#and yet my soul is filled with catharsis

[sabotourist]

bow chicka bye now

[earlgraytay]

I keep seeing discourse on my dash about whether or not we should be teaching ~challenging~/emotionally rough books in elementary and middle school, and I think there's a very important point that all of this discourse is eliding.

What counts as "too rough/traumatizing" heavily depends on the kid.

Two kids in the same class, from the same background, at the same developmental and reading level, might have wildly different reactions to a book. To take an example that's less likely to generate insufferable discourse than anything dealing with ~marginalization~:

Say you have two kids in the same class. One kid is a sensitive, sweet soul who loves dogs more than anything in the world. The other kid just lost their dog, is still grieving, and needs some catharsis.

Your class is supposed to read Old Yeller, or some other kids' book about The Death Of A Dog.

For the first kid, that book is likely to mess them up a little. It might seem like brutality for the sake of brutality. They might not fully understand the concept of death yet, or they may not be ready to grapple with the idea that dogs can die. It might be something they need to read, even if it'd mess them up- but it might also just hurt without any real benefit.

For the second kid... whether they're ready to read that book would heavily depend on how they're grieving and whether they're ready to think about a dog dying. It might trigger them and make them feel worse. But it might actually be helpful for them and make them feel less alone. Other kids have had to deal with their dogs dying and have lived through it. It might give them emotional tools they need to get through this.

But unless you know these kids really well and have the chance to tailor how you teach the book to them? You're likely to screw both of them up without any real benefit.

If they have to fill out fifty million worksheets about What The Dog Dying Means In Old Yeller, they're going to have to think about something they're not ready to think about over and over again. They're not likely to learn whatever you're trying to teach them about death or empathy or tragedy- they're just going to remember that English class was about depressing books about dogs dying and remember how much it hurt to get through. And they're going to be put off reading anything you might read in English class, because it's just going to hurt, right?

The one-size-fits-all model of education most schools are being forced to adopt means that we can't mold what kids read around what they need and are ready to hear; we have to make every kid read the same thing, at the same pace, with the same worksheets.

You can't decide, 'hey, this kid might not be ready for this particular book, here's a book that hits some of the same thematic notes but is less graphic'.

You can't take the time to make sure that a student who's reading a book that might be rough for them is okay, give them time to decompress and debrief, or let them process what they're having to deal with. You can't let them take a break from the book after they hit a point that is graphic or triggering. You can't let them sit with their feelings about it.

You can't take the time to make sure that the marginalized students in the class are okay after reading a book about oppression that affected people like them, or take the time to make sure that their non-marginalized classmates who said boneheaded things about the book know why what they said wasn't okay without publically yelling at them.

Hell, you can't even choose books based around what your students would be interested in and want to read. You have to make a lesson plan to teach like 50 students; you don't have time to pick things based around their individual likes and dislikes.

Nope. It's just on to the next book, the next worksheet, the next test.

Teachers are forced to take on classes that are way too big for any one person to manage, teach emotionally hefty books without giving kids time to process what they've learnt, and teach to tests instead of giving kids time to empathize and understand.

The problem is not specific books. The problem is not privileged people's fragility. The problem is not even individual teachers. The problem is a systemic problem with how American schools teach literature.

Until we fix the system? Yeah, plenty of kids are gonna get fucked up from reading Lord of the Flies or Where the Red Fern Grows when they're not ready to tackle it. Because their teachers do not have the time or spoons to gauge whether they're ready, and do not have the luxury of letting their students deal with things at their own pace.

[tristayranambrosio]

"Suppress/Pastel" Day 2 - February 19 DWC

(So unexpectedly everyone enjoyed the little peek into the cast around Trist's past, specifically Jezza inspired by one of my old DND partners and his interactions with my table-top bard. So maybe this DWC is just going to be more of their super dysfunctional relationship full of angst and unrequited feelings. Its tragic but beautiful and I hope it remains entertaining!)

I watch my tall brute suppress a smile as his thick weapon callused fingers brush the delicate pastel petals of Palehoof’s latest bouquets that decorate the Cabaret. The moment he notices I’m watching he stiffens and hunches, cutting a glare at me for admiring his secret self… I don’t know why he bothers, I’ve felt first hand who he really is, and no one here after closing would care if he was honest with himself. About me… Sometimes I allow that to itch at me, but then again… that’s not what I am. I promised that I would never let myself feel any sort of entitlement to their secrets, my many Sweethearts and patrons, that’s now what I set out to do… and I had fleetingly considered dropping the topic all together with Jezza given he was after all in the band now, but every time I pulled away, he’d seize me by the arm and pin me in some hidden corner and ravish me with the sort of Reckless abandon that he so vehemently flights to suppress. There’s so much passion in his brutalized soul, and I catch glimpses, fragments of the person he is… He loves the softer touches that answer his brutal ones, the gentle caresses that I follow his violence with. Sometimes I think he hates me, and this is all some outlet to soothe some hurt my people did to his, but then he’ll allow just enough of himself through that I see the admiration, the envy that I am unabashedly myself where he cannot be or thinks he cannot be…

Regardless, his glare never dissuades or intimidates me, if anything it emboldens me because being a ragdoll he can throw against a wall one moment then kiss hard enough to split my lip the next has a certain appeal and catharsis, for both of us… I realize that he’s still glaring and answer it with a smirk so wide it makes his face darken with what to everyone else would seem like outrage… I see it for what it is; He’s flustered, imagining the soft petals in his fingers were my lips given they match my pink… So I part them and wet my lips meaningfully and I pop one of my hips resting a fist against it. His dark magnificent skin flushed red tusks and teeth clenched in a snarl, and wide chest rumbling a growl at me, His jet black locks are still tussled from when I pulled them from their braids giving him this wild rugged handsome flair to his fury, He looks unhinged to the untrained eye… And yet I know he’s barely able to suppress the urge to touch me, and rip me out of my clothes. I belong to no one and everyone and yet I admit, my Drummer doesn’t let me think about belonging to anyone ever… all while never saying anything but holding me so tightly against him that he may as well be the stocks himself, like that could make me his… But that’s not what I am… Instead he lifts me by both arms. Restraint a forgotten courtesy that I’ve lost the ‘privilege’ to… and I live for it. He pulls me behind the Crimson curtains that our venue takes its name from and he palms my jaw as he has his fill of me and me of him… He’ll quit tomorrow, declaring that I’d conned him, tricked him into bed again… He’ll break new drumsticks, put fists through a snare, and before I even manage to fix them he’ll be back… awkwardly offering me a rose wordlessly and sitting to help me mend the damage he’d done on his way out, because that way he doesn't have to leave.

@daily-writing-challenge

[proseinborderland]

Musical Magnetism

Kyuma x OFC

Rating: Mature / NSFW / 18+

Description: Kyuma has a transcendent experience with a fan following a show. & Smut ensues.

♦ . ♣ . ♥ . ♠ . ♦ . ♣ . ♥ . ♠

Prologue

It was a show like any other, full of energy, cheering, singing, dancing, catharsis, freedom, expressionism, filled with that tangible feeling of transcendence permeated through the air and I indulged in that energy, basking in the praise from my fans. It was one of the only times where I truly felt alive. When I sang, my soul poured out from my mouth into sounds that pleased the ears of others. I loved how they always seemed to want more. 

I could feel her energy as she stood there, dancing in her spot to our music. Singing my own lyrics back to me in a way I'd never seen or felt. It 'felt' as though she understood every minute of emotion behind every song. I felt myself becoming increasingly intrigued by her and tried my best not to give myself away; however, I couldn't help making eye contact with her. Afterall, She was in the front row. 

Once our eyes met, we couldn't stop looking away, quickly looking back, smiling, and looking away again. Rinse and repeat. I was never one to indulge myself in the carnal comforts often offered by my fans and yet there this beautiful creature was, radiating something more than the rest, shining brightly amongst the sea of bodies in the crowd behind her.  

And now here she was in my hotel room.

♦ . ♣ . ♥ . ♠ . ♦ . ♣ . ♥ . ♠

Part One

“Is this something you do often?” she questioned, as we sat on my hotel bed. 

I shook my head without hesitation, “No, it is not. … although, I won’t lie to you, I am guilty of doing this twice before.”

Her body stilled and her skin flushed. The rise and fall of her chest changed slightly. She averted her eyes to the carpet. I could almost feel her become increasingly more timid as seconds passed and it was then that I knew my candor must have been too forthright for her liking.

