#and yeah you can hate me for being unstable person which i am

[ieatangstforbreakfast]

Pairing ೃ⁀➷ 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝟒𝟐! 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 x Fem! Reader

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Lovers have secrets of their own, no matter how much they come to trust each other, whether it be a past mistake or an unspoken trauma. For you and Miles, however, your secrets came in the form of hidden identities— one being a masked vigilante, and the other a mastermind.

Genre ೃ⁀➷ Forbidden love, mutual pining, angst♡

Tags ೃ⁀➷ Both are artists, reader is from a very wealthy family, both are living double lives, underaged smoking, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns, forbidden love (ish?), swearing, daddy issues, mommy issues, reader is unhinged, both are mentally unstable, lots of flirting.

Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ l went through like a fuck ton of shit [Broke up with my boyfriend of two years, entrance exam, and uh I lost some friends] and 2024’s barely started lol sorry for the late update, i am,,, extremely deep in hurting 👍

Tag list ೃ⁀➷ @sakura-onesan @coffeeandtealol @luvjunie @noetophat @proudgojofucker @depresssedcowboy @adorefavv @l0starl @your-girl-mj @nyumeii @iheartamajiki @yoluv-tiannaaa--212 @bakauwu @callsignwidow

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟐: 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐎𝐧 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Miles and Eddie make an exchange. A certain nightmare plagues his thoughts. Your insanity unfolds, and so does Miles’ suspicions.

[Warning: Blasphemy, mentioned of fucked up things and crimes, deranged thinking]

MASTERLIST

Previous chapter || Next chapter

“Miles, what would make you hate me?”

The memory was so long ago. Well, to be exact, perhaps it’s been a month or two since it happened. Miles could still so clearly remember the way you leaned your head against the damp wall, your eyes far off into the void of whatever haunted you. At that time, his feelings had been but a spark budding within his chest ever so delicately, a butterfly ripping out of its cocoon in his stomach.

“I don’t know.” Miles whispered into the air. “I don’t think it’s possible to truly hate a person when you know them personally.”

At that moment, you looked at him, with your head half-buried within your hood.

“Why’s that?” You asked, fiddling with the ends of your hoodie.

Miles took a moment to think about how to word his answer.

“When you recognize someone enough to know that they’re not evil people who’d do random shit for shits and giggles, you learn to realize that they’re not really a monster.. At least, not as much as they seem.” His lingering gaze travels towards the ample of your cheek. “I can’t hate you when I know you. You’ve got a name, and you’re somebody’s sister, daughter.. Well, you don’t have to be all that. You just need to be somebody, and you’re somebody to me, and that alone’s the reason why I can never hate you.”

“That’s.. Interesting.” You whispered. “So technically, you humanize your enemies.”

“That’s one weird way to put it, but yeah.”

“But what if it’s a façade?” The words rolled off your tongue seamlessly. “What if.. They’re not exactly the person you thought they were. What if they’ve done more harm than good?”

He thinks about it for a moment.

“It’s not my job to humanize people. People humanize themselves.” Miles answered. “If there’s truly nothing at all about this person that makes them human, or makes me feel like they still have a relatively active conscience inside of them.. I can’t.”

“So you’re saying thay if they’re not human, you’ll hate them?”

“No!” He rapidly shook his head.

“No, ‘cause Miles, I’ll be fair with you. Ion think there’s anything more monstrous than humanity. We are our own enemies. Nothing else causes more pain to a human other than its own body or its own kind, which is why hatred is such a natural thing.”

“Hatred is a natural thing for you, because you grew up only having to think about yourself.”

“Because if not me, then who would?” You spewed. You didn’t mean to sound overtly bitter, but you were. “Unlike you, Miles, my family ain’t the shit. It’s me against the world always— I-If, had I gotten a remote opportunity to care about anyone other than myself, maybe I wouldn’t be this hateful.”

“Well, you got a chance now.”

“How so?”

“You got me.”

You paused, wondering if you’ve heard correctly.

“… I’ve got you?”

Whatever did that statement mean? You’ve heard about a million pick-up lines, but what the hell was this?

“F’course you do. We’re friends.”

Friends.

“Friends?” Just friends?

Miles hums. “Buddies. Amigos.”

Ah, right, that’s how it always starts. Just friends.

Miles snuck his hand into one of his pockets, plucking out something round that you were too lost in your haze to even notice. He seems to fiddle with it for a moment, digging his fingers into its plush before nudging it towards you.

“You want some?”

You turned around and realized he’d peeled you an orange. “.. What.. These are so expensive these days. How’d you even get one?” Your hand reaches out for the fruit, examining its tiny size. You’d heard about the sudden inflation of prices, so fruits inevitably turned into a luxury for most. Miles parts the mandarin and places the larger half on top of your hand.

“.. I stole one from my neighbor’s garden. God did say generous people prosper, so I did him a favor.”

“I’m pretty sure there was a ‘thou shall not steal’ in one of the commandments, Miles.” You laughed, plopping a piece atop your tongue. The tangy, sweet, yet sour flavor bursts right in, making you grimace ever so lightly. “Oh, that’s sour.”

Miles took after you, similarly cringing. “Eugh.”

“It’s probably not all that ripe yet. It’s fine though,” You plopped another into your mouth. “I like oranges— sour things as a whole. They snap me back into life.”

“That sounds sad.” He mumbled, turning to look at you. “Kinda worrying, if you ask me.”

“Well, I wasn’t asking.” You plucked out one of the seeds from your teeth.

“Right, ‘cause you never ask.” Miles took another bite. “You only answer.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know.” Miles shrugged. “I like saying random shit to tick you off.”

You rolled your eyes, trudging your way up from the floor as you staggered from the cold. “Thanks for the orange, Miles.” Running a hand through your hair, you looked out and sighed. He couldn’t help but feel surprised at the lack of your sass.

“You’re welcome, princesa.”

Your brow cringed. “Don’t call me that.”

His finger twitches. He watched as you froze for a moment, turning to look at him. With gentle steps, you approached and leaned down— tufts of your hair brushing against the temple of his forehead. At that moment, he swallows while taking in the scent of your perfume and its ridiculously sweet stench. How could everything about you be so sweet?

You plucked your pen out of his hands. “This is mine.” You reminded of him. Miles didn’t utter a single word til’ your eyes met. Even in the darkness, you saw, but you ignored— well, rather, you tried to ignore it, but it stung.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

Miles turned his head, forcibly pushing down the butterflies fluttering like haywire in his stomach.

Hands clammy, heart haywire, eyes unable to meet yours.

“Sure, whatever.”

That day ended there, but Miles knew then. He knew.

Eddie Brock couldn't look past the television store, as his eyes were drawn completely to the news. Not that he couldn't afford a paper, or a gadget of his own— he was simply nervous, figdety, and this ominous pit that holed itself into his stomach unnerved him like a pig carved up for the butcher. He'd known of the news already, honestly, something along the lines of the daily murders and crimes that weren't all too unusual to be fair, and rather than the screen's bright technicolored themes, he was hyper focused entirely on one thing.

The face of Will Barlowe, the almighty senator. Eddie had long been staring at that man's creased, brown skin and slick, blonde hair that was fading into this falsified shade of platinum all because of his whitening strands.

Damn the rich, all of them.

Eddie was no one, like everyone else. A drop of water in the ocean, a needle in a haystack. He was one, like the rest, with the hard workers who carried the economy with their white, blue, pink-collared jobs. He thrived, initially, three years ago. He was an activist then— a journalist in a crisp collared shirt and black dress pants, warning the young about the dangers of climate change, and speaking outwardly in regard to politics.

Now, he was nothing more but a wrinkled jacket-wearing, eccentric and amusing conspiracy theorist scraping the tiniest bits of his dignity to post videos on Facebook or Youtube shorts about how fucked up and dystopian America's grown to become.

When the Prowler, the younger one, decidedly linked him a location allegedly shared by the elites, Eddie wanted to think of it as a chance to shine, to end everything once and for all, and to avenge Anna. For Anna, and for what could’ve been their happy, serene life. But when he arrived, painstakingly clad in plaid while forging the identity of a lost tourist, he was disappointed entirely to find out that the warehouse had been burnt down.

He could still recall the charcoaled crevices of what could’ve been his salvation— that masked boy, the Prowler, promised him salvation in a what-could’ve-been some rich guy’s attempt of a house barbecue.

“Did I make ya wait long?”

A voice reminiscent of a growl. That same shade of neon magenta lingered, popping like a change of color in the melancholy of great Harlem. Eddie tries not to look, but the presence of the boy simmered like fire even as he hung like a spider from the ceiling. He was always like that— the Prowler. The boy was a tall, lanky thing who walked and talked suave. Dominican, he initially assumed. Eddie figured this little vigilante was likely a high schooler with hopes consequently dimmed by the recession.

“Nope.” Eddie attempted to appeal cooly, instead, he only crumbled more. “I’d been watching the news this whole time, tryna check if there was anything about the fire.”

He hears a metal click. “They prolly wouldn’t say nothin’. See, if they didn’t wanna hide it, it’d be all over the television. But it ain’t there, so that means the Chávez’s are hiding the fire from the other families. They prolly paid the witnesses to keep their mouths shut or bribed all the television networks to say it’s some barbecue party gone bad.”

A few passersby couldn’t help but squeak at the sight of the infamous vigilante hanging from a store sign, but they all seemed to know better than approaching him. Trouble was wherever he was, after all, or something the daily bugle said along those lines. They shared glances, sure. Curious, amused glances like how people would marvel at a lion in a zoo.

“It’s,” Eddie finally looked at him. “it’s something ‘bout the Chávez’s?”

With a momentary pause, the Prowler released his grip from the metal poles and dangled down for a second before decidedly letting his feet hit the ground. He was tall— truly, around an inch or two taller than grouchy Eddie. His braids seemed much longer than he’d last seen them. Did he recently get them redone?

“.. That’s right.” Prowler hummed. “.. But we might wanna move some place else to have this conversation, Mr. Brock.”

And where the cat went, curiosity followed down as it made its way to the dark alleyways.

Eddie had a million questions, like any other normal being. The Chávez’s, the Primos, the Barlowes, the Fisks, the Osborns, and all of the other wealthy families connected to one another were all listed down on his kill bill naturally, and he’d been dreaming about the day of crossing out their names with ink made from their blood. Cliché, but a threat either way. Eddie wasn’t a writer, but a journalist anyways. Creativity in terms of wording his hatred was limited and it wasn’t his forte.

“In your past facebook post, you mentioned the Chávez’s briefly,” The boy began, halting by the corner dampened by rain. “I need information about the whole family.”

“… Aren’t you supposed to know the basic information about your enemies?”

“If it were that easy, I wouldn’t be needing your help.” The two white shapes that proxied as his eyes narrowed, grimacing ever so lightly. “There’s little information about them in the black market, and within the scarcity, most of them aren’t factual.”

“They’re rich enough to be able to squander their wealth on silencing people,” Eddie kicked at a can. “Of course no one knows, but I do.”

“How so?”

Picking at something in between his cheek, Eddie sighed a long sigh.

“… My wife worked as their private attorney.”

He watched the boy take a step back. “.. Your wife?”

“Yeah.” Eddie nodded. “My wife, Anna. She was taught to keep silent about their crimes, and to find a loophole in every case.” A lump formed in his throat.

The Prowler stared. He couldn’t make out whether it was an empathetic or judgmental one. “.. So your wife covered up the Chávez’s crimes?”

“A part of it.” Eddie mumbled. “There’s more to the elite than we know, Anna had to burn her files after every case, so she couldn’t snitch or post them after she quits.”

His head turns. “… I see.”

He sees the boy shift, weirdly, fidgety. He couldn’t particularly describe the unease this young vigilante conveyed. It was almost like he was on the verge of asking something, but his mask made it harder to read what he was desperate to know about.

“.. So can you tell me?”

A simmering silence sunk into the gaps of their conversation.

“What’s in it for me?” Eddie asked, knowing he shouldn’t have, as it was obvious and painstakingly accusatory.

“Why do we have to have transactions when it comes to justice?”

Eddie paced. “Capitalism.”

“Fair point.” The Prowler sighed, rocking on the ends of his neon shoes. “Well, what d’ya want?”

Eddie thinks, and thinks. What could a conspiracy theorist— no, a journalist want? Could he ask for a man’s death? The head of Barlowe? The head of Chávez? Or could that only be achieved after this gamble? He looked at this boy, and Eddie pictured this teenager basking his hands in blood.

What would make him any different from the elites?

“… When you went to the warehouse, you guys.. Took evidence? Even a USB, right?”

He stared. “Yeah, we dug it up and we tried sending it to every news outlet we could find.. All of them rejected the information.”

“Why?” Eddie furrowed his brow. “Was the information incomplete? Did you send the evidence beneath a credible name as a source?”

“Credible name?”

“Yeah, if the information comes from a credible source, they might do something about it. Likewise, if the information is complete, they might take the risk, after all, the Chávez’s are old money, and they have a lot of influence in regard to politics. If they publish anything against them, without complete information, or if you’re just a bunch of trespassers regarded as criminals by the media,” Eddie held out a finger. “Someone will get shot.”

The boy swallowed.

“If not you, if not your partner, it’s the journalist. Always the journalist.”

And Eddie’s seen too much of his co-workers wound up as mere victims in a headline. ‘Journalist shot dead.’

And he didn’t want his name to be reduced to a John Doe in one of the many causes people are too afraid to fight for.

“… I’ll tell you all about the Chávez’s, if you give me the records you stole from the warehouse.”

The Prowler stood, seemingly caught up in his thoughts for a moment. “.. Okay, but I’m telling you, don’t make a large move without consulting me first.”

“I still want my head attached to my head, of course I’ll consult y’all first.” Eddie chuckled, his fingers pouring into his pockets. “Then, what do you want to know about the Chávez’s?”

Without missing a beat, he answered.

“You can give me all you got. Recent scandals, fuck ups.. Perhaps, you got anything from the collapse of the Aureum building three years ago?”

“The Aureum building,” Eddie echoed, reminiscing like a veteran released from war. “That was the messiest thing I’ve ever witnessed in the last ten years. The lawsuits, the bribes, and the social media mayhem—“

“The deaths.” Miles cringed, remembering his father. “Surely, that was the most fucked up thing.”

“Aside from the architecture? Sure.” Eddie pulled out a box of cigars from his pocket, wringing out a single stick. “Weak scaffolding, quick-dry cement.. Put two and two together, and everything collapsed as soon as the opening began.”

Miles wallowed, grimacing at the sight of the habit. “Could it have been planned?”

With a flick of his lighter, Eddie took one breath in and sighed. “Could? There’s no ‘could’, boy, it was planned.”

Planned? Planned by who?

Were the Chávez’s really masters at self-sabotage? Or were their enemies really just each other?

“You see, the Chávez’s specialize in human trafficking, slave trade, and child labor. The people they ship work tirelessly for other businesses without a fee— because we, you and I and the rest of us who had the freedom to earn education, refused to work under hellish circumstances and poor environments. Without us, precisely, without the poor, the rich are nothing.”

“Then the Aureum building?”

“The Aureum building was a cover-up for a bigger scandal.” Eddie tilted his head. “The people inside were likely witnesses, or people who knew about the human trafficking.. And when the building collapsed, they sued the construction companies involved, got the money, but damaged their reputation.. And I don’t see why they’d do all of that just to damage their reputation.”

Miles pondered and pondered.

“.. It was probably someone from inside the family who planned everything.”

“That’s what I think so too.” Eddie added, blowing off another puff of intoxicating smoke. “Someone who won’t suffer from the damaged reputation.. Yet someone who still manages to benefit from it all financially.”

“… Could it be.. Any one of the siblings?”

Eddie takes a step back, likely thinking about it. “.. Well, the other one’s in London, the other one’s too stupid, and the last’s a minor.”

“Minor?” Miles repeated. “How young are we talking?”

“.. Well, the last time I heard about the girl.. She was thirteen, and it’s been three years since then, so she’s probably fifteen to sixteen.”

It’s not as though a thirteen year old could possibly plan out such a meticulous plan… Well maybe, or maybe not, it’s not as though Miles was the only genius capable of great things.

“You know any of their names?”

“Names.” Eddie furrowed his brow. “The last girl’s protected by the law, since it’s illegal to paparazzi minors.. But the first two are Montrell and Anthony.”

Montrell. Mon. Three children. Two older brothers. One girl. Sixteen, sixteen years old just like you.

Miles swallowed.

It’s as though he could feel your hands blocking your vision, whispering sweet nothings into his ear.

He falters, alerting Eddie. “What’s wrong?”

“.. My head just hurts.” He mumbled, turning his head. “I think I kinda overworked myself. I still got a date.. Need to.. Rest.”

“Date?” Eddie blew. “That’s right. You’re quite famous, ain’t you?”

Miles rolled his eyes, able to freely express his distaste for the supposed compliment behind his mask. “I try not to be, don’t wanna make her think about it too much. The broad shoulders don’t help as much, though.”

“She know all ‘bout your..” With his cigarette squeezed between his ring, Eddie gestured at him. “Your little vigilante thing?”

Leaning his head against the brick wall, Miles crossed his arms and shrugged. “She better not. Don’t wanna make her daddy even madder.” He lowers his gaze a bit, his mask naturally zooming into the title of Eddie’s cigarette box. It was the same brand as your brother’s, likely a different flavor. Mint or something. Everyone around him smoked too much.

“She from the finer part of York or what?”

“The finest.” He recalls your brother’s luxury car. “.. But I think she’s tryna hide it.”

Eddie plucks the cigar out his teeth, a sort of accusatory yet mundane expression scribbled all over his scruffy face. Eventually, he laughs it off. “That’s all of what’s wrong with our society. The poor pretend to be rich and the rich pretend to be poor. They like romanticizing poverty but likely won’t be able to find comfort if they walked in our shoes for ‘bout a damn mile.”

“She ain’t nun like that.” Miles butted in. “She’s sweet, my girl. Cruel, sometimes, but that’s how ladies gotta be from time to time— seeing as how the world fucks them up every now and then.”

“.. That your first date?” Eddie asked.

“I guess. We’re kissing, but we got no label.”

Eddie scoffed an old man’s scoff. “Your generation’s got me fucked up. Y’all and your situationship bullshittery.”

“It ain’t like that.”

“It’s always like that.” Eddie narrowed his eyes. Miles similarly cringed, wondering how Eddie could be so bitter— having to remind himself seconds later that the man’s poor wife was dead. Dead as hell. As dead as his father. “If she can’t even be upfront about her wealth, she’s likely hiding something from you.”

“My man, I’m lucky she even looked my way. You know nun ‘bout her, don’t be like that.”

“And what if she’s from the oligarchy, huh?” Eddie exaggerated. “What if she’s a Fisk? A Barlowe? Hell, even worse, what if she’s a Chávez?”

Miles didn’t reply.

As the puff of smoke emanated through the damp air, suddenly, Miles pictured you holding a cigarette while grinning at him wickedly— and somehow, that tantalizing air.. Suited you like the slip of a glove.

“I’m just kidding w’ya, man.” Eddie laughed, flicking the cigarette away, crushing it with the sole of his wrinkled boot.

“Ain’t funny, Ed.” Miles grumbled. “People I loved died in Aureum.”

“But she’s still rich, though. You can never be too sure ‘bout the kind of secrets her family’s keeping. If push comes to shove, will you still be able to love her if you do find out that her family’s fucked up?”

“Stop it.” He angrily seethed. “Stop.”

Eddie watched with a certain stank in his eye.

“… Y’know, there’s a rumor that one of the Chávez kids are illegitimate.”

.. Miles left seconds after.

It’d not been his greatest day, and earnestly speaking, his gut’s been clamoring at him to listen, only for him to reject its pleas. He’d thought about listening— to whatever higher being was calling upon him to stray away from you.

His Mama told him to pray throughout his struggles. She’d not been a zealot, his mother. But she was no stranger to the novena, to pray and to call for help in such long days. He’d been subjected to it early on: the novenas, the masses, the lingering of frankincense in the air. Though she never truly coerced him to participate in the church, Miles simply titter-tottered throughout those dull Sunday evenings.

He didn’t want some higher being to stop him from becoming a horrible person; Miles wanted to be good on his own accord.

But you.. You made him question. Not you, but himself.

Though his dad always told him to question everything while he’s young, Miles couldn’t question you. How could ever question you?

An illegitimate child. Which one was it?

Your brothers, who had everything?

Or you, who had nothing?

