, eyes narrowed.

"Hair grows, Ivela."

"I hate you."

"Be that as it may," Chrollo said, smiling subtly. I hated it when he teased me. "Is there something wrong with that?" I assumed he was referring to my hair's length.

"Yes." I grumbled, crossing my arms.

"Do you want me to cut it?" He offered.

I stared at him blankly. "Have you ever cut hair before?"

"How hard could it be?"

He found that it was harder than he anticipated, as evidenced by the reflection staring at me from the water. The haircut was kind of choppy. It was actually a bit of a mess. It stopped at my shoulder, just as my hair had when I had first come here, but it wasn't perfectly sculpted.

"I'm sorry." Chrollo said from behind me.

"I love it..." I whispered, staring wide eyed at myself. It was so different than the ridiculously perfect bob I had been forced to have all my life. Mother was...insistent that I dress however she wanted me to.

"What?"

"This is the best haircut I've ever gotten. You have to cut my hair from now on!" I stood up from where I had been crouched by the waterside and rounded on him.

"H-hold on-"

"Too late, you're my hairdresser now." I was pretty good at reading him. He was secretly pleased that I liked what he had done.

"I-" He started, before sighing. I grinned for a split second, knowing I had won. "Okay." He relented.

It wasn't long before a year had passed since my arrival. It was honestly the best year of my life so far. But all good things must come to an end.

"We've done all we can here." Chrollo explained. "We have to branch out more."

"You'll come with us." Feitan said.

Paku shook her head. "Obviously he means we want you to come with us."

I glared at the ground while clutching the ends of my shirt. "I...can't."

"Why not?!" Uvo exclaimed, leaning forward. I could tell all of them were shocked by my admission.

"You know better than us that it's better out there!" Phinks yelled. It was nice to know that even he wanted me to come along.

"You can't really like it here." Machi stated.

I did kind of like it here, actually. But... "You don't understand. I can't leave." I reiterated. I still couldn't bring myself to look at them.

"Ivela, you're being stubborn." Chrollo sighed. It was as if he couldn't fathom the concept of me not wanting to go with them. He was right to be confused. I did want to go with them.

"I am not!" I shouted, looking up. "I....if I leave they'll..." I stopped, sighing heavily. I really didn't want to tell them.

"My family...they're...I'm..."

"They're assassins. You told me already. But what does that have to do with-" Nobu started.

I cut him off. "They're the Zoldycks." My admission was met with stunned silence. Even in Meteor City the Zoldycks were well known. We got all of our butlers from Meteor City. I looked anywhere but at their faces.

"The day before I came here, I tried to do something...unforgiveable." I didn't want to elaborate on what I had done. Especially not to people who were leaving. People I would never see again.

"They left me here, and told me if I ever left that they would kill me. I know they weren't just saying that. If I leave, I'll die."

The air was heavy. A pin dropping could break the silence.

Paku was the first to recover. "We'll just have to visit you then."

The rest of them were quick to agree.

I smiled humorlessly at them. "Then, I'll see you when you do." I didn't believe them.

I would never see them again. Of that I was certain.

A/N

Either one or two more Meteor City chapters before we get into the real story.

Next

[b-e-h-o-l-d-e-r]

Ghost in the Shell (2017) review

I came into this movie with an open mind. Despite every fibre of my fanboy teenage ghost rejecting this alien reincarnation. I even set aside the whitewashing criticisms to just see if the movie can achieve something significant in spite of it.

Within roughly 5 minutes, this movie assured me I was going to be treated like a lobotomised baby. I shit you not, within seconds of a beautifully rendered manufacture sequence we watch two introduced characters in a room blatantly tell us what "ghost in the shell" means in the most uninspired way imaginable.

I wish I could tell you that this was just me getting off on the wrong foot but throughout, the movie is so uncertain in how to portray the themes, symbolisms and spiritual/ religious references that make up the brain in GitS' cyberpunk action body. The script just glitches between lame exposition by talking heads and still reflection in its precise composition but the two hardly work together.

It's like the film can't find its centre and as a result is neither a compelling action sci-fi or a meditative exploration of its philosophies. If this were Aaronofsky/ Gilliam or Bay/ Snyder perhaps (for better or worse) at least this movie would have a distinct direction to go in but instead it sits in the middle and suffers at both.

Hell, I'm sure many fans would be happy if this just took the Dredd approach. If they just accepted that the fans know the backstory and the non fans don't need it and made this simply about the Section 9 anti cyber crimes team doing their job, kicking ass n taking names, it would at least have a better chance of success amongst its primary demographic.

Instead Hollywood thinks big and wants to initiate a new franchise, origin story and all, n crams so much bullshit to try and get new audiences into it that Section 9 itself gets pushed way back in the corner. Audiences spend more time getting to know the Majors mum/s than they do with any her team.

They ditch the cerebral plot of the '95 anime whereby Major Motoko Kusanagi working within Section 9 are tracking a hacker who turns out not only to be an AI secretly created by the government to assassinate political targets but has become sentient, claims asylum and ends up merging consciousness with Major Kusanagi by the end.