I reached out, cradling her face in my hands, as I began to speak to her with slow sincerity. 

“No, no, my dear, please do not mistake me. I want us to enjoy this moment together tonight. I want us to share ourselves with one another and experience all of the pleasures that our bodies can compose. You and I have created a spark that has ignited something strong inside of me, it is full of passion, and that passion is you…” I trailed off and leaned forward, a kiss ghosting over her cheek. 

Though her head was still nestled between my hands, I felt her slowly ease back, just enough to see me, as her eyes re-emerged from the carpet to examine my expression, and then finally meeting my own, which were filled with openness and love.

“Remember when I said I wouldn’t lie? Please trust once more when I vow that I’ve never quite seen nor sensed anyone feel my music the way I witnessed it with you tonight …not even close.”

Involuntarily, her body replied with a sharp intake of air as she gasped and trembled under my touch, causing the blush in her cheeks to deepen. I slowly eased her closer to my face, sensing her yield to my touch, as I brought our lips together in a lingering closed mouth kiss.

“Is this still okay?” I asked

“Yes.” she swallowed, slowly and nodded her head against my own.

♦ . ♣ . ♥ . ♠ . ♦ . ♣ . ♥ . ♠

→ Part 2

→ Link to my AO3

✨Huge thanks to my lovely mutuals! @chishiyashoodie @boohbear19 @sweetflanfiction @brdpch ✨

[eyeofnu]

So, I've had some strange ragin' feelings about Astarion's story. Having survived various Dragon Ages, hyperfixation in itself wasn't probably the issue here. I followed BG3 in EA, got hundreds of hours in it by the time of the release, however I felt intensely anxious about following the full story through, and it took me a while to understand why. I've been expecting unavoidable tragedy in Astarion's story, it seemed there couldn't be even a "feel barely salvageable" let alone a "feel good" ending for him in the game. Something magnitudes more soul wrenching than "meet Alistair the local drunk" was ahead.

Say, we come and kill Cazador, does it make sense if any of his spawn continue existing afterwards? Would it make sense for all of them to wither away the moment he's dead? What if the only closure for Astarion lies in true death? What if the only other choice for Astarion is to fill his master's coffin? There's nothing but heartbreak past Act I, is there? And, most importantly, how the fuck am I going to reassemble the aching pieces of myself after following through with this?

After playing the full game and following through with the weeping catharsis version of Astarion's story, I felt both relieved and tricked, somehow. The way he thanks Tav for helping him to stay himself felt heartbreakingly reminiscent of yielding to more abuse, as if Tav, by stopping him from completing the ritual himself, broke what little remained of him, molding those remains into something he decidedly was not: one and whole salvageable person. I really wanted to give into this and treasure this as the sweet victory, that closure that couldn't be, but failed at that miserably because it felt unreal (yes, ironic, but we all already made one humongous compromise lending ourselves to using a D&D RPG as a thrift yet effective therapy tool, so here we are!).

Being the save scum I decidedly am, of course, I've replayed, and this time Astarion completed the ritual and ascended. Dying once again, loosing any trace of what was left of himself and becoming his master in all but name. That coldness perfected, that theatrical arrogance refined and that fragile connection turned into a choice between total submission or total loss, the changes fell like glass shards, tearing and chipping away at my sanity s'more, fulfilling all the expectation of doom I've had before release, and, suddenly, I realised why the weeping catharsis narrative exists in the first place the way it is.

Silly me, thought I, walking hand in cold hand with him into Underdark once more, heartbroken, hastily mended, but alive.

[extraordinaryhistories]

#5 – 'Demetrius' (A Sun Came, 1998)

In this project, I have generally attempted to keep my expression of personal, subjective opinions on Sufjan’s music well within reason. A quick glance at any relevant online message-board would show that there is a wide diversity of opinion around his discography; some people love certain songs I dislike and dislike certain songs I love. I never wanted my writing to be totally prescriptive. The point was to explore the story of Sufjan – what do his music, his lyrics, the trajectory of his albums tell us about themselves, and about his trajectory as an artist? Every song is to be appreciated on its own terms. The wretched ‘I’ would only be a secondary consideration, included to add some colour here, some light there. Certainly I would be pleased to express my particular admiration for a song – and this is Sufjan, so I really do admire most of them.

With ‘Demetrius’, I fear I cannot help myself. This song is my least favourite Sufjan Stevens song. It is horrible. Utterly horrible.

The most credit I can give to ‘Demetrius’ is that it is certainly aware of its own horribleness, and actively leans into it. The implicit sardonicism of so much of A Sun Came is at an absolute nadir here. This song wants to be ugly and it achieves its aim. But unlike a song like ‘Satan’s Saxophones’, ‘Rice Pudding’ or even the much-later ‘Saturn’, it is not particularly noisy or dense, and so there is very little catharsis to be found in its leaden, dissonant guitar riff, its tremolo-laden backing vocals, its intentionally jarring solo. It even features an attempt at a conventional vocal melody that might have been served decently with a different accompaniment. ‘Demetrius’ is so blatantly unmusical, and yet it just sort of... washes over you. A song like this should punch, but instead it just shrugs – it is a sloppy, humid wet blanket of a thing that without fail makes my skin crawl. You don’t feel battered by it; you just feel violated.

Of note is that ‘Demetrius’ is really two songs combined into a single unit. There’s the slacker rock first half, and then there’s the second half, probably the single most offensive thing to ever make it on a Sufjan album, an inauthentic pastiche of Arabic folk music written and performed – terribly – by a Caucasian man from upstate Michigan. Now, listen. I do not want to feign outrage. I am aware that the female singer in this part, Ghadeer Yasser, has Arabic heritage; it clearly had her blessing and her input. The intent is in the right place. This does not change the fact that it is a terribly arranged piece of music (to my ears), a section that gives an abysmal impression of Arabic music to the inexperienced listener. Arabic folk music is some of the most spiritual, grand, soul-affirming music you will ever hear (listen to Fairuz, or Umm Kulthum, and bask in its splendour.) ‘Demetrius’ is not that. The woodwind line, repeating incessantly across the Arabic section, might be the most annoying melody that Sufjan has ever committed to tape, and the half-hearted rock interjections – a burst of feedback here, a clumsy drum fill there – only worsen things. When the song finally crashes into a wall of organ and cymbal noise, there is no sentiment left to feel but relief. Tetelestai!

Lyrically, ‘Demetrius’ is more surreal, indistinct Greco-Romanry on an album full of it. There are references to an archer and to Bactrian kings, but it never forms into coherent narrative, and the second verse is more concerned with forcing improbable rhymes than anything compelling. The point being that there is very little in ‘Demetrius’ to properly latch on to. You will not find anything in the music, and you certainly will not find anything in the lyrics. I hear a song like ‘Demetrius’ and all I think is ‘...why?’ Why was this necessary? What does it bring into the world? I suppose the natural rejoinder is ‘why not?’ But I have never heard a Sufjan song that fails to justify its own existence quite like this one. If you enjoy liquorice, waterboarding, waiting rooms, Mrs. Brown’s Boys or getting stabbed repeatedly in the face, this is the song for you.