And although Eddie left the alleyway unscathed, Miles felt that blood had stained his hands.

And you could still taste blood in your mouth.

You could still hear the crunch of that man’s neck echoing in your ears, his tiny pleads of self-preservation before the snap to his death. It rang and rang behind your eyes, between your ears, like a haunting melody you couldn’t help but repeat.

The memory of his fear merely energized your veins, but left you gawking in dauntness even as you worked your way through the hotel— showing Montrell the ropes and tending to the preparations for the upcoming charity event. The snap, the way it snapped— the way his neck snapped was a musical lyric that pulsed and pulsed in your mind.

Snap.

Snap.

ＳＮＡＰ.

The idea of fear intrigued you, cannibalism, however, not so much. The symbiote immensely argued with you, that it wasn’t your body in particular feasting on human flesh, but the symbiote itself. It needed to be fed, and it needed sustenance— but you didn’t know where else to find that sustenance.

“Miss?” Charlotte, the head housekeeper called out to you, snapping you back from the profanities of your mind.

Suddenly, you’re back staring at the new, tall, stained-glass windows— basking you in the glory of pale lights in shades of ethereal yellow and blue. It’s been under construction for quite a while now, but after your father had approved of the idea, you were willing to wait long enough to see its outcome. You’d only gotten the news just a few hours ago in regard to its completion, and now you’ve been staring at it for a while now.

“Yes?” You stifled airily, wallowing in a hundred emotions.

Charlotte bows her head for a moment, unveiling an approaching guest.

Before you could even process to question who it was, Montrell and his gentle eyes appeared before you. He seems to marvel at the windows before you as he takes another step up the stairs.

“Wow,” He huffed. “Is this.. Your design?”

You simply looked at the window with crossed arms and a smile. “I couldn’t forget about the windows when we went to Veronica’s wedding. I liked.. The colors and the drama it endowed.” You smiled, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “.. This was my final project in the hotel.. I’ve done so much to rebrand everything, but we still can’t do much ‘bout what happened in the past.”

The lights dawned upon the both of you.

“Does it hold any special meaning?” He asks.

You shrugged. “It varies on the person, I guess. I think, those who don’t really know me will try to put meaning into all that I do, but those who really know me know that my art is plainly.. Meant for aesthetic.”

Montrell frowned. “How can you make art without passion?”

“.. You pick up a pen.” You carved a smile. “And you just draw.”

You draw, and you draw. Carved it in, like how a knife would pierce a sack of flesh. Murder the canvas with each stroke, and if they ask you ‘why?’, answer with ‘why not?’.

“I think.. Only Miles can place meaning in my art. After all, my passion resides in him.”

“Like a proxy.” Montrell darkly laughed, shaking his head. “.. I wonder how hard you’d break once you lose him.”

You turned your head to look at your brother’s charming face.

“Is that a threat?”

“A warning,” He remarked. “After all, how could he ever love you once he realizes that our family’s responsible for his father’s death?”

You turned your head back to the windows. “… I feel guilty, actually. I don’t really know how to approach Miles if he ever comes to realize my identity.”

“.. Don’t you feel lonely having to constantly push away the people you love?”

You shrugged. “I’m a pretty girl. Pretty girls are never lonely.”

“Sure.”

Montrell looked at you. To be precise, he eyed you, and he looked at the way you casted your eyes downward. From a mile away, one would believe you fostered insecurity and shame in the way you’d stare, but knowing you and the way you were, that downcast gaze of yours imbued disinterest and a heightened sense of.. Superiority.

No matter how hard you try to appear empathetic, you were always and inevitably still a Chávez. Even in the way you pursed your rouged lips, or spoke with eloquence, or held your head high.. You and your siblings, who were forged to become heartless from the beginning, were never bound to be kind.. Or good.

But could Miles do it?

Could he actually change you? Humanize you?

Make you kind and loving, and normal?

You tightened your grip over your arm. “I.. Was going to escape tonight, originally.. For our date. He wanted us to have a halloween date. It’s so dorky. He’s so dorky.” The way you fawned was genuine, though. He could see it so clearly. “But after daddy mentioned the USB, I didn’t know how to face him without feeling guilty.. I came to meet Miles with the intention of using him to get his dead dad’s stuff but I ended up.. Falling for him. I never knew I was capable of feeling like this.”

“.. When we’re too busy to survive, it feels frustrating to have to care for someone else. That’s why our family doesn’t feel like one.” Montrell whispered.

“We’re not a Greek tragedy.”

“Exactly, which would mean,” He turns to you. “You’re likely still savable, [N/n].”

You lightly winced. “.. I haven’t heard that nickname since I was twelve.”

Your brother chuckles at the reminder. “.. We called you that since you couldn’t pronounce your name when you were three.” Montrell heaved a long breath, as though he were a dreamer reminiscing the times. Ah, he truly is a sucker for what’s long gone, huh? “Antonne and I were so excited to have you. Your first word was my name, actually, Mon. I had to sneak up into your cradle every night just to make you practice say my name. Mama used to hold you in her arms whenever I got home from school, and she used to read out my cards with you in her other hands ‘cause you were one energetic kid.”

Oh, so like a normal family?

We were capable of having that this whole time?

…

“[Y/n]?”

You snapped yourself back to reality, Montrell’s voice leading you out of your internal monologue. “Did you hear my question?” He queried. “You kinda zoned out there.”

“Sorry, I was thinking ‘bout something. You were saying?”

“Once you get the USB.. Are you going to leave him?”

The question seemed far fetched from the previous topic, which caught you off-guard. You turn your head. “.. I don’t know. I’d rather make him hate me, and have him leave me first, because I don’t think I can ever bring it upon myself to leave him.”

Such a romantic.

“Do you think you can handle it?”

“.. It’s not a question of whether I can handle it, it’s a question of whether Miles can handle it.”

Montrell murmured. “.. What if he gets revenge?”

“Revenge?” You repeated, the idea sounding funnily dramatic. “Revenge on me? I didn’t throw that building over his father’s head.”

“Ah, yes, but there’s a thing called karma.” Montrell spoke as thought to remind you. “It’ll be out there to get you, or at least, that’s what I’ve heard.”

You couldn’t help but aimlessly ponder. “… Why do poor people believe in futile things such as karma?”

The way you worded it, and the way it exited your tongue seemed unusually natural. Montrell, who’s been too used to such words, only shrugged. “Cause there’s nothing else to save them. That’s why they have a god, [Y/n]. They can’t save themselves, and so that’s why they believe something otherworldly will.”

Before you could speak, Montrell looked out into the glass windows before turning to you.

“Speaking of which, I think you should use daffodils for the upcoming party.”

“.. Daffodils?” You repeated.

Your brother nods. “Yes. I find them to be quite lovely.”

Since when did he have an interest in flowers? You internally squirmed. “Where the hell am I going to get daffodils in autumn?” You groaned. “We can use other yellow flowers for the golden theme.”

“Well, you’re not in charge anymore.” Was his attempt of a tease. “Surely there are still daffodils here in this season. We’ll have to find the best greenhouse in town.”

“But why?”

“Because I said so.”

You sweetly casted a glance at him, smiling as a thought crowed at you.

A sharp pain shoots through Miles’ head. A pulsing, familiar pain— resembling a bullet, dove straight into his subconscious.

He stumbles back as darkness clouds his vision, a sort of slithering and slimy feeling coursing through his system like a snake seething beneath his skin. His heart was hammering against his chest. It was like that time during the warehouse, where he felt genuinely uneasy and unsettled. The eyes of that figure behind the window, watching him tremulously stare back.

In the cage of his mind, Miles finds himself inside a dark void— where the silence was loud enough to hear the sound of a pin drop.

Then there was this drumming.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The melody was unfamiliar, but the voice nostalgic. Miles crawled amidst the darkness, searching for the voice, only to look up and catch the sight of a pristine, delicately made shoe. It kicked against the front of a desk, making a rhythmic pattern. Thump. Thump. Thump. With each passing moment, his eyes continued to linger upward, from the shoe, to a leg, to a waist, to your pretty face.

You sat there, above the desk, with your pretty hair and your pretty eyes, puckering up your pretty lips along with the song. You were so idly calm, so leisure while singing so softly, he could hardly make out the words exiting your mouth. A dim, green light cascaded against the silhouette of your figure, further accentuating the pink of your lips and the darkening of your gaze.

You smiled, but your eyes held nothing. Like you never knew what kindness was, even in his presence. You never looked at him like that before— like you hated him enough that you wanted him to die.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The thumping was growing faster and faster with each second. Upon seeing his struggle, a stifled laugh laces the lyrics.

Miles tried to move, but his whole body writhed in pain— like he was beaten, defeated. His arms itched in burns and scars. With the sound of your hum, Miles looks up, only to see you cross your arms before your chest, the tip of your shoe gently grazing against the skin of his temple. He feels as though he was being watched, idly, by an audience that had no interest at all in intervening. Like everyone was amused to see him.. Kneeling before you.

Click. Click. Click. The cutter clicked in your palm as the blade rose higher.

It’s like your presence alone was enough to blind him, and his conscience kept crawling back to you no matter how hard it tries to stray.

Really, who are you, [Y/n]?

Why was it whenever you lingered in his dreams, you were the cruelest person to exist?

And why was it that Miles knew that he’d probably still adore you with your hands around his neck?

“.. Miles?”

From a gentle shuffle, Miles awoke to the sound of his mother’s voice.

Miles jolted up, his skin half drenched with cold sweat. Unfortunately enough, his awakening was nothing avian. On the contrary, his awakening felt like a somber chore. The material clung onto him like glue, making him utter a groan. For a while, he helplessly looked around like a child lost between rows of linoleum aisles, his mind hopping from question to question. 'What just happened? What was I dreaming of?'

Like some hungover drunkard, he gently peeled himself away from the sweat-stained sheets and begrudgingly sat upright. Rio’s gentle hand cradled his aching head.

“Rest, mijo, you’re exhausted.”

“Mama, I—“ He broke, running a damp hand over his head. For a moment, he flinches, checking to see if his hands were covered in blood. “What happened?”

His mother’s dark curls lightly brushed against his temple. Her eyes were just as exhausted as he was, with dark circles rimming the doeness of her gaze. “I got home to you taking a nap but you kept squirming. I was so worried. Que paso?”

He looked around, realizing he’d dropped himself unconscious atop the sofa.

“.. Nightmare.”

Night terrors, to put it precisely. It’s been haunting him since the death of his father three years ago. He thought they’d long vanished after meeting you, but after his suspicions arose, his anxiety came crawling back like a dreadful stench.

Rio handed him a glass of water, to which he gulped down to its very last drop— like he’s been thirsting for all his life.

“Mama,” He called out. “… What do I do?”

His loving mother creased her brow, shaking her head. “What is it, mijo? What’s wrong?”

He runs his hand over his face, wondering how to begin. At that moment, Miles recalls your sweetest smiles, your loudest laughs, and your warmest hugs.

You held his hand, dragged him out of that maze, and you vandalized the hotel together. You tore yourself away from the expectations of your family, and went to him.

You chose him.

But could he go so far to assume that you loved him?

Rio shifted comfortably, trying to appear more welcoming to whatever catastrophe Miles was about to unleash. “What’s wrong, Miles?”

Miles couldn’t even admit it to himself, though he’d long noticed, he preferred to remain ignorant ‘til the truth was spilled from your own lips.. But he didn’t know how much longer he could last. Blood runs thicker than water, but both feel the same when your eyes are closed— and that could mean many things.

“A lot, ma.” He buried his head into his hands. “And Ionno if I could deal with it all.”

“You don’t have to deal with everything, Miles.” Rio frowned. “You’re only fifteen. Eres demasiado joven. Con el tiempo todo se arregla.”

“Me duele la cabeza.”

“Ponte vaporub.” Rio stood to grab the small, blue ointment. As she unscrews its green cap, Miles was immediately hit with its loud, minty scent. Digging her fingers into the substance, Rio smears the vaporub all over Miles’ forehead. “Sana sana colita de rana, si no sana hoy, sanará mañana.”

He lightly moved away with a sigh. “I’m not a kid anymore, ma.”

“I’m your mother, you’ll always be my kid.” As the cooling sensation sunk into his skin, he felt his mother’s palm cup his cheek. “And since you’re my kid, I always get worried about you. I know we ain’t got nothing much, but we got each other, Miles. You’re a great kid bound to achieve great things.”

He wasn’t too sure about that. That whole great kid thing. You had your fingers entangled all over his puppet strings, and it made him hesitate.

But what if that was exactly your plan? To ruin him entirely for your benefit?

“.. Ma, what would you do if the person you liked lied to you about their identity?”

Rio sat in silence.

“.. Que?”

Ah, fuck. That’s a stupid question.

“Nothing.” Miles turned his head. “Sorry, that was a stupid question—“

“No, Miles. I didn’t mean to— I just, you like someone? A girl?”

Miles shifted uncomfortably. Rio softened. “A boy?”

“No, ma!” He exclaimed, embarrassed. “I-It’s a girl. I like a girl.. Por los clavos de Cristo.”

“Oh, I was preparing myself.” Rio placed a hand over her heart. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d accept you no matter what, I just didn’t have a long wonderful speech prepared for it.. But what’s wrong with the girl?”

“Well, ma, it’s just..”

“Did she cheat on you!?”

“No! We’re not even together yet, ma. We were gonna have our first date today, but.. But her family’s been treating her horribly, and her older brother picked her up while we were out buying costumes for our halloween date only for him to directly tell me that it ain’t happening.”

“And then?”

“She talked ‘bout her dad throwing a fit, and now she hasn’t replied the whole day.” He slipped his fingers through his hair. “I even woke up at six in the morning just to get my braids redone at Tasha’s… And they invited me to a party at their house on Sunday.”

“Sunday? Then— that’s great!” Rio exclaimed, placing her hands over her son’s shoulders. “That would mean they’re open to getting to know you. Well, I think you can borrow some of your dad’s old clothes for the party, you two look great in suits anyway.”

“W-Well, ma, that ain’t entirely the problem, she’s..” He swallowed. “Ma, I think she comes from a very rich family.”

“Okay, and?” Rio raised a brow. “Did she ever make you feel inferior for having superior wealth?”

“.. No? Well, she’s been trying to keep it on the down low this whole time, but.. Whenever I see her, she acts so.. Proper and polite when she don’t even notice it. And her brother’s British too, and I— Ionno how the hell that happened, but he sound like the type to spit out tap water if I ever brought him to a restaurant.”

“Well, you’re dating the girl, Miles, not her brother.” Rio sighed. He thinks of it for a moment, then shrugs. Only then he notices his mother’s wide smile, her shoulder nearly glued onto his.

“So.. Who’s the girl?”

Miles fiddled awkwardly, unsure how to answer. Rio seemed adamant for an answer, so, after a while of internally mustering up sentences, Miles replied. “Her name.. [Y/n].”

“Mhm.”

“She uh.. Sixteen. I-I met her three months ago.. And we started doing graffiti together since then.”

“Oh, so she’s an artist?”

Miles gaped. “S… Sum like that, yeah.”

Your art varied. Your colors were blander while his, more vibrant. But there was something about the way you drew, that was so meaningfully realistic that it captured entirely how your mind pondered in its darkest moments. An art style that captured entirely the darkest of what life could bring.

He remembers going through your sketchpads, how your dabbles consisted of dull realism. Maybe it was only dull because it was exactly what New York’s become— cold and calloused.

But in contrast, you were able to set his world on fire in a way he’s never seen. Only you could paint over the dullness with scarlet, in a way that had him choking from the smoke emanating from your fire.

But he couldn’t tell his mother the way you’ve worsened him.

His mother wouldn’t let him get too close to someone as bright and dangerous as you.

“Why haven’t you mentioned about her before? I could’ve helped!” Rio tossed her dark curls to the side. They’d always reminded him of the dark sea. “Es puertorriqueña? Puede hablar español?”

“No,” Miles thinks about it for a minute. “I-Ionno, actually. She never told me anythin’ bout it, but she can’t speak Spanish so I ain’t sure.”

Rio attempted, no she really did try to attempt— to hide her disappointment. Were her grandkids bound to forever be free of her culture? How saddening.

“Pero creo que ella está estudiando español.”

“Oh?”

“Sí.” Mile seemed to lightened up. “She’s so cute. She can’t even pronounce ‘roja’.”

“But she’s trying.” Rio could not be any happier. “She’s trying! Eso es bueno! Ella ya me gusta. Not everyone tries these days, you know.”

He wondered if his mother was faking her enthusiasm just to ease him. He’d expected her to be more.. Angry about it.

“.. I’m surprised you’re not upset, ma.”

“Upset?” Rio furrowed her brows. “Miles, how could I get upset? You’re experiencing what every other teenager experiences, that’s great!.. I know you’ve been trying to act like an adult to help us, and you’ve given up so much just to keep us afloat. I’ve been getting worried that you’ve been focusing too much with adult responsibilities that you’re forgetting that you’re just a kid. You’re allowed to go around and be a kid. You’re allowed to like a girl— so long as she’s not a bad influence.”

Miles pushes back the thought of you being a smoker.

“She’s not a bad influence. She’s.. Just going through a lot.. She makes me happy, ma.”

Rio looked at him proudly. Only then, she wondered if her dearest husband ever brooded like this too upon realizing his feelings for her. She wondered if Jeff ever pouted the way Miles did, and looked out into the world with such admiration in his eyes as though he were shaping the void into an image of her.

Jeff loved, and thus, Miles could love too.

“If she makes you happy, then I’m happy.” She beamed. “So long as she’s not a brat or an alcoholic, or a racist, or any of those bad people, I’ll accept her.”

The mother shared a loving glimpse of her son, making out an image of her late husband in the way he smiled. Suddenly, she pats her lap and stands up. “Bueno, I’m making adobo.”

“I can help—“

“No, sit down, you’re tired.” Rio held out a finger. “Take a rest, Miles.”

“But Ma—“

“Rest.”

And he did.

Well, he tried. It was a subtle attempt. A poor one, at that. He sat upright by the sofa, listening to his mother chop up the potatoes. He tries to discreetly look into your messages, only to find you’ve finally texted back.

her ♡ || two minutes ago.

sorry i haven’t texted!! 😭😭

remember the party this sunday? my dad is making me help with the preparations so i couldn’t go to our date

i’m really sorry 🥺 don’t get mad

if you want, we can do it tomorrow.

Miles pouted. He didn’t want to reply immediately. He didn’t want to look desperate.

So he waited for another five minutes.

.. Even though you made him wait for six hours.

He switches the television on in attempt to distract himself from your message.

‘Last night, a horrific murder happened within Brooklyn, as the body of a beheaded man was discovered outside of a local bodega. Witnesses claim that an alien disguised as a teenage girl had ripped off, and eaten the man’s head.’

“The hell?” Miles burrowed his brows upon being greeted with the news on television. “An alien?”

He watches as the screen switches over towards one of the witnesses, a scruffy man with reddened eyes— evidently too lost in whatever he was taking to speak too calmly.

“.. They’re prolly high as hell.”

‘I’m ain’t even [censored] with y’all— some [censored] ripped off Kyle’s head— it was a horrific looking piece of [censored] made out of black goo or whatever the [censored]. The government’s [censored] making alien [censored]!

‘So far, there have been no records of the scene, as the cameras had been blacked out.’

“What the f—“ Miles grew mindful of his language upon realizing his mother was in the other room. “How the hell did that even happen!? Blacked out my ass.”

It was more or less, likely a murder related to the elites. One of their kids must’ve been hanging out with those junkies and killed a man for fun.

A phone begins to ring. Miles turns his head.

“Miles, can you get that for me?” He heard his mother, who was too busy chopping up something, call out.

He turns off the television, hops out of the sofa and heads straight into his mother’s room. As he flicks the light open, a king-sized bed greets him with its gray, large glory. He used to jump on that bed too much when he was a kid. Now, it looked.. Desolate, and almost deserted. With how large the bed was, he couldn’t help but ponder how lonely his mother must’ve felt, sleeping in a bed less warmer than three years ago.

Miles passes by the closet, and after foraging for a bit, he manages to find his mother’s phone atop a drawer— swiftly grabbing the gadget before turning to leave.

As he turns, his foot accidentally nudges against a box.

He peers through it, before kicking it away.

Making his way back to the kitchen, he hands the ringing phone over to his mother before curtly returning to the room to close the lights.

But as his hands reached out towards the switch, his eyes were drawn back to the sight of the box.

It looked like it’d been cast aside beside the closet.