Here we get Major Motoko Kusanagi of Section 9, pissed that many innocent people were murdered in experiments to create her and super shitty that her entire identity was a lie and she's actually a bratty anti establishment punk.

After all is said and done, what we get is Robocop-Lite (and thats the reboot mind you). All the nuance, intrigue and head scratching ideology that we got in the shorter length '95 anime is reduced here to identity theft and yet another unremarkable corporate business villain to cover it up. We've seen this shit SO often. I'm beginning to think Hollywood just doesn't know how to do it any other way. They weren't all bad mind you, Robocop, Total Recall, The Matrix, these are all great films but GitS in its initial reception really broke the mould and here to see it put back in the cage of "been here, done that" is so incredibly disappointing.

As far as anime/manga Hollywood adaptations are concerned, the bar is INCREDIBLY low. I'd argue the only good one amongst them is Edge of Tomorrow/ Live Die Repeat. Aside from that, every otaku since the 90's is used to being made fun of in the result of America trying to morph them into something that works amongst their style of cinema. Japan has made some great adaptations partly because they don't feel the need to repackage the story.

This GitS remake tries desperately to be on the fans side by copying much of the '95 movies look (with varying degrees of success, some scenes are very accurate in their reproduction but the hair in this film is more reminiscent of X-men (2000) and seems cosplay-ish at times).

There are few scenes lifted from the original but most get twisted to accommodate the new storyline, at which point I ask why bother? Half measures don't tend to turn many heads and whilst paying homage by really making the effort to be exact duplications in some ways is applaudable, you're giving yourself less room to do your version of it. At least then, whether the film turns out to be shit or not, I'll respect that you tried to do your own thing.

ok, casting. this argument has already been done to death and I've just about run outta energy already on the whole Scarlett Johanson thing but a few things that never seem to come up: first of all, acting wise, I gotta say it's all much of a fucking muchness isn't it? Kusanagi does not outwardly express much so its mostly a headgame for an actress with the chance to throw in some subtleties in the voice acting.

I don't really like Scarlet Johansson's performances but that its preposterous for anyone to come to the conclusion that her resume would land her this gig is a bit of a stretch. Do people realise how rare it is to find an A-list celebrity that has an extensive list of both highly demanding physical action blockbusters and subtle minimalist detail performances? Of course they are going to cast her. Before anyone throws ME personally into somehow being against ethnic minorities in blockbuster films (which would be absurd for anyone who knows me) '95 GitS director Mamoru Oshii also gave his stamp of approval.

They really tried with the marketing to dodge the bullet by just not bringing it up but it's really not dealt with well in the film and leads to some pretty fucking awkward moments for a racial debate charged audience to watch.

I would have preferred the role to go to a Japanese actress but remember, this is Hollywood and if a studio is gonna push bringing THIS film out, you bet your bottom dollar that they're going with someone that is a household name in America.

The only internationally known Japanese name out there right now is Rinko Kikuchi (who to date has 2 American films out there, both not big successes). I love most of her films and there ARE a few other Japanese actresses I would love to see in the role but Hollywood studios are not gonna bank on the success of Japanese films. Hell, the fact that they put Takeshi Kitano in bit part in this movie is as far as they are willing go to get in on that market. Few seem to point at his casting as some kind of justification and I laugh quite hard. Seriously, you're gonna give this guy (who's acted AND directed in over 20 brilliant films) a few minutes of screen time and applaud that as some kind of cultural milestone?

Which brings me to the big casting shame that NO ONE is fucking talking about because they're so caught up with the Johansson shit. Aside from Kusanagi, there are 6 Japanese members of the Section 9 taskforce. How many are Japanese? Kitano, yes. Who else? Saito. Did you remember him? He's the guy that snipes the helicopter at the very end of the film. You see his face for like 10 seconds. Pretty big step in casting mulitculturally, right? Don't get me wrong, the cast IS incredibly multicultural. We got actors from all over the world pretending to be Japanese:

A Danish guy as Batou A Chinese guy as Togusa An Australian as Ishikawa A Zimbabwean as Borma

Why keep the names?! Just call them whatever, it doesn't matter. You don't give them anything important to do anyway. Have a mulit-ethnic team but when they're all speaking clearly in their national accents and supposed to be portraying Japanese characters, THAT'S what should really piss people off because THESE roles could have gone out to Japanese people and it would not have even been a risk for the studio.

Ultimately, the one real positive thing I have to say is a great job for the WETA production team on some fantastic animatronics and moulds...that's pretty much it. Shame it couldn't be in a better film.

- dug out from the depths of https://letterboxd.com/Do_oM/

[stanthemanstan]

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒌𝒚 𝑰𝒔 𝒂 𝑺𝒂𝒇𝒆 𝑯𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒏 ❧ 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑰𝑰

A/N: sorry about the wait between uploads! I’ve been doing my best with balancing school and writing but I’m not great at managing my time. If you’re enjoying the series and want to get notified, the link to my taglist form is here! Please submit URLs there and feel free to leave feedback as well. Not sure how I feel about the ending of this one, but I hope you enjoy!

Word count: 2.8K

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Stanley was in the midst of writing letters when his phone rang for the second time that night. It was a slow process, a meticulous selection of words. His future absence would be explained well by carefully crafted sentences.

