#but all this other life shit has made it impossible for whatever reason

[imbecominggayer]

How To Write Characters With Addiction

From @differentnighttale: "I am curious if you give advice about writing people with addictions for example substance. I have reasons my male MC does it. But how can I describe the addictions the MC has correctly."

In this post we are going to be talking about addiction! From alcoholism, substance abuse, nymphomania, to everything else that can be a possible addiction. This post will be all about making this realistic and complex :)

A) What Are The Benefits?, Make It Convincing

Grab a fucking piece of paper or whatever you have and just write a paragraph from your addict's perspective on the situation. Omit the bad stuff. Make it highly convincing. if you aren't thinking "hmm, understandable" after you've written and read it, you did it wrong.

What do they get out of it?

Why did they like it at first?

Are they calmer, more intensely concentrated, does it take the edge off?

Are they more confident?

Does it ease the sense of being fundamentally wrong or dull some other pain?

Is it fun to do something rebellious?

What made them like this thing so much they tried it again, and again, and again?

B) Think About The Consequences, And Ignore It

Oftentime, at least in my experience, people will continue with a bad habit if it means they don't have to be the one to think about the consequences.

The Consequences For Addiction Include:

Financial. Depending on what your character uses to get their fix and how much they use, they might be spending hundreds a week if they are a particularly aggressive user. People often steal money from their loved ones. Addiction also tends to get people fired. Write a scene where your drunk character gets fired for operating machinery. Have them be a burdenous sponge.

Social. It's common for addicts to lose their loved ones since it often gets to a point where it's impossible to care about these people despite how much you love them. Make love ones leave your character! And don't blame them

Physical. STDs, Overdose, Liver Failure, and a shit ton of other issues from the chronic to the fatal either cause, exacerbate, or are linked with addiction. Recovery can't automatically save your character so don't write that story.

Psychological. Being an addict isn't fun since you get to struggle with points 1, 2, and 3 all at the same time! Write about your character issues. Their lack of control. Their spiralling life.

Write all about your character's suffering. And then have them justify it. Make it convincing.

They need it. It's not their fault that this is the only that helps them! Everyone just doesn't get it. I'm trying to work on it, OK?! It'll all work out! They know that it's wrong but...

My most hated shit is when a character's arc is easy. They struggle with some things like a big dramatic argument with their wife, they cry a bit, and then they learn that "drugs are bad" so everything is fine :D

NO!!! Why don't you write about a friendship that doesn't get mended? A chronic illness they now have to pay huge medicine bills for? A fucked-up rap sheet that they can't escape?

And it's not because we want to punich addicts. It's because it doesn't matter if you care about addicts if you don't care about the messy shit!

It's easy to sympathize with an addict if you make them the most innocent victim who never hurts someone intentionally and who gets rid of the addiction in a second and never struggles with it ever again!

Do the hard shit. Make your readers sympathize with the unsympathetic asshole addict! Addicts aren't always good people! They can be dickbags. And they still deserve resources. Life isn't some kind of karma game where dickbags suffer and good people rise! Everyone deserves to not suffer!

Addiction is ultimately a disease. But it's a disease that can make someone you love into an absolutely unlikeable person. And this is coming from someone with an alcoholic dad <3 He does good things and bad things. I can sympathise with my dad and not let him walk all over me.

C) Withdrawal Is Leaving An Ex, Relapse Is Returning

Addiction is a motherfucker trying to leave. It's basically the equivalent of a clingy ex who keeps contacting you, asking for just one conversation, and the moment you so much as acknowledge them you are fucked.

And suffering the brunt of a clingy ex who won't take the hint tends to cause the same symptoms as withdrawal!

Obviously, withdrawal symptoms depend on what type of ex you have and what age you are and yada yada yada. Research for specificity :)

Withdrawal symptoms can include:

Headaches

Insomnia

Fatigue

Hallucinations

Seizures

Tremors

Cravings

etc.

BE AWARE: Relapses are when someone returns back to their drug if they were going cold turkey or going back to their original dose. Relapses can sometimes result in an overdose due to the fact that the brain has been weened off the substance and is now overwhelmed by the high dose.

Relapses often happen when a person makes the deliberate choice in order to stop these fucking nightmarish symptoms. To use the analogy of a clingy ex, you start talking to them in order to tell them to stop contacting.

Relapses can also happen through being in a setting where the behaviors associated with the addiction such as sex, gambling, drinking, substance use, and all manner of things are normalized.

This setting could be a party, a bar, or even a friend group.

Relapse is made more likely if someone is self-detoxing away from a support group or a doctor.

Writing about withdrawal and relapses are an important part in making a story feel more authentic. Just like with mental illness, people rarely learn the lesson and follow it perfectly. They make mistakes. Slip back into old habits. Do shitty things.

We aren't writing their suffering to punish them. We are doing it because you can't say you care if all you are willing to do is look at the easy parts.

D) Little Tidbits To Keep Track Off

This is the miscellanious things that didn't fit into their own boxes.

Friends!

Do they have friends who also have their addiction? How do they hang out? What are they like? How are their substance using friends different from their non-addict ones?

Slang!

Don't just look up slang for your substance of choice. You'll need to look at some first-hand accounts of addiction. Find an influence who has struggled with substance abuse in the past and see how they talk about it!

Variables!

Remember to keep their geographical location, socioeconomic status, time, and a host of other factors. If your character is a penniless alcoholic then it's unlikely they'll get their hands on some type of expensive gin. They'll probably use rubbing alcohol. Keep the price of your drug in mind.

A character's status will also impact their slang. No one unironically says doobie anymore.

A character's location will also impact how they get their shit and how other characters will react to that addiction.

A character's financial status also impacts how the consequences of their actions impact them. A low-income character wont be able to afford the same medication as a rich addict. They also won't have the same luxury for quality therapy, rehab, programs, time, anything really.

Look At The Addict And The Loved Ones

Try not the skew the reality of addiction to paint the addict as the victim and the loved ones as evil for not being forgiving and tolerant enough.

Keep sympathy for both the addict and the loved ones. Or drop sympathy for both of those characters.

E) RESOURCES

FDA and DEA online databases and drug resources

Social Networking Groups

Medical Journals

Local medical professionals, police, and medical examiners

The US national poison center

[queerbratsummer]

.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddie-week.