Hearing his mother speak over the phone lightheartedly, something about something. Miles trudges towards the orange, cardboard box, kneeling by the floor with a single knee down on the wood. His hand curiously glazes over the top, feeling a pile of dust collect over his fingers.

Hesitantly, he takes off the lid, finding a familiar white, collared shirt. He pulls it up to the ceiling light and watches as it unfolds into a larger sheet.

This belonged to his father’s.

He looks right back into the box, finding a pair of black, dress pants neatly folded into a square. Meekly, he tugs on it, hoping he wouldn’t uncover anything sinister like a severed hand or an eyeball. After pulling the whole thing out, a longer line of black unravels.

A strange array of emotions lingered inside him.

Nostalgia. Wrath. Happiness.

It smelled like dust, and it was forever devoid of its owner’s scent and warmth.

“Miles, do you want juice?”

“Huh? Y-yeah.” He stammered. “Grape juice would be nice.”

His mother’s comment slips past his ears. For a moment, he pondered about wearing this to the Sunday party, but he couldn’t help but think how it likely wouldn’t fit him. His father was a giant, and he was quite lanky.

Upon hearing his mother’s footsteps, Miles hurriedly and clumsily attempts to refold the clothes, only then hearing a soft clatter. He pivots his head to the side.

There was a USB.

“For the florals, I think daffodils would be great.”

Your hands skimmed across the air in attempt of drafting an idea. From afar, you manage to earn a wider view of the banquet hall. Workers left and right helped with tidying up the refectory, scrubbing up windows and mopping up the floors. “It would match the golden theme, don’t you think?” You asked of Charlotte, who nodded wobbly with her dire age.

As of that moment, you’d been preparing for the layout of the party. As much as you didn’t want to listen to Montrell’s suggestion, you figured getting on his bad side would be a bad move.

The fundraiser, originally hosted by your aunt, was planned out to gather enough money to support Senator Barlowe’s projects. Your family was to auction off high-priced materials such as clothes, jewelry, paintings, and even estates for the sake of meeting the goal. Which would also mean that the highest of the elite would be attending the party.

And you were less than thrilled to be its co-host.

Charlotte marvels at your suggestion, taking it with a smile but a pique. “However, daffodils can’t usually be placed with other flowers, so I’ll have to make a special request to the florist to do the preparations extensively.”

You raised a brow. “Why can’t they be placed together with other flowers?”

One of the maids carrying a porcelain vase walk past you, making you gently remind her to put it aside.

Charlotte parts her palms. “They secrete toxins into the water. So whenever it’s placed among other flowers, the rest die.”

“Oh,” You widened your gaze, processing this newly found information. “How did you know that?”

Charlotte blinked, trying to think back. “.. Well, daffodils were used for your mother and father’s wedding. It was a struggle, since the day of the wedding, half of the bouquet had already wilted.”

You stood back in surprise, crossing your arms before your chest. “Mama must’ve been furious.”

Charlotte shook her head. “Your father plucked flowers out from the gardens and made her a bouquet himself.”

Wait. What? WHAT?

Wow, who knew your daddy was quite the romantic?

I’m just as shocked as every other person.

“M-My father?” You dumbly repeated. “My father plucked out the flowers himself? Or was it Mr. Nigel?”

“Your father, himself, Miss.” Charlotte laughed, finding your shock to be quite amusing. “He’s quite great at it too— flower arrangement. Your grandmother taught him from an early age.”

“My father truly arranged the bouquet for him and mama’s wedding?” You couldn’t believe your ears. “He has that sort of talent?”

“Why, of course!” She beamed a warm beam. “Like you, he used to oversee the interior of the hotel. He has great taste when it comes to color, and you’ve inherited that side of him.”

You tried to think about it, your father— who was now an old man with a permanent sneer on his wrinkled lip— arranging flowers in his youth, picking out pastel and cream curtains for the parties, and overseeing the menu. It didn’t seem like something he’d do, at all. Then again, your mother used to describe him in a way that made it tragic.

A good man, never a good father. Torn between yearning to be held in arms that never welcomed him and finding his worth beyond the standard of his own father.

You tried to sympathize with him. Your father.

Though he was who he was, he cared about you, in a twisted, fucked-up way. Your engagement with Richard Fisk was privately decided after the hotel went near-bankrupt had it not been for the Fisks and their mystical talent for cover-ups— and your father simply took most of your managing rights away just so the family you’d marry into wouldn’t use you for their own greed.

The fate wasn’t entirely horrible either. You’d marry into new money, sure, but their wealth would most definitely preserve the comfortable life you’re living right now.

It was your own greed that was worsening you.

Your desire to have a tantamount of power.

But what if you never needed it?

“Miss!”

What if all you needed was a peaceful life? Marry into the Fisks, host parties, and care no more about anything?

“Miss [Y/n]!”

.. But what about Miles?

He hadn’t answered any of your texts yet.

“Miss [Y/n], a call.” One of your secretaries came crashing through the doors with his phone. How you hated that word. Call. A signal of what would definitely exhaust you. Where was Montrell? Why weren’t they calling out for him? Were you really the only one able to handle all the messes in here? Workers left and right stopped as he trudged up the stairs, nearly tossing the phone over to you. You slip it close to your ear, making your way down with each click of your heel.

Charlotte watches as you listen to the caller with such intent. Silently, you eyed your surroundings before heading out.

As you reached the patio, you looked out into the dimming violet evening that was fading out along with the scarlet of the sun. The caller rambles on, something along about the recent incident.

“I’ve bribed the higher-ups to rush the investigation and to arrest the witnesses. We’ll release the story that they had murdered their friend after taking drugs.”

“Good.” You plucked out your vape from your pockets. “Report to me immediately once you find all the records about their families and their identities.”

“Understood.” You hear the sound of Morrison’s computer typing. Likely writing up a list. “I’ve also halted the investigation of the fire. I’ve told your father the information was tracked from an accidental leak after a delivery of the samples to one of the families had the address exposed. Sir Anthony will have to take up the blame since it was his idea.”

You took a long huff. “Good job. You did well.”

The smoke lingers, and you close your eyes.

Sorry, Antonne. You’ll live, I guess.

“Morrison,” You called out to him. “.. How’s Miles?”

The typing comes to a halt. For a moment, the two of you shared a moment of silence. You picture him pushing his glasses up higher off the bridge of his nose.

“.. I’ve spent most of my attention on other things, so I haven’t been able to check up on him yet.”

“Ah, is that so?” You mumbled. “Never mind then, just continue on with halting the investigation. I’ll take care of the rest, and remember, if any of the witnesses start describing my face—“

Clack.

You turned your head.

What was that?

ＳＯＭＥＯＮＥ‘Ｓ　ＨＥＲＥ

No shit.

Beyond the gardens, the skies were beginning to dim. That familiar shade of magenta, it lingered like a ghost and it haunted you like your past. There was a click that set your mind off, and suddenly you couldn’t help but feel like the world was integrating itself into a technicolor, dotted comic.

Then and there, spying on you from the top of the six Corinthian columns of the garden, sat the young Prowler.

“Miss [Y/n]? You were saying?” Morrison pried from you.

You parted your phone from you ear, a side of your grin heightening into a catty smirk.

“… If any of them start describing my face, take care of it.”

Then and there, you ended the call with one light tap. You remained stubborn with your posture, seemingly amused and befuddled by it all while keeping your head high. The boy watched you curiously but stiffly, as if he were unsure of what to do. You were mutually frozen, but you couldn’t allow any sort of weakness to seep through the cracks of your confidence.

You took a step close, and he tenses. The sound of your heel clicking against the tiles sends an echo into the garden.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” You greeted of him with sincere politeness, placing a hand over your hip. Was it an attempt to appear idle or what? “… It’s quite an honor to have you here as a guest.”

“Who are you?” The boy growled, voice delved baritones deep. “Really.”

You tilted your head.

“Who would you like me to be?”

His gauntlet unfolds, and suddenly, he launches himself at you, grabbing you by the neck.

[A/n: I PASSED MY FUCKING ENTRANCE EXAM GUYS]

[deeply-unserious-fellow]

In the mood to give my weird, probably biased WOY hot take rn so here it goes: Wander and Hater would not last in a romantic relationship.

Like, I do GET the appeal of them as a pairing? It's enemies to lovers! Everybody loves a good enemies to lovers. Plus, WOY really LOVES doing that thing where they throw a LOT of romance coding into non-romantic relationships(Deathglare gets a lot of this too lmao), and Wander is just like. Weirdly flirty? With Hater especially but also just in general. Like I get the impression that that man fucks. He and Jeff have probably had a one-night stand. But I don't think their personalities are compatible for a long-term romantic relationship.

First of all: they're both really impulsive and flighty. Which I guess could work in a relationship if both partners were completely insync with eachother, but Wander and Hater. Aren't. They are not. Plus, putting two people with short attention spans together with nobody to keep them in check is a RECIPE for disaster. There's also Hater's temper, which I don't think any amount of character development would be able to take out completely, and Wander's penchant for frustrating. Everybody. He is a very frustrating person to be around. And while I don't think a long-term romantic SkeletonDance would turn ABUSIVE, like that is ABSOLUTELY taking it too far, I do think it would be VERY unstable. They have the EXACT wrong traits in common, and the traits they DON'T have in common just straight up don't mesh well. I could see them getting together impulsively, because there is some chemistry there, but eventually the relationship would deteriorate from a combination of opposing values and goals, mutual short attention spans, and Wander getting on Hater's nerves. They'd break up, and depending on the circumstances it could end up VERY MESSY. They work better, in the long term, as friends then as romantic partners.

SO, now to address my biases, because there are a few, and I think it's important to acknowledge any potential flaws in your perspective while making an argument. First one being: I just prefer other Hater ships? Like yall know me, I'm a Deathglare girlie til the end lmfao. They're LITERALLY my OTP, you can see the influence the pairing has had on me in pretty much every other ship I've obsessed over since. But like... I'm also a multishipper, and Deathglare isn't exempt from that. I don't have any alternate pairings for Peepers(because he doesn't really interact w/ anybody outside of the main 4 and Dom for some reason and I don't like him w/ any of them except Hater), but I DO have a pretty big one for Hater, and that's Skullhunter(Hater x Ripov). Idk I just think they're kinda cute! And uh. Also a rarepair. Like there's NO content for them omfg- probably because Ripov only had one episode and there are already much more popular Hater pairings... bUT I'm getting off topic, what does this have to do with my potential anti-Skeletondance bias? Well, both of my Hater ships are VASTLY overshadowed by Skeletondance. Like I think Skeletondance is the MAIN pairing in the WOY fandom, and both of my prefered Hater ships kinda get left in the dust, at least in terms of content volume. I believe that at least part of what leads people to hate on popular things in a desire to have what THEY like be mainstream so it's easier to find a community, and I am not exempt from that. I generally like to believe I'm neutral on Skeletondance overall, but there might be some subconcious jelousy directed towards people who prefer Skeletondance that makes me think the pairing just wouldn't work. Also, I headcannon Wander as aromantic, which definitely influences my interpretation of their relationship akrngosmfmekkfoemfke

So uh, yeah. That's why I don't think Skeletondance would work long term, plus a little dissection of things that might've skewed my perspective a bit! Idk why I made this tbh, I might be going insane-

[nerd-chocolate]

Sole Crusher Redesign and Why her original design doesn’t Work:

Okay, first I just want to say this has nothing against Zoé or her character, I think she deserves better akuma than she got in the canon. Also, I know I have criticized her in the past but that doesn’t change how much I love this character and am glad she was made. So happy late anniversary Zoé, you truly are my canon sapphic punk baby and I love you for that, keep it up!

The problems I have with her:

Anyway, I never gave my honest opinion about Sole Crusher, so here it is…. I hate it. Not because it looks bad, it's because it doesn’t feel like Zoé at all. Akumas should reflect the person that getting an akumatized like Reserver, Horrificator, Dark Cupid, Gamer, Refleka, Evilustrator, Stoneheart, I can go on and on with the many akuma designs we had that can look like and feel the civilian but not Sole Crusher. She doesn’t feel like Zoé or even look like her, she feels like Chloé’s many Akuma forms, and the fact she gets a design that is just sole crusher but better is pretty sad. And another thing, Sole Crusher doesn’t have that much personality to be honest like Akumas does. Like looking at the wiki picture, her paragraph about her personality is so short compared to Reserver’s. So yeah, she doesn’t have any similarities that would have made someone think that truly is Zoé but also she is pretty boring in terms of personality as well.

… so why not fix that.

The changes to her design:

First, let’s start with the design if you could tell already. I would use her concept design just not the weird thing on her forehead since that looks off to me, the ponytail, and her not having Chloé’s face of course. Also, she would have Zoé’s face because it is a very important thing, but have a mask that looks like Chloé like one that Obsidian from Steven Universe has and it can connect to her backstory since people didn’t like her because she was a liar to them. It's like she is two-faced in a way. Also, she would have two horns to reference her canon design. Also, she would have sharp teeth and clawed hands because they’re cool. And here are some pictures to get a better understanding of what she could look like:

So yeah that is for her design, let’s go to her personality.

Her personality and motivations:

I would imagine her to be a lot more aggressive and angry at her family and I mean all of them. Yeah, including André since he is the one to give her the advice of hiding your true self for your family that doesn’t like your true self at all which makes her feel ashamed. Yeah, there's no way I’m dropping that any time soon. But anyway, like I say she is emotionally unstable since Zoé had to bottle up her emotions and not express them at all around others, especially Audrey for so long. So sole crusher is all that pit up of emotions she has that are now exploded and is coming for everyone she is angry with including her sister. I know Chloé was just probably being nice in her own way but she still lowkey tried to change Zoé into being another version of her. So yeah, whenever Chloé escapes from her, the more she gets pissed. But being emotional doesn’t just connect to anger, it also connects to others including happiness and sadness as well. So she is an unstable ball of emotions that we should be scared of especially when she is mad. Also, she acts very cocky and wants everyone to see that since she didn’t have any confidence in herself as Zoé. Also, her motive at first is to become a better Chloé since she doesn’t believe she can’t be anything else but when Cosette told her she doesn’t have to be a better Chloé and just be her person from her life, she took that to heart a bit too much to the point where her new motive was to get all things that the Bougerios had so she can distance herself from it and people wouldn’t think her just like them. So yeah, she is very impulsive.

Here are some notes I wanted to add before I do some quotes:

The more people she absorbed into her shoes, not only she gets stronger and bigger but also the more invulnerable she gets as well. The things that are always vulnerable are her heeled boots and her mask. Her mask is just a cover-up of her true self and can crack by her becoming more open about her feelings or by someone breaking it.

Her clawed hands can cut through anything and get stronger every time she absorbs someone.

She is also very overprotective of things she cares about (like Cosette for example)

The first people she absorbs are André and Audrey.

And finally, her eyes can glow when she like super mad.

Now here are some quotes! Also using here @artzychic27 ‘s ocs:

Chloé: *Looks at herself in the mirror with the golden short dress, making a bunch of poses* Mom will surely be more impressed by this than anything that my half-sister is going to wear! Hehehe! *Picks up a very expensive perfume and starts spraying herself with it*

Sole Crusher: Wow and I thought Mom’s perfume was worse.

Chloé: WHAT THE?! *Drops the perfume and turns to see a giant sole crusher, whose arms are resting on the balcony*

Sole Crusher: Heeeeey Chloé, you know earlier you say I need to sit dominant and fear my enemies?

Chloé: *shaking her head forward* 😰

Sole Crusher: Well I thought about it and you were right. *in a menacing tone* So is it working, little sister?

Chloé: So what are you going to do to me?

Sole Crusher: Easy, crush you and become the better you since people just expect me to.

Chloé: Oh please, you become a better me is something that can’t ever happen since I’m already so beautiful! *sole crusher rolls her eyes* You’re ridiculous! Utterly-

Sole Crusher: SHUT UP CHLOÉ!!!

Chloé: *immediately shutting up in fear*

Sole Crusher: Ugh whatever, now say goodbye little sister. *Goes to grab her but Chloé runs out of her room before she got the chance and ends up grabbing the dresser instead*

Sole Crusher: What the fuck?! *pulls out the dresser and stares at it with an annoyed expression before crushing it in her bare hands* …Grrrrrrr…GET BACK HERE CHLOÉ!! *sees Chloé running out of the hotel*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cosette: *getting some decorations ready for the concert happening on the houseboat* I think that's all we need for the concert, right Sonic?

Sonic CottonBalls: *looks up and then grunts* ‘No your good and all ready to go’

Cosette: Well I’ll better get ready to go to the-

Chloé: *suddenly opens Cosette’s door then shuts it and puts Cosette’s stuff in front of it* Whew….. What do you want?!?

Cosette: What do I want?! You came in here!! In my house! By the way, how did you know where I live exactly?

Chloé: It doesn’t matter!! I’m trying to hide from half-of-sister of mine anyway!!

Cosette: Zoé?.. What did you do this time?

Chloé: I didn't do anything, she was just stupidly oversensitive that's all!! Besides, I don’t get why people get sad or mad over the stupidest things any way I don't do anything wrong ever!

Cosette: *both it and Sonic look at each other with disbelief look on their face then look back to Chloé in a sarcastic tone* Oh sure, you don't do anything wrong at all ever! You're just misunderstood and people just don’t get that at all!

Chloé: Finally you get it!

Cosette: … You know what, forget.

Sole Crusher: *Opens the roof with an angry look on her face* CHLOOOÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉ!!!

Cosette: *with a startled and worried expression* ‘Okay, either made her outraged or the Akuma must be amplifying those feelings. Either way, Chloé fucking screw.’

Chloé: Eeeeee! *as Sole Crusher goes to grab her, Chloé grabs Cosette and pulls it in front of her, and runs out of the room*

Cosette: CHLOÉ YOU MAJOR… JERK!

Sonic CottonBalls: *Hisses* ‘MOTHER NOOOOOOOO!!!’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sole Crusher: *holding Cosette like a little doll and seeing Chloé running away* Grrrrrr, when I find her, I’m going to destroy her!!! I hate her so much!!

Cosette: Agree, we’ll hating her part at least. But Zoé, what happened?

Sole Crusher: …

Cosette: Zoé?

Sole Crusher: *brings Cosette up to her face* Sorry the girl, named Zoé isn’t here anymore but you called me, Sole Crusher from now on. That doesn't matter right now, what matters is that I crush Chloé now, and then I’ll tell you. But for now, you're coming with me, don’t want someone as adorable as you to miss all the fun, now do we? *closes the roof and gets up* Now let’s go find that bossy bitch.

Cosette: … *blushes like crazy* ‘What just happened?!’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ismael: *sees Chloé running from an Akuma* Meh, what else is new? *Sees the Akuma kidnapping Cosette* …The things I get myself into… I'M COMING COSETTE! *rides his bike right after them and texts Reshma what happening*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cosette: *with big puppy dog eyes* Pretty please, can you not destroy the city just for some brat?

Sole Crusher: *with surprise blush face* ‘DANG IT, THEY'RE SO CUTE!’ *clears throat* No and stop staring at me with those big ol’ eyes!

Cosette: …. *stops doing the puppy dog eyes*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ladybug: Can you at least put the civilian down?

Sole Crusher: *holding Cosette like squeaky toy* No.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chloé: If you really want to better me then crush everyone here! Then you’ll prove to everyone that you are me completely!!

Cosette: Okay first of all, Chloé shut up. And second, Zoé you don’t have to do this!

Sole Crusher: ..What?

Cosette: You don’t have to be like Chloé so you can be safe from being bullied or ridiculed for just being yourself, but trust me, these people won’t judge you if you give them the chance to get to know the real you.

Sole Crusher: And how do you know?!?

Cosette: Because I know how it feels to be yourself will never get you anywhere and how you need to change yourself just so you can fit it. But I was proven wrong by meeting these people here! *points to the science kids*

Aurore: Awww thank you!

Cosette: Point is, no one here is going to judge you and make fun of you for being yourself. We’ll accept you for who you are, even if you made mistakes and errors along the way, but no one wouldn’t get mad at you for it and we’ll be here to help you and pick you right back up again if you want. I’ll be there to help you, no matter what! Because you’re very important to me!

Sole Crusher: *her mask starts to crack and she starts tearing up* You promise?

Cosette: *gives a gentle smile* I promise.

Chloé: Oh please, the freak just wants to stop a monster like you from destroying everything in her path. You’ll never truly be able to change, you'll always be Bougerios no matter what!

Sole Crusher: *goes back to being angry again* … ‘I’m going to kill her.’