[reem-jasser1]

watermelon Kufiyah

The creation of my art piece was nothing short of a miracle amidst the turmoil of war. I never imagined I could muster the strength to draw again under such circumstances. The thought of leaving Palestine, my heart's home, filled me with a deep sense of anguish and despair. Why should we be forced to abandon our roots? Yet, life threw me a harsh challenge. I had to consider the unthinkable leaving to survive. Amid this chaos, the image of a watermelon lingered in my mind. A symbol of resilience and hope, the watermelon has a special connection to Palestine. Creating art has been my sanctuary, a refuge for my soul in times of distress. Each stroke of the brush, each blend of colors, is a form of catharsis that soothes my troubled mind. Art has been my anchor, grounding me in moments of uncertainty and chaos. As I reflect on my art journey and the healing power it has bestowed upon me, I envision turning this piece into a T-shirt. A wearable piece of art that carries not just colors and shapes but also a narrative of survival, resilience, and the unbreakable bond with my homeland. If this art speaks to you as it does to me, would you wear it proudly as a symbol of strength and solidarity? Now you can order the design in any style you like from the Zunnarsitty website. Unisex short-sleeve t-shirt: https://lnkd.in/dqK_N8Ss Unisex long-sleeve t-shirt: https://lnkd.in/d_45T6Ka

[penhive]

April 10th 2023

Last night I had a dream of seeing a courier and I looked for it in the dream dictionary and it said that the dream of delivery signifies prosperity and success. It also rained last night as the sound of clashing cymbals on the roof. Thunder was the sound of swine defecating. The earth became a wet vagina. I saw a cherub prancing in the sky and its wings were a playful color of many hues. It was an angelic poem, a finesse of a dancer in rendition. Here the school in I am working as an English teacher belongs to my mother and wife. I am being paid no salary except the allowance to buy fags. I can barely make both ends meet. I have been writing affirmative prayers for winning lotteries but I become sullen when I look at the results. Writing is the only art which gives me immense pleasure. I wonder why God is turning a deaf ear to my prayers. Writing for me is the art of passion, a song of the muse, a poetry of the bird in flight. I have reached 52 years and sad to say, I have no savings. Yet I live by faith knowing that God will provide. I have disowned God many times but he has been generous in forgiving me. God has offered me a prodigal welcome, and idiom which means acceptance with flaws. To sin and make mistakes is being human, but I have God’s magnanimity as forgiveness. My faith has kept my alive and making my life a bouncing reality. I sometimes wonder what I am as a self. I wonder where I am going in the journey of life. Yes, I have wishes, goals, dreams and a reality. Sometimes my relatives look down upon me as the black sheep of the family. I don’t mind as I know fully that God will elevate me at the right time. God is celebrating my life as the last supper.  The Holy Communion is a beautiful epiphany, when Christ said that this is my body and this is my wine and eat it in remembrance of me. The Holy Communion releases the soul of negative energy and makes the mind in affectionate catharsis. The Holy Communion is an art which becomes an experience of being made in the likeness of God. We don’t need to go to church but we can take Holy Communion ourselves and I do it with water and bread. Every day I ask God to help me transcend the novelists, poets and philosophers that I have read and the painters that I have seen. I have an inspiration to paint Jackson Pollock’s abstract drip painting. My experience of art in my school days was a sad and deplorable one. I was caned constantly by my art teacher. It took me years to escape out of this prison. It’s my dream to visit art galleries and write narratives. I long to be the Picasso of the pen. God as the muse is my guiding light. I love the Greek religion where Gods and Goddesses are liberal and permissive. My body is a carnal Epicurean machine where as my soul is divine as for the God of Judaism and Christianity. Meaning is the labyrinth of possession. My wallet is filled with praises and invocations but to this day it is devoid of cash. Yes the Judaist God blessed both Isaac and Ishmael the sons of Abraham. Their generations have become Arabs and the Jews. I wonder why God is not blessing me. I am not giving up my faith if God and I will not let go until he blesses me. I think about the life of Gauguin the French impressionistic painter. Gauguin abandoned his family and job and departed to Tahiti for the sake of art. Yes to be an artist writer one has to sacrifice and sometimes I wish to follow the path of Gauguin. To want to be an artist is to have an inner calling. Writing is the beauty of experience. It’s a sedative tool that triggers my bipolar mind to creativity. It has to be free of the shadows of conformism and belief.  I have been fascinated by the sign theory of structuralism. In it a sign is made up of the signifier and the signified a thing which is sensible and the other an idea. Suppose I say that Hitler hated the Jews, Hitler is the signifier and hatred the signified. When the idea of the sign in put into practice, it becomes one of experience. And the sign becomes an experiential state of possession, affirmation, appropriation, passion, ecstasy and so on. The sign becomes something beyond its concept in structuralism. I would also like to add on my view of existentialism from the writing of Philosophers: Sartre and Camus. The Philosopher Camus in the myth of the Sisyphus said that Sisyphus is punished by the Gods to roll a boulder uphill which to his agony rolls down and he is forced to repeat this meaningless task. From it Camus said: life is meaningless, absurd and chaotic. I rewrite Camus absurdist philosophy by introducing Prospero Prometheus for whom life is a celebration of meaning.  For Prospero Prometheus life is an authentication of existence.  Sartre condemned man as he is the solely responsible for the choices that he makes. I rewrite Sartre by saying that choices that a man makes in his life make him a privileged being. My two core existentialist philosophies are: one, life is a celebration of meaning and the other, the choices man makes make him privileged being.

[roseygoddess-blog]

The idea of this post is to just word vomit and see what sticks. It’s been a while since I’ve done any sort of writing so I just wanna see what I can do.

I’m reminded of a short story I once wrote in school. All I remember was that it was set near water and featured a sad girl. How apt. If you end up reading this - enjoy. It’s been a while.

I took a deep breath. The waves thrashed, water foaming at the mouth like a sick animal. I dug my nails into the palms of my hands hoping to feel some sort of ache, a blistering awareness of how crazy I must look standing in the middle of a beach, 8pm on a Wednesday, rain lashing down my face, staring out motionlessly to the ocean. If I was to see someone else like this I’d probably call down and see if they needed help, check they were okay. Instead, it’s me that’s stuck in the sand.

Shaking the thoughts free from my head I stare back out. My therapy session was tough today. Finding out your brain doesn’t work in the “usual” way is kind of a shock to the system. I always knew I had my shit, never doubted it for a second, but to hear that from a professional? To hear that maybe, just maybe, I’m not just lazy, unmotivated, not good enough. Maybe I’m just different.

The air washes over my back and I take another deep breath, filling my lungs with the salty sea air, feeling the sea spray hit my cheeks. Or maybe it’s the rain. It’s hard to tell anymore, the weather is getting worse yet I’m powerless to move, stranded by my own doing. One of my goals in therapy was to find a bit of peace in all the mayhem. I tried it once by walking along this same beach, in the quiet evening, hoping the sounds of the waves softly lapping on the shore would calm my tangle of thoughts. Instead, it just made me anxious. Anxious about the fact that I’m not calm, instead I’m not really feeling... Anything at all.

Turns out that what my soul needed was catharsis. I wanted to see my rage played out in the anger of the ocean, see my hurt and pain fall in the sheets of rain, feel my fear in the wind bristling the hairs on the back of my neck. I am at one with the world, and it’s not pretty or calm or peace. It’s anger and rage and nature. It is a piece of me, held so tightly within my very being. Ready to come out. Ready to feel safe again. Ready to be heard.

I grab my phone out of my pocket and look at the screensaver. A picture of me, my partner and our two beautiful children. I am reminded that within this rage that there is beauty, love and warmth. The rage is a piece of me but the love is so much more, it envelopes me suddenly, filling me to the brim and bringing me out of my fixation. I slide my phone back into my jacket pocket, retrieving my gloves in the process. I blow hot air through my hands to start the warming process before slipping the delicate black gloves on. I take one last look at the ocean before I turn and head for home.

[desirepathzine]

A couple of months before the Covid 19 pandemic sent me home from college, I was unable tot listen to anything but Head Like A Hole by Nine Inch Nails. Walking to and from class, sittng by myself, pounding through the blackbox speakers at 1030 at night when I could just lay on the floor and listen.

I'd been on the fringes of trad goth music for some time (the on-repeat listening prior to Head Like A Hole was A Letter to Elise by The Cure), but something about the mechanized anger of industrial was breaking me open in a different way. Powerful, vulnerable, LOUD.

I had been familiar with Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross' soundtrack work. One of the most foundational films of my youth was The Social Network, David Fincher's 2010 piece about the founding of Facebook, a movie that on release felt cutting edge and has only grown in prescience, feeling like an apocalyptic prophecy from a time before the site became synonymous with conspiracy theories and election fraud. The score to The Social Networrk was like nothing I had ever heard before. I, a homeschooled, deeply neurotic, deeply Christian tween was not in an environment conducive to listening to Nine Inch Nails yet (my mother regularly admonished me for the 70s punk that filled my iTunes library). But those sounds, sometimes desolate, sometimes manic, always compelling, were on constant rotation for years. I wrote many school papers and stared out many car windows to The Social Network score over the years. And always just kind of put the band itself off for another time.

That time arrived. I was 21, and feeling more and more like a person with something to say, ready to graduate into a world that I was eager to be a part of. That did not happen. In March of 2020, I was sent home for a two week spring break that turned into a forever spring break.