He glanced over at his buzzing phone to see another unknown number at the top and the location Phoenix, AZ. It was a place familiar to him only in the shadows of his mind. He knew it had come up in conversation before. Great for stargazing.

Ever since his memories resurfaced, he’d been thinking about you, trying so hard to bring every detail back to mind. Maybe it was to drown out the fear that inevitably came with remembrance. Maybe it was because that love was there all along, just waiting to be unearthed. He wanted to think of the little things that brought you both joy. The sky is a safe haven, he remembered you saying.

One ring.

He remembered your little excursions in junior year when enough time had passed for the town’s apprehension to die down. The curfew had been removed. Since the cycle ended, the town as a whole (but mainly the adults) moved on scarily fast, as if the past was blurred and unimportant. Although you were still haunted by the past and the memories that came with it, you knew you were safe for at least another twenty-seven years.

Two rings.

It was common for you two to visit the Barrens to watch the sunset. Sneaking out took a while for Stan to accustom himself to, but with gentle persuasion, he came to accept and soon love it. The sights were worth it. You’d get there a bit earlier for him to look out for birds, and when the sun bid its daily farewell, you greeted the stars that peeked out of the sky.

He picked up his phone, his finger hovering over the screen. Three rings.

He always brought a blanket to lay down on, for he was cautious of whatever could be in the grass— bugs especially. He was always mindful of your fears, and you shared an unmatched empathy with each other. He’d hold you close, gingerly, never wanting to let go.

He accepted the call.

Oh, how Stan hoped it was you calling. To hear your voice again, to relive your most cherished moments together, to bask in your former (and hopefully resurfacing) infatuation with each other— it would be a dream. He shouldn’t hope, though. What about the pressing matter of Mike’s call? What were the chances that it was even you calling now?

Throughout the years, you had both become better at recognizing constellations, following the moon phases, and analyzing the void of space. You’d often say that you thought too much about it. He’d often reply that those thoughts were beautiful nonetheless.

In the evenest voice he could muster, he answered the call in the same way he did with Mike’s. “Stanley Uris speaking.”

You were both beginning to think about the future at that point. Y’know, when I apply for college, it’ll be in Arizona for sure, you had said. After that memory, the familiarity of Phoenix finally made sense to him. Could it really be you?

His remaining doubts were silenced when the voice came through from the other line. How ridiculous of him to doubt the possibility. He probably just wanted to prepare himself for disappointment; there were too many unknowns to determine what could happen at first. However, he knew that the Losers Club was brought together by unfathomable forces all of those years ago. Why wasn’t it bound to happen again?

Mhm. Not as much light pollution out there, he had replied, nodding a bit.

The universe has strange ways of working, anyway. “Stanley…” you breathed. It was really him. His voice. He was there. “Hi, I can’t believe it. This is—”

“(Y/N),” he said, unable to contain a loving smile. Even your voice had a recognizable tone. How could he have ever doubted it?

Hey, you remembered, you whispered gratefully. You knew that you talked endlessly about the sky as it was, and as everyone grew older, you talked more and more about each other’s future plans. The fact that he had recalled such a minute detail about yours brought a smile upon your face. Yeah, it’s so desolate— great for stargazing.

You marveled at the way he could still simply say your name and set off relentless butterflies in your stomach. You also sighed with the relief of his memory, and something about that incredulous doubt made you chuckle. “You remembered.”

He had tilted his head so he could see you. When you looked back, you saw the most genuine love gracing his expression. It sounds perfect for you, babylove.

“It’s… It’s all coming back to me. It’s so bizarre.”

His words had warmed your heart that night, and you expressed your gratitude by tilting your head to press a soft kiss on his cheek. Thanks, Stanny. I hope I’ll go there, you wished with a smile. What about you? What’re you planning?

“It really is… especially since I don’t even remember forgetting,” you realized. When had these memories faded? How could such wonderful (and frightening) moments abandon you without a trace?

I’m not quite sure yet, he decided after humming in consideration.

Stan was asking himself the same questions, but he had an answer of some sort, even if it wasn’t a good one— “I don’t know” is still an answer. “I don’t know how I could have possibly forgotten what we had,” he said softly.

C’mon, you must be thinking of something. With a brilliant mind like yours, you ought to get a scholarship. Stan had merely chuckled at that, the possibility sounding a bit absurd to him. We’ll see about that, dove, he replied.

“Me neither,” you said just as quietly, a nostalgic smile gracing your lips. “It was beautiful, wasn’t it?”

You remembered thinking with a grin of how much success, how much happiness the future would bring, whether it be through a scholarship or a telescope. It faded the more you contemplated it, though. What was that worth if you weren’t together, sharing it? If you were on opposite sides of the country, or possibly the world?

You had soon found yourself staring at him with sad eyes. Even if I do get to see the night sky in Arizona, it won’t be the same without you, you whispered. His gaze softened, sympathetic. For some reason, it’s much more beautiful when you’re with me.

Life itself is more beautiful spent with someone you love, Stan replied, adjusting his hold to hug you closer. When he continued, he paused to kiss you after each example he listed. The birds are prettier —your cheek— the stars are brighter —the corner of your lips— the laughs more frequent —your temple; he was glad to hear your laugh at that moment— even the simplest things are so much more enjoyable.