Cosette: *with an annoyed face* ‘Dammit Chloé.’

Lacey: Now you see why, I wanted to get rid of her?

Marc: Yeah, I was wrong to spare her.

Reshma: She is the stupidest person alive.

Simon: Which isn’t surprising since both of her parents are really stupid.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chat Noir: *Hits her with his staff hard enough to destroy a part of her mask* I got her milady!

Ladybug: *with a scared expression* Um, chat?

Chat Noir: Hm? *Turns to see Sole Crusher with glowing blue eyes and pissed off expression* … Oh shit.

[a-sentient-horax]

November 27, 2023 - Part 2

So I've been asking my boyfriend about what he sees, because he's an honest, third party observer with 5 years of context for this woman and her family. One thing that he said is that he felt like she was acting, like constantly. Which makes sense because (as I told him) it seems like my mom has a vision for how every event in her life should look every time it happens, and it has to like, go a certain way exactly how she expects it. My boyfriend called it being the actor and director at the same time. For example, when we were at dinner, my youngest brother asked her a pretty innocuous question. I can't remember what it was but it was something like "Mom, I want to be a fisherman one day!" We were at a seafood place, there were cool fish things all around us, he's a nine year old boy who just saw a fishing rod and went 'hell yeah.' In response, my mom turned her entire body towards him and like, held his hands in hers. She looks him right in the eyes and in a very serious, slow, incredibly emotive voice she starts talking to him about being a fisherman. "Well [my brother], you would have to work on a big boat, do you think you'd like that? And you'd have to be at sea for weeks and weeks, and most fisherman use a net, not a rod." And on and on in a very serious conversation. It's as if she needs every conversation with her children to be a perfect, manicured, core memory where she is a wise, perfect adult giving them life changing information and advice.

And in a way I feel guilty. I laid into my mom before I cut her off, told her what a horrible monster she was for treating me and my siblings the way that she did. I said awful awful things to her (granted, they reflected my genuine emotions in how I felt about her parenting and how it affected me). But I worry that now she is taking it like, every moment could be the moment that she fucks up so bad that one of her kids decides they hate her. Except I remember her talking to me the same way she talked to my youngest brother, so it's something she picked up before I left and before my sister attempted su*c*de. Also it's like, not what my complaint was. I didn't hate my mother because she flippantly answered my questions without giving much care to what she was saying, I hated her because no matter what I did, it was never enough and I was constantly met with over the top, excessive, controlling punishments that were communicated to me via screaming. I was not allowed a childhood, or allowed to try new things or make mistakes without being met with getting my friends taken away from me, losing my privacy, or being bombarded with petty guilt and irrational outbursts. It's like she missed the point. I don't know. I don't know how I'm supposed to feel about her, and I don't know how I feel about her.

I will write more on my siblings later, but my mother has totally consumed my thoughts while she was here and even after she has left.

The other person on my mind is the Creep. He and I have a project that is due in two days, then I can pretty much finally be rid of him (thank God). He didn't come to class today, and I doubt he has done his part of the project but honest to God I don't care anymore. After this class I am going to finish the homework I have due tonight, and then just work on our project. I genuinely don't care at all if I have to do the whole thing over the next two days I want this weirdo out of my life forever and I cannot wait for it to be done. Our final in this class is next Wednesday and seriously after that I think I will just never talk to him again. I'm hoping to just turn off read receipts for him only and soft block him on everything. I think he sort of knows this is coming by now, or he should, considering how cold of a shoulder I've been giving him.

He's been like, doing this thing where he tells me all the scary shit he's going through right now. The roommate he paid to come down to Texas with him is mentally unstable. He knew this and still brought him to Texas promising to pay for him to live. As it turns out this roommate doesn't always act exactly how Creep wants him to, so he doesn't like him anymore. He lives in a bad neighborhood where there are gunshots and crime, and since he grew up rich he is scared and bought a gun. After I told him I do not want to talk about guns at all, he continued to bring the topic up, now he says he's bought a gun, and he's also texted me that he misses me and I hope I know I'm loved. Again, after I told him I don't like when he uses those kinds of words with me. He's a boundary pusher and frankly I am not the one. Again, after each time that he has pushed my boundaries or done or said something I explicitly asked him not to do, I have gotten colder. For example, he said that he loves me platonically a month or two back. I told him I dont really feel comfortable with that. So he said it again immediately. I told him that I really don't like that he said it again. He said it AGAIN immediately after, and finally I told him to stop. Then when he tried to reel it back "Oh I just thought you wanted..." I just stopped texting him. And now it's like, he's trying to push my boundaries over and over again and when he does I talk to him less and less. I don't understand what he thinks is going to happen but what IS going to happen is we are never going to talk again after this project. I don't care if he learns his lesson or not, I want to get rid of him. My biggest fear is my boyfriend finds all the weird texts he sent me and like, goes ballistic on this guy, or that it affects our relationship somehow. And as I've said before, it's incredibly hard to explain to a man that this sort of behavior from guys is something that I've dealt with my whole life and it's just going to keep happeneing. There are so many creeps and I'm going to have to put up with all of them. It's dangerous to me, to my career, and to my ability to socialize if I don't deal with this in the subtle way that I am: giving him the cold shoulder until I can block him forever.

I also fear that my boyfriend would see the weird texts and take it as a self-esteem hit or something. That like, other guys are texting his girlfriend weird things and he can't so anything about it or I don't know. The last thing I want is for this Creep to also make my boyfriend feel weird. I just hate that he is in my life. I can't wait to wipe him from my phone and move on to healthier friendships.

[pengemis-receh]

Ramadhan's over with my rants of Moon Knight!

...yeah i could make the title a bit more sense but I just want to release my thoughts so I could move on to something in peace.

.

Okay, where do I start? Oh yeah, I genuinely don't know a damn thing about this series. I watched a little clip last year when it was aired on my television—that bathroom scene—and instantly pinned to my brain for 'need to watch' list. But shamefully, either I forgot or didn't have much time to do so.

I dunno I am a bit tired to watch mcu related shows after endgame. No, scratch that, spiderman: FFH(because TASM casts were back). I usually watched TV shows in jumbled episodes and then I moved on. Don't get me wrong, I don't hate it, but most of them didn't get my interest (I'm a fan of Hawkeye but didn't managed to finished it) and the last two years was a bit hectic for my college.

Gladly, this year I have more free time during Eid's Holiday so I finally take my time to watch and ... oh boy i didn't regret a single of it.

It almost felt like a nostalgic trip to the first Iron-man. Fresh from any cameos within mcu in which I surprisingly late to notice this after the show. Saving the budget for their own show is more important than forcing to add any related mcu cameos into the series. It is brave and clever decision imo.

Also I love this kind of show, showcasing multiple alter-egos of the person is one my fav theme. One of my fav shows were 'Split' and 'Do No Harm'. There's also the Iconic story of 'The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde'. I also watched the documentary with one of them is 'The Monster Inside: The 24 Faces of Billy Milligan' from netflix.

The way media portraying DID in my view usually divided into 2 ver:

- Either Battling each alters in which who owns the body till the end.

- Or chattering each other like people with schizophrenia.

In which I don't know if it's well portrayed enough but most analysis video from phycologist expert youtubers usually hate the way media showed it...until moon knight, like for example this and that.

I myself once suffered as an autism with schizophrenia that almost having the same experience like Steven did the whole time. It was so bad that my mother actually invited me to the phycologist and did ruqyah method(a soul cleansing method by muslim community). So I kinda have a basic knowledge with that disorder.

ehem.

Huge kudos to Oscar Isaac playing his characters so flawlessly. And again I regret knowing him later after I watched the credits on the last episode because of my stereotype of him with his beard lmaoo XD

Goddamn his acting is superb! The way he differentiates his eye movements and body languages between Marc, Steven, even with Khonsu for a little time was really fascinating to watch. Look him in the eye at the moment and he could show you which alter he's doing without speak.

Like for real, I genuinely don't know about his alters let alone the third one at the mid-scene credits. My first initial thoughts was: "Huh... a new actor I guess...?"

....

*check goggle

*check tumblr

...

"HOLY SHIT THAT'S OSCAR TOO???!!!" O.o

Ugh I couldn't remember how many times I rewind in each scene, frame by frame. Always interesting to analyze what makes them distinguished between each other and learn something new every day. :D

Interestingly, May Calamawy should get the same praise tho. Their chemistry as a power couple developed beautifully well throughout the series. Being able to represent well that there will be a person who actually understand and help unstable person in need is fairly rare these days. Therefor, when she actually got her power, it's felt so rewarded. Also can we talk how good she acted that specific scene in ep 6?? :3

Ethan Hawke performance as a cult leader is also perfect. If Oscar's strongest suit was his face language, Hawke's strongest suit will be his speaking technique. You can almost indulged by his voice into his cult and It's scary lol.

somehow reminds me of Ralph Fiennes' perfomance of 'The Menu'

The visual effects...hm...might be not the best tbf. And I think this is one the series who has less vfx's scene. I can see they trying to maximizing their budget and focusing on what they need to add, and I think it's fair. I always love Oscar's summoned the suit moment(oh the details with the eyes...) and the gods really nice to look at.

Oh I forgot, kudos to Mohammed Diab showcasing a proper panoramic scenes of Egypt. Yes, finally! Less miserable yellow sand place but more of a beautiful dessert country for once. In fact it mostly built city within Cairo for the movie purpose speak a whole story. The crew knew exactly with their job and I loved every single of it(a bit sad they didn't get the permission to shoot in that country but I understand why).

Of course, not all of episodes are perfect, ep 3 and 6 are arguably the least one(whichever you might prefer the most). For me I choose the third one. Even though ep 6 is the shortest, that episode served it goal from the start. Where as ep 3, ...I dunno I kinda has love and hate relationship with it(?). It has my personal fav credits music, one of Marc & Steven's memorable moments. But...somehow the overall story and pacing are... not good. This is more like a filler episode...

I guess they wanted to use Gaspard Ulliel for future, but an unexpected sudden shift impacted the whole thing. I cannot blame them anyway so I'm genuinely fine with those minuses(RIP to the man btw. I love his acting in that episode)

But that's just me. I'm no expert, just a girl with opinions :/

The fight scenes were good though. Not much but when they did, they did right.

In back of my mind they will add those for the 2nd season. Clearly and brutally(like c'mon, the amount of blood from ep 1 yet slowly decreased until ep 6...surely they must be doing it on purpose, don't they?)

But nonetheless I can wait. As long as they confirmed with the tag 'season finale' and phase 5 road map.

Yeah I can wait :D

.

.

PS : I just don't get people thought Marc letting Harrow free is lazy writing or another usual hero antics 'that's the hero thing to do with mcu villain'.

Like I get it, at first I was surprised at that moment. But the second after he said, "Do it yourself" it just make sense. First and foremost, Marc's goal from the start of the series is to be free. Period.

He just didn't want to do that under Khonsu. Being just another slaver. Not only because Layla's reassurance imo.

Well I got satisfied in the end. Marc's vengeance was already been done by Jake and he's the perfect person to do that.

So it's still a win-win.

[dmclemblems]

i think one simple thing that people who insist Hopes!Claude is in character like to ignore is that in the 3H Dream interview, with the original head director Kusakihara, it's said that Claude came out to being a "pure good guy" at the end of his writing and Edel/gard is the villain.

Claude cannot simultaneously have been written as a "pure good guy" while also being willing to let innocent people die for no reason and actively helping the villain get what she wants lmao. i'm sorry that the fanon Claude that is willing to let people die for his own gains is what these people want so badly, but he never existed. "you just want Claude to be a goody two shoes" well yes because that's basically how his OG writers literally described him as being lmao

Yeah, his writing is just really not the same. People can chalk it up to the year at GM all they want and him killing Shahid, but those two aspects wouldn't change his core personality. I agree fully that GM helped him grow and changed his perspective on things, but the core of his character shouldn't change because of it. That being, he wouldn't have a totally wildly different means of doing things just because of it.

As for Shahid, killing his brother, who hated him and wanted him dead on top of calling him horrific things, should not have changed his personality either. He can be sad about it, sure, but evidently it affected him so much that it enabled him to let hundreds if not thousands of others die, and for what? His spiteful, hateful brother who wished nothing but death on him?

I would agree that Claude would prefer to resolve things with Shahid peacefully, but if he was so intent on getting out of that battle alive with Shahid also alive, it's wild to me how he wants peace with a man who wants him very very dead, but he wants to kill Rhea because "nothing personal", he just needs her gone, and this woman has never done a damn thing to him.

Ultimately I'd agree that Claude is a pure, good guy, and that makes sense considering how he grew up. It's not uncommon for people who are hurt growing up to want to be good to people. When you're that hurt, you don't want to inflict that pain or suffering on others because you know what it's like. Claude is a very humane person even if he has trouble expressing those aspects of himself. That's why he's able to pull back when he realizes he's going too far with trying to learn things. That's why if you, as Byleth, try to get him to press Flayn for details and act heartless about it, he's actually kind of shocked and doesn't like it.

Tbh I don't really understand why people want "ebul Claude" so badly. Why is it so bad for him to be a good person? As a fan of AM and Dimitri it's crazy to me because Dimitri fans were very sad when Dimitri was unstable and wanted him to get better. Fans of the route and the character were very much not rooting for him to continue acting like that. One of the reasons I really took to Rodrigue in my first experience with AM is because he was the goddamn only person to scold Dimitri and basically tell him to shut the fuck up and listen (which is ironic because Rodrigue later says he's doesn't have it in him to scold Dimitri, but he just didn't do it in a standard way. He's relatively polite about it, but he still shuts Dimitri up at Ailell, and fast. That's also his first time meeting Dimitri again in literal years, so that says a lot that he was willing to immediately scold him for his behavior).

That said, another thing I hate is how the people around Dimitri don't approve of what he does/says, but with Claude they all just kinda... go with it except Lorenz. People argue with Dimitri and contest his actions/behavior. They argue with him on moral grounds. With Claude there's only one person, again, Lorenz, who continually questions Claude's behavior and doesn't agree with how he's handling things. In AM, it's a lot of people even if they don't tell it to Dimitri's face.

So really, I don't know why people prefer Claude killing people and just going deeper and deeper into that hole. At first he says his hands will never be clean again, but that doesn't mean... make the situation even worse? Generally speaking I don't disagree with what he did in his own Ailell chapter. He didn't personally get too involved in the killing, and his main focus on was on his own people. Firstly, the Empire had been an enemy for a long time and he expected them to be at war again in the not too distant future. Secondly, he wasn't allied with and thus had no obligated to help the Church's people, and those two factions were warring with each other. Letting them fight each other and be decimated... really wasn't his fault, and yet people got on his absolute ass for not uwu helping the Empire who just murdered tons of his people in a war not even that long ago.

Invading the Kingdom is where I'm like... what even is this. If he made a pact with Edelgard to stop his own people from dying, fine, whatever, but he should've told her listen, I'll engage in this pact but I won't help you in your war. You don't attack us, we don't attack you. First he starts killing Kingdom soldiers and then he goes to kill Rhea who... hasn't done anything to him, and he knows and admits that. He just has to kill her simply because people look up to her and follow her. No amount of GM or having to kill Shahid would've changed his whole personality and ideology to such extremes.

Again, I don't really see the appeal in that. I'd rather see him make mistakes and realize how bad they were and turn himself around. I'd rather him come back from starting to be like that. If Claude was like that in Houses I would want the same thing for him, just like everyone wanted for Dimitri.

If people don't like Claude for being a goody two shoes who doesn't wanna kill people, well that's worrying. Why would you want your favorite character to kill a ton of people? Yiker wikers.

[fictionkinfessions]

apologies for the long ass ask i was emotional.

oh i left you alone in a house not a home

and i watched the burning grow as my hair filled with grey

from the ashes that fell

the mountains i knew so well

burned with hellfire in the blue light lf midnight

brother i watched the sky burn

and all i learned was that smoke

fills the lungs like a disease...

- brother, madds buckley.

the song is really good by the way, go give it a listen.

but anyway. i can't really relate to the song as in the one singing, but as in the one being sung about. (yes. i know the song is about mha. no, i don't care, and will continue to use my own personal/an alternative also accurate interpretation for the song.)

i can relate to it as in... hm. how do i phrase this? im the one being refferred to as brother, and you (kuni, scara, the /balladeer/ whatever) is the one singing. i don't know what you felt when you left me, promising to be back (aka the memory with no memories after it beside a few about me and my girlfriend)  but i know that you cared about me deeply. not only that, but my memories are deeply unstable. so yeah. but anyway.

we were brothers, yk? definitely not by blood, but you got me through the worst years of my life. and i miss you. and this song makes me think of you—and what you may have been thinking through out those years.

funny to think you, /the balladeer/, the sixth (?,  i forget the numbers a lot.) fatui harbringer would have come to care so much about me—a shitty, cowardly 14 year old avian with nothing left in his life other than the wings on his back which later on he wouldn't even have.

you got me through a lot.

you got me through the loss of my wings, the strain of a delusion, the few times where i was concious and coherent and not just simply following orders and trying not to die. you got me through panic attacks, and protected me from a lot.

but then you left me. i doubt its because you hated me or anything, i know it's because you wanted me to be safe but... i just can't remember anything about you after that. and it makes me have some resentment towards you, because ill never know, or at least not anytime soon, know what you were thinking. the real reason. why you thought that was the /safest option./

...

i had a breakdown a few days ago. over my wings. and you. i was missing you so bad that i just started crying. and the  i started missing my wings and just... everything. i had to be dragged out of front and i fell asleep on my moms couch in headspace.

some days, i miss you so bad and consider soulbonding, just straight up wishing you show up in the system, or wishing one day that i find you in the form of a canonmate. but yeah.

im 19 now (not bodily), and i miss you everyday. where ever you are.

brother by madds buckley reminds me of you a lot.

- bennett, 🎸🥡🥢

(feel free to ignore this. tag as both fictive and kin, as i am both. also again sorry for the long ask. alsoalso suey person from earlier with the songkin asked who tagged it the same is infact me, i just used the collective name instead since it wasn't very specific.)

‎

[craycraybluejay]

uploading commentary/annotation on each section of my mbti analysis thing. here goes.

Priding myself on unique perceptiveness and vigorous intellect? Absolutely. It's my biggest point of pride, and it's the number one thing I get compliments on, second being creativity and third being appearance.

I do indeed hardly ever stop thinking, and I wake up with my brain SCREAMING for me to write down the most recent dream or search up a random thing I'm curious about, occasionally both. And I do in fact debate with myself, as well as just talking to myself to make decisions and sometimes reprimand myself for certain things. I am in fact endlessly fascinated with my own mind. I know myself best and even I have barely scratched the surface of whatever the hell is going on in there. I do become very fixated and focused on a task, and if that task is a person, WELL; a lot of people tell me I'm too much and it's been a point of self doubt to be honest. But my therapist told me those people are simply too little. And it's helped me to remind myself that other people not being able to handle me for simply being me doesn't mean there's something wrong with the way I am/my personality.

And oh yes the CONNECTION. When I'm locked into a convo with someone who really stimulates my brain I get so excited sometimes I do the happy hand stims. My logical leaps getting verbalized and them matching that energy <33 ngh, one of the best feelings.

OH YES pattern analysis. GOD I LOVE JUST FIGURING EVERYTHING OUT ABOUT A THING. And yeah it's a bad idea to lie to me, not only am I observant and logical I'm also a Traumatized Individual [TM] and I can smell lies, bad moods, and manipulation from a mile away. Although I will occasionally simply let someone believe they're manipulating or taking advantage of me because it's a very fun and fascinating thing to watch from inside. Though it does annoy me when people get guilty for thinking they're "taking advantage of me" when I'm down or unstable or whatever. I'm a grownass man, and you're only doing this because I am specifically deciding to let you. I do have many theories and ideas, some of which I haven't finished thinking through. But I am completely honest, I don't tell lies, though if needed I will tell a half-truth for convenience and to minimize conflict. I don't tend to play devil's advocate on important moral topics, though unimportant things like opinion, sure, why not. I can try to see a different pov and explain something from that pov but I'm not going to act like certain illogical and cruel things are okay just to play the role.