With nothing holding me together, confined to a house I had not wished to return to, and in circumstances that literally comprised my worst nightmares (I have long been a hypochondriac who used to have real and actual panic attacks about the outbreak of a new virus), one of the only effective ways I had found to cope was throwing myself into the music of Nine Inch Nails.

NIN as a band seems remarkably suited to pandemic times. Songs like "Every Day Is Exactly the Same" and "We're In This Together" felt almost too on the nose in the everyday banal struggles of the early Covid era in America. But for me, the most catharsis came from the bombastic rage of their famous Woodstock 94 set.

Trent Reznor and co. took to the stage absolutely coated in mud, fighting weather and faulty equipment, and smashed through a set of their early work, becoming the talk of the festival, and setting a high watermark for the culturally explosive year of 1994, perhaps the only time in history a band like Nine Inch Nails could chart as high as they did. The set features a rabid performance of Happiness in Slavery, two songs that were featured in classic films from the year (their cover of Joy Division's Dead Souls as featured in The Crow, and Burn from Natural Born Killers), Trent saying fuck on PPV TV and being quite pleased with himself, a sound issue riddled performance of their Grammy award winning "Wish" in which Trent still manages to scream the infamous "fist fuck" line into the mic, a tech team scrambling to dodge Yamaha DX-7s, guitarist Robin Finck getting tripped up in guitar chords and eating shit during Down In It, and in general, the sort of controlled chaos that I most strongly associate with Nine Inch Nails. The first time I watched this set, I was spellbound. Pretty Hate Machine, NIN's first album, was absolutely made to be heard live. As soon as I heard Trent option up into a scream on Terrible Lie's last verse, I was sold forever. To say nothing of the whirring rage of Sin, which remains my favorite Nine Inch Nails song most days.

I watched this performance, at minimum, twice a week. I too felt like a small screaming Trent Reznor, covered in mud, rolling around on the stage. It was cathartic, captivating, and a good way to mosh it out between zoom classes to finish my degree and anxiously watching the Covid case counter march steadily upwards.

Shortly before all hell broke loose, Nine Inch Nails was announced as an inductee into the Rock N Roll Hall of Fame. Normally, this entails an induction ceremony with a performance by the bands. (The 2020 class would have been particularly strange, seeing as three of its most famous entrants had passed on, Marc Bolan of T-Rex, Whitney Houston, and The Notorious B I G) . But nonetheless, I was looking forward to it.

Just as I did not to have a graduation ceremony in December of 2020, there was no cathartic reunion of past members for Nine Inch Nails. Just as some guy I didn't even know read my name from a list on a livestream, so Nine Inch Nails was given a slickly produced video package and a pre-filmed introductory message from Iggy Pop (it would've been cool if Iggy Pop read my name at graduation though).

I felt a sort of kinship, however small, in this fact. Culminations of years of hard work and promised celebration postponed and reworked again and again and again.

In 2021, as the vaccines rolled out and events little by little started to reappear, the Rock Hall museum reopened, and installed an exhibit for the 2020 class. There, right next to a Depeche Mode display, was enshrined a tribute to the Woodstock 94 performance, lovingly rendered with mud and all.

I immediately knew I had to see it. After some discussion, I begged it off as a graduation trip a year in the making, and in June of 2021, after vaccination, during a dip in cases prior to the Delta variant arriving in the states, my dad and I took a roadtrip to Cleveland. My dad, not a NIN fan by any means but a music lover who knows the kind of impact a band can make on a person, graciously escorted me up the country and listened patiently as I infodumped about my favorite band and made him listen to a lot of goth music in the car.

The day we arrived at the museum, I calmly took in the multitude of sights at the Rock Hall, moseying through relics of music history and reading all the plaques, but I was abuzz. I knew what floor the new inductees exhibit was on, and I knew when we were approaching. I sprinted off the escalator and there was the alcove, there was the installation, and blasting loudly in the little room was "We're In This Together". I had made it. I cried.

That in and of itself would have been a good full circle moment, but unbelievably, the story gets better. I ended up in Cleveland again a year later, seeing a q and a with NIN at the Rock Hall, where members past and present got together to celebrate the band's legacy, and the next day got to see all of them perform together, some for the first time in years, at the Blossom Center in Ohio. Sitting in a small lecture room with the folks who had made such a strong impact on my life and kept me going through some of the roughest times I had ever known was incredible. They were older, wiser, and all extremely gracious and very funny.

They resurrected the NIN Woodstock installation for the occasion, but I was too busy getting coralled into a VIP line to go to the Q and A and catching my best Discord friend after they tripped down the escalator to hug me to go see it. I hope other folks got to see it and have their full circle moment. It's crazy to think that a mannequin in raggedy clothes covered in fake mud with a DX-7 could have had such a big impact on my life, but every time I see a picture from my trip, or just the image itself out in the wild, I am overcome with emotions.

And now, as I enter yet another era of my life where things are uncertain and hard, I hold my two road trips very dear. As ever, thanks Trent.

[catharsislair]

devoid of infamy yet good deeds ain't that easy in the battle against myself victor i never seem to be

i'm left in ruins by my own insecurities digging wells, burying unknowns not wanting to hurt the one i love i'm lying to myself and losing trust

betrayals, missteps, absurdities catharsis no longer feels good shame and regret fill me up while i pretend to be who i'm not

honestly honesty is not honest if i'm lying countless times to fulfill some temporary needs while my future is jeopardized

hypocrisy defines me as my urges break through yet i never know what i'm supposed to do i'm not as helpless as i look i'm just an awful person by the book

i need to help myself if i want to feel whole because i know his absense would bury my soul six feet underground is where i ought to be if this fight is to be lost when i'm against me

09.11.21

[authoroux]

I’ve Published Twenty Books, Here’s What I Know: There’s a lot of speculation about authors who write books quickly, speculation that I’ve always found odd, borderline insulting. It’s nobody’s business, but I’ve always written quickly, in extreme, sometimes unhealthy, obsessive bursts to outrun and outsmart the self-doubt and mental illness that has affected me my entire life. I’m guessing some of you can relate. It’s the way I know how to do business, so that’s how the business gets done. And honestly? I can’t remember the last time I wondered how long it took an author to write the book I was enjoying. I mean, I don’t care if it took them ten days or ten years, I’m just pleased their imagination dances in harmony with mine. I’m relieved they took the time to create something. Because creation is hard. This job is hard. Really hard. Impossible? Occasionally. I’ve had to rewrite entire books in a matter of months to fulfill an edit. I’ve had to just plain write first drafts in a matter of months, because that was the time allotted. I’ve worked through severe illness, debilitating depression coupled with ADHD, through breakups and traumas, through devastating loss. On the worst day of your life, someone will be sure to DM and let you know your book sucks ass. You will be the lone woman on panels, constantly ignored and condescended to. You will have a launch event to promote your book and the host will interrupt to talk about male authors he obviously wishes you were. Someone will raise their hand in the middle of your panel and ask for your number. It will get weird, exhausting, and numbing.

This job requires a tremendous amount of fortitude. It paradoxically asks that you remain a sensitive lil bean, open to the world and your own emotions, while also demanding an adamantine shell to survive it.  More than once I’ve wanted to walk away from it, just disappear somewhere and open a retirement ranch for senior chihuahuas, never to be perceived again. So, why continue? Why write books 21, 22, and so on? There’s a line in the new Critical Role book that I’m proud of, it goes: To venture out, that is the mandate of the soul.

Try. Go. Walk out the door. Go to the desk. Jot down that idea, follow it, see where it goes. Venture. Fail. Do it again.

There’s more venturing to do, in my imagination and in this career. Joy and rage still howl to be let out. And there are readers, wonderful readers, to keep entertaining or to eventually meet. There are a dozen moments of catharsis, light, and pride for every moment of frankly unbelievable bullshit. You start to recognize the same readers in your mentions, and grow fond of them, looking forward to their comments and likes. You receive kind, curious emails seeking advice. You meet incredible people running the same hard race and you learn from their wisdom and grace. You make lifelong friends. Someone you idolize will ask for a blurb, and your heart will turn into a thousand singing senior chihuahuas. You will work with editors and copy editors and PR folks that will stun you with their creativity. You will listen to audiobook performers bring your words to life in wholly unexpected ways. A parent will approach you with their kid at a signing and tell you Asylum was the first book their child read, and now they love reading. All those experiences and moments expand your heart until it’s so big that it’s ready to soak up more rage and joy, and barf it back out into the world behind a hard cover.