Long Long Time

Day #3 - Prompt: Mutual Pining | Word Count: 1050 | Rating: T | CW: Language | POV: Steve | Tags: Post S4, Eddie Munson Lives, Idiot 4 Idiot, Mutual Pining, Miscommunication, Platonic Stobin, Robin Knows What's Up

It's not one realization. It's several, over and over again. A steady falling, until he's in so deep, there's just nothing to be done about it. 

"Stop pining, dingus," Robin says, and Steve looks up at her and smiles.

"Impossible," he answers.

"Just tell him," she urges, and he shakes his head. Eddie isn't interested. He's made that pretty clear with the distance he's put between them. 

"Nah, that's not cool. He's getting ready to go," Steve says, "no reason to make it uncomfortable now."

"Dingus. No. Stop it. I can promise you Eddie is pining for you just as hard."

Steve shakes his head. He knows that's not true. Steve's tried all his best moves over the last two years, everything he knows, and has nothing to show for it, except a heart that's maybe not gonna be his anymore.

Steve sits on the floor of Wayne's house, and helps box tapes. Eddie's going. He's really leaving, and soon. 

And Steve's sure that's gonna hurt him for a long, long time. 

"So, what're your big plans for this summer, Harrington?" Eddie asks.

Missing you, Steve thinks, but doesn't say.

"Oh, I don't know. Hang out with Rob, I suppose. Find new jobs. You know we like to change it up every so often. Wreak havoc elsewhere."

Eddie laughs, and it makes Steve smile.

"You could come with me, you know," Eddie offers, but keeps looking down at the box he's packing. "Both of you. All of us."

It's not a real offer, Steve knows that. He knows he's supposed to say no, supposed to let Eddie go, without throwing an anchor around his neck. 

"Oh, you don't want that," Steve rebuffs, and Eddie looks up. "I'll cramp your style."

Eddie laughs, "Yeah, you know me. Party animal."

Steve grins, "You might become one. You won't want me tagging along for that."

"But, what if I do?" Eddie asks, and Steve looks up at him.

"Eddie," Steve says, trying to cut this off before he embarrasses himself.

"You're one of my best friends, and we could have fun together."

They could. Steve knows that's true. But he can't go live in an apartment with Eddie. Can't watch him spread his wings and date, right in front of Steve's face. That'd be too hard.

Even if part of Steve wants to say yes, desperately, just to cling onto anything that's being offered.

But he's trying to be better about that. Trying to grow, and shit.

He can only let his heart get trampled so many times, and he's nearing his limit. He definitely won't be able to survive it happening under Eddie's boot.

"C'mon, Steve. For me."

And that almost does it. He hates to deny anything that Eddie might want, but sometimes, you've got to save yourself first. Put on your own life preserver, then worry about everybody else. Robin's taught him that. Or, has at least tried to.

"I can't."

"Why? Robin? I said she can come, too!"

"Because we don't feel the same way about each other, Eddie!" Steve snaps, and Eddie turns into himself, immediately.

"Oh. Oh shit," Eddie says, "I didn't know you knew. Wow, that's embarrassing," he mutters, and it kind of makes Steve mad. 

"I'm not embarrassed. I can't help who I lov-. Like. Whatever. But I just can't torture myself, man. I want you to be happy, I do. And I'm the wrong guy for making that happen, obviously, so let's just leave it. While we're still friends."

Eddie's nodding, still packing, then he's suddenly frozen in place, "Wait. What? You make me the happiest."

"As a friend," Steve clarifies.

"Well, yeah. But, if you were into it, as more, too."

"Wait. What?" Steve asks, repeating the same thing Eddie had just said. This is gonna turn into Who's on First? if they aren't careful.

"I mean," Eddie says, shying away, "I know you aren't interested like that. But I still want you around."

Steve laughs, fucking cackles, like he's crazy. He feels crazy.

Was Robin right all along? Was Eddie doing the same kind of pining, and Steve just never noticed? Fuck.

They are both goddamn idiots, if that's the case.

"Well, don't laugh," Eddie says, and he sounds dejected.

"Wait, Eddie, hold up," Steve says, crawling across the carpet towards him, putting his hand on Eddie's forearm. "Do we have crossed wires here? Do you like me, like me? Like I like you?'

"You like me?" Eddie asks.

"Uh, yeah," Steve admits, "I have for a while, to be honest."

"Jesus H. Christ, we're idiots," Eddie says, pushing his hand into Steve's hair.

"Dinguses, if you ask Robin," Steve says, smiling, and Eddie's so close he could kiss him. 

Steve thinks he will, and leans in, where Eddie meets him halfway. Kissing him, and it's everything, more than Steve hoped it could ever be.

When Eddie pulls back he's smiling, eyes crinkled at the edges, fucking happy.

He looks thrilled, and Steve decides to go all in. In for a penny, in for a goddamn pound.

"I think I'm gonna love you for a long, long time," Steve whispers in a sing-songy way, because even as happy as Eddie looks right now, Steve's still scared his love won't be wanted.

But Eddie just grins even harder.

"What made you think of that song?" Eddie asks, eyes big and bright, almost shiny.

"You hum it all the time," Steve answers, "under your breath. Like it's soothing."

Eddie wraps his arms around Steve's neck, pulling him tighter. Harder. Closer. They're on their knees, so that kind of hurts, but Steve refuses to let him go as Eddie whispers, "It was my mom's favorite song. She'd sing it to me at night."

"Kind of a sad lullaby," Steve says, and Eddie smiles.

"I was kind of a sad little boy," Eddie admits, and Steve runs his hands up and down Eddie's back.

"Well," Steve says, pressing his lips to Eddie's briefly, "if you'll let me, I'm gonna make sure you're not a sad adult."

Eddie kisses him hard at that, and Steve really will. Even if it takes his whole damn life. 

"I'll definitely let you. For a long, long time," Eddie echoes, the beginnings of a promise.

And Steve will take that deal.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddie-week and follow along with the fun!t

The title is from the Linda Ronstadt song of the same name.

[lcvejoy]

and we hold onto this (for whatever reason)

wilbur soot x gn!reader

tw!: angst, breakups, food mention, crying, other than that it’s fluffy and sweet. not proofread

word count: 1,248

a/n: literally wrote this in 10 minutes and didn’t read it over so i’m sorry if it makes literally 0 sense lmaoooo. i hope y’all like it!! (also this picture of wil is so cute hes so-)

there’s a stale feeling in the air as you’re surrounded by your friends. a large table, a potluck dinner, laughter and 5 different conversations, all while brown eyes with your same sadness across and to the left of you attempts to impossibly avoid your gaze.

wilbur joins in one of the conversations, you can hear his laughter and smooth voice. it’s all that seems to reach your ears as you play with the food on your plate. you missed the sound of his carefree and light voice, his laugh sweeter than nectar. a pang of sadness hits your chest like a tidal wave. a feeling you’ve invited to the dinner table often these past few weeks, but having him here in front of you, hearing his voice and laugh in the room and not in your head, has made the sadness hurt even more. it hits your chest, knocks the wind out of you, makes you feel like you’ve been thrown backwards.