I do in fact spend all day musing about ideas and possibilities; when I'm not practicing escapism. And yeah everyday work is hard, putting work into things over time gets boring and I lose interest fast if it doesn't stay engaging. Hence why I generally write stories in one go and edit along the way, never to return to them again. Fat chance I'm going to work on a fic or poem or story or song for more than the day I came up with it. And I am in fact a creative problem-solver. Though I've learned that not everyone actually WANTS to solve problems, sometimes they just want to let them sit there and continue being harmful. I am /sometimes/ baffled with human emotion. I have very large emotions myself (suspect it is due to the adhd) but I only really understand things I can relate to in some way or other. And even then sometimes my brain just glitches with other people and I don't really know what to do because I generally put logic first and am not sure how to react to someone who completely throws logic to the wind and acts on emotion alone (which is not as romantic and good and right as it sounds; emotions can be destructive). For example; someone's angry at their girlfriend so they start saying things that imply they hate /all/ women. While I can understand and empathize with being angry with a close one, I can't for the life of me understand letting emotions take the wheel that strongly to the point where you ignore the very obvious logic that not all women are the same and not every woman is your girlfriend.

Usually I offer support in things I know I can do for them like provide physical comfort, take them out for comfort food/activities or stay in with them and do something that comforts them, advise them if I have sufficient knowledge and experience in the topic, reassure them if that will help. I've found it's best to ask first what they think can help them even though my instinct is to help first and ask later. It used to be an issue until I started getting a better handle on emotions and instincts. Though occasionally I will be caught completely out of my depth and not know how to even begin to respond to a certain situation concerning other people's emotions. Like when someone feels like they're ugly; I'm not sure what to do; I can try to compliment them and tell them what I personally think and be specific, I can try to distract them, but I logically know that I cannot change the way someone thinks or feels about themselves quite so easily. And the fact that there may really be nothing I can do that will actually help can freeze me sometimes, especially with the memories of the times I've tried to help and fucked up/overstepped. And yeah, "analysis paralysis" is one way to say it lol. I get so stuck thinking about a thing I forget to actually do anything. Like when am I gonna do this housework? When am I gonna write? I don't know how to make a good plan so I'm just gonna lay here and do absolutely nothing.

[sargeant-bxrnes]

1 step forward, 3 steps back.

warnings: rafe being… rafe. drug mention & consumption, cursing, toxic relationship, sexual situations/implications, mental health issues. ANGST.

[AN: this is the first thing i’ve written, ever, so my apologies if it’s not flawless ; also, english is not my first language, that’s a warning on its own]

my requests are open btw

click for my master list

word count: 4.4K

Called you on the phone today

Just to ask you how you were

All I did was speak normally

Somehow I still struck a nerve

“Hey,” you said in a soft tone as soon as Rafe picked up the phone, you were laying down on your bed, staring at the ceiling.

“Hey princess,” his tone was calm, but his voice was rough and raspy all together.

“How you doing?” you asked him, even though you’d seen him last night, up close.

“I’m doing great,” he replied in a surprisingly cheerful tone, which is weird this early in the morning. Rafe is not a morning person. “You sound tired.”

“I am tired,” you confirmed with a sigh. “Guess I have you to thank for that.”

“My pleasure.” he replied cockily, and even though you couldn’t see him, you could practically hear his proud smirk.

“So, what’s the plan today?” you asked in a casual tone, fidgeting with the edge of Rafe’s shirt, the one you wore to sleep.

“Uh, what do you mean?” he asked in a distracted tone, he sniffed subtly and coughed.

You knew what that meant, but still, you hoped it wasn’t what you deep down knew it was.

“Yeah, I mean—“ you said and made a brief pause. “Wanna go to the club? Maybe we can take a ride on the boat, you know, with food, alcohol... just us.”

“Can’t, I’m busy.” he said after a few seconds, if you didn’t know him better and his occasional mood swings, you would’ve said his tone was harsh.

"Really?" you asked in a soft tone, trying to disguise your disappointment with interest. "But I thought we were going out together today."

"Y/N, just because I'm your boyfriend it doesn't mean I have to be with you all the fucking time."

Okay, now he was definitely angry, you thought you said the right thing, but it still made him angry.

"Rafe-"

"No, Y/N. I have a life of my own, you know? Things to do besides you."

“That’s okay Rafe, I get it,” You said calmly, nodding your head softly. “Have fun today.”

Now you clearly heard the sound of him sniffing something and the sigh that left his lips after, and Barry’s voice in the background. “Don’t play the victim card on me, that’s not gonna work. I deserve to have some time off.”

“I didn’t,” you said softly. “And it’s okay baby, you’re right, you deserve to have some fun.”

“See? No need to be so fucking dramatic,” he said, his voice and words slurring. You? Dramatic? It was all him. “But don’t worry princess, I’ll drop by tonight and fuck the attitude out of you, yeah? That way I’m not just doing things with you, I’m doing you.”

And with such a vulgar comment and a harsh tone, Rafe hung up on you, leaving you completely dumbfounded and filled with incredulity.

What you did know for a fact, is that he would keep up his word. And judging by his tone of voice and how annoyed he was, you could already imagine the ache between your legs.

You got me fucked up in the head, boy

Never doubted myself so much

Like, am I pretty? Am I fun, boy?

I hate that I give you power over that kind of stuff

You knew exactly what you were getting into when you started hooking up with Rafe, and what you were committing to when you agreed to be his girlfriend.

You know that man carries more problems than he shows, he prefers to make himself appear as the Kook prince who lives a life of partying and money; hiding all the things that were going on in his head.

However, there were times when his attitude made you doubt yourself.

You couldn't help but think, ‘What if one day I don't manage to calm him down?’ ‘What if one day he realizes that there is someone prettier, or hotter, or wealthier out there?’

And Rafe would get angry if you doubted yourself. He would complain to you about it, saying you had no reason to be insecure about your looks; if you are absolutely gorgeous, or to feel insecure about your personality; if you were the most genuine person he'd ever met, and you could make him laugh until he forgot all his problems.

But what really made him furious was when you had doubts about the relationship itself, about whether or not he was capable of leaving you for someone else. He took those doubts personally, as if he wasn't trying hard enough to show you how much you mean to him.

When in reality; you were doubting yourself.

'Cause it's always one step forward

You were preparing dinner for you and Rafe, your family was out for the weekend, and Rafe had decided to spend it with you.

Your hair was tied up in a bun, your attire consisted of nothing but your underwear and a shirt that used to be Rafe's, but you took it so long ago that it's yours now.

Music from your shared playlist played in the background, as you danced absentmindedly with a spatula in hand, extremely calm and enjoying time with your boyfriend.

Rafe could do nothing but stare at you with admiration, you are literally the only good thing in his life; his little piece of heaven. You are everything to him.

As soon as Dark Red by Steve Lacy started playing, you let out an excited gasp. That song in particular is Rafe’s and yours, like… if you two had to choose a song to describe your relationship, it would be that one. It represented how you two did not always have good times, but your love prevailed.

Seeing you this happy, comfortable and at ease with him made Rafe's soul happy. All his life, he had done nothing else besides make people angry, disappointed, terrified. But with you, everything was different.

You were so focused on swaying your hips to the music and singing, that you didn't notice when Rafe stood up and walked over to where you were.

It wasn't until he stood behind you, chest to back and with his hands on your hips, that you realized he was closer. His head was bowed, you could feel his breathing close to your ear, so he was able to murmur in your ear the lyrics of the song:

“Only you, my girl, only you, babe,” he sang in your ear, his voice a soft whisper as he wrapped his arms around your body and started to sway with you. “Only you, darling, only you, babe.”

The gesture quickened your heart to unsuspected levels, you felt your knees weaken as you pressed closer to his body, appreciating his closeness as he pressed a kiss against your temple.

“You know I love you so much, right?” he mumbled in your ear, as you closed your eyes and relished his presence.

“I love you too, baby.”  you mumbled back, leaning your head against his chest, caressing one of his arms around your waist with your fingertips, and bringing your hand to his ash blond hair, stroking it softly.

and three steps back

“Why is he mad at you, again?” Topper asked you with a raised eyebrow, after witnessing Rafe utterly avoiding even looking at you when he walked into the room and then left without a word.

“Because I told Barry to not open the door if Rafe dropped by,” You replied with a shrug, closing your eyes and leaning back against the chair. “And when Rafe tried to lash out on him, Barry said it all had been ‘Mrs.Country Club’s’ request.”

“And he’s mad at you because you don’t want him to get all fucked up?” Topper questioned next, trying to understand the situation. But he never knew what the fuck you two were up to.

“Yes, but it’s Rafe, are you surprised?” you said with a heavy sigh.

“No, not really,” Topper admitted. “Honestly, I don’t know why you keep up with him, Y/N.”

“I ask myself that all the time…” you said with a deep sigh. “But I love him, so I guess that’s the answer.”

“And? I mean, I don’t want to be ‘that guy’ Y/N, but he’s…” Topper trailed off, apparently looking for the right word.

“I know exactly how he is, Topper, I don’t need you to remind me. I already think about that way too much.”

You and Topper had easily assumed that Rafe was no longer around, since he seemed to be making his best efforts to avoid you.

But Rafe was there, and he heard everything. He’d heard Topper giving you bad advice (or what he considered bad advice) And he heard you, having doubts about why you loved him or stood by him at all,and it made him want to lash out again.

I'm the love of your life until I make you mad

It's always one step forward and three steps back

Do you love me, want me, hate me? Boy, I don't understand

No, I don't understand

[+18. Really]

“Leave me alone!” his voice boomed in the room, his brows furrowed and the veins in his neck were popping out.

“Rafe—“ you tried once again, approaching slowly in an attempt to place a hand on his shoulder, but he waved it away aggressively.

“Leave-me-alone,” he said, pausing in between each word to emphasize on how much he meant it. His eyes were bloodshot, his nose had specks of white dust, his lips were dry and his voice was coarse.

You weren’t entirely sure what you could say to get him to calm down. Or if there was anything at all you could do.

Normally, what upsets him the most is Ward. His own father. Rafe has spent his whole life trying to prove he's a good son, to make his father proud, and Ward never appreciates his efforts, only notices the bad, and ignores Rafe's clear calls for help, has since Rafe was 10 years old, so he certainly wasn't going to pay attention to him now that Rafe finally had a steady girlfriend, someone who had willingly decided to help.

95% of the time, you managed to talk to Rafe before he decided to resort to intoxication. Most of the time just seeing you helped him calm down, hearing your voice soothed him, and your lips, your skin, put him in a state of peace.

But the other 5% is when Rafe resorted to alcohol and, above all, drugs.

When Rafe is upset and decides to get high, he only manages to become unstable, erratic and yes, aggressive if not handled with care.

In those situations, the best thing you can do, putting yourself first, is to give him his space. Let him screw himself as much as he wants for that day, and help him deal with the consequences the next day, while you listen to him lament his attitude.

Rafe always said he would quit the vice; claiming you were all he needed to calm himself down, that you made him feel at peace. And above all, that you weren't slowly killing him; on the contrary, every minute he spent with you made him feel more alive.

However, for one reason or another, he always came back to it. Whether it was at a party, because Kelce suggested it, or, as is almost always the case, when he's upset with his father and needs quick relief.

And usually, this ‘quick relief’ ends up with Rafe fucked up, big time.

Once he was convinced that you wouldn't try to intervene again, Rafe went back to his business. He turned to the table, and since he already had the line ready, he simply leaned over and inhaled it, throwing his head back, running his hand through his hair and exhaling as he closed his eyes.

You exhaled heavily, shaking your head as you stared at your feet.  You knew he would struggle to quit, after all it is an addiction and he has to fight it, but sometimes you get the impression that Rafe doesn't want to quit, not really.

"Do you want to help me?" asked Rafe eventually, turning his head to look at you. You didn't know if it was a trick question or not, so you hesitated before answering. "Answer me."

"Yes, of course I want to, Rafe." you replied with your respective hesitations, wondering what he was up to.

"Come here then," he said, making a 'come hither’ sign with his fingers.

You took a hesitant step but stopped, your eyes narrowing as you analyzed Rafe, trying to determine his intentions.

He raised both eyebrows in your direction, in a silent question of whether or not you're going to go with him.

Eventually you walked over to where Rafe was, he smiled at you while biting his lip lightly. Without saying anything he approached you and kissed you; the drugs made his senses heighten, so the kiss was intense from the beginning.

So that's when it made sense to you what he wanted, he wanted you. Your most obvious thought is that he would use you to take out your frustration, put the drugs aside and, most likely, fuck you.

Your idea seemed to be the right one as soon as Rafe grabbed you by the waist, still with his lips on yours, left a little bite on your lip before pulling away; and without any problem, lifted you off the floor and placed you on the table.

It's something you wouldn't admit out loud,—mostly out of shame and guilt,—but this kind of sex with Rafe was the best, he's completely unrestrained, rough, full of stamina and teasing, and above all, possessive. And that, in combination with his attractiveness, always drove you crazy.

And honestly; if what he wanted was to fuck you to take out his frustration, you'd let him.

His kisses were hungry and his hands desperate, running all over your body without distinction, as if he didn't know where to start.

He parted his lips from yours, and left a kiss at the corner of them, on your jaw; and began to make a little trail of slow kisses down your neck. The feeling of his lips on your neck made you bite your lip as you wrapped your legs around his waist to feel him closer.

You slid your hand under his shirt, caressing his defined abs and the sides of his body gently with the tips of your fingers, as he left little bites on your neck. Your hands slowly moved up, intending to remove his shirt, but Rafe was quicker and brought his hands to the edge of your shirt, causing you to stop your movements to raise your arms, so he could remove your shirt with ease. And so he did.

He parted his lips from your neck and stared at you, the hunger in his eyes made you feel a fire in the pit of your stomach that only he could put out.

Desperately, your lips connected again as he settled between your legs. One of his hands traveled to your neck, and he wrapped his fingers around it, pressing lightly to the sides. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head; though he couldn't see it.

With just enough strength, Rafe used the grip he had on your neck to push you down onto the table, so that you were lying on top of it.

As soon as he leaned over the table, you could feel his breath over abdomen, so you bit your lip in anticipation for what was to come.

He began to leave slow, wet kisses on your abdomen, making a slow trail to the edge of your shorts. Your automatic reaction was to close your eyes and put a hand in his hair, stroking it gently.

What you didn’t know is that the fact that you closed your eyes had given Rafe an opportunity he couldn't miss. Without you noticing, he slid a hand to the side of the table, where the small bag of white powder was.

To conceal his actions, he unbuttoned your shorts, and returned his lips to the beginning of your abdomen for more time.

The little bite he left to distract your attention caused a gasp to escape your lips; and that sound almost caused him to change plans completely.

He did want to fuck you, don’t get him wrong. He even had a mental debate about whether to continue what he was doing or simply sink his head between your thighs and provoke more sounds like that.

But he wanted to try something first. He had always wanted to try it, but had never asked you, because he knew that you would most likely say no.

With ease, he slid your shorts down your legs; so that they stayed at your ankles or fell to the floor; he didn't care. One of his hands slid into your underwear with ease, his fingers going straight to where he knew you needed him the most.

Trusting that you would not open your eyes, carefully, he put the white substance on your body, so delicately you didn’t notice. He began to prepare to inhale, while biting his lip in reaction to the sinful sounds that left your lips.

And obviously, without warning, Rafe inhaled a line from your thigh.

And all your sounds stopped, your eyes opened and your expression was filled with surprise, the bad kind.

You couldn't believe what Rafe had just done, you felt like an idiot for falling into the trap.

You also had to bite your lip to keep from letting out a moan in reaction to what his fingers were doing in between your legs, but your pride forbade it.

But more than anything else, you were outraged.

“Rafe, you did not just—“

“It felt nice, yeah?” Rafe’s voice was hoarse, you could feel his breath over your skin, as he left little kisses around. “After all, I did feel you clench around my fingers.”

His dirty words, hoarse voice, and close proximity to your body, not to mention his fingers deep inside you, caused you to let out a soft moan, causing Rafe to smirk in what he thought was victory.

But you wouldn't let him win this little game.

Although you really didn't want to, you grabbed his hand by the wrist and pulled him away, your legs trembling slightly at the sudden lack of anything between them.

Rafe's eyebrows furrowed in confusion as soon as you pushed him away from you and got off the table, lifting your shorts off the floor and putting them back on without a word.

"What are you doing?"

You didn't answer, as you searched for  your shirt, feeling his heavy gaze on your body.

"Y/N, where do you think you're going?"

“I’m leaving you alone as you asked me to, remember?” you said in irony. “Before you sniffed a line off me after I begged you to quit that shit?”

“Oh, so now you’re playing the victim?” his voice rose. “Don't- Don’t act as if you wouldn’t have let me fuck you less than a minute ago!”

"Yes I would have let you, to distract you from that shit!" you admitted to him, failing to control your anger. "I said I wanted to help you, to distract you, to give you something different to do. Not that I'd give you another place to snort lines from!"

Rafe knew you were right, of course he did.

You had spent months after months trying to get him to quit, you had offered him countless hours of your days to give him something new to do, distractions, attention and love. And this is how he had decided to pay you back?

But Rafe was angry too, very. You had interrupted him, you were yelling at him; and you had left him so hard, that it would start to hurt unless he did something about it.

“Fine, then get the fuck out of here.” Rafe spat, his anger clearly getting the best of him.

Your eyes widened at that, you hadn't expected him to react like that.

Your best case scenario would be that your attitude would piss him off, yes, but that he would retaliate by getting you back to the table and showing you everything you were missing.

Instead, he simply took your word for it and told you to get out of the room.

“What?”

“You heard me, get out.”

“Rafe—“

“You uh, you have three options, yeah? You let me fuck you over that table and do whatever I want, you get out of here, or I’ll get you out of here.”

The first offer was tempting, it really was, but you wouldn’t allow him to talk to you like that. Before anything, came respect and dignity, and no matter how much you wanted him to fuck you silly, you were too angry and disappointed at him to let it slip.

Blinking repeatedly to chase away the tears from your eyes, you grabbed your phone from the other end of the table, your jacket from Rafe's bed, and walked out of there without another word as you heard him calling your name.

And maybe in some masochistic way

I kinda find it all exciting

Like, which lover will I get today?

Will you walk me to the door or send me home cryin'?

Your relationship with Rafe was unique.

Not because of the circumstances in which it was created. A one-night-stand that turned into something casual, that was formalized after a dinner.

If not for Rafe.

You loved him, no doubt about it. You would give anything to see him happy and at peace, at peace with himself and succeeding in his life.

Rafe would do anything for you, really, anything. No matter how risky, demanding or dangerous, he would do anything for you.

He would die and kill for you.

But that surely didn’t mean it was an easy relationship, hell no. In fact, the willingness both of you had to do anything for each other sometimes made things too complicated; for at times it seemed that not a single rational thought crossed your minds.

And yes, Rafe’s addiction was a big issue. Whenever he was too high, or going through withdrawals, he wasn’t the Rafe you knew or had grown to love, it was another side of him you wanted to help get rid off. And the process wasn’t easy.

While trying to get clean; there was no way to know how he’d behave. He could either get clingy and want you around at all times to calm himself down, or he’d be in a very bad mood all the time, constantly snapping at you and raising his voice.

So there were days where he’d walk you to the door of your house and leave you there with a tender kiss and a smile.

Or days when you’d get out of his truck without a word, with tears streaming down your cheeks while he kept yelling for probably the stupidest thing.

No, it's back and forth, did I say something wrong?

It's back and forth, goin' over everything I said

It's back and forth, did I do something wrong?

'It's back and forth, maybe this is all your fault

Rafe knew he wasn’t okay. After all, he had begged his father for help, begged for anything that would get those thoughts to stop, but his father hadn’t listened, had only told him to ‘man up.’

You knew he wasn’t okay. Which is why you wanted to help him, to offer the support no one else had bothered to give him before he met you.

Whether he wanted it or not, those thoughts were still there. Being with you made them easier to ignore, but it’s not like they vanished entirely. He still had some ideas that made his own skin crawl.

And sometimes, you’d say or do the wrong thing and trigger those thoughts. And things got bad again for him.

Rafe knew you wanted nothing but to help him get better and be the best version of himself, and he really wanted to give you that. To change and make an effort. Not only for himself but for you. He wanted to be a man worthy of your love.

But it was hard to be anywhere near decent when you two went out and a guy stared at you for longer than Rafe’s limits allowed, or when guys tried to hit on you, when his friends got a little bit too close for his comfort.

Whenever he got jealous, he turned into a walking, talking ticking bomb. Anything could, and would set him off.

It wasn’t your fault, not really, but most of the time you felt it was. You knew Rafe dealt with a lot of insecurities already, of not being a nice person, not being good enough and so many other things. And you hated being one of the factors that caused his insecurities to arise.