Maybe most importantly, you will sit quietly at your desk, weeping over a story that you’ve finally finished, filled to bursting with all the fears and hopes of a new parent. You will write THE END, and then, the next day, open a fresh Word doc and do the whole hard thing over again.

I’ve published twenty books. I am so damn proud. And yet, the work has hardly begun.

[sasorikigai]

kiss+pull ( modern!hanzo please <3 )

‘ via the system of touch ’ || @mamoriitai || accepting

kiss.  for your muse to kiss my muse.

pull.  for your muse to pull my muse close to them.

💥 || They were the same, Hanzo Hasashi and Sayuri Iwasaki; for in their chests, they each carry a broken heart and a will of iron. They hold their heads high, because they know what they are worth. The wretched world’s flavor of love may strangle him, burn him from the inside out, but how it had birthed his own renaissance; reborn, because Hanzo refused to stay broken, and he was made to expand his viewpoint, lest his heart-wrenching, unrealized love was synonymous with agony, gutting him from the inside out. 

How could he ever do this to his own flesh and blood? Words still couldn’t describe the unfathomable pain he felt, can’t describe how Harumi and Satoshi’s deaths robbed him of his innocence and natural mirth he used to exude through the spark beneath his eyes. Perhaps all these irreversible memories could be summated to a homesickness for a home to which he cannot ever return, a home which maybe never was and never meant to be his; the nostalgia, the yearning, the deep, abysmal grief for the lost places of his past. And yet, his eyes could never wilt beyond the desiccated ash and dust - for each small resilience and resolve he would summon would bring a resplendent sunrise, as tongues of longing transformed him to speak unbreakable motivation and toughness. Commander Hasashi kept making the choices and he let the shift towards halcyon happiness flow over his life. 

And the moon tonight had risen - red, blood red, as if signifying Hanzo Hasashi’s mortal sins that were about to unfold in the entangled, barbed subconscious of his wrath-filled resolve. Now, thunderous butterflies softly flutter in his heart, a symphony of destruction manifesting as reconstructive catharsis as each beat roars against his well-developed pectorals. How Sayuri had opened up his heart, ceaselessly quenching Hanzo in sorrow’s flames, even as he writhed like melting wax beneath the impervious austerity of his somber intensity. She had been the one who also operated from a place of hurt, yet she was patient with him, allowing him the time to get through it. He could be made to write silently through an eventual rapture, as his love towards her and vice versa materialized to become something that couldn’t ever be captured with words and gestures alone.

With such conviction and purpose, his rugged and yet refined hands meet tender hips of his beloved, as his pronounced profile tilts to meet her lips. Such vicious professionalism of a Tactical Force Commander significantly mellows beneath the oozing tenderness, as Hanzo begins his gradual descent into exquisite bliss. The scintillating twinkle of numerous stars above them kiss his heart, and embeds themselves in the honed intensity of his eyes. How his entirety vibrates with resplendent life; causing love to float in the intense red and black of his mangled soul. From deep down to high up, how Hanzo Hasashi reaches in and inward for light. For her flesh drowns and focuses him to listen to the solar flare of the sun as his lips move to kiss, magnetically drawn, speaking words never said, but otherwise transferred through their carnal entanglement. 

How it leaves him delectably fed, yet starving; as profiles twist in both strange and beautiful way; contorting them, changing them, enveloping them, until they become some creature of the night in the moment of tenebrous darkness. Hanzo wishes to bestow an ocean of bliss, a sensuous kiss of which there are no likes, an affection that would soon rain from the skies, both literally and metaphorically. 💥 ||

[seraphiism]

' i wanted you to see a mess and still find me worthy of love, to tell me that you could still love me anyway ' ( georges bataille ) for Mr. Hot Mess himself, Dimitri Fire Emblem?? 💋

𓆩 ღ 𓆪 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

( i wanted you to see a mess and still find me worthy of love, to tell me that you could still love me anyway. )

chara : dimitri alexandre blaiddyd fandom : fire emblem: 3 houses quote cr : georges bataille

the soul is not meant for ruin, but dimitri's is carved of sorrows, intricate with havoc and grief everlasting. it is a miserable thing, succumbing to blood lust as he did once before. he remembers it too vividly : vibrant hues of crimson, endless screams that rang loudly in his ears. they haunt him to this day, following his every step in slumber. he accepts them with remorse ; it is a punishment, but it is one he deserves.

dimitri deserves many things, few of them good. so why is it that you remain here with him? why is it that you have never left his side, even when your weapons clashed in desperate attempt to stop him from a dreadful path taken?

( in the losing of himself, he learned that something remained : the desire to be accepted by you ; the longing for you & the love you carried. how selfish he is, this foolish king, to yearn of acceptance and undeserved forgiveness. )

"i've made too many mistakes." he laments, fingers gripping the balcony railing so tightly his knuckles turn white. "there is too much blood on my hands, yet you--"

his voice nearly cracks, but the words come to a halt when you place your elbows on the railing, looking up at the night sky and the stars that accompany her. it is a beautiful sight, you think, and you smile, peaceful in your existence.

it is a beautiful sight. dimitri is overwhelmed with regret and adoration one in the same, and it's too difficult to swallow. he looks to the stars as well and wishes that he was not selfish.

"you love me." he says. he will choose to ignore the way you look at him now because he does not think he could handle such gentleness. "you love me even when i am undeserving of such things-- when i have committed horrible atrocities."

( and he hopes to every god that you do not deny such a fact. he thinks you should; you should tell him that you don't love him, because you deserve better than him. but could he endure such heartbreak? )

"dimitri," your voice feels closer now, footsteps quiet in the night, "it's cold." he turns to face you, uncertainty reflected in blue hues as you timidly grab his hands, guiding them to your hips. "hold me?"

he does. he holds you carefully, cautious in the way he pulls you closer to his chest. your arms wrap around his neck in reciprocation, fingers running through blond locks.

"thank you." you whisper against his skin, closing your eyes in a new warmth found.

it is silent for a long while. you pay attention to the way tension leaves your lover's body, find the courage to speak when you feel that both of you are ready.

"you are not who you were before. you know this, dimitri." your lips ghost over his neck as you speak, entirely aware of the way his pulse quickens. "i knew who you were before that, who you were then, and who you are now. i love you all the same."

something brews in his lungs, wraps itself around his ribs. something akin to infatuation and relief, similar to the returning of home after a long journey's end. he could use a thousand expressions but none would come close to describing the love that fills his heart until it is on the brink of bursting. he swallows hard, feels the tears pool in silent veneration. he buries his face in your shoulder, murmurs endless i love you's that nearly go unheard.

( somewhere in this night, you will both remember it as a memoir of reaffirmed confessions and the birth of self-forgiveness. you will keep this memory, hold it tenderly just as you hold each other, and know that there is a catharsis in new beginnings. )

[mizutori-heiko]

Mizutori’s bakudeku fanfiction master list [complete works]

Really really good writing by these incredible authors. In no particular order! These are all Top!Bakugou and Bottom!Deku. If A/B/O dynamics then it’s Alpha!Bakugou and Omega!Deku. Yes, I have preferences.

Canon World – until 15k

What The Fuck Did You Just Call Me? by reading_raindrop | 8,303 | Izuku starts calling him Bakugou and it pisses the explosive teen off a lot more than he thought it would.

Oh right, you were a little sh*t by SaysiWrites | 5,653 | When Midoriya Izuku gets hit by an age-reversion Quirk, the last thing anyone expected to find out is that Toddler-Izuku is a little shit. Except for one Bakugou Katsuki, who has seen this phase one too many times already. (Bonus+ the entire Little Sh*t (Kidfic) series)

Do Not Disturb by surveycorpsjean | 10,010 | Apply enough force, and something is bound to break.

And Atlas fell by supercrunch | 15,185 | They move in together, after a while. Katsuki joins Best Jeanist and Izuku trains under Gran Torino. They still take comfort in each other every day, curl up in bed and kiss and talk about how life is going. Their live are tumultuous, after all, what with villains and training and rescuing people every week. It’s nice to have something certain. At the end of a day filled with violence and adrenaline, Izuku knows he can come home to someone concrete. It’s perfect. Being a hero is scary and grueling and uncertain, but this part is just right. And then, one day, a child dies in Izuku’s arms.

be loved by bonnia | 5,403 | The kidnapping incident leaves bakugou traumatised about being touched on the back of his neck, and midoriya decides to take matters into his own hands.