“Of course. It was incredibly so.” He wanted so badly to return to that, but it could never be that simple.

As you thought back on the fond moment, you couldn’t help but want to imagine what your future could have been like together. You almost spoke that thought aloud. The authenticity of his words was audible, though, and you knew that it would only bring a somber light to the conversation. You both regretted departing from each other, and you both knew it. Stan, however, had to face that guilt for a year more than you had; he was a grade behind. It was something so painful for him to reflect on.

“You know, I’m really glad it was you who called,” he said, speaking his mind unlike you. The thought was sweeter, able to be said without blatantly hurtful reminders, and your smile returned because of it.

“I’m really glad you answered.”

Only then did it occur to you that there were so many other possibilities with your call. He could have missed it. He could have never remembered the past, never remembered you. He could have been dead.

“Really, really glad,” you added earnestly. You drew in a shaky breath, composing yourself. “I hope life’s been treating you well.”

“Thank you. I’ve, um, got my own business now, been living in Georgia with my wife.” Stan made a quick summary of missed events as best as he could. The final detail was an impulsive thing to say, something absentminded and routine that just slips out. Shit— Of all people to mention it to… I’m sorry, (Y/N). Now that I remember everything, I wish it could be us… “It’s nice here.”

“Oh.” He’s married. He hated how clearly he could hear the pain in that one shuddering word. Your voice was so small. Barely audible. You forced out another phrase, trying to conceal any of your negative emotions, self-doubts. “That’s good.”

Stan felt immediately guilty, unsure if he could really resolve the matter but about to ramble a nervous apology regardless. “And—”

You instead cut him off, knowing of his tendencies. “Stan?” you pressed gently. You had a mere question. You only needed the confirmation.

“Yes?” He was willing to listen instead of ramble. He was always willing to listen.

“Would it have been different if we were married? To each other?” The more you spoke, the more you overthought it. Your train of thought was discursive. Your voice was becoming shakier. Your eyes were welling with tears. “That might just be a stupid question… And— And I don’t mean to offend your wife, she’s obviously very lucky, but—”

“Yes,” Stan said. He understood what you meant, and he had pondered the same question. His answer was the rigid and sad truth. “(Y/N), it would have been so much different.”

Those words tore a sob from your aching throat, and then the tears cascaded. You couldn’t help it at this point. There was absolutely nothing you could do to change the past, so this was your form of lamenting it. It was pitiful but uncontrollable. An overwhelming urge to respond.

“Please don’t cry, babylove.” The nickname slipped out naturally. For you, though, it jumped out of the past. The reminder of it only made your sobs worsen, only made you long for those simple times more. And what if he used this nickname in his marriage? It devastated you how your thoughts would lead you from one pain to another.

Stan really did love Patty, but his response was still true. It would be different with you. What you shared was more than marital love, it was deeper, closer, a passion and a devotion, a binding of souls. A relationship that blossomed and continuously strengthened as you became adults.

“I’m sorry, Stan, I’m so sorry…” you said, doing your best to calm down. No use in worsening your feelings for much longer. You were able to compose yourself to begin asking some more pressing questions, the questions that you could only avoid in this conversation for so long. “It’s just— You got Mike’s call, too, right? A-And I’ll see you tomorrow? At home?” Please, I really need to see you. I need to know you’re there.

He wanted to say no. Tell you the truth. Tell you what needed to be done. No, you won’t see me. I’ll be gone by then. He just couldn’t do that to you… but it still hurt just as much to lie. To get your hopes up. There was no telling what would happen if he did tell you the truth, anyway. Neither option was necessarily favorable. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll… be there.”

“We have to go back. Face our old fears again. We have to go back, don’t we…?” You trailed off, your voice questioning. You couldn’t help but imagine the kinds of surreal and terrifying experiences you might face. What might come back to haunt you.

“I suppose we do,” he whispered. However, at the same time, he knew that he could never again face what he saw. The fear he felt. He’d be a liability— the end of everyone. And he couldn’t bring you down with him. “It’ll be hard, but we have to. You’re so strong, (Y/N). Please remember that.”

“Stan, I—”

“Please.”

For him, you would. “I will.” Undoubtedly.

And if he had alluded to what he was about to do, you would’ve told him the same thing. He was just as strong. Just as courageous. You would’ve told him that you’d be there for him for the rest of time. But he kept his plans in check.

It struck you briefly that he hadn’t told you that he would be there for you, as well, something he had said many times in his youth. And the undertone of the assurance… there was something off, something wrong in it. Something you wouldn’t quite register until it was too late.

“I hope you’ve still been studying the stars,” he offered gently. The thought was random, but a true one; he really did wish the best for you. He hoped he could at least manage to end the call on a positive note. He wanted your final memory of him to be comforting, to be something to reminisce in gratitude rather than grief. And while he knew that the two of you could talk for hours more, his letters sat waiting —unfinished and prompting— upon his desk.