And I'd leave you, but the roller coaster is all I've ever had

It was a complicated relationship, and it would probably never stop being complicated because both of you are complex people, plus there are other factors that affect the relationship.

But that didn't mean either of you would stop fighting to keep it alive. Neither would let the other go.

Rafe utterly refused to ever let you go. He loved you as he had never loved anyone, as he never thought himself capable of loving with that twisted heart of his.

You are, without exception, the best thing in his life, the best thing that ever happened to him. And you being in his heart was slowly turning him into who he had wanted to be during all those years of loneliness.

And you would never let him go, because you loved him with all your heart, soul and nerve of your body. And because you know that no one will ever love you like him. With so much passion, intensity, honesty and purity.

Because every feeling Rafe expressed with you was true; he was himself with you. And you didn't want to let him go.

Even if the two of you went one step forward, and three steps back, that single step would be longer than any step life makes you take backwards.

[atomicfilm]

INTJ pairings

I'll make this into a fun short "put you in my pocket and take you `to my mom's Thanksgiving party" version too.

I'm not an INTJ, but I do converse with them (and by them, I mean maybe 3 total and 1 regularly) and I've been asked to talk about my thoughts on this, so for tonight only, I'm giving myself a really cool sash that says I'm an authority on the subject. I also think as an INTP I run into somewhat similar issues with certain types.

* means I like this pairing.

Typically, the INTJ's golden pair is the ENFP. I think that works for some people, but is probably a kind of short-lasting passionate fling rather than the ideal pairing. ENFPs are great people, they're lots of fun to be around, they care a great deal. They bring out the INTJ's soft side, which they may hate but they secretly quite admire. But ultimately, ENFPs can be flaky. They see something new and exciting and they move on. Novelty is the greatest motivator in a lot of ENFPs. New friends, new places, new things to do. And while the INTJ may deeply admire that and may find it quite exciting, it's not going to last forever. Eventually, the INTJ will become tired of playing games and want to settle into their ideal lifestyle pursuing their carefully strategized goals and the ENFP will become bored. The INTJ I speak to and I have the same issue, which is that ENFPs by nature are manipulative. It can be used for the good of inspiring people and bringing them together, but it can also become quite selfish and unstable. This leads to the ENFP saying things like "You try to apply logic to everything" or "you don't really respect me" or something like that when in reality, if someone loves an INTJ they'll love that they apply logic to everything and they'll love their snarky edges.

INFPs. I have not heard a lot of feedback about them as I think INTJs tend to be drawn more to extraverts. But as someone who spends quite a lot of time with INFPs, I would imagine that a lot of INTJs who can't make it work with ENFPs can also not make it work with INFPs. Once again, INFPs are great at engaging our minds but they are terrible at accepting that we live by rationality. INTJs use Fi a little bit, so to some extent they'll have similar engagements with their emotional side, but INFPs live by thinking "what can I do to nurture myself" and INTJs live more by "how can I best mold the world to fit my vision of efficiency". You'll see the commonality of Fi at the worst point possible when the INTJ is breaking down. INFPs kind of never stop using Fi and as someone who is thinking-dominant, that is almost impossible for communication. Ultimately, they'll eventually hit a point where their love languages and ways of interactions may be so disparate that they feel neglected.

ENTPs **. This is a golden pair that I can kind of get behind. The INxJs I know are obsessed with ENTPs and tend to think they're quite attractive. They're not only gregarious (when they're not arguing) but they're also quite intellectually stimulating and since they have opposite functions from the INTJ, there is still quite a bit of difference to make it fun. There shouldn't be too many emotional issues, aside from the fact that both these types tend to bottle up their emotions and resent vulnerabilities. The ENTP will probably be the more caring of the two in a conventional sense, but I would think both would have similar love languages of caring both through action and thought. ENTPs also tend to not be quite as flaky as a lot of xNxPs are, but, I would rate both of these types as highly likely to ghost. My best advice is that if you want to be around ENTPs, pick one who can be honest about their real values and whose values align with yours. If they make a lot of bigoted jokes, take that at face value, no matter how "ironic" it is. ENTPs can be a little fake in the sense that they will blend in just enough and hide behind so-called irony to be friends with a lot of different people.

INTPs. I don't really see it. I think INTPs are lovely as an INTP who likes other INTPs. Likewise, I enjoy a good conversation and friendship with an INTJ. But I find it not only difficult to tolerate relationships but also being told what to do. I make every decision in a relationship as a compromise and I think that would eventually quite interfere with the INTJ's ambitions because I wouldn't back down on mine...at least, not without resentment. So perhaps an INTJ and INTP with similar life goals could work out romantically, but personally, I view them as platonic and the one time I liked an INTJ it ended beyond poorly. I don't bring out their softness and they don't bring out mine. We're more like buddies who complain about other people when we do the entire group project by ourselves. Of course, romantic preference is a preference.

ENTJs. When has it ever worked out for someone to date their sister-type? Name one time! If someone names one time I'll update this. I think an ENTJ and an INTJ would be quite an argumentative couple even if they were on the same side about everything. Then again, INTJs do admire extraversion and it is always nice to be around people you don't have to explain yourself to every sentence.

INFJs ****. Oh, I like this pairing. I have not heard much about it, but I think it would be really cute. INTJs are complete badasses. They're very "I'm going to take over the world and you're just going to have to deal with it. And if you say no I will secretly cry". INFJs are very "I'm going to do everything in my power to heal everyone and the world and I am probably crying because I saw a baby bunny". INFJs are The Best! They have the softness of ENFPs but they're logical and they use Ni like INTJs but have Fe, which means they are thinking about harmony 24/7 and not that Fi-version of harmony. That genuine "I will make sure everyone is cared for at no social benefit to me" kind of harmony. They do socialize with a lot of people, but INTJs sometimes like to be social and party, they just aren't typically regarded that way. Do Fe and Fi mix that well? Maybe not. But as an Fe user who is quite fond of INFJs, I think they could potentially be a very cute power couple with the INTJ and there would be fewer issues with communication than other types as Ni-doms (but this also might be boring at the same time).

ENFJs. Similar to INFJs. They might work together a little less simply because of the change in function positions.

ESFPs *. Do I know for sure that this is a good pairing? No! But gosh, do I like it. INTJs become ESFP-like when they're sad. So, you know, maybe the ESFP will draw out the worst version of the INTJ and that could really suck. But this is the perfect little theatre kid dates total nerd trope and I like that. ESFPs have the social circle that the INTJ desires and the INTJ has the "got their shit together" vibes that ESFPs, despite being quite talented and successful, may lack. They both have skills one another can benefit strongly from, but it may come at the cost of a lot of arguments. Not sure. But I think this is actually my personal favorite since they have near-opposite strengths but a common reason to respect one another.

ISFPs: Pft. Idk. This is not the same as ESFPs. ISFPs are lovely but they sort of fill the same niche that INFPs do. Perfect for an INTP like me, but I don't think INTJs are looking for the quiet, artsy, weirdo so much because they already often fill that niche to some extent, even if it's more technical. I've noticed that INxJs really want to be around people who are the life of the party and very socially dominant (and ISFPs can fulfill that role, but there are other types who win via extraversion). The ISFP will likewise appreciate a little practicality, but I've noticed they're more likely to gravitate towards other xxFPs. Probably a better friendship and as a relationship would take more effort.

ESTPs: I think this one comes with its own difficulties and will work less than ENTP/ESFP pairings. This is because while they can have the same charisma that ENTP and ESFPs have, they can also have that same fakeness as a defense mechanism. Both will value action but the ESTP will probably drain out the INTJ more than ENTPs will (who are more ambiverts) and more than ESFPs too. With ESFPs, there's a good amount of the right kind of opposites. INTJs are action-driven, but they're strategic and take a while. ESFPs are action-driven, but they're more spontaneous. And ultimately, that leads to a lot of arguments about how to get things done. Whereas, the ESFP and ENTP might give the INTJ complete room to "manage", the ESTP seems less likely to do so.

ISTPs: This would be so stale. INTJs tend to show big emotions (to their own despise) when they're upset and ISTPs love to ghost at any sign of emotion. They would dip so fast. Top-tier friendship on an intellectual level but never particularly deep and unlikely, albeit not impossible to evolve into a relationship. Same issues as with INTPs, there's going to be a lot of admiration and probably not a lot of emotional attachment. I have witnessed an INTJ have a crush on an ISTP but that ISTP had a crush on me so that tells you how that went. Messy business. 

ESTJ: Yeah, I guess. I don't like ESTJs as a general concept but I suppose INTJs aren't necessarily as opposed to capitalism and tradition. Sounds dry. Next.

ISTJ *: This is probably a really solid pairing for the INTJ. Very marriage material, have the same job, raise cool kids. But I think that sounds boring. So if you want the "perfect life", this is probably a good type for you but I couldn't do that. You would probably only have minor arguments and the INTJ would have to learn to trust that ISTJs are incredibly good at reading situations while the ISTJ would have to learn to love that the INTJ is more fantasy-oriented than they are. Odd, right? Ultimately, you have two people who can be very commitment-oriented, who care for people the same way, who want to fix society, who analyze everything. You just have two generally different ways of doing that, where the ISTJ is probably actually better at being in society and the INTJ wants to change it in more drastic ways (although, for moral reasons they both want to change it).

ISFJ: I don't imagine it working particularly well. I honestly can barely imagine it at all. An ISFJ is my best friend and he is THE MOST gentle buddy. You cannot make fun of him even playfully and keep the friendship. Probably a deal-breaker for a lot of INTJs as they tend to love a good tease. My ISFJ has dated an INTJ before and while they’re still friends, it was a bad experience to witness all around. INTJs are very competitive and ISFJs are very open with their affection so that ran into issues but also, the ISFJ is not as likely to stand up for itself in a way that INTJs easily respect, which is to say, when they do it it will be something like “hey, you hurt my feelings” and if you’re the kind of person to  respond “then you’re too sensitive” you’ve got a whole ass toxic relationship on your hands. 

ESFJ: I think this could work a little better than the ISFJ pairing and a little worse than with the ESFP. Of course, there are general grounds for arguing over emotion vs. logic, but both types can have quite a good bit of talent and practicality coexisting. ESFJs tend to be a little better with criticisms (although they are still sensitive and should be treated very gently too) and they're more likely to want to accomplish goals that the INTJ finds easier to respect. For a lot of ISFJs, their goals are sweet and simple like raising a family, working as a computer scientist. The ESFJ might be a little more oriented towards large goals similar to that of the ESFP, which is more of the category that INTJs tend to fall into. However, the INTJ is going to have to accept that ESFJs love a LOT which means throwing a LOT of parties, probably the most out of any type and its probably going to lead to some burnouts. 

Overall, INTJs are great but need to learn to practice kindness and put their natural tendency for intellectual superiority aside. They shouldn't be with anyone that doesn't want to accomplish things they can respect. They shouldn't be with people who want them to compromise too much (they probably won't). They should be with people who bring out their nurturing capabilities and who they want to do things for, but not people that they see as incapable of taking care of themselves. They may prefer more social people and admire people who can network while being direct and genuine. Based on these criteria, INFJs and ENTPs are my highest recommendations while ESFPs (my favorite) and ISTJs also make the list for various reasons.

BUT, that being said, RELATIONSHIPS (including friendships) ARE A SKILL. They are most successful when someone becomes good at learning respect and compromise that doesn't cause resentment, regardless of type. All individuals will have different specific interests as well as red flags. And if you need me to tell you if your relationship works, it probably doesn't and you can DM me.

[cat-sapphics]

fuck it imma dump aroace c!tommy on y’all, this is gonna be a long one...

gonna take a break from focusing on twitter for the moment and talk about a hc that’s going around the mcyt fandom but isn’t quite popular enough yet imo. original idea certainly isn’t mine but instead of “it just makes sense” i’ve compiled SO MUCH to make it all add up perfectly!!

he's a very unstable and insecure character, yeah? so he doesn't want people to know things about him that probably aren't "normal" - Especially since there are so fucking many romantic relationships on the dream smp, i guess it's kinda expected of him since ranboo and tubbo got together so openly. but he's aroace, so if he does get into a relationship he won't feel any real romantic or physical attraction and he won't be happy. to cover this, this explains why his whole entire bit is all "i love women and girls and i am very straight but also since twitter is canon i might jokingly be lesbian actually and i very much get lots of pussy and i have sex with girls every night and GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS" blah blah blah. it's so abnormal and strange that it's just a poor attempt at a cover-up, which only kinda works because everyone else obviously knows it's a cover-up but they are just stumped at what for?? he's afraid that since he's so hated on the server already, if he fails to conform to their expectations he'll just be cast out even more. obviously that wouldn't happen, but considering how young he is and how much trauma he's been through, it's reasonable (and actually very normal) for his brain to just shut down all logical thinking and water it all down to "act in a way so as to survive."

but then it doesn’t even stop there - last night i saw someone point out that THOSE cat/mellohi discs are green and purple, which perfectly go hand-in-hand with the colors of the aro and ace flags that aren’t on the grayscale. and i FLIPPED. OUT. because honestly?? obviously there was more to it than just this, but i like to think that at least part of the reason why people failed to grasp his obsession/connection with those discs that he ruined relationships with others over was due to the comfort he found in those colors, almost as if it’s subtle pride “merch” for himself that didn’t raise any questions in that direction.

and THEN i realized that the allium flower is one single item consisting of both purple and green, so as the number one allium duo enthusiast, i just had to bring ranboo into it somehow, which actually came really easily because i knew just what to do: while ranboo is trying his best to make amends with tommy for whatever reason he’s so hostile to the enderboy for (which tommy refuses to disclose; nothing’s ever confused ranboo more), he does what he does best and simply wants to be there for him during whatever he’s doing through - but while doing so, he accidentally puts too much pressure on tommy to spill it all and kinda forces his little secret about being “broken” out of him completely by accident. ranboo feels bad of course, so he makes it clear that said secret is safe with him (he won’t even tell tubbo without permission, and that is very important to tommy because he doesn’t wanna potentially lose his best friend more than he already has) and that being aroace does Not, in fact, make him broken. ranboo picks an allium from the flower forest nearby and gives it to him the next day, their unspoken symbol of trust and acceptance between each other now.

and honestly? if that’s not enough allium duo bonding content for you? i can keep going! to me, c!ranboo is VERY MUCH heavily-coded to be nonbinary (unaligned but not agender imo, i haven’t decided on that yet) and biromantic-asexual. so he tells tommy this that at least for one half of his orientation, he is not alone, and not only that, but he finds comfort in the neopronouns end/ends and voi/void - he just hasn’t told anyone except tubbo beforehand because he’s afraid of receiving judgement as well. and so, they’re in this safe little lonely box together. :]

sooooo yeah, that just about does it for now! i’ll keep adding as i see fit because i love writing this stuff sososo much and projecting lgbt identities onto characters is so deeply important and personal to me <3

[iamanartichoke]

Another totally unprompted ask, on the assumption that you are definitely no longer in need of them… another thing I’m trying to work out about Loki characterisation in preparation for perpetrating fic torture on him is how suicidal the poor sod is most of the time. This is another thing I’ve seen referred to a lot but only in passing. Though obviously this is a pretty triggery topic, so ignore if you want.

I am always in need of totally unprompted asks, otherwise I just assume no one wants to talk to me lmao

So, hoo boy. I have been mulling over this for, apparently, three days now bc there's just ... there's a lot to unpack here. Putting under a cut for obviously triggery content and also for length bc fml.

In my opinion, the response to "how suicidal is Loki most of the time" is "very, but whether or not he wants to do anything about it varies from moment to moment" (see what I did there? I'll see myself out). In other words, I have always had a headcanon that Loki is consistently, passively suicidal. This is a headcanon that comes straight from TDW, bc I'm certain that Loki never had any intention of surviving their mission. And that could be a whole other post, really, but the point is that even though this is a TDW-centric headcanon, I have come to adopt it as applying to Loki in general as well, not just in those specific circumstances.

When I say passively suicidal, I mean that Loki is just sort of ambivalent about the value of his own life. He feels like he doesn't deserve to be alive, and feels like there's little point in being alive. Which - I don't mean to sound all gloom and doom, like, poor uwu emo Loki (and I kinda hate that I have to pause to disclaim that, no, I don't just have a fixation on Loki being depressed for funsies/the aesthetic/whatever); I think that this mindset stems from really complicated places that I'm not sure I can articulate, but I will try.

I view Loki as someone who suffers from a severe inferiority complex, and I feel like it stems from being abandoned as an infant. Loki's life started with a traumatic event and, even if he doesn't remember the event itself, the feelings he experienced stayed in his subconscious. Feelings of loss, of fear, of despair and abandonment, of suffering - these are all feelings that burrowed into his bones and lived there for his entire life, feelings that colored how Loki viewed himself as a person as well as how he compared to the people around him.

Keep in mind that Loki didn't know he was abandoned until the events of Thor 1, obviously. We don't really know how old Loki is, in human years, but I have always assumed that he and Thor were at least adults (not teenagers), maybe the equivalent of early twenties - and the reason I bring that up is because it means Loki made it all the way to adulthood carrying the weight of a trauma that he did not remember or even knew had happened, so to him, there was no real reason for how wrong he felt. There was no explanation for the feelings of loss, of neglect, of fear. So on top of struggling with those feelings, Loki was also burdened with the alienation that comes with wondering why one can't just be like everyone else, why one can't just "snap out" of depression, why one's sense of self-worth has always been lacking.

So imagine what it's like to grow up as Loki. He was traumatized as an infant. The trauma has been with him his entire life, along with the confusion/alienation of not understanding why he feels the way that he does, and then on top of that, his basic personality lends itself toward introspection and isolation, so he likely felt even further removed from Thor and from his peers. Loki's too smart for his own good, and he's got an enormous capacity to feel and I feel like this is a combination that works against him as much as it does for him, bc it probably means he spent a lot of time examining himself and identifying all of his perceived flaws - and then berating himself for said flaws.

People with depression are probably pretty familiar with the bully that lives in your head, the one who is always there to remind you that you're stupid, or ugly, or that nobody likes you, or that you have nothing of value to contribute to anyone, etc. Loki's no different; he's got that bully in his head, too. Add onto this the fact that his brother is literally perfect, that he feels his father doesn't love him (or love him as much), that his interests in things like magic are looked down on in his culture, and that he's a prince (meaning that along with the privilege comes pressure, and being in the public eye, knowing that everyone around him is comparing him to Thor as much as he compares himself to Thor, well.) and you have a total clusterfuck of a mindset, and Loki's been existing inside of that clusterfuck for nearly all of his life.

I always go back to the quote where, when filming I think the vault scene, Kenneth Branagh directs Tom by saying, "This is the moment where the thin steel rod holding your brain together snaps." And it's such a significant moment for Loki bc this is where it all crumbles for him, learning the truth, but I also fixate on the "thin steel rod" part of the quote bc that's not how one would describe a healthy, stable person's mind. The implication, to me, has always been that Loki wasn't that stable to start with due to his general upbringing, his internal struggles, and his personality, so of course the devastation of learning he's adopted, and Jotun, would send him over the edge. One doesn't go from zero to 60; one doesn't fall over the edge unless they were balancing fairly close to it in the first place. And to me, the "thin steel rod" basically equals the aforementioned clusterfuck of a mindset.

THE POINT IS. (Holy shit, I ramble.) This is the foundation on which I'm basing my headcanon that Loki neither values his life nor feels as if he even deserves to live it - bc his default mindset is one of inferiority, of loss, of pain. And I think that going from being a general unstable person pre-canon to being passively suicidal post-canon is a thing that happened because, somewhere between the vault in Thor 1 and the dungeons in TDW, Loki just stopped caring.

Life is exhausting for everyone, but even moreso when your mental load becomes more than you can carry. Loki is exhausted. His experience is that things just keep getting worse and worse for him - he's never been valued, he's always been found wanting. He discovers that he was literally thrown away as an infant, unwanted and left to die, and things haven't gotten much better for him since then. Everything that can go wrong, does go wrong. His plans spin out of control. He's unable to prove his worth and his value and when he is, in fact, rejected, he literally tries to kill himself (only to survive and end up in an even worse situation).

It all just continually goes downhill, and Loki is fucking exhausted. He's done. He has no hope that anything is ever going to change - he will never be valued or even seen, he's unable to connect to anyone, he has no family (aside from Thor, but their relationship is so fraught with pain). As far as he's concerned, his life has been nothing but a waste since he was born and if no one else values it, why should he?