“y/n? did you hear me?” a voice comes from your right, causing you to flinch and drop the fork in your hand. the sound is loud, it makes you physically cringe as you hear the conversations die down and feel multiple eyes on you. you lean down to grab the fork,

“no, sorry. what were you saying?” you respond quietly, looking over at your friend and placing the fork down beside your plate.

“i asked if you were okay. you seem like you’re in space” they say, voice quiet and full of compassion. you nod, forcing a smile on your face. how weird is it to be seen, studied, known. your friends see through you. you wonder if wilbur does too.

“yeah” you whisper, “i’m okay. sorry. didn’t get much sleep last night” you let out a light laugh. they smile back at you, a half-crooked, sad smile. a hand reaches up to squeeze your shoulder - as if to say ‘i know you’re lying, but we don’t have to talk about it’, before they turn back around to continue their conversation. you finally look around as conversations have sparked back to life, scanning the table before reaching wilbur’s spot. he’s looking at you. his mouth slightly agape, his eyes sad. you hold his gaze for a beat, before grabbing your fork and standing.

“m’gonna go wash this” you mumble for no one in particular to hear, as you scurry to the kitchen. you sigh as you reach the room, running your hands through your hair and leaning down onto the counter. the wound of yours and wilbur’s breakup is still so fresh, still so new, still prone to infection. seeing him is harder than expected, but this get together had been planned for too long for either of you to cancel.

with another sigh, you grab your fork and turn on the tap, beginning to wash it. your mind wanders as you grab the dish soap and sponge - you planned a future with wilbur. you thought he was the one. your parents loved him. god, you loved him. you wanted all the stupid, gross, lovey-dovey shit with him. a big wedding, a small family, a white house with a fenced in backyard, cats and dogs, growing old together. you would’ve done it all with wilbur.

“i think it’s clean” a familiar voice cuts through your thoughts. you flinch, dropping the fork into the sink. your head whips over to the voice, seeing wilbur standing there, looking at you. you hadn’t noticed the tears streaming down your cheeks until he brought you back to reality, causing you to quickly wipe them with your sleeve. you sniff, “well, yaknow, just had to be sure” you chuckle, though it comes out sad and strained.

there’s a silence, the air feels heavy, as you both just look at one another.

“y/n…” wilbur starts. you shake your head. “don’t. it’s okay” you reassure, breaking your gaze from him to look down at the fork in the sink. you grab it, walking over to the dish towels hung over the oven handle.

“i’m sorry” wilbur whispers.

“i said dont, wilbur” you sigh, looking back up to him. he looks just as broken and disheveled as you do.

he nods his head. a silence washes over the room.

“i miss you” his voice cracks, his eyes gather tears but he quickly wipes them away.

“wil-“

“i know we agreed it was best to part ways but it’s killing me, y/n” wilbur cuts you off, his voice is quiet but filled with emotion. you stay quiet, your heartbeat loud in your ears as you take shaky breaths.

“i-its so hard. so fucking hard to pretend im okay with this. that im fine. t-that i really believe it’s for the best” wilbur chokes out, he gulps before continuing, “because i don’t. i don’t think it is.”

you close your eyes to avoid the tears forming. you shake your head.

“wil, please stop” you beg “we both have other things to focus on. i mean, you have the band and-“

“oh, fuck the band!” wilbur shouts. your eyes shoot open to look at him as he brings his fingers up to pinch his nose bridge. he looks at you “fuck the band. fuck streaming. fuck everything, y/n. if it means i lose you, i don’t want any of it.” wilbur’s voice calms, it’s quieter.

you sigh and shake your head, “i would never ask that of you. you know that” you whisper “you love that band. and you love touring. and you love making music. and i love watching you do it, wil, i love seeing you happy but i-“ your voice breaks as a tear falls down your cheek, “but i cant sit there and wait for you to make time for me anymore. you were busy and you were happy and i waited and it’s fine but i- i couldn’t wait anymore. a-and all your promises, all the missed dates, all the times i spent sleeping alone, i just- it was too hard.”

wilbur takes a step towards you, searching your face for a reaction. when you don’t react, he walks over to you, standing in front of you. hesitantly, he reaches his hands to cup your face, wiping your tears with his thumb as his own tears fall from his eyes. he leans down and rests his forward against yours. a shaky sigh escapes your lips as you breathe in his scent.

“then i’ll wait for you this time” he whispers, “whenever you’re ready for me, i’ll be here. ready to change, to do whatever it takes, to show you the love you deserve.”

a wet laugh escapes your lips as you sniff, reaching up to hold his forearms as you close your eyes.

“i love you, y/n” he whispers, “i don’t think i’m capable of not loving you.”

you nod. “me neither” you agree.

his forehead leaves yours, being replaced by his lips. a lingering kiss on your forehead. he steps back, grabbing hold of your hands as you both look into each others teary eyes.

“whenever you’re ready” wilbur whispers. you nod - “okay” you whisper back. he smiles, as do you, before he walks out of the room.

you look down at the fork on the counter. a forgotten task. you smile, leaning over to pick it up. inspecting it in your hands. a breath, a sniff, a final wipe of your eyes.

whenever i’m ready, you think.

[dunmeshichilchuck]

For That One Guy On Tumblr part 8

Chilchuck x !fem !halffoot reader

:) I think some of you guys are gonna like this one.

You'd been afraid working with Chilchuck would be difficult, if not impossible, but you soon settled into an easy rhythm with him. With the both of you working together, you could cover more ground. Soon you worked out an almost code to signal to each other, quiet warnings and quick clicks of the tongue. 

The traps were sporadic and sometimes difficult to find and prepare for. Sometimes they were triggered by movement, sometimes by pressure. You weren't sure if you would have been able to get through them all alone. 

The labyrinth changed around you as you moved, doors clicking into place or disappearing. Soon you'd been unwillingly shunted off what you'd thought was the main corridor into who knows where. 

Eventually you came to a dead end. Chilchuck huffed in exasperation. "Damnit I'll have to either find some way through this or we'll need to backtrack, which would lose us a lot of time."