Big Protein by Mysecretfanmoments | 13,683 | Bakugou Katsuki has a thriving hero career, an agent to manage his famous attitude, and absolutely zero romantic interest in anyone. With the exception of his favourite health food joint refusing to expand to his city, his life is pretty damn perfect—so why does a viral video revealing Deku's stash of dirty mags involving him and Deku together turn everything upside-down?

Chocolate cake and resin preserved flowers by Anoksun | 11,396 | Izuku loses his memories. Katsuki struggles not to lose Izuku too.

Twin Stars by theperksofbeinglarissa | 8,435 | When Deku saves a woman's life, her quirk is accidentally activated. Her quirk? She reveals a person's soulmate. A star-shaped mark appears on Midoriya's left arm... and on Bakugou's as well. Kirishima is the only one who knows that Bakugou is Midoriya's soulmate, and Bakugou isn't taking the news very well. Can the twin stars of class 1-A work out their differences and find their happy ending?

Unhealthy Fixations by Thesis | 12,522 | Izuku is an adult who knows better than to crush on his childhood bully. AND YET.

Like the Moon by osakakitty | 14,781 | Katsuki Bakugo is having constant, erotic dreams about Izuku Midoriya. He isn’t sure why, but they won’t go away. In order to make them stop, he needs to figure out what Izuku Midoriya means to him.

Worth a Second Shot by cinnabee | 13,080 | Katsuki and Izuku celebrate registering as a Hero Duo together with a big party. What could go wrong?

Like Something Out of A Shoujo Manga by Merrywetherweather | 2,971 | Deku ends up in a rather interesting quirk accident, one that triggers flag events as if he were the protagonist of an otome game.

Canon World – 15k++

Blood Moon by lalazee | 94,860 | The Thank-Fuck-We-Aren’t-Dead Sex had started then, and had never really stopped. Then came the feelings and the fights. The ego, the pride, the jealousy. And then there was Us.

The Way You Used To Do by edema_ruh | 669,463 | During a battle, Midoriya gets hit by a villain whose quirk detaches his soul from his body. Stuck in a ghost-like state, the boy enters a race against time in order to save himself from permanently dying. Much to his luck - or lack of it -, the only person who can see and talk to him in this state is no one other than Kacchan.

Just Like Breathing by MD_Daydreamer | 35,423 | Izuku got engaged. He didn't mind. If that made Uraraka happy, he could do it. He thought his life wouldn't change much.But then, Kacchan went to live in the USA.

briar roses (and hundred years of sleep) by vannral | 15,951 | In which Izuku is hit by a ‘Sleeping Beauty’ Quirk, Class 3-A tries to find his True Love and get them to kiss him, and Katsuki’s very angry about it all.

"what's your type?" by sapphicflower | 20,192 | In order to increase their popularity rankings as up and coming pro heroes, Izuku and Katsuki participate in the most popular late night talk show for hero duos - ‘Heroes Rising!’. They’re killing it, obviously, because they know each other from inside and out. Until one question stumps the two of them: “What is your hero partner’s type?”

and it was Just Right by cinnabee | 23,759 | Katsuki spends two years post-graduation in a furious one-sided competition with his childhood friend and rival's promotional photos - until they finally run into each other, and, well. You shouldn't believe everything you see in magazines. A love story about size differences.

Notice Me, Nerd by useless_donut | 40,000 | Bakugou is in love with Midoriya. He doesn’t hide it, in fact it’s so painfully obvious that the entire class of 3-A has him figured out in a matter of months (days, in some cases). Too bad Midoriya is the most oblivious motherfucker out there, and Bakugou is too damn stubborn to actually ask him out. A love story as witnessed by the class of 3-A.

in your dreams, nerd! by sapphicflower | 37,639 | In a strange and unexpected set of circumstances, Izuku and Katsuki find themselves sharing their dreams together whenever they happen to fall asleep at the same time. Being hopelessly in love with each other, they don’t mind it all that much. What better way to spend time with your crush than in a stupidly vivid dream?

Hear Me by my_name_is_Levi | 22,419 | It wasn’t as if nightmares were uncommon for the freshman class of Yuuei. They’d seen plenty of things, heard and felt and witnessed enough travesty in their lives to last them a lifetime. But Midoriya Izuku was screaming, and no one, not even Bakugo Katsuki could ignore it.

Bridges by supercrunch | 18,018 | Bakugou is signed up for a Calvin Klein modeling gig. The thing is, they really do need the money. And Katsuki's technically the leader of this bunch of morons, so he finds himself taking the job even though his pride will never recover. And even though nobody thought to tell him that he'd be working with his ex-boyfriend. You know, the cute freckled guy from high school who went and broke his heart. So, yeah. This whole situation kind of sucks.

objective truth by mamalade | 15,390 | Izuku gets hit with a truth quirk, as one does. He seems to be handling it well—until Katsuki shows up.

catharsis by dollcewrites | 15,071 | It's been six years since Izuku graduated.It's been six years since he confessed to his childhood friend; his classmate and his inspiration. It's been six years since he deleted Bakugou's number, asked his friends not to mention the name, spent every last effort of his heart turning off the TV and averting his eyes from the newspapers. It's been six, long, long years since he gave up on Katsuki Bakugou ever loving him back.

Here here, my friends and me (You are my familia) by Jeka | 128,832 | Bakugou Katsuki has made a great job of ignoring the fact that he is tragically in love with Deku, someone who could never love him like that and let's face it, he doesn't deserve. Now that he can't ignore it anymore, he has to find a way to keep his childhood friend and move on for his own sake. Or so he had thought, maybe he can have Deku, after all. Izuku has everything he always wanted in life. But suddenly he has to navigate the most important relationship in his life through different eyes.

Canon World – Jealous! 

Hands Off by SaysiWrites | 7,140 | When a new girl at school starts flirting with Bakugou, his friends quickly become invested in the idea of their friend experiencing love - even if he doesn't seem at all interested in her. What they don't see is Midoriya fuming in the background. But how can he get rid of her when they've spent so long keeping their relationship a secret?

Surfaces by surveycorpsjean | 25,225 | Katsuki has a new girlfriend, but something isn't right. As impossible as it is, Izuku can't help but wonder what it'd be like to be called Katsuki's girl.

Green-Eyed Beast by SecretKiwi | 4,721 | Everyone wants a piece of Katsuki Bakugou, but they should beware of the Green-eyed beast always lurking close behind him.

Green with Envy by Sol_Morales707 | 2,611 | Izuku Midoriya is not as innocent and pure as everyone thinks he is. The truth was he was very jealous and willing to do anything for a certain blonde.

Happy Camper by Arysa | 7,074 | Wanting a break from the stress of dealing with the rookie Pro Hero grind, a handful of students from Class A decide to go on a camping trip. Izuku's excited to relax and catch up with everyone, especially Kacchan. But, well, Kacchan's... Kacchan. And dating Kirishima.

How to stop time: kiss by Teddingtons | 31,693 | Deku finally asks Uraraka out. Everyone's supportive except Bakugou who can't even look him in the eye. Deku seeks him out after and is hit with truth.

What I Deserve by s_the_queen | 16,671 | When Izuku starts dating a student in General Studies, everyone is happy for him. She's super sweet and really caring. But something doesn't sit right with Katsuki.

Deku's Already Fucking Taken by asdfjkl129 | 20,704 | 5 times people don't realize that Deku is already in a very happy relationship and try their hand at asking him out, and then in Bakugou's unique and special style, get very firmly corrected, +1 time where no correction is needed.

His by sister_elric | 6,206 | Izuku would like to consider himself a pretty level headed individual. Sure, he had the occasional tunnel vision, especially when it came to training. And hero work. And Kacchan. But, overall, Midoriya felt as though he typically kept his cool. Well, maybe that was a stretch. But, at the very least he could understand his own emotions. So, it surprised even him when an unfamiliar emotion coursed through him as a first year approached his boyfriend, Katsuki.

Down the Red Line by MinervaHope | 7,804 | Izuku has been able to see the red strings of fate since birth. It's no surprise that his is connected to Katsuki.