You let out a tearful chuckle and a ghost of a smile reached your lips. “I have been. I’ve become an astronomer like I’ve always wanted to be. The sky is absolutely beautiful, Stanley. I… I do wish that I could see it with the same eyes I did all those years ago, though.”

The sentiment made Stanley’s heart sink. There was silence on his end of the call for a few moments as a new line for his letters came to mind. And if you find someone worth holding onto, he wrote, never, ever let them go.

“I’m more than happy that you got to live your dream,” he said at last. He paused again, wanting to ensure that he picked the right words. “But… maybe when you get to Derry, the sky will be as you remembered it.”

“Yeah… Maybe it will be.” It’s much more beautiful— as you remembered it was— when you’re with me. You thought about the possibility of going stargazing like in the old times if you were to defeat It together. Your hopes jumped a bit.

A soft question of your name brought you out of your head. “(Y/N)?”

“Stan?” you replied.

“I love you.”

Those three simple words warmed your heart to no end. You had no clue as to how such deep feelings could return after so long, but you felt like a teenager again after hearing him say that. The care and affection and love that you had for him was evidently still there, and it was just as strong as it was before. It awed you.

“I love you, too,” you said, your voice filled with emotion. You’d never been so sure of the truth in that statement. A wide smile subconsciously spread across your face, and you took a moment to bask in it before reality struck. There was so much that you needed to do before going home, you realized. And before seeing him.

“I— I should probably start packing, though, there’s a lot to worry about when it comes to returning to Derry. You probably have a lot on your mind with the call, too.”

“You’re right.” He knew the end of the call would reach him eventually, but he didn’t want to leave you again. This would be his very final departure from you before he would soon leave the earth, leave everything behind with you, as well. His letters needed tending to, and he needed to express to you how much of an impact you made on him.

Instead of saying goodbye, he instead told you another “I love you.” He hoped that your farewell wouldn’t be something untrue, but he had no control over your response.

“I love you, too,” you repeated again. “See you in Derry.”

Stan winced, knowing that he wouldn’t be there himself. However, it was likely that you’d see him anyway in some form or another; Its mind games always exploit weaknesses in their deceitful tactics. It just wouldn’t be real, and it was something he trusted you would overcome.

But at least it wasn’t a goodbye.

The line cut off. After an hour more of writing, the bathtub faucet began spewing water.

Tags: @milk-n-cheese​ @witchjules​

[ineffablecolors]

Contrary to Popular Belief [1/1]

I forgot my Word doc at work yesterday so... a belated Valentine's Day CS. 

Contrary to Popular Belief; ~ 3k words; FF.NET || AO3

Emma and Killian are... well, he is not really sure what they are. "Courting" seems to have gone out of fashion as a term. Post-3A, except they defeated Pan's curse and stayed in Storybrooke.

Contrary to popular belief, Captain Hook rarely lurks and he certainly doesn’t eavesdrop if he can help it.

Which he really can’t when coming out of the lavatory at Granny’s. Swan and the wolf girl are the only ones left in the whole dinner, their conversation echoing slightly in the empty place, while Emma waits for him so they can leave.

Ah, yes, that. Killian has almost started to feel the bounce in his own step the last month or so. Ever since Emma resolutely decided that no reconciliation, past the one necessary to share the parenting of the young lad, would be occurring between her and Baelfire. Well, perhaps since a week or so after that actually, when she also decided that he was finally “out of the dog house” for sharing in the nefarious practice of “making decisions for her”.

“Just don’t mention it to Hook, ok?”

It’s involuntary really, the way his ears perk up when he hears her voice shaping his name.

“I think he is bound to notice all the pink and the hearts and the whatnot. Granny is putting out a 2 for 1 Valentine’s special.”

Emma groans and Killian wonders why on earth a Granny’s special would warrant such a reaction and why—

“Just… try to distract him from the whole “a day to celebrate the people you love” thing, ok?”

“I have one bulletproof way of distracting a man, Emma Swan, but I’m not sure you will want me to—”

He steps forward – quickly, heavily, loudly. If Emma is so desperate to keep him in the dark about what sounds like a romantic holiday, he has no wish to hear how willing she is to hand him over to another woman.

Her head whips around and she smiles – it looks genuine enough to fool him so he focuses hard on the little smudge of guilt, the slight tightness in the corner of her mouth and the tension in her shoulders.

It was always too good to be true.

“Ready to go?”

By the time he leaves her in front of her parents’ dwelling, any traces of Emma’s guilt and stiffness are gone, but so is the bounce in his step.

///

Contrary to popular belief, Captain Hook is an educated man and there are few things that he hates more than being ignorant about his surroundings.

Thus, it is not hard to imagine that living in Storybrooke has been… testing to say the least. But for the most part he has figured things out on his own and when truly stumped, Emma has always been willing to direct him, even if she takes a couple of jabs at his cluelessness while doing so.

This is obviously not a situation in which she is eager to enlighten him and he does not feel inclined to try questioning anyone, only to discover they have been instructed as Ruby. So he waits for this Valentine the way one waits for an enemy to strike – with growing agitation, restless limbs and a heavy heart.