"Well if it's going to be a minute until we can move on we might as well stop for a meal now." Senshi said cheerfully. 

He stopped and made a move to unpack. You held up a hand. "hold on! Let me check this area for traps." 

You quickly combed the area. Surprisingly, it was completely clean for about ten feet away from the dead end. Definitely enough to set up a quick camp site. 

Once finished, Senshi began happily unpacking and then slicing up the walking mushroom. You joined Chilchuck in poking around the walls for hidden passageways. 

"There's no traps right around here. Not for another ten feet back" You said. 

"Yup, that's why I'm thinking it's not actually a dead end. Something's gotta move"

You nodded, and continued combing over the wall, poking and prodding at the bricks. 

"That was a really dumb thing you did back there."

You glanced up, affronted. Did you somehow miss a trap? "What? What did I do?"

"You know what I mean!" Chilchuck quietly hissed. "Tackling Izutzumi! There was a solid chance that wouldn't have worked and you haven't built up nearly enough body mass for resurrection to work again! We could have resurrected Izutzumi, I don't know if we could have resurrected you. It's not our job to put ourselves in danger unnecessarily! It's not brave, it's just stupid." 

You bristled and hissed back. "It wasn't like I planned that! I saw someone in danger and reacted. If I'd stopped to make a thought out plan Izutzumi would have died, and I don't know if you noticed but she's not exactly over abundant in body mass herself."

"Yes but she has more than you do! We *have* to keep expectations consistent across all halffoot workers, that's how this works and how the union continues to function. Yeah maybe you're okay with putting your life at risk for a stupid fucking reason but no halffoot should be forced into that!" 

"I'm not part of the union." You shot back. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Izutzumi watching you with a bored expression. Ah. Cat ears.

You switched seamlessly into your native tongue, your voice rising a bit from anger. "When I went into the dungeon there were no regulations and you had to do whatever it took to prove you deserved to be here! Yeah we're both halffoots, but you're a man and you're tall for a halffoot, do you have any idea what it's like to be a tiny halffoot *woman* trying to get people to take her seriously? I learned how to fight and how to do stuff like that out of *necessity* because otherwise I would have been dropped by the wayside! And I don't have a contract with this party, and it might be nice to have another trap guy but they don't actually *need* me, and I'm telling you right now I will NOT be left behind and I WILL do WHATEVER it takes to be a part of this party. I don't give a shit about your fucking union. Let me take my own risks and stop treating me like a goddamn child, I have enough of that from the other races." 

You were half yelling by the end of that and your face was flushed and hot.  How dare he try and sit there and talk you through how halffoots were exploited like you hadn't gone through it too? Preaching on his fucking high horse. 

Chilchuck scowled, but he looked just slightly taken aback. He'd glanced at Izutzumi when you did and probably had picked up what you had, because he answered in the same language. "You don't have... Fuck you're right. I can probably negotiate one for you, you really don't have to do stuff like that just to be in this party. Why does it even matter to you so much? You don't need to stay here, you don't need to be doing this, we can just send you back. Marcilles all shy about it but they can learn the home spell from their book I bet. She picks stuff up real fast." 

You grit your teeth and pointed an accusatory finger at him. "Tell me. ONE. personal fact. About yourself." 

He blinked, mouth hanging open before he snapped it shut. "What?" 

"I've heard Marcille referencing her school, Laois talks about his sister and a bit about his village, Senshi won't shut up about the stuff he's into, and Izutzumi is Izutzumi, but YOU don't share SHIT. so if you want ME to start sharing you better fucking open up too buddy."

"I- that's not- what- I keep my personal and professional life very separate!"

You grinned. "Then don't expect me to be any different." 

Chilchuck opened his mouth to retort, before shutting it again. Then he shrugged. "Yeah that's fair, keep your reasons to yourself, I'll negotiate you a contract anyway, just forms sake." 

You put your hand down, the wind a bit let out of your sails. You hadn't expected him to back down so easy and you felt oddly...disappointed. it'd been a bit since you'd had a really good knock down drag out argument. 

"Food is ready!" Senshi said "Come and eat while it's hot!" 

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[stormsthatrage]

The Hair Thing

At some point, the hair stops being about what was stolen from Xanxus and starts being about what was stolen from Tsunayoshi.

Of course, in the beginning, it's like this: Squalo knows the Vongola Ring should have been Xanxus's.

It’s simple. Xanxus was first in line for the throne after his older brothers died — and damn whatever Timoteo says, those three were his brothers. Even considering the fact that Xanxus wasn't a blood son after all, the fact remains that for the majority of his life, Xanxus was a Vongola heir. He was claimed as one, he was raised as one, he was loved as one. (And again, fuck what Timoteo says. If Enrico had still been alive, Timoteo would have been dead for the mere suggestion that Xanxus wasn't family as well as Family). And as such, he should have been on the throne far before any other candidate could ever have been brought in.

Also? Xanxus had the skills to be just about a damn perfect Don Vongola. He knew how Vongola worked. After all the time spent learning at his brothers' knees, he knew everything that the Capo dei capi could possibly need to know, and had a bunch of practice at it to boot. He was familiar with the duties of the head and the duties of the underbosses and the duties of the lowest ranks on the street. He knew how to keep his people safe. He knew how to enter a hostile negotiation and come out on top. He was great at strategy, both on and off the battlefield, and, oh yeah — speaking of the battlefield, Xanxus was really, really fucking strong. And so on. Squalo could have spent a week listing all the reasons Xanxus would have made a perfect Tenth.

So yeah. Squalo was fucking pissed when Timoteo revealed his lies, revealed his betrayal, and revealed that Xanxus had never actually been in line for the throne at all.

And Squalo's anger damn near turned him insane when Timoteo put his fucking Sky in ice.

So yeah. The hair thing. It begins because of what was stolen from Xanxus. As permanent as the fury embedded in his bones (as permanent as the rage still twisting in the back of his mind, a quiet, infernal madness that doesn't heal even when they finally break his Sky out of a fucking ice-seal) is his determination to never cut it, not until what was stolen is restored.

His determination grows even stronger when he meets Timoteo's choice heir for the first time. Tsunayoshi is weak. Tsunayoshi is a coward. Tsunayoshi is slow, and inexperienced, and absolutely not qualified for the throne.

The only thing Tsunayoshi has going for him as a candidate is his blood, his freakish primo-like genes, but ancestry has no impact on capability, and Squalo has been by Xanxus's side for too long to be okay with the thought of Tsunayoshi leading the Vongola into the ground from incompetence and cowardice.