Canon World – Fake Relationship Goes Wrong

how he should’ve known (and how it turned out) by vannral | 43,918 | In which Katsuki and Izuku pretend to be a couple to avoid journalists, the plan backfires magnificently because of course it does, and the act goes on. Includes feelings, pining, domestic fluff and jealousy.

Vicious by feelslikefire | 105,173 | Midoriya and Bakugou wind up in the very last position either of them thought they'd be in: Hero Partners. It's not fun, but they learn to cope. Their first big assignment together takes them undercover to infiltrate a cult, but the situation turns out far more sinister than they first thought.

What I can never tell you by Mikacrispy | 27,067 | After living in the US for 5 years, Izuku returns to take care of a concussed Bakugou who believes they're engaged. Now, Izuku has to pretend he's in a relationship with the man he's loved for most of his life, knowing that it's just a matter of time until Katsuki gets better and realizes it's all a lie.

Not-Dating by MiraChaDoodles | 14,290 | Katsuki takes Deku on a not-date to save his career, only to find himself wishing it were real.

we'll do the things that lovers do by ethereals | 29,544 | Izuku gets an invitation to Shouto's wedding and Katsuki is PISSED that he asks Kirishima to be his date (also he wasn't even fucking invited

Canon World – Friends With Benefits (?) 

Four Times Bakugou Katsuki Doesn't Intend to Sleep With Midoriya Izuku (And the One Time that He Does) by fallingraine85 | 17,601 | He hadn’t planned for any of this. He isn’t about to go delving into the ball of yarn that is Midoriya Izuku’s heart; he isn’t equipped to try and untangle and make sense of it all. He isn’t about to try to analyze how he’s feeling about all of this, either.... How many times can you repeat the same mistake?

We Wear Chains on the Weekend by surveycorpsjean | 35,086 | Well, in a day of revelations, it turns out that Izuku isn't as vanilla as Katsuki previously thought. Unfortunately, that fascinating discovery is overshadowed by Izuku's dumbassery, because he has zero concept of aftercare."Don't go to anyone else," Katsuki says, because screw it. He can do a better job anyways. Or; Katsuki finds Izuku on a bad drop.

Just for Now by Shiro_Kabocha | 48,135 | Katsuki's parents are out of town over a school break and to keep him from getting up to any shenanigans, they ask Izuku to house sit with him. What are two teenaged boys to do when left alone to their own devices? (Bonus+ the entire Just for Love series)

safe in the darkness by yoonskisses | 20,855 | Izuku and Katsuki had been meeting up secretly for months, with absolutely no feelings involved. Or so Katsuki thought at least. The dorm gossip about Ochaco and Izuku's new relationship seemed to set a spanner in the works for their arrangement.

Alternative Universe – No Quirks

Bluebird by EtherealBeing | 53,108 | Dialing a wrong number was no unusual occurrence. Everyone did it once in a while, and Katsuki was well aware of that fact. However, possessing this knowledge made it no less aggravating for him to discover — a full two minutes into his rant about his day — that he’d been venting his frustrations to a complete stranger. As if that wasn't enough, said stranger was also inexplicably determined to hear his story to its end.

Someone Borrowed by mynameis152 | 138,996 | It felt like hours that he stared at Izuku, coming to terms with the fact that a man, his childhood best friend, whom he hadn’t seen since their senior year of high school, was there in front of his very eyes. Then his brows furrowed and his jaw clenched before he uttered through gritted teeth the very name Izuku had longed to hear for years. “Deku.”

Dark Side of the Sun by Synnie | 51,598 | Staying up too late playing video games, Kirishima wasn't expecting to get an urgent call begging for help. Next thing he knew, he was letting his classmate Izuku Midoriya take refuge in his apartment - without consulting his always angry roommate.

Manage Me by Justaperson1718 | 10,756 | Izuku becomes Katsuki’s model agent.

Don't Set Your Drink Down by Crandberrycrush | 88,424 | With sudden clarity Izuku realized he had broken the first rule of going out. Never leave your drink unattended.

Livewire by pretty_rekless | 18,160 | Per Ochako's request, Izuku downloads a gay dating app in hopes to finally find a partner. Except every single one of his leads keep ghosting him or standing him up... That is until one hot, fiery blond enters the chat. Grindr/Tinder AU fic.

Drinking Watermelon by warschach | 8,906 | Katsuki works as a camp counselor, and Izuku is a boy made of summer heat and sunlight.

Precious Pet by Mikacrispy | 6,379 | When broke college student Midoriya Izuku found a job that offered lodging, food, and good pay for four hours of work each day, he thought it was too good to be true. But he called anyway. Turns out all he has to do is to be the spoiled little puppy of a rich businessman.

Our Eleven Summers by Dark_Mage_Ayumu | 34,472 | The first time Katsuki met Izuku was when he was eight. For the next eleven years, Izuku changed his life, and no one even knew. Their relationship was something they shared in secret.

sticky note crushes by ladyofsnails | 3,239 | Katsuki hates his roommate. The green-haired, freckled, artsy son of a bitch with his dumb pun t-shirts and paint-stained hands he can’t fucking keep to himself. Katsuki can’t leave a single assignment or paper out in his room because that idiot will just grab anything to draw on it. He’s like a shark that can’t stop swimming else it’ll die – he can’t stop drawing. Ever.

Don't Play Pretend by SweetSide | 10,103 | Actor AU: Deku and Bakugou get the leading roles for an upcoming TV Drama. They weren’t aware that they would be working with each other for who knows how long. It would’ve been completely fine if they weren’t exes.

97.6 FM by jamjars | 32,249 | Izuku can’t stop listening to the radio host with the deep voice who sounds like he’s stuck in 2010. It’s a harmless crush. That is until he starts calling into the show under the pseudonym Deku.

Read {between} Your Lines by greatcloudninja | 52,252 | Midoriya Izuku, up-and-coming actor, has finally hit his big break (...), Bakugou Katsuki, who has been acting for over twenty years.However, Bakugou seems to have it out for Izuku, leading to tension both on and off set. When some incriminating photos surface, the studio suggests (...): having Bakugou and Midoriya fake a relationship to get ahead of the rumors. 

I’m not looking for somebody with some superhuman gifts by PassingShadow | 5,522 | Izuku is a professional cuddler and Katsuki is his new client that’s just a little rough around the edges, and needs a natural healing touch.

Alternative Universe – Quirkless Deku

A Good Old-Fashioned Tattoo AU by lalazee | 14,437 | After their paths had split, Bakugou & Deku meet again as adults. While Bakugou begins to repent for the kid he used to be, he also starts to prove himself as he the man he is now.

Call Me a Safe Bet (I'm Betting I'm Not) by WTTTD | 10,803 | He wished he had some sort of heads up before seeing Deku again for the first time after nearly two years, looking like the essence of a lazy Sunday, smiling and surrounded with brand new, adoring friends. It was a little fitting that Katsuki burned for him so badly. (Support Department Deku)

In Which Kacchan Has a Ruff Time by OneshotPrincess | 14,511 | Bakugou Katsuki gets quirked into a dog, gets adopted by an unknowing Izuku and generally has a very rough few days full of realizations

While You Were Sleeping by Belkacaramelka (annabelleg) | 71,197 | The one where quirkless fanboy Midoriya Izuku rescues Pro Hero Todoroki Shouto, gets mistaken as his fiancé while he is in a coma, and gets caught up in the most unlikely fake engagement... until his childhood enemy and Todoroki's classmate Bakugou Katsuki tries to catch him out, and they both end up discovering a lot more about each other than they'd expected.

Let Me Assist You Personally by Seeress | 32,806 | Izuku is long-suffering Personal Assistant to #1 Pro Hero Dynamight.Dynamight can't keep a PA to save his career. They all quit crying after a few days weeks. Enter, Izuku—with enough money problems to brave the jaws of the cranky beast. Childhood friend turned glorified paid slave. Somehow it all works out. ‘Kill them with kindness’, his mom had told him once. If that were true, Bakugou Katsuki would be stone-cold dead by now.

Smile For The Camera by kurokonekokilled | 19,179 | Midnight has a cam site, home to millions of users, but one catches Katsuki's eye when he goes scrolled through it in search for something to help him release a little stress. A live stream and the best orgasm of his life later, his wallet is lighter, and he might be almost as obsessed with this Deku guy as the cam boy is with him.