It is not so much that Emma wouldn’t wish to spend such a day with him – he could understand that. It has been mere weeks since they started sharing morning and evening beverages at Granny’s counter, taking the long way by the docks on the way to her parents’ home and occasionally swiveling into a little alley or stumbling onto the Jolly for a “heavy make out session” as Emma explained their more amorous activities should be dubbed. If you ask Killian, it’s courting through and through. Rather brazen and speedy courting, as a matter of fact.

But speedy or not, he never expected winning Emma Swan’s heart to be anything but the work of a lifetime and he is more than willing to put in the time. So it is not her unwillingness to display her affections that grates on him. It is her unwillingness, perhaps even fear, at having him display his own on a day apparently meant exactly for such displays.

Alas, he cannot see another move but waiting for the day to arrive and pass. Well, that is not entirely true. He has considered a whole array of other moves but all of them hold the very real possibility of putting him back “in the dog house”.

So Killian waits. And then a couple of days later he walks down main street and the hearts Ruby mentioned seem to have finally appeared. The harbinger of romance. And apparently Emma Swan’s reluctance to engage in it. He keeps his face carefully impassive and his comments deliberately short and offhanded as he makes conversation with Granny and then with Emma for a few minutes before she has to head to the station. If he notices their slightly confused looks, he chooses to ignore them. If denial is what Emma wants instead of romance, denial she shall have. She has some arrangement in the evening and he deliberately doesn’t pry even if his mind is all too quick to conjure up the numerous things that she might be occupying this evening dedicated to romance with. None of them involve him, apparently.

Killian thinks he handles it rather well. Half a bottle, taking the Jolly out for a couple of hours and being safely back in the Storybrooke harbor long before sunrise, ready to face the reality of whether Emma will come into Granny’s in a few hours to share breakfast with him or someone else.

Of course, he’d assumed that will be it. So when the hearts and roses and banners featuring the word “love” seem to have only multiplied on his walk back into the heart of town, he is reminded once again that there is much he has to learn about the Land Without Magic.

But Emma does come in to have breakfast with him and he is much too tired and ruffled to hold on to his irritation when she jokes that he looks like he needs the whole pot of coffee today and then puts her hand on his arm and drops her teasing, asking if he is okay.

In that moment he decides to let it go. Well, he decides to at least not hold it against her the way he senses he has been the last few days. Still on the third day of red and pink everywhere, he starts to get irritated for a whole different reason. How stupid does she think he is to not notice all this? It’s absurd for him to not make any comment on it all so when he joins her for her afternoon patrol that day he casually drops in the town’s new colour scheme.

“Oh, umm, yeah, it’s… it’s this silly thing they do here.”

“They”, not “we”. He will usually indulge his curiosity and ask her further questions about the traditions of her land but—

“I have to pick up Henry in a bit.”

“I can walk you and then retire to the Jolly.”

He knows better than to wait with her for the lad. Henry is still understandably disappointed that his parents are not getting back together and he appreciates that Emma made it abundantly clear that wouldn’t have been the case with or without the pirate ship docked in the harbor but he does not wish to press his luck with the boy. He awarded him the title “kinda cool” a week ago and Killian thinks this is quite the progress already.

“Great. I’ll stop by after dinner?”

He blinks at her a few times. After dinner sounded late. So far they have restricted themselves to moonlit strolls at such hours of the night. He swallows at the thought of Emma boarding the Jolly at night.

“’Course, you know you’re always welcome, love,” he coughs and tries to regain his footing, voice dropping and eyebrows rising. “Should I prepare for your visit in any way?”

Predictably, Emma rolls her eyes and shoots him her best unimpressed look. There is something in it though—

“Just make sure you have your pants on, we’ll be going somewhere else.”

He doesn’t sputter. He is Captain Hook, he doesn’t loose control of his motor skills over a woman referring to his undergarments.

///

„Let’s go.”

“Don’t you wish to have a drink first, Swan?”

She seems to contemplate the bottle in his hand with careful deliberation.

“We can take it with us. Come on.”

He hasn’t seen Emma so single-minded since they left Neverland. Of course, then her focus was razor sharp with a heavy undercurrent of desperation and rage. Now it’s like energy incapable of being contained, a strong sense of eagerness and impatience and only the slightest nervousness to it.

He much prefers this.

“Are you kidnapping me, love?”

The lights are getting fewer and they are definitely on the edge of town now. He makes a confident move for her hand, one that he hasn’t felt like making in the last few days. Her palm is surprisingly warm against his, if a little clammy. She spreads her fingers wide so he can fit his bigger ones in between them and Killian very purposefully lags half a step behind her, his shoulder nudging her shoulder blade, his body almost bumping into hers.

She laughs.

“Is this the pirate equivalent of “Are we there yet?””

“This is the equivalent of “Where even is there?””

She blatantly avoids his question.

“Hm, if I were to kidnap you – what then?”

“Why, I should hope that you will have your wicked way with me. And seeing as there won’t be anyone to random me, I shall remain in your clutches for a long, long time.”

His last few words are little more than warm exhales against the little skin exposed by her scarf and somehow Emma manages to march on and squirm at the same time. He still doesn’t miss the little hitch in her breathing or the way her hand tightens around his almost painfully.

“Here.”