Squalo's initial impression of Tsunayoshi, of course, does not withstand prolonged contact with him. It turns out that underneath the weakling appearance is, in fact, a perfect Capo dei Capi — different from the type Xanxus would have been, but no less ideal for it. Tsunayoshi is strong, fierce, determined, protective, smart, skilled, and — as it turns out, most importantly — kind.

Tsunayoshi is unbelievably kind. Impossibly kind. So kind Squalo finds himself searching for proof that it's a mask, because it has to be, because no one could be that genuinely good — but no matter how hard he searches, he only finds more evidence that somehow it's not a mask, it's real. And Squalo can only watch in awe and terror as Tsunayoshi's compassion spreads out like a fucking fungus, infecting others and the world and the fabric of the underworld itself, until Squalo has no choice but to believe that Tsunayoshi is going to save everyone, both Vongola and outsiders alike, from all the blood and suffering they were once destined to stain themselves with.

Squalo gets a front-row seat to Tsunayoshi's... Tsunayoshi-ness, as shit goes down in the wildest year of his life. There's the undoing of a ten-year-apocalypse, the undoing of an ancient curse, the making of what feels like a thousand different treaties, hell, fucking earth flames. At some point, Squalo stops keeping track, because so many absurd things have happened. And after it all, Tsunayoshi turns 15, and the kid and his guardians finally come to Italy.

For some reason, as soon as they step foot on home soil at the airport, they're ditching their Iron-Fort appointed chaperones to infest the Varia Castle. The kid and his equally impossible guardians make themselves comfortable, and as another year passes, every single one of the brats manages to endear themselves to the Varia Commanders — not that any of them would say it, of course.

(Years later, Squalo will remember his initial amusement at their sudden appearance at the Castle, and will realize that instead, he should have been furious. Why, why, after everything, didn't he think to wonder why they didn't want to stay at the Iron Fort? Sure, Tsunayoshi was Timoteo's chosen heir, but that didn't guarantee safety in the bastard's presence. After all, Xanxus had once been Timoteo's chosen son.)

The year ends, and the time comes. Tsunayoshi takes the throne.

Squalo doesn't cut his hair. He doesn't cut his hair, and for a moment, for a brief period of wonderful relief, the abstinence is not performed out of fury. The rage, the hurt, the insanity clawing at the back of his mind — it's dimmed, as dormant as it could ever be, after everything. Xanxus is happy, and frankly, after the ice, more comfortable heading the Varia than the main family anyway. Tsunayoshi is a better Vongola X than anyone could have dreamed. Vongola is stronger than it has ever been, his Sky is happy, and Tsunayoshi is leading the underworld into an impossibly bright future.

So Squalo does not cut his hair, because he took an oath not to and he is a man of his word. But he can imagine a world in which he did not take the oath, a world in which the hair was not a vow, and was instead a mere visual expression of his fury and resolve. It is a world where, after the ceremony in which the kid donned the title of Vongola X and Xanxus called the kid "little brother" in front of half of Italy, Squalo went home and pulled out a knife and finally got rid of the damned ponytail.

That period of blissful relief lasts right up until seven months later, when Squalo finds himself exhausted and a little bit tipsy and no longer up for celebrating the destruction of the human-trafficking ring the Alliance had just broken open.

He stumbles up a secluded staircase in the Iron Fort, and down a quiet hallway, intent on locating a room in which he can fucking take a nap. He spies a door that looks promisingly abandoned, tricks the lock open, and enters the room to find Tsunayoshi curled up against the far corner, spine pressed tightly against the wall, head tucked between his knees.

Even from the doorway, Squalo can hear how rapidly the kid is gasping for breath, can tell how painful it is.

For a moment, Squalo thinks someone has had the audacity, the stupidity, to dare and poison his Sky's little brother.

And then he hears the strangled sob, and puzzle pieces that he didn't even know he had come slamming together with the force of a fucking asteroid impact.

He's across the room in a heartbeat, pulling on his rain flames to calm the kid down. As he tries to take Tsunayoshi's hands, the kid flinches back. Holds his hands away from Squalo, like there's something coating them and he doesn't want to get Squalo dirty.

All of a sudden, Squalo thinks of his initial impression of Tsunayoshi. Not suited for the underworld, and especially not suited for leading the Vongola. Best left as a civilian, far away from Italy.

He bites back a hysterical laugh as he realizes that he had been right all along.

Tsunayoshi. Sweet, compassionate Tsunayoshi. Too stupidly soft to not get maimed by all the suffering he sees, by all the people he can't save, by all the people he has to fight because they are too far gone to save. Too ridiculously loving to not loathe himself every time he sends family onto the battlefield.

Too strong to let any of that stop him. Too kind to turn his back on those who are defenseless, who need his help.

Squalo gives up on cradling Tsunayoshi's hands. He sits down next to the kid, legs splayed out in front of him, and then hauls the kid (still just a kid, god, they are all so young) into his lap, back to chest. He wraps his arms around Tsunayoshi’s ribcage, as tight as he can without causing pain, tucking his chin over the kid’s head, and pours rain flames into his shaking frame.

The hyperventilating stops. The agony and self-hatred, so strong that Tsunayoshi's flames are radiating it into the air, do not.

His Sky's kid brother sobs into his neck, shakes apart in his arms, and all Squalo can feel is, in the back of his head, that fucking rage flaring back to life from dormancy.

_____________

In the end, it's like this. Squalo knows the Vongola Ring should have been Xanxus's.

Tsunayoshi gets it anyway.

And so Squalo never cuts his hair.

______________________________________________________

Edited 7/14/2023. Crossposted to AO3.

(AN from 7/13/2023): Authorial Disclaimer: Normally I don't post fic hot off the press but in my defense I didn't know this was going to be a fic. I just wanted to post an idea! It was going to be like. 1 paragraph! Max! I swear! ...So I'm posting my definitely-short-idea, because I planned on posting today, and I'll edit and revise and add it to ao3 later. Because that is a thing I am going to need to do now. Apparently. Later, after bedtime. Dang, but these plot bunnies are out of control...