So - passively suicidal. He places no value on his life, and doesn't shy away from situations that could cost him his life. It's possible that the only reason he's not actively suicidal is bc his previous attempt not only failed but led to such a horrible situation that he's probably too afraid to intentionally seek out death again. He doesn't want to fail and end up worse off for it.

And - not that you asked this in particular, but - my biggest disappointment in the series is that none of what I've just written is addressed in a satisfying way (to me). That is, we don't get any real explicit acknowledgement of the trauma of Loki's abandonment as a baby or how that affected his mental health growing up; we don't get to explore how devastated he was to learn of his adoption; we don't ever see him reconcile his ingrained belief that jotuns are monstrous savages with the fact that he is jotun. He says "I betrayed everyone I loved, but I'm different now" and we're supposed to infer what he means without Loki actually articulating why he feels that he's the only one who should be held responsible for all these things that had happened or what "I've changed" even means to him (aside from not betraying Sylvie).

I would have liked to see these things addressed for a lot of reasons, but one of those reasons is that I would want to see how Loki comes to terms with all of his issues and his pain enough that he stops being passively suicidal. We never get to see that; after TDW, the time that passes allows for Loki to kinda chill, resulting in the Ragnarok version, but if there was any real healing or recovering going on, it was happening off-screen, with the audience expected to just go with "yeah Loki was going through it for awhile but he's kinda better now."

Furthermore, much of what I've written here is based on prime Loki's development through TDW, but doesn't account for series Loki's split from that timeline nor the theme of "Lokis survive" that's so prevalent in the series. So I don't think the "passively suicidal" headcanon is really appropriate for series Loki but, at the same time, I'd like to have seen why. I'd like to have seen Loki learning to value his life, or where the "we survive" mindset comes from, since that's not really been a thing before now. (Out of universe, I suspect it comes from the context of Loki just not dying whenever he tries to, but since TDW and IW haven't happened, and Loki didn't intend to survive his fall from the bifrost, framing Loki as an innate survivor doesn't really make sense, but to be fair, I'm just being picky.)

So, yeah. I'm not saying Loki doesn't experience growth or development in the series, I'm just saying that his arc left much unsaid and, furthermore, framing his growth as "wanting a throne to not wanting a throne" without addressing that Loki doesn't actually want the power of the throne, he wants the value and self-worth he associates with the throne, is - well, again, unsatisfying. Not bad, but it leaves viewers like me wanting bc we're cognizant of how much more could have been done.

I ... am going to end this now. This is probably nonsensical and all over the place, so I'm very sorry, and I'm sure this is why I don't get meta-starter asks lmfao bc no one's out here trying to read my dissertation submission for a Ph.D in Loki, but well, sometimes it just be like that.

Thank you for the ask and the opportunity to ramble.

[mandoalorian]

Pain Is For The Living [Javier Peña x F!Reader] - Chapter 3

Summary: Sex work in the heat of 1980’s Colombia was never going to be a walk in the park. Especially not when you had a crush on your number one client, agent Javier Peña. You’d been warned about him and his reputation, but after one very specific incident that would change your life forever, you find yourself attached to him like never before and you’d do anything to make him yours. Even if it means endangering your own life.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Javier being kind of an asshole, allusions to sex, a ~moment~ in the bathtub, mention of PTSD and trauma, food mention, drink mention, ...feelings?

Word count: 4200

Author’s Note: It’s been so long! I’m sorry. It’s been pretty hectic and I’ve been doing my best to wrap up my other series’ and complete requests. I appreciate you all for sticking around and asking for updates on this chapter. I’ve mentioned it a few times, but PIFTL is very difficult to write. It deals with very sensitive issues and so not only can it be mentally draining to write, it takes a lot of time to research and edit. I won’t give up on this series though. I adore this story and can’t wait to share it all with you.

Pain Is For The Living Masterlist

* Reblogs appreciated and my ko-fi is linked in my bio if you wish to support my writing!

Nina pushed off Javi quicker than a bullet leaving a gun, grabbing a blanket from her bed and wrapping it around her naked body. “What the fuck Javier?” she spat.

Jesus Christ -- Javier had never made that mistake before. Moaning someone else’s name? He was better than that. It took him a moment to just process what happened, Nina’s yelling and accusations only a blur in the background. “Who is she, Javier?” Nina questioned, her tone venomous. That was enough to snap the agent out of his thoughts. Her cold eyes burned like wildfire as she glared at him. “Who. Is. She?”

“Uh…” Javier racked his brains to try and figure out a way he’d be able to save this situation. But the longer he took to answer Nina’s question, the more infuriated she got. “Informant.”

That wasn’t exactly a lie. You’d agreed to help him. But whether or not you’d actually be able to provide Javier with any relevant information was a different ordeal in itself.

“You’re still sleeping with your informants?” Nina gasped a little, clicking her tongue and shaking her head in disappointment. “Why am I not surprised?”

Javier sighed and rolled his eyes, pulling himself off Nina’s bed and grabbing his denim jeans that had been previously discarded on the floor. “C’mon Ni, don’t get jealous now. We haven’t been together for like, a year.” Javier hummed, zipping up his pants. His eyes darted around the room as he tried to locate his shirt. Maybe there was no fixing this. For a split second, he’d forgotten why things had ended with Nina, but now it was becoming clear again. He just had to get outta there. He needed air, and a smoke. 

“I let you cum inside of me and you moan out another woman’s name!” Nina exclaimed, shaking her fists in the air. “Javier Peña I fucking hate you!”

Javier offered Nina a small shrug of his shoulders before finding his shirt and buttoning it up. “I’ll see you around Ni.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Called him seventeen times Con, he’s taking the piss.” Steve grimaced, aggressively flicking to the next page of the Bogotá local newspaper.

“Will you just calm down? He’s our friend. We’re doing him a favour. He'll be back soon,” Connie sighed, glancing back over to you, where you had been sleeping on the sofa for the past two and a half hours. “She sleeps better than our Liv,” Connie noted. “Wish we could sleep as well as that.”

Steve hummed in agreement. “I’ll go check on Liv.” He announced at the mention of his daughter. He’d put her down for a nap about an hour ago in Javier’s bedroom.

“No honey, I’ll go. You keep working on your crossword,” Connie giggled before pointing her index finger into one of the blank squares. “Fourteen down: Los huevos revueltos.” 

“I would’ve got that,” Steve huffed, scrambling to write the answer down. He definitely would not have. The Spanish puzzle was made for infants and yet he was still struggling.

“Whatever Murph.” Connie rolled her eyes, leaving the table where they were both sitting at. 

The second she left the room, you woke up in a cold sweat, feeling dizzy and shaking from a nightmare you didn’t want to remember. Your cheeks were wet, tear stained and goose pimples pricked at your arms. You checked your surroundings in a fluster, not recognising the brown leather couch you were laying on, or the oak wood coffee table in front of you, or even the television pushed against the cream coloured walls. A man with blonde hair and mustache raced over to you, and dropped to his knees, holding you by your shoulders.

“Are you okay?” The man quizzed, his blue eyes searching to meet yours. You were horrified, the feeling of an unfamiliar man grabbing you like this. You screamed in terror, and defensively dug your fingernails into his skin. The man yelped out and stumbled back from you, hitting the coffee table in the process. “Fuck-- shit-- ow--” He gasped. “Connie!” he called. “Connie, she's awake!”

The way he yelled and screamed your name... it was like you were some kind of monster. You hated it.

The sound of footsteps padding into the living room alerted you, and a woman, not much older than you, knelt down in front of you. But unlike the man, she knew well enough to keep her distance. “Hi sweetheart, are you alright? I’m Connie, don’t be afraid. You’re okay.” she assured you, her voice sweet like honey. 

“Where am I?” you choked out, tears filling your eyes. 

Connie hesitated for a moment. “She doesn’t remember where she is?” Steve asked Connie with concern, scratching the back of his neck as he pulled himself together and shuffled over to you. Taking a note out of Connie’s book, he kept his distance. Connie briefly explained to her husband how your behaviour right now actually made a lot of sense, and how victims of PTSD can often have ‘memory blanks’.

“Darling, I’m Connie Murphy. I’m a nurse. And this is my husband Steve. Steve is DEA. He’s friends with Javier Peña. You know that name, right? Javier Peña.” She repeated his name slow and steady, allowing you to take your time to process the words. Javier Peña. Just like that, a wave of calmness washed over you. His name felt like home. It felt like safety. 

“I know Javi.” you whispered in admittance, shuffling around on the sofa. You could feel your lips trembling. It was strange. You were new to Bogotá, and you didn’t really have any friends, other than the late Rosa. And well, Javier too. He was a client, sure, but he was always kind and gentle with you, unlike your other customers. You’d like to think of him as a friend. Right now, he was the only person you had. 

“This is Javier’s place. He’s going to watch over you for a little while, okay?” Connie explained. “We are your friends and we’re not going to hurt you. I promise,” the lady soothed. She turned to Steve. “Bring over Olivia.”

“What-- why?” Steve quizzed, his eyebrows furrowing together in bewilderment.

“She needs to know she can trust us. Bring over Olivia,” Begrudgingly following his wife’s instruction, a wary Steve stood up and padded into Javier’s bedroom where Olivia had been left to sleep in a small, transportable crib. He picked up his daughter and carried her into the living room. “This is my daughter Olivia,” Connie told you quietly, smoothing out Olivia’s black hair. “She’s one year old. Would you like to hold her?”

“Connie are you fucking crazy?” Steve snapped.

“I’m a fucking nurse Steve, I know what I’m doing.” Connie hissed back, taking Olivia from her father. She looked back over to you and her deep frown turned into a comforting smile as she slowly handed you the baby. Connie’s hands never left Olivia, and she made an effort to support her head as you cradled the sleeping baby in your arms.

Holding Olivia Murphy gave you a feeling of responsibility. If Steve and Connie were dangerous, they would never have shown you their daughter, let alone allow you to hold her in your arms. You contemplated everything and although it was hard, you decided that you probably could trust them. Still, it raised the question: “Where is Javi?”

Steve shook his head incredulously and stood up, grabbing the phone from one of the side tables and dialling his partner’s number again. You didn’t know what was wrong with the blonde haired agent, but you got the impression that he did not want to be here.

“Steve is going to call him, again. He went to get groceries. I’m sure he won’t be long.” Connie informed softly, and you nodded your head. 

“Your baby is adorable,” you announced quietly and Connie smiled, thankful you were beginning to talk a little more. Seemingly, you’d calmed down, which meant Connie’s comforting approach had worked.

“She’s a real gem, isn’t she?”

Javier was just a couple of blocks away when his carphone began to ring. He eyed up the display and read the ‘17 missed calls’, cursing under his breath. He clicked the accept button and continued to drive.

“Javier Peña. You prick.”

“Hi bestie.” Javier grinned, shaking his head at Steve’s introduction. Typical.

“You left us here for three fucking hours with some random girl -- who, by the way, is incredibly unstable, Javier. I don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, but I’m not here for it. Where the fuck have you been? No, forget that. You better be home in the next ten minutes and you better have the ingredients for my fucking paella.” Steve growled before angrily slamming the phone down on the hook.

Javier couldn’t help but chuckle. Steve Murphy was ever the drama queen.

As he drove down the street, he made one final attempt to shrug off what had happened with Nina. Okay, yeah, saying your name was a little uncalled for. But she always got so needy and possessive -- even when she had no reason to be. Nina and Javier weren’t exclusive and hadn’t been for a long time, so, what was her deal?

What was even more concerning to Javi, was the fact he said your name in the first place. Nina looked rather similar to you. Not identical, but from a distance, there was a chance she could’ve been mistaken. Only, when he was pounding into her from behind, he wasn’t at a distance. In fact he couldn’t have been any closer, and yet he still said your name. He was really struggling to justify it. 

Sure, he’d been thinking about you when he was inside of her. But was that really so bad? You were clearly on his mind, and Javier just pinned that down to the fact he’d been out all day investigating the crime scene at the brothel. He’d been with you, he’d held you and comforted you. Fuck, even before noon he had been fucking your mouth. It wasn’t exactly unreasonable…

But moaning out your name… shit, could Javier really get past that? Was there any way to justify that -- other than the blatant and glaring honest reason that Javier refused to admit. He wouldn’t even let his mind go there. Whatever, it was fine. He was home now. The end of a long day.

Javier grabbed the groceries from the back of his car and buzzed himself into the DEA apartment block where he and Steve were living. Making his way over to his apartment, he opened the front door and set the brown paper bag of ingredients down on the kitchen counter. When he got home, Connie was just finishing up painting your nails a beautiful sea blue gel colour. She turned around and she looked up at Javier. Your eyes, however, were already fixated on him the second he entered the room.

“Where’s Steve?” Javier asked, diverting his gaze from the two women and continuing to unpack the food. 

“He went home. He’s pissed, Javi.” Connie admitted, shaking her head in annoyance and placing the pot of nail polish on the coffee table. She walked into the open space kitchen and nudged the agent.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Javier muttered, stacking the canned goods into a cupboard.

“I’m going home, but don’t think we’ve forgotten about the paella. Steve wants that fucking paella,” Connie chastised. Javier nodded his head but remained silent as he emptied his bag of shopping. “Unbelievable.” Connie scoffed incredulously, and opened the front door before slamming it behind her.

“Thanks Con!” Javier called, but there was no telling if she even heard.

Javier was half way through putting his shopping away when he heard your meek and softly spoken voice call his name in a questioning tone. His dark eyes looked over at you. You were sitting upright on the sofa and his face softened. Stopping what he was doing, he neglected the bag of groceries and padded into the living room to sit down next to you. 

“Hi.” Javier murmured, crossing his legs and adjusting the crochet blanket that was covering your lap. 

“Hi.” you replied, feeling somewhat shy and slightly nervous, for a reason you couldn’t quite place.

“How are you feeling?” Javier asked, bringing himself to look at you.

“Um,” you fumbled at the blanket and thought for a moment. It was a loaded question. Other than the overwhelming feeling of distress and helplessness, you decided to give the agent a simple answer. “Well rested. A little thirsty.” 

Javier nodded. “How would you feel about taking a bath?”

You swallowed back a knot in your throat that you hadn’t even realised was there in the first place. “...Do I smell?” you asked, You stretched out and gave your underarms a sniff, prompting Javier to burst out into laughter. Shit, had you always been that adorable? Your nose scrunched up at the distinct smell of dried up blood on your clothes and your shoulders slumped sadly. Javi, noticing your change in demeanor, gently lifted up the blanket and wrapped it around your body.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he cooed. “Believe me, I get stinky too. It happens. Let me help you take a bath. Come with me.”

Taking his hand, Javier navigated you towards the bathroom. It was a small boxy room with barely any space to move around, and yet, to your surprise, it fit a bathtub. Javier twisted the faucet, and the tap began to run warm water. He picked up a bottle of bubble bath and a tub of salts. “I have a bad back,” Javier told you. “These salts really help me relax. And the bubbles are nice too.”

You nodded with a smile. As he emptied the contents into the tub, you watched the products swirl into a colourful abyss. “It smells like you.” you uttered, without really thinking about the weight of your words. Javier said nothing, and you both sat by the side of the tub in comfortable silence, watching as it filled up. He occasionally dipped his hand in the water, checking the temperature.

“Will you be okay?” Javier asked you, taking out a towel and folding it up on top of the toilet seat.

You weren’t really sure, but you nodded your head anyway. Just as he was about to leave, you spoke up again. “Actually, Javi, could you stay?”

Javier fumbled a little but smiled. “Yeah, of course.”

Javier had seen you naked countless times due to the nature of your job but for some reason, this time, it felt different. He’d never had a woman use his bathtub before, let alone be requested to stay in her presence as she got undressed and stepped inside. You slipped out of your sultry, blood stained dress and let it pool to the floor. Javi’s mouth parted as he took in your naked form under the amber tinted bathroom lights. 

You stepped inside the tub and almost slipped over, but Javier, as quick as lightning, grabbed your arm and steadied you. “Sorry,” he muttered, and your hand slid into his. As your fingers interlocked, you felt something. It was like a bolt of electricity, running up your arm, and judging by Javier’s reaction, he could feel it too. “I should’ve warned you. It can be a little slippery.”

You giggled and tried to tear yourself from Javi’s grip, but he didn’t let go of you once. Instead,  he helped you sit down comfortably amongst the bubbles and aromatic hot water. You moaned, feeling your body become indulged and your muscles soften. You smiled and laid back, the bubbles fizzing around your neck and chin, and Javier felt his heart swell in his chest as he noticed your lips curl into a smile. It was the smile he would kill to see, and he hadn’t even realised how much he missed it.

“Just relax,” Javier soothed. “I’ll be back faster than you can count to ten.”

Javier ran into the kitchen and took a glass from one of the cupboards before racing back to the bathroom. Kneeling down by the side of the tub, he dipped the glass into the water, filling it up, and gently emptied it down your hair. 

“Close your eyes,” he requested, continuing to wet your hair ample enough until it was ready to be shampooed. Taking the bottle of his musky scented shampoo, Javier squirted the thick liquid into your scalp and began to massage it in. You couldn’t believe how gentle he was, and how he was taking his time with you. You’d never in a million years imagine Javier Peña being like this, or acting this intimate, with any woman -- especially not you. To be honest, his own behaviours were even coming to shock Javier. But he just let his instincts take over. He wanted to protect you and make sure you knew just how safe you were. That was the most important thing on his mind.

Once he rinsed your hair, he grabbed some soap and a sponge, handing them to you. “Do you uh-- uh-- do you think you can wash your own body?” He asked, his dark eyebrows knitting together. “If not, that’s okay. I can help. But--”

You smiled and rested a wet hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay Javi. I’ll be fine.” you promised, taking the sponge from him. 

“I’m going to find you some clothes to change into.” He told you. “Shout if you need me. I won’t be long.”

And he stuck by his word. Javier raked through his drawers and picked out a pale yellow button down shirt that he hadn’t worn in a few years and a pair of boxer shorts. Padding back into the bathroom, he presented you with them. “It’s not much but it’s all I have,” he told you. “I’m sure Con will take you out shopping at some point. Or we can hop on back to your place tomorrow to grab some of your stuff,” You smiled and stood up, making sure to be careful not to slip this time. Javier held out the towel for you and wrapped you in it. “I’ll leave you to get dried.”

When Javier went back into the kitchen, he figured he should put the rest of the groceries away, only to notice that the once frozen paella ingredients had become defrosted and been rendered completely useless. “Shit.” Javier cursed, pushing them to one side and running a hand through his hair. Looks like after all of this, he couldn’t make paella tonight. He knew he was about to get an earful from Steve at work tomorrow.

“Do you like pizza?” Javier called, rummaging around for a take-out menu and grabbing his phone from the counter.

“I do!” you called back, buttoning up Javier’s shirt and wrapping a towel around your head.

When you padded into the kitchen, dressed in Javi’s clothes, the agent felt his throat dry up. You were a sight to behold. You smelt distinctly like him, but you already looked one thousand times better now that you were clean and comfortable. You felt better, too. It was amazing what a bath could do to you. You shimmied onto one of the bar stools Javier kept by the counter and rest your elbows against the laminate. Javier passed you the menu so you could look over the dishes.

You agreed on a simple chilli pizza, which was one of Javier’s favourites anyway. Javi called the deli and asked for a large, planning on sharing it with you. Remembering that you’d mentioned you were thirsty, he poured you a glass of water and handed it your way.

“Steve is gonna be so mad at me tomorrow,” Javier chuckled, rubbing his temple. You peeked up from the glass that you nursed and looked up at him through your eyelashes. “I promised him paella and I’m not gonna be able to make it tonight. Not only that but he’s gonna ask me where I’ve been. He’ll know I wasn’t out getting groceries for three hours.”

You furrowed your eyebrows together and tilted your head. “Three hours? Where were you?”

Javier paused and absent-mindedly brushed a finger along his mustache. “I bumped into an ex at the store. Went back to her place and-- you know.”

Your eyes fell back into your glass of water. “Oh.”

Javier picked at his short fingernails and another sigh left his lips. “Shit, I just--” he shook his head. “Made a mistake. A very big mistake.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Yeah, that would probably be for the best but how could he even begin to tell you what happened, when you were part of the problem? Javier figured it might even scare you away. “It doesn’t matter… she’s just…” Javier scratched his head. “She’s fine. It’s a ‘me’ problem, I think.”

The doorbell rang and Javier was grateful for the interruption. He paid the pizza delivery guy and sent the stone bake on the table.