Killian looks up, jarred out of his thoughts and… well, if he has to be honest, disappointed by the sight before him. It is a completely ordinary building for this realm, a few stores smaller than the one she lives in. Honestly, he thinks they should’ve stayed on the Jolly.

“Come on.”

Emma tugs him towards the entrance and then up the stairs with more of that impatience and single-mindedness. Then she comes to a very sudden halt on the third floor. He bumps into her shoulder – this time not on purpose – and almost topples back down the stairs.

“Swan?”

She whirls around and he moves a step away from the stairs to prevent any more losses of balance since Emma seems to be all about sudden movements tonight. Her cheeks and nose are pink from the cold air outside and her hair is a little wild under her beanie – she obviously curled it today but the wind has made sure that random strands and hairs are flying everywhere.

“So, umm… shit,” she looks around as if she has forgotten what they came here for. “I thought it would be a good idea to combine the two but now I have to explain and ugh.”

The excitement is gradually mutating into frustration and he decides to take matters into his own hands.

“You don’t have to explain, love, just do what you planned to.”

“I was just going to let you in but—“

“So just let me in.”

If there is a certain heaviness to his words, a promise and a plea tucked somewhere in those four words – well. Emma’s eyes rove over his face and he hitches up one eyebrow and one corner of his mouth and tries to introduce some levity to it all. Her eyes sparkle in a way that he finds very hard to resist but before he can lean in, she nods to herself and turns around.

He doesn’t really start analyzing the situation until he steps into the apartment Emma unlocks. He has been much too busy delighting in the closeness of tonight after days of doubt to think about what tonight might entail.

By the looks of it, some magical ritual.

“Swan… are you sure you shouldn’t have Regina here instead?”

Her face does something that he has previously only seem on the faces of children when faced with the most slimy of sea creatures.

“What?”

Her tone suggests much the same disbelief and mild nausea at such an offering.

“For whatever spell this is?”

He frowns and looks around the room. It is mostly bare. There is a fireplace and some pillows and blankets before it but otherwise all the space seems to have been cleared out in preparation for some ritual. There are candles everywhere.

“Oh. See, I told you I should’ve explained first.”

He shakes his head.

“If you need my help for a spell, Swan, I’d be willing to assist you of course, I just—”

“No, no. Shhh,” Emma moves closer and suddenly her palm is obscuring his whole mouth – his mouth quirks up behind it and he can’t resist the slight press of his lips against her flesh – her lips purse in something that is obviously not displeasure. “We’re not doing any spells, pirate.”

He is relieved he must say. He would’ve trusted and helped Emma with any magic but he can’t deny that he was slightly vexed at the turn the evening had taken.

“Didn’t you guys ever light a whole bunch of candles to set the mood in the Enchanted Forest?”

His eyebrow rises – part in surprise at the suggestion and part to indicate that he is still prohibited to speak. Emma removes her palm with slight reluctance and an expectant expression of her own.

“Darling, candles are rather expensive in quite a few places and when everything is made of wood – often enchanted wood at that – a blazing fire is not exactly the best way to– How did you put it? Set the mood.”

“Oh.”

“However, surely you know that whenever you are around my mood is always—”

“It’s Valentine’s Day.”

The thought had drifted so far into the back of his mind that he almost jolts at her proclamation.

“And I’ve never— I mean I’m not much into the hearts and roses, it’s… it’s a bit much but I thought – candles. Candles are a nice touch. And wine. There is wine in the fridge. I have a fridge. Not much else in the way of furniture though and now I totally see why you thought I was gonna be sacrificing virgins in here or—”

His laughter is loud in the semi-empty, candle-lit room.

“Swan, I can assure you I will not be of any use to you for any virgin sacrifices, nor did the thought cross my mind.”

“Whatever. You know what I mean.”

“I think you mean to tell me that this place is yours?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I signed the lease the other day.”

“And all this…”

“I… I don’t know. I thought I’d combine the holiday and showing you the place and yeah.”

“You mean this Valentine’s holiday.”

“Um, yeah.”

“The one you didn’t want me to know about?”

Emma’s eyes widen a little.

“I may have… overhead.”

“That’s why you weren’t being all nosy about it!”

“Nosy? I—”

“Yeah, I didn’t really want you knowing all about it before.”

He gives her a brisk nod and looks down at his boots. They are standing very close and he can see the tips of hers as well.

“Swan, I want you to know that you are under no obligation to celebrate this with me just because we’re…”

He looks up at her and waves his fingers between them. Courting seems to have gone out of fashion but he doesn’t know how to work “make out sessions” in his sentence and Emma is frowning at him and—

“I mean, that’s kinda the point? You celebrate it with the person you’re dating.”

Dating. He turns the word around in his mind a few times and then files it away. They are dating. And yet.

“But you did not wish me to know about it.”

She frowns again. Then her face seems to clear and her mouth shapes into an almost perfect “o”.

“Oh, no. Well, yes, but not— I didn’t want you to know ‘cause I knew you’d do a thing and I wanted to do a thing so…”

“This thing?”

He looks around yet again and finally let’s himself see the setting for what it is – atmospheric, cozy, romantic.

“I mean, I know it’s not much of anything but—”

He cuts her off with a kiss.