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if i cut off someone reaching out for help on tumblr? i am a very anxious person. ive been on tumblr a very long time because most all other social media terrifies me as someone who grew up with the wild west internet a decade past (im in my late 20s) so i feel sometimes with how reckless and spurractic people can be online in chatroom and especially clearly public platforms where any stranger, malicious or otherwise can just archive your digital presence for personal use.

more recently as someone who has been here during the pornban and as an asexual really enjoyed the quiet with no drama farming and a slow pace to talk about more unique political topics in a measured way it is something im strangely nostalgic for and a great example of my sensibilities to people when they insist that i use other platforms like discord or twitter or whatever clone for these services comes out of the old guard introducing feature creep to copy everyone else or any other indi "were the anti corporate version" of the endless scroll apps. i just dont want it. tumblr is special because im desktop only, been here for years, and i have kept track of every single change made so i have manually adjusted the change through hacks to evade every bad decision on here and make my set up look identical to how it was in 2010. so let it be understood that i tend to be a loney person because of this stubbornness. web 3.0 is too dangerous to people with addictive tendencies that my adhd brings out and my need to wear my heart on my sleeve. so i hope i defended my personality type enough to show why someone like me would see a post about some horrible abuses they have fell victim to who also share alot of the marginalized status as me and writing depressive things in the replys of others posts as to attention seek about it.

i directly interact with this person, not only to check if they are real (but wow, modern chat bots make this part horrifying for me. we really cant ever know for sure what is real anymore. trying to find warmth on the internet feels impossible now a days) i have multiple conversations at this point both venting and just casually shooting the shit. but the begging for me to constantly repost their paypal makes me so nervous in a way that i feel so guilty for because it reminds me of all the scams that get associated with this kind of ebegging and the reminder that capitalism takes away all warmth from human interaction to make them purely transnational and conditional. but then it just has been escalating where im so scared that now its not enough that im reposing on my 8 follower, all mutual blog, they are asking me to share it on other socials. accounts i do not have i have a flip phone and a laptop and i am tinkering with a windows 7 tower that will never be connected to the internet so i can always have software sit perfectly in its time capsule for when i need it. i do not have a way to help this person outside of what i learned from collage psyche classes. a part of me is so scared to just abruptly cut them off and just delete my entire account like i tend to do often on tumblr for a multitude of reasons, its a part of what lets people survive being here this long but i worry that would crush them if i did that, i dont want to make them feel more hopeless and unwanted then they already talk about. but i am text on the internet through a screen. i can only do so much. so would i be the asshole if i just deleted my account with a "i hope you hang in there, the world is a harsh place but keep moving" to cut someone so similar to me who is struggling out of my life?

What are these acronyms?

[mazzystar24]

I've been thinkin bout that bt scene. Obviously I might be totally wrong but idk, I feel like T kinda muttered "god I hope so" into his wine glass & not directly at Buck & he was being maybe kinda insecure, like in his head maybe since we assume he's older & more experienced he might think that's why Buck is sticking around?

Like idk, it's a call back somehow to the first date and the closet comment? Like T wants this to work out because he thinks Buck is adorable but you know they aren't really clicking so ya know whatever works? (But eventually it will fully break down)

And the way Buck said "but you think I do?" about the daddy issues is like Buck goin "....wait what?" in his head because his head does tilt a bit to the side like 🤔🤔🤔 And it's showing that they don't fit.

That it was intentionally weird & off putting.

Tho I do think the bit where T says "but your father is alive" wasn't meant to be snarky. Buck then says "Exactly" which I took as Buck being all "exactly, my dad's just THAT shitty and he's not going to change."

Off course then the speech Buck gave Chris is a bit eh, but like two things can be true at the same time. XD

Also I'm def not a bt shipper, Buddie all the way but yeah that's just how it came off to me. Lol.

I hope this makes sense.

I have been swamped with exams and neglected my inbox so 💐💐💐💐💐

Eh I feel like it was definitely more flirty than insecure like I’m tempted to add the gifsets for reference but I don’t want it to show up in the gif makers’ notifications but yeah like as he’s saying it it’s 100% like suggestive vibes rather than self deprecating making a joke about an actual insecurity vibe

Like I think for me this is definitely a horses not zebras moment

I do keep think that maybe the like off putting moments are intentional because so many weird choices have been made with BT

For the your dad is alive I think I wasn’t super clear on my opinion on it but like I don’t mean he said it to be snarky per say more so that the implications behind that line are things like “you’d feel differently if he wasn’t” or “you can fix things before he does” or as if that’s something to be thankful for or recognise when talking about his pseudo father nearly dying

Like the reason I hate this line isn’t that it necessarily has to be cruel intentions on Tommys part but rather that this sorta narrative gets forced down traumatised peoples throats CONSTANTLY (sometimes with good intentions) and it’s such a bullshit rhetoric and it’s even more bullshit to use that line while talking about this found family/pseudo father he has nearly dying

Also yeah that’s definitely what that “exactly” was meant to be like yup a dead dad would at least be less traumatising, a lot easier to explain, and probably easier on my therapist than this clusterfuck but alas

BUCKS SPEECH TO CHRIS- okay lots of thoughts on this because my mom got confused and picked thought daughter:

Do I love that the writers low-key made it sound like he’s comparing Eddie to the Buckley parents? no I hate it but KR was writing for this ep so what did we expect

Do I think a marginally better way to interpret it is that it was more so continuing that theme of paralleling buck and Chris’ issues? Yes

Are the basic and I mean like the very abstract very simple and nothing further parallels there? Yeah like parent not over their grief causes conflict between parent and child

Other than that no not at all Eddie never involved Chris in this, Kim came over with her Shannon cosplay without telling him, Eddie also never intentionally emotionally harmed Chris while the Buckley parents spent bucks entire life intentionally being the absolute worst™️ and emotionally neglectful and were shit parents to Maddie too by forcing her to pretend her brother didn’t exist while she was a child and mourning said brother

But I also think it’s actually very in character for buck to continue to sympathise with them and cut them an impossible amount of slack by trying to draw parallels to this situation like it’s less trying to paint Eddie more like them and more so using Eddie (someone he cares about and loves and sympathises with deeply) as a frame of reference to mentally try to humanise and sympathise with his own parents - idk if I’m making sense but in my head it makes sense

Like it’s actually a pretty common thing you see with traumatised people they’ll sorta draw parallels that aren’t there between themselves or the people they care about and the people who traumatised them because a lot of traumatised people will just constantly seek to understand that perspective more and sympathise with it like hell I’ve seen it with the people in my life doing it and it’s like woah those situations are very different I need you to recognise that

Loved hearing your view of it and it totally made sense!!!

Gonna see if there are any quick asks I can answer before I get back to my revision cos I definitely yapped more than I expected for this

[blueberrymuffinmassacre]

So The Amazing Digital Circus has latched onto my brain like a particularly stubborn tick so now I gotta share a theory of mine from the Pilot.