“It looks good,” you smiled. “I’ve never had Colombian pizza.”

Javier’s jaw dropped. “You--?” He shook his head in disbelief. “Dulzura, how long have you lived here?” 

“A month,” you grinned, with a mouthful of pizza. “Tastes good.”

After you’d finished eating, it had gotten pretty late. You and Javier exchanged small talk, learning little things about each other. You liked it a lot. He had always been an enigma to you, and even though he offered little information, it was still something, and you appreciated that a lot.

“It’s been a difficult day,” Javier noted, folding the pizza box and throwing it away to be recycled. “You should take my bed.”

“No,” you insisted. “I’m fine on the sofa. Honestly.”

Javier sighed. “I’m not going to let you sleep on the sofa any longer. You’ll get back ache.”

“Then I’ll just use your bath salts.” You smirked in retaliation. Javier laughed and you relished the way small crinkles appeared in the corner of his honey coloured eyes.

“Please, take my bed.” Javier said, staring at you pointedly. His eyebrows were raised and his strong arms were crossed over his chest.

You were about to argue further but truthfully, sleeping in a bed tonight sounded like exactly what you needed. You took a few steps closer to Javier, a pool of butterflies swirling in your stomach as you broke any distance between you both. You wanted to kiss his lips so desperately, taste him once again. It was only earlier today you’d had your lips wrapped around his cock, and yet, so much had happened in between then and now. You wondered if Javier was thinking about it too.

“Get some sleep, hermosa.”

Your eyes were completely trained on his soft pink lips. You wanted to kiss-- you just wanted to kiss him. Just one kiss. Just one-- you leaned in and shut your eyes, and neared him, closer and closer... but Javier stepped away.

And you felt your heart shatter in your chest.

“Nothing personal,” he told you. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Nothing personal? How were you meant to accept that? You had literally sucked him off just a few hours ago and now he wouldn’t even grace you with a kiss? Maybe Rosa was right; you shouldn’t form crushes on clients. Especially not Javier Peña. You’d only get hurt. You tugged on the sleeves of his button down shirt and balled your fingers into a fist, trying to ignore the pain in your chest.

Without uttering a word, not even a ‘goodnight’, you sulked away and into his bedroom.

Javier wanted to shout out. He didn’t want you to be mad at him, or even upset. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt you. It took him all the strength he could muster to deny you of that kiss. Your perfect lips looked so soft and delicate and if Javier could have it his way, he would’ve taken you in that very moment.

But you were more than just a sex worker now. You were a compliance in the hunt to catch Escobar -- and he had to be careful. No matter what, he couldn’t risk losing track of the bigger picture.

-—-—-—♡—-—-—-

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[jayoctodot]

The Silent Patient vs The Maidens

I will start by saying that I understand the appeal of these novels as page-turners. They are easy to read and if you want a twisty reveal at the end, you will probably be entertained and satisfied. That being said, I am SO CONFUSED by the near-universal adoration of The Silent Patient and the reasonably positive reception of The Maidens. The weaknesses of the two are strikingly similar, as well, which doesn’t give me much hope of seeing improvement from this guy, though I am intrigued to see whether he keeps repeating the same (apparently successful!!) patterns. These books were at least super fun to hate.

(For context, I read The Maidens for a bookclub I'm in, because several of the members had read and loved The Silent Patient, and one of them gave me a copy of the latter to read on my own time. I loathed The Maidens and then read The SP for comparative purposes. And because I'm a masochist, apparently.)

SPOILER WARNING! Do not read on unless you've finished both books (or unless you care not for spoilers). Sorry if it gets a bit shouty.

Here are the similar weaknesses I noticed in both:

PSEUDO-PSYCHOLOGY

-> Weirdly similar “group therapy” scenes early on where a cartoonishly unstable patient arrives late, disrupts the meeting by throwing something into the middle of the circle, and is asked to join the group after the therapist(s) speechify on the importance of boundaries (HA! None of these therapists would know an appropriate boundary if it kicked them in the ass) and debate whether to “allow” the patient to join. Both scenes are so transparent in their design to establish the credibility/legitimacy of the narrators as therapists, but instead both Theo and Mariana come off as super patronizing. The protagonists are less and less believable as therapists at the stories progress (though at least Theo’s incompetence is explained away by the “twist” at the end; Mariana, on the other hand, is confronted in the opening pages of the novel by a patient who has self-harmed PRETTY extensively, and rather than ensure he get proper medical attention, she essentially throws him a first aid kit and tosses him out the door so she can pour herself a glass of wine and call her niece... and it devolves from there).

-> Ongoing insistence throughout the narrative that one’s childhood trauma entirely explains the warped/dysfunctional way a character behaves or views the world, which is why the books go out of their way to give EVERY potentially violent character a traumatic childhood; when Theo insists that no one ever became an abuser who hadn’t been abused themselves, I wanted to throw the book across the room. (That is a MYTH, SIR. GET OUT OF HERE WITH YOUR ARMCHAIR PSYCHOLOGY.)

-> Female murderers whose pathology boils down to “history of depression” and “traumatized by a male loved one/family member.” Because, as we all know, depression + abuse = murderer!

-> The “therapy” depicted in both books is laughable and so so unrealistic, mostly because neither narrators function as therapists so much as incompetent detectives, obsessively pursuing a case they have no place pursuing (or skill to pursue - both just happen across every clue mostly by way of clunky conversation with all the people who can provide precisely the snippet of info to send them along to the next person, and the next… until all is revealed in a tired, cliched “twist”). Their constant Psych 101 asides were so tiresome and weirdly dated (also, the constant harping on countertransference got so ridiculous that at one point during "therapy" Theo literally attributes his headache and a particular emotion he feels to Alicia, as though the contents of her head are being broadcast directly into his mind... and I'm PRETTY SURE that's not how it works???)

CHARACTERS

-> Psychotherapist narrators with abusive fathers and pretensions of being Sherlock Holmes, which results in both characters crossing ALL KINDS of ethical lines as they invade the personal lives of everyone even tangentially connected to their cases (and, in Theo's case, violate all kinds of patient confidentiality. Yeah, yeah, by the end, that's the least of his offenses, but before you get there, it's baffling that NO ONE is calling him out on this).

-> All female characters are either elderly with hilariously bad advice, monstrous hulking brutes, or beautiful bitches (except for ~MARIANA~, who is Bella Swan-esque in her unawareness of her own attractiveness, despite multiple men trying to get with her almost immediately after meeting her. I'm so tired of beautiful female characters being oblivious to their own hotness. Are we meant to believe all mirrors and male attention have escaped their notice? If it’s to make them “relatable,” this tactic really fails with me).

-> All characters of color are shallow, cartoonish side characters, and most of them are depicted as unsympathetic minor antagonists (the Sikh Chief Inspector in The Maidens continuously drinks tea from an ever-present thermos, and his only other notable characteristic is his instant dislike of Mariana, whom he VERY RIGHTLY warns to stay out of the investigation that she is VERY MUCH compromising… the Caribbean manager of the Grove is universally disliked by her staff for enforcing stricter safety regulations at the bafflingly poorly run mental institution, because HOW DARE SHE. There's a very clear vibe that we're supposed to dislike these characters and share the protagonists' indignation, but honestly Sangha/Stephanie were completely in the right for trying to shut down their wildly inappropriate investigations).

-> "Working class" characters (or basically anyone excluded from the comfortably upper-crust, educated main cadre of characters) are few and far between in both stories, but when they show up, he depicts them as such caricatures. We got Elsie the pathologically lying housekeeper in the Maidens, who is enticed to share her bullshit with cake, and then a TOOTHLESS LEPRECHAUN DEALING DRUGS UNDER A BRIDGE in the SP. I kid you not, a man described as having the body of a child, the face of Father Time, and no front teeth, emerges from beneath a bridge and offers to sell Theo some "grass." I was dyinggg.

-> There are no characters to root for. Anywhere. Partly because they’re all so thinly drawn — and because we’re clearly supposed to view almost ALL of them as potential suspects, so they’re ALL weird, creepy, or incompetent in some way.

-> The flimsiest of flimsy motives, both for the narrators and the murderers. Theo fully would have gotten away with his involvement in the murder if he hadn't gone out of his way to work at the Grove and "treat" Alicia and his justification for doing so is pretty weak; his rapid descent into stalking and murder fantasy and his random ass decision to "expose" Alicia's husband as a cheater with a spur-of-the-moment home invasion and staged attempted homicide is ONLY justified if the reader hand waves it away as WELP, HE'S CRAZY, I GUESS (after all, he DID have an abusive father and a history of mental illness, and in Michaelides novels, that's ALL YOU NEED to become a violent psycho). I guess we're lucky Mariana didn't also start dropping bodies (because the logic of his fictional universe says she should definitely be a murderer by now... maybe that'll be his Maidens sequel?). But she especially had NO reason to randomly turn detective - and she kept trying to justify it by saying she needed to re-enter the world or that Sebastian would want her to (??), even though she had no background in criminal psychology... or even a particular fondness for mysteries (really, I would've accepted ANYTHING to explain her dogged obsession with the case. WHY were Sebastian and Zoe so certain she would insert herself into the investigation just because one of Zoe's friends was the first victim? WHY?). As for Zoe and Alicia, their motives are mere suggestions: they were both abused and manipulated, and voila! Slippery slope to murder.

WRITING STYLE

-> Incessant allusions to Greek tragedy and myth, apparently to provide a sophisticated gloss over the bare-bones writing style, which opts more for telling than showing and frequently indulges in hilariously bizarre analogies. Credit where credit is due — the references to Greek myth are less clunky in the SP, and I liked learning about the Alcestis play/myth, which I hadn’t heard of before - but OMG the entire characterization of Fosca, who we are meant to believe is a professor of Greek tragedy at one of the most respected universities on the planet, is just absurd. His "lecture" on the liminal in Greek tragedy is essentially the Wikipedia page on the Eleusinian Mysteries capped off with some Hallmark-card carpe diem crap. The lecture hall responds with raucous applause, clearly never having heard such vague genius bullshit before.

-> Super clunky and amateurish narrative device of interludes written by another character; Sebastian’s letter reads like a mashup of Dexter monologues and Clarice’s memory of the screaming sheep, but by FAR the worse offender is Alicia’s diary, where we’re supposed to believe she painstakingly recorded ENTIRE CONVERSATIONS, BEAT-BY-BEAT DIALOGUE, even when she’s just been DRUGGED TO THE GILLS with morphine and has mere moments of consciousness left… and even before that, she literally takes the time to write “He's trying the windows and doors! ...Someone’s inside! Someone’s inside the house! ETC ETC” when she thinks her stalker has broken in downstairs. WHO DOES THAT?)

-> Speaking of dialogue, the dialogue is so bad. Based on his bio, Michaelides got a degree in screenwriting, which makes his terrible dialogue even more baffling.

-> HILARIOUSLY rendered voyeur scenes where the narrators spy on couples having sex. Such unintentionally awkward descriptions. First we had Kathy’s climax sounds through the trees and then the bowler hat carefully placed on a tombstone before the gatekeeper plows a student. Again, I died.

PLOT/"TWIST"

-> The CONSTANT red herrings make for such an exhausting read. Michaelides drops anvils with almost every character that are so obviously meant to designate them as suspects in our minds. There is absolutely no subtlety in his misdirections.

-> The “crossover” scene between the SP and The Maidens makes no sense - when in the timeline does Mariana’s story overlap with Theo’s? They confer just before Theo starts working at the Grove, obviously (though Mariana appears to be the one who alerts Theo to the job opening there? Whereas in the SP, Theo has been obsessively tracking Alicia since the murder and had already planned to apply to work there?), but then are we supposed to believe that while Theo has been psychotically pursuing his warped quest to “help” Alicia, he’s also been diligently treating Zoe, so invested in her case that he repeatedly reaches out to Mariana to get her to visit Zoe and even writes Mariana a lengthy letter to convince her to do so??? And then a couple days after The Maidens ends, Theo is arrested???

-> But the thing I really did hate the most is how Michaelides treats his female murderers (who are both also victims themselves) as mere means to deploy a “twist”; there’s no moment spared to encourage our sympathy for Zoe, who was groomed and manipulated by the only trusted father figure in her life, and even after spending a decent amount of time getting to know Alicia via her ridiculous diary, where it’s so apparent that she’s been demeaned, objectified, manipulated, gaslit, and/or used by EVERY man in her life, she’s sent packing to spend the rest of her days in a coma… HOW much more satisfying would it have been for her to succeed in exposing Theo and reclaiming her voice? But no, she basically rolls over when he comes to finish her off (SPEAKING OF — ARE WE SUPPOSED TO BELIEVE THERE ARE NO SECURITY CAMERAS IN THIS INSTITUTE FOR THE CRIMINALLY INSANE????), writes one last diary entry, and drifts off forever. And then a couple pages of nothing later, the story is over. GOODNIGHT, ALICIA!

Both books kept me rolling throughout (by which I mean eye-rolling but also rotfl). Maybe I will check out his next effort — I’m morbidly curious what he’ll turn out. It does leave me wondering whether I should give up on thriller novels entirely, though. Are many of the weaknesses of these novels just characteristic of the genre? Maybe I'm just holding these books to unfair standards? I'm mostly only familiar with thriller films — many of which I think are amazing — but maybe you can get away with more in a film than you can in a novel.

...I really only intended to write a handful of bullet points, but more and more kept coming to mind as I wrote, to the point where subheadings became necessary. Whoopsie.

[yellowbluemoonshine]

The Wrong Way to Put Out Fire

I wanna talk about some details about Touya, Todoroki family and the different situtions Touya and Shouto had.

Touya is introduced us as innocent, nice kid who just wants to enjoy his father.

Thats actually first difference we saw between Touya and Shouto. Sometimes children fond of one of their parents more than other one. For Touya, he was daddy’s boy. Shouto is more like mommmy’s boy. (Even their clothes are parallels. Fire, ice. Daddy, mommy.)

And let me say this;

This marriage was wrong to begin with. Quirk marriage, the fact that Endeavour decided to put his ambitions on his children is wrong.

But as a first born, for Touya, his family was normal. Children dont magically understand what is right or wrong.

He simply saw that he got his father’s attention and it made him really really happy. Training was the bond he had with his father. Touya’s thoughts probably like; I am daddy’s son, my father is really happy when i become more strong etc etc.

Even he realize his family is different from other people, he probably simply thought that it might be different but its their thing. This is why we saw Touya as happy. Touya felt special when he got his father’s all attention.

And Touya saw his mother is okay with it. He probably saw that many times even when father being disrespectfull, mom doesnt seem to mind that much. This is probably why he starts to looks down on his mother too. Its just children dont respect adults who dont respect theirselves. If child think he can get away with it, they would simply do it. Mommy allows daddy to be the boss of the house, mommy allows daddy’s to be disrespectfull to herself so its ok to disrespectfull to mommy too. Thats how children think in those situtions.

What was Shouto’s difference then?

Shouto as last born, he never think his family is normal or this sitution is okay cause when Shouto is born, everyone in family already starts to break down. Mommy wasnt okay at all.

Endeavour put his own ambitions on Touya’s shoulders, he gave him impossible expectations which is literally name of the chapter. Wrong way to put out the fire. Those impossible expectations is abuse, btw.

Everything started cause Endeavour put out fire on wrong place, his family.

And after Touya failed, he was thrown away. Touya probably felt like; his father took him to the highest hill of the building, made him feel special but then threw him down.

Touya started to get the attention he had at first place to the point he started to burn himself over and over again. Look at how terryfying he looks when his brothers were born...

At this point, he understand he is replacable which made him question why was he born at first place.

Of course, Touya wouldnt listen Endeavour when he said ‘there is a life outside of being a hero’ cause Endeavour himself doesnt live his life like that. Children arent stupid, they observe adults’s actions too. Endeavour’s words condract with his actions thats why his words didnt reach out to Touya.

Touya was in a lot of pain to the point his heigh stopped growing (Look how he is shorter than his siblings), burns himself, his hair starts to change probably cause he used his quirk too much, he even starts to pull his hair which is sign of suicide. He was literally small kid who was mentally breaking down and he expressed his pain every way he can do but he was ignored.

Fuyumi-chan didnt understand him. Natsuo-kun doesnt listen him either. (Touya thought Fuyumi-chan didnt understand her cause she is girl but the reason she and Natsuo doesnt understand is they didnt have the same expectation at first place.)

And mommy is at fault too cause she is the one who allowed daddy to raised him like this at first place. She is the one the accepted this marriage, she is responsible too.

For a child, to be understood is very important thing but they didnt get it. He realized his siblings dont understand him. Even though, Touya was so mentally unstable to the point he attack his baby brother, his parents still didnt get him help or didnt specifically take care of him, instead they constantly ignore him. They kept telling him to forget what happenned and look other way.

This is exactly why Touya couldnt hold on something else cause in deep, he knows only way to be seen is prove himself.

For Touya, his mother didnt there for him. His mother allowed this to happen too. This is why his situtions are opposite of Shouto’s.

Touya thought family is normal, his daddy loves him, this is why training was fun.

This is why he end believing everything Endeavour taught him. Even he uses same words, literally in same chapter.

‘I live in different world from others.’

Shouto realized family isnt normal and father is the one who make everyone unhappy. This is why he hated training cause he realized father is forcing him.

For Touya, mother wasnt there for him and ignored his pain.

For Shouto, his mother was there for him, this is why she became his emotional support.

This is also why Shouto tried to protect mom cause Rei at this point was really in pain and she was reaching her breaking point. Mommy is there for me, i love mommy but dad make mommy upset, dad is the bad guy here.

Meanwhile for Touya, he didnt really see his mom as sad, he saw her being okay with sitution, thats why he probably think that the way Endeavour treat her as normal cause she accepted this sitution.

All those opposite situitons made them think opposite way. Not because one is good or bad, its just they had different kind of abuse. (Also hair symbolism is nice parallel too).

Though despite opposite situtions, they were also similar too. They were so cold child soldiers who only think about getting revenge from father, just opposite way cause Shouto has.

Touya waited his father to come forest to watch him but Endeavıur didnt come until Touya was burn to death.

Touya’s death wasnt just an accident but its both also suicide and murder. Touya was suicidal, he kept burning himself but parents didnt look at him and Endeavour is the one who push him this mental state. Even Touya says himsef;

 ‘After all, the only  thing he taught me was how to turn up the heat’

Touya had to burn and reborn to get daddy’s attention again but even after his death, he was hardly mentioned by his family. I mean if Dabi never become a villain, they wouldnt even discuss this case as family.

And i honestly dislike how Todoroki handle this sitution.

Rei says everyone is responsible but Shouto, Fuyumi and Natsuo were children, its not their fault. Rei is at fault for not being there for Touya and Endeavour is the most at fault for making Touya mentally unstable. I hate how children carry the mistakes of Endeavour, it wasn their fault.

And with their talk, they made it sound like Shouto is better than Touya cause look, he became a hero and he forgave them!

I mean, Shouto didnt have much choice cause Endeavour forced him to be a hero. Even Endeavour wasnt there, Shouto had emotional support (mom) and inspiration (allmight) to be hero, he also has strong qurik so no wonder he can be hero, you know. But Touya didnt have any of it. He didnt have emotional support, inspiration to be better or strong quirk.

Not even need to mention how both Early-Shouto and Dabi obsess with revenge, cold child soldiers who dont pay attention to people around them. Just Shouto was in better environment and then he met Deku and he started to heal.

Even Shouto saw himself in Dabi, how he could be like him but he was lucky to be saved. Even their wound smbolically shows their pain. For Shouto, it was boiling water but for Touya, it was very strong fire that will burn him to dush.

Yeah, Dabi is villain but even so. To Deku, Shigaraki is completely stranger but he still thoguht that he needs to be saved. Meanwhile, Todoroki family knew what happenned to Touya. They are personally involved with him but i found it weird it how they didnt mention about ‘saving him’.

I mean maybe thats what they will try eventually but still....i think heroes are good, villains are bad sitution contnues even in this sitution cause they say Dabi is the one who needs to be stopped and Endeavour is the one who take a hand.

Shouto needs to offer that hand to Dabi, not Endeavour cause the one who needs to be saved is Dabi/Touya, not Endeavour. 

Not to mention how Best Jeanist and Hawks coldy listen sitution.

I guess, even after this, they still dont really look at Dabi’s pain cause if they saw it, at least they would talk about helping him more than stopping him...what a tragedy.

Touya, after everything he had been through is still ignored, even by his own family, remind me of Tenko’s sitution :’))).