Just Like The Comics by brichibi | 24,935 | Where Izuku works at a comic book shop because that’s as close to a hero as he’s gonna get, and Katsuki plays the part of heroic ex-boyfriend who is good at everything except winning Izuku back... maybe

Alternative Universe – Quirks

Get on my Level by Mikacrispy | 92,273 | Bakugou Katsuki is a Pro Hero whose boss demands him to take an intern. Midoriya Izuku is a UA student who needs an internship. When the two of them are put together, they learn about what it truly means to be a Hero and what it means to be in love.

A/B/O – Secret! Baby

Home by Emerald2402 | 87,214 | Midoriya Izuku left Japan in a rush, moving to America without a word to anyone else. But then almost 11 years later he arrives back Home and Bakugou Katsuki's Alpha is furious. Fuck that, Bakugou is furious, because Midoriya Izuku, an omega he tasted one time, has been keeping a very big, very blonde haired, green eyed secret.

Those Under the Same Stars by PerpetuallyPerturbed | 325,553 | When Katsuki Bakugo left Izuku Midoriya five years ago, he thought it was for forever. He put aside dreams and wishes of the omega to focus on his career. He was going to be the best hero, after all. He couldn't have an omega getting in his way. So when he's stopped on the streets one day by a pup begging for help for his mom, he isn't prepared to face what he gave up, and what the consequences of his actions were. (Quirkless Deku)

A/B/O – Quirks

Mark Me. Make Me Yours. by decadentbynature | 10,062 | Midoriya is the only Omega at UA and he's been hiding it well but there's one issue that threatens to expose him: his attraction to an Alpha, Bakugo. After being told to give some paperwork to Bakugo, Midoriya lets him into his dorm room and is immediately overwhelmed by his scent. Unable to help himself, he gives in to his urges, only to be discovered by Bakugo but instead of becoming enraged, Bakugo decides to give Midoriya exactly what he wants

Claim Me by ScientificallySinful (VampireGaaraCheesepuffs) | 114,449 | Being an Alpha has nothing to do with Katsuki's success as a Pro-Hero, the same way Deku's Omega status hasn't kept him from becoming Number Two. Secondary gender doesn't mean anything nowadays and “mating” is an antiquated practice. So when Izuku, his rival, asks Katsuki to Claim him in the middle of the night, there is only one logical thing to say. “What the fuck?”

Change of Plans by Mikacrispy | 185,965 | Alpha Pro Hero Bakugou Katsuki never planned to get married to some random omega but what he wants isn't an option anymore. One for All wielder Midoriya Izuku has suffered injustice too many times and doesn't plan in allowing his secondary gender to dictate how he must live his life. Falling in love was never in the plans.

Going Feral For You by ANGIE_fic | 17,977 | Bakugou has an aggression problem that might have to do with his Alpha. His job is on the line because of it. So what do you do with a pent up Alpha? Yes.Rut. (Quirkless Izuku)

i live for you, i long for you by jeonjeonggukkkkkie | 19,165 | The five times Izuku hinted he wants Katsuki to spend his next heat with him, and the one time Katsuki took the hint.

Baby's First Bloom by ContraryBee | 44,945 | Izuku blooms for Katsuki one warm day in their third year of middle school. What follows is both boys learning about themselves, their bond, and the society they live in.

As Fate Would Have It by ScientificallySinful (VampireGaaraCheesepuffs) | 88,737 | Katsuki Bakugo had plenty of reasons why he wasn't mated yet, not that he was going to explain why to just anyone. But now, Ground Zero was running out of time. If he didn't find someone soon, he'd lose his position as a Pro-Hero and he'd never get to be #1. So, when he finds out there's a male Omega recently arrested for prostitution that's headed to prison if he too doesn't get a mate…well it must be fate. (Quirkless Izuku)

A/B/O – No Quirks

Gravity by warschach | 71,477 | Izuku is back in his hometown and plenty hasn't changed much from the 8 years he was gone. Except, Katsuki Bakugou, the alpha king of their small town. He's hotter- because that's fair, right, God? -, stronger, a now-famous pro fighter, and noticeably nicer this round.Not that he cares, pfft. (Fine, he cares.)

Nine Months by greatcloudninja | 23,303 | Omega Midoriya Izuku connects with Alpha Bakugou Katsuki through an online singles ad. Izuku pays Katsuki to help him with his heat, ending up pregnant in the process. What follows is a pregnancy filled with ups and downs, but whatever hurdles come their way, they can make it through together.

The long dark by Ominous-Anonymous (Ominonymous) | 13,289 | He could have been really dangerous. He could be a fucking murderer for all he knew. But Izuku Midoriya, ever the reckless daredevil, was not thinking of that when he got into a car with a complete stranger. Completely ignoring the part where his mother always taught him to never gets into cars with alphas he didn't know...

[penhive]

Quotes

Life is fragile so take care of it.

The menu of the body is sex in different positions.

Truth does not change over time.

Money is paper yet it’s more than paper.

Life is a poem to be lived.

Imagination is a volatile experience.

The ingredients of love are a poetic heart.

The body needs passion and the mind reason.

Burn the furnace of emotion.

Art is an experience to be enjoyed.

Joy is food for the soul.

Count your blessings more than your worries.

The mystery of the self is in a constant search for meaning.

Nietzsche by killing God became mad.

The trinity is three in presence and one in essence.

Life the life you want to be.

Novel is the thought of beautifying experience.

Poetry blooms as figures of speech.

Prayer is writing in passion.

God’s wisdom is the peace that passes all understanding.

The potter has made clay into life.

Life can be harmonious as music.

Live and let live.

The storm of the heart is let loose in anger.

Imagination can fill a wallet with money.

Worry leads to a blind alley.

Love is the poetry of experience.

A woman is a mermaid so treat her gently.

My philosophy of existentialism is: life is the celebration of meaning.

Eros is life and Thanatos death.

Dream has to become a waking reality.

The body is a font of joy to celebrate.

Night of mourning becomes joy in the morning.

Lose yourself in the mind of thought.

It’s nice to be blessed like King Solomon with wisdom and wealth.

God is prospering the generation of Ishmael with oil and business.

God is no respecter of persons.

Mediation is an erotic intercourse.

Writing is the graph of figurality   and the phone of meaning.

Intimacy, I want to soak your bed in love.

One should have a poet’s heart to live.

Dawn of the singing bird is sweet to hear.

Penetrate your inner self with the plethora of meaning.

I loved to hear her moaning in ecstasy.

Pay heed to the music of creation.

God’s letters in Hebrew and Greek are holy.

Transform the self into betterment.

The promise of future lies in God’s hands.

Sometimes I am an emotional Kafka of thought.

Murder started with Cain who killed his brother Abel.

I want to live life like the Ubermensch.

Forgive yourself from wounded memory.

The beatitudes are poems of meaning.

The experience of pot is ecstasy.

To go beyond the signifier and the signified is to possess, appropriate, interpret, enjoy, celebrate experience, exalt, praise, and liberate the meaning of words.

God be gentle on me, I have poet’s heart.

Dialogue is the tool to develop and nurture relationships and experience.

Don Quixote is a metaphor for the triumph of individuality.

Watching the flight of a bird brings catharsis to the heart and mind.

Empty the negativity of the mind.

God, the flesh is weak but the spirit is willing.

Time spend in inner experience is lived time.

The echoes of the heart are a poetic song.

Be true to yourself.

Affection is a pure doze of intimacy felt with the other’s dialogue.

Meaning has to be exalted or negated.

The mind is a lover’s paradise.

Karma has no judge but on the choices you make in life.

The bed has to be cozy and intimate.

Shine your life like precious stones.

Leave it all to god.

The democracy of India is degenerating with zero tolerance for dissent, corruption and nepotism.

Grace is the unmerited favor of God.

How can the laughing Buddha bring luck?

A workout makes the body feel good.

Thoughts are mental calories that emanate from the mind’s experience.

The Beast and the Dragon are Chinese junkets that seduce the people and misleads them to purchase it in-order to bring luck.

Compared to Sparta in Greece, Athens a city performed better as a democracy culture and life.

Vice is an epithet for Greek gods and goddesses.

If Hitler had not singled out the Jews, he would have been a very successful leader.

Deconstruction undoes a sign and constructs a discourse on privilege and marginalization.

Copulation is the music of ecstasy.

It’s good to ask God about providence.

It’s good to be a celebrity of the pen.

Jesus was God in essence and man