Considering it's all, indeed, digital and the mental health of its occupants ties to their stability, I bet their avatars are near direct reflections of themselves and their issues/flaws, albeit with a filter to fit the Fun, Child Friendly Aesthetic of the Circus.

Pomni is a classic rendition of a Jester. A Court Fool. Her eyes are incredibly expressive and even change to scribbles, hollow circles, or pure black depending on her mental state.

She likely views her life as a joke, or views herself as the punchline of a joke. She's a Fool. Whether this is due to perceived incompetence, an inability to "grow up", or simply considers herself to be lesser than her peers.

I do however use the above picture on purpose. She's an absolute nervous wreck 99% of the time, but stops while being chased by a monster and is stunned by her own reflection. That isn't a look of fear or confusion, it's awe. Something about her avatar struck a cord with her and seemed right. I personally subscribe to the theory of her being transgender and experiencing a small bout of gender euphoria amidst the horrors thanks to a post made by one demilypyro.

Jax is a Cartoon Rabbit. Not really terribly much to say about the design itself other than it being very rubber-hose animation in its proportions and the seeming default smug expression.

Jax is an asshole. He plays pranks in bad faith, is incredibly snarky and dry even to someone in distress, and doesn't seem to overly care about the others well being.

"I'm fine with doing whatever, as long as I get to see funny things happen to people." It makes sense his avatar would take a similar look to another wise-cracking cartoon rabbit we all know. He also seems the most content to actually be in the Circus itself. Considering it can let him do all manner of things to others, from the lethal to the physically impossible, he might consider it better than reality.

Ragatha is literally just raggedy ann. A patchwork doll.

She seems to be the most outwardly kind of the individuals in the circus, showing patience and understanding with Pomni even when in distress, though she clearly has a limit to said patience.

I think it's safe to assume Ragatha has been through a lot of shit for her avatar to make her seem patchwork. Which is to say, damaged multiple times and repaired each time, leaving clear marks of the repairs like scars.

Zooble is a mess of individual parts slammed together in an approximation of a humanoid shape. Like someone took dozens of pieces from all sorts of toys and put them together into an amalgam.

Gooseworx has stated they have no idea what they're even suppose to be. This can and likely does include gender, but probably includes their entire identity as a whole. Or rather, their lack of one.

For whatever reason, be it alienation, isolation, or any number of potential causes; Zooble doesn't know who they are or what they want to be. No ambitions, no dreams, no real self identity. This makes their avatar manifest as a mess that also doesn't know what it wants to be, so is a little bit of everything.

Gangle is most insubstantial, their body almost entirely a ribbon. The key part of their avatar is the mask: Comedy and Tragedy. And it seems in the few instances it's not broken, they always try to wear the comedy mask over top the tragedy mask.

Gangle's behavior makes me think she's the youngest of the individuals, at least mentally. As for the masks, something about her circumstances in life made her feel the need to put on a facade of joy. Maybe to live up to expectations, or to hide her true feelings to avoid worrying others. As an avatar, this seems to have become literal: She seems to only be happy with the mask on and discontent at best with it off/broken.

Kinger is a White King Chess Piece.

He's a forgetful paranoiac who, according to the characters, has been present in the Circus for the longest amount of time. He seems to forget where people are and what he's doing quite a bit.

In a moment of lucidity near the end, he goes in depth about how the food they eat is just simulated, and how they provide the sensation of eating despite not being real. It's also worth mentioning the ground floor of the circus is a Chess Board.

I believe Kinger is/was at least partially in charge of creating the Circus. His avatar is a walking symbol of authority, a reflection on his standing within the digital space rather than his current mental state. Perhaps the avatar was more fitting when he first entered the Circus, aware of its intricacies and rules, but has long since forgotten such things.

We don't see Kaufmo while he's uh. Normal. But we do see pictures of what he did look like: A Clown.

From the dialogue of other characters like Ragatha and Gangle, he seemed to actually try and play the role of clown during his time in the Circus, even if he wasn't terribly funny.

Kaufmo likely found himself to be a clown in reality. Maybe he was a clown in the literal sense. Or maybe he just saw himself as a funny, quirky guy to be around even if he was none of those things.

Finally, we have what happens when someone goes completely plum insane.

The Avatars are based on mental scans of the individual made to fit the aesthetic of the circus. an Abstraction is what happens when said software tries to read a mind that has no logic or reasoning left. There's nothing to find, no basis of personality, no base to work with. So in confusion the avatar becomes a glitched mess, trying and failing to find a shape within the madness to settle into.

Kinger seems to be insane, yet they're stable, because there is still an individual underneath the neurosis. There's nothing left of Kaufmo at this point: Just a cyclone of emotions inside a broken human mind.

That's the theory, anyway. It's a fucking pilot I could be entirely wrong.

[extraterrestrialechos]

I have watched Episode 8 possibly more than any other episode and it's so vital what Jack's saying and what he thinks he's doing, which is completely centered around pointing out Stede's from outside their world and pointing out Ed he's wallowing in unsustainable excess.

Jack: Just for the two of you, huh? Hornigold'd shit himself.

Jack: That's a real pirate! Not like one of these store-bought types.

We're soon provided the information Jack genuinely believes he's been acting with Ed's full support and consent since back at the dramatics on deck.

Jack fully believes he shook Ed out of whatever weird, seemingly uncharacteristic funk Ed has gotten into.

Jack: Best thing that could've happened to you, if you ask me. Like when I heard that you'd shacked up with him, I said... Ed: Where'd you hear that? You didn't just happen upon us, did you, Jack? Jack: Took you long enough. The old Blackbeard woulda seen me comin' a mile away.

Jack: I figured you were on to me when I lured you to Blind Man's Cove, seeing as its distinguishing feature is that... Ed: It's impossible to make an escape.

Ed, otoh, had a good reason to want to show Jack, who he cared about, they could both be a part of Stede’s love in — he wanted to believe that there was room for Jack in muppet land, and a different future for both of them than they’d ever imagined.

That was so far from Jack’s reality he never conceived it was happening and believed they were co-conspirators in a completely different series of events from the one Ed was living.

Chauncey makes a similar point to Jack's in the next episode:

Chauncey: I'm afraid the offer doesn't extend to you, Bonnet. After all, the King was only referring to real pirates. He's from my world, not yours.