///

It’s much later, when they have finished the wine and moved on to the bottle of rum they brought and their “make out sessions” have apparently progressed to “third base” and Emma is being terribly amused by his questions about “fourth base”, when Killian realizes something.

“Did you leave those candles burning while we were walking here?”

Her eyes widen a little and he is not sure if it’s alarm at the realization or shock at his tone.

“Jeez, relax. No, I lit them when we got to the building.”

“With magic?”

She nods hesitantly but he doesn’t restrain his grin.

“You’re getting really good at that, Swan.”

“What? Lighting candles? That’s like Magic 101.”

“Still.”

He lifts her hand up with his hook and kisses her fingertips and he swears he can almost feel the hum and warmth of her magic under the skin. She looks like she is about to protest but then sighs and relaxes further into him.

“So, this Valentine’s Day. Now that I know all about it, am I allowed to do “a thing” next year?”

He keeps his voice deliberately casual but the implication is loud and illuminated by the calmly crackling fire. Her eyes are very green under this light as well. They narrow in a way that tells him she knows exactly what he is pulling but her words are more reassurance than reprimand.

“Sure, you can do a thing next year.”

Contrary to popular belief, it seems Emma Swan is a romantic. Contrary to popular belief, she apparently wants to be romantic with him.

For more: MY FANFICS   MY BOOK   MY BLOG

[crowsent]

Would you be willing to elaborate on the vase story?

sure why the fuck not

i was young. way young. and had a temper shorter than my height. and back then, i was even shorter than i am now. i was this waifish 4 feet thing that wore a pleated skirt and stockings with floral-print boots and had my hair up in pigtails. dainty as a prairie flower that wore an absurd pink bedazzled slap bracelet on both wrists. walked around like i was dorothy skippin down the brick road. in short. i was the furthest fucking thing from intimidating as you could get.

and back then, i was the Weird kid. we had a bitch who spoke to trees and a bastard son of a bicol politican sentenced to live in the backwoods bronies who gleefully licked stripes up down and sideways on the classroom wall. but i was the Weird Kid. because apparently being neurodivergent in my country is a death knell for children bc i got bodied. and i got bodied hard.

as in got slammed into walls “on accident” all the time, had someone write on the blackboard “i wish salt would just permanently leave” in block letters and had kids very blatantly exclude me from their games/activities/hangout-sessions. for some fucking reason, i still stayed a decent human bc while i had the full capacity to yank this bitch pricea’s dumb head into the ground and knock her frail ass unconscious i didnt.

was nice like that

anyway. because i was the Weird Kid and never fought back, resident Asshole Extrodinaire Shitface Mcgee decided to bully me hardfucking core. lets call this bastard DU.

so i was having a good fucking time by myself, running around and bothering no one bc i still liked to do physical things way back when, when DU fucking bodyslams me once or twice while i was frolicking around n bein one with nature and all that bullshit. when i decided “yeah, i need the exercise during lunch break but not when this fucker is out on the field” so i very casually jogged back.

then DU breaks a vase on me.

specifically my right knee.

huge-ass scar runnin horizontal. if you run a finger over it you can feel texture where the flesh dun heal proper. couldnt walk straight for like. two days

but i was a nice girl so i told the principal that we were horsin round and he accidentally pushed too hard and i fell on the ceramic vase and it just so happened to shatter unfortunately on my knee. was a liar back then too, but way way too nice. teachers bought it, students didnt because people saw what happened n didnt give no fucks bout me since it was the most amusin thing to happen in a while. you know. just teenager things. casually observe someone get bullied and injured and bleeding all over the ground cus its fun.

so the news of the vase thing spread around the school because the school is a private one and rumours fly like tp off shelves and i guess the constant talk about me bein a coward pushover who dont know how to fight back kinda made me snap????? like. i can put up with bullyin and physical abuse by people taller and heavier than me no problem but the moment you call me an idiot who cant swing a fist, i mcfucking lose it.

so.

injured right leg, limpin like a newborn fawn caught its leg in a trap and the DU motherfucker accosts me again in the middle of a dark hallway on the first floor between the canteen and the dining room. says “sorry you tripped onto the vase” like an ASSHOLE bc we both know i sure as fuck didnt trip and then the bitch had the nerve to say “you should look where youre goin” like it was my fault theres a tear in my fucking knee.

then he took my glasses and told me to walk back to class but be careful goin up the stairs cus i might trip and injure my other knee. then the motherfucker laughed.

and then i broke his nose and dislocated his wrist.

real nice story. feral salt fucking surfaced that day. im still nice i guess but my first response can and will be physical violence bc thats the only goddamn language that seems to work around people

gives me a real kick when people who see the scar ask me about it and then i get to watch their faces go from pity to this perfect mix of fear and concern and threatened at the same time when i tell them that i broke the motherfuckers nose, dislocated his wrist, and enjoyed doing it. i get such a good kick from the looks on their faces. aint nothin better

injury’s all healed up too.

bastard couldnt even break the vase over my knee properly. dont feel nothin on my right leg now. all he did was push “nice good christian girl” salt down and bring “feral, unhinged, will murder your family for the price of one corn chip” salt to the surface.