That Stede isn't part of the fabric of that world is pivotal to the thrust of the thing, because it's not just about Ed and Stede. The crew, who Oluwande assured in the first episode would come to kill Stede next if he didn't say he killed Nigel on purpose, and who'd all just reassured Jack would probably still mutiny on Stede in the future, decide at this moment that Stede, admittedly a work in progress, is worth standing up for.

And shortly after, Ed chooses to give up everything he's worked so hard his whole life for, a career and huge prestige and "more riches than you can shake a fucking stick at," to go into an unknown, barefaced future with Stede.

Despite Jack not believing Ed would throw away what he built from nothing, what they were stabbed and ground down to nothing and treated like dogs for a chance to aspire to, despite that Episode 8 exists to let Ed see the risk he's taking.

Throughout, Izzy builds up reminders of the bonds he forged with crewmen who believe in the him he chose to show them that he has to choose to separate from:

Ed: No, Izzy, we're not doing this. Izzy: No, you're not doin' this, so I must.

Izzy: Remember though, you said when you made me first mate, "Above all else is loyalty to your Captain." You're my captain, and I was never gonna stand by and let you destroy yourself for that... twat.

Izzy fully believes throughout he is doing what Ed (who at the start of this had repeatedly, disturbingly expressed suicidal ideation in Episode 4 leaving us with two long shots of Izzy standing stunned and shaken after he walks out) pledged him to do. To hold the outfit together and keep Ed's reputation secure.

There's nothing nefarious about the sad henchman sitting in prolonged denial.

Izzy: The plan is very much alive. He promised me.

But Fang and Ivan have now seen through the thing, too, and so they remind Ed of the sacrifices they've made to be a part of this outfit the three together. And still Izzy is careful not to speak in front of them when he offers to help secure their normal,

Izzy: I'll happily end it.

We can assume here, and when Ed couldn't do it and Izzy steps in, that what Izzy knows after all these years is Ed doesn't kill people face to face. How many other people has he dispatched to shore up the occasional slack for the continued honor of sailing with the most brilliant sailor he's ever met?

It is my strong opinion that diminishing these character’s belief in the Ed they’ve known for years and the loyalty they display diminishes the enormity of the choices we see Ed make and risks he taking putting his life and heart in Stede’s hands.

These are men he chose to forge bonds with through his own actions, and the resistance to change they put up comes out of having traveled well worn paths with the Ed who made himself king of the ocean who is suddenly exhibiting erratic and, to them, totally unprecedented behavior.

Ed returns to an Izzy whose faith is at last broken, and swiftly and expertly resecures his place of power. Even devastated himself that his start at a different life a part of him privately yearned for left him so completely bereft.

[rosemarytrash]

me drama posting cuz i actually had a really good experience today but it was rly nerve wracking lmao

in case some of you didn't know, i currently live in montana!! it's a nice enough state for its nature and the like, but politically it's kind of a shit show. pros and cons y'know, but as a trans guy it's fairly lame. also, bcuz geography is important, i live in eastern montana, not on the cool western side where all the mountain queers go hang out. that's generalizing a lot but it is what it is so bare with

anyway, back in 2021 there was a bill passed (SB 280) that effectively made it impossible for trans people to change their gender marker on their birth certificate or other identifying documents without having a sex change surgery, while at the same time writing in that no surgery exists to change your sex on a chromosomal level or any of that bullshit. whereas before that bill was passed, montana law was a little more loosey goosey about it. mainly in that it didn't yet have a republican legislature hyperfixated on a culture war to drum up support so trans people weren't really IDENTIFIED by the law, which was ironically kind of easier to navigate. idk, shit weird, i'm no expert

anyway, tbh, i never really CARED about changing my gender marker. i changed my name legally back when i was like 15 or 16 and i believe, at that time, i had the option to simultaneously change my gender marker. for whatever reason, i decided not to. i think it had something to do with healthcare and trying not to fuck up the future possibility of getting on T, which didn't happen for another year for me. i've also always been fairly loose about my gender identity in terms of a full identification with maleness/manhood. like, i'm a guy, i'm a dude, don't call me anything except that, but on a deeply personal level i see myself a little more in between on that kind of scale. maybe something inherently non-binary but no label has ever quite fit the bill, so trans guy with an asterisk will have to do. anyway!!! i don't really recall why i made that call, but i had, and it truthfully never really got me into any trouble. for all the times i later had to flash my ID, even to this date, i can only really recall one time where a gas station clerk gave me a weird look and said "sir... ma'am... sir-ma'am... here ya go" when i was buying cigarettes lmao. i was never questioned about it by employers and as far as i know was never turned away from a job because of it (which is good because montana doesn't have employment protections for trans people (last i checked)). so i truthfully spent a good 7 or so years relatively unbothered by this fact or by the fact that i had an F on my driver's license. it was inconsequential to me

recently though with republicans doing more and more lines of anti-LGBTQ cocaine and more people becoming aware of trans people, it's been unsettling here. y'know just mildly discomforting. and mentally that is fatiguing. i've also only now encountered some bureaucratic bullshit that's like okay, wow, this is actually going to be a bigger problem in the future and i'm not wanting to deal with that. mainly in the form of i'm getting married here soon, we want to try and do some kind of honeymoon adventure in the distant future, so for that i need an passport and from what i've read that can be a real fucking headache for trans people and it can be even harder to change in the future. so like blugh. i'm also in the process of applying to grad school and it's just--kind of annoying to have to identify myself a certain way. it's weird cuz i won't pretend it's put me in some life-threatening situation or there's anything that feels DIRE about needing to change it, but it just feels like there'd be a lot less awkwardness and vulnerability if i did. ironically when montanans were less redpilled i didn't care about changing all my legal shit over, but now that your average grandpa here thinks of trans people as botched teenage girls or child predators in bathrooms and THAT's their reason for getting out of the house to go to the polls next year, well yeah now i give a shit about "deceiving" the system. idk it's dumb

anyway i actually KNOW the girl who is the plaintiff against the govt in the lawsuit against SB 280. she's really cool and it's cool that i know her. i ended up reaching out to her a few months back to ask how that was going and what it meant for changing your gender marker in MT. and fantastically i had found out that late 2022 the judge on the case had issued an order that forced the DPHHS to suspend its practice under SB 280 since it was a fundamentally unworkable law and to return to its original practice prior, which allowed trans people and frankly anyone else with good enough cause to change their gender marker without meeting some bullshit made up requirements by the state.

it then took me months to get the gumption to actually write, edit, and file a petition for it. which i finally did today, and it surprisingly all got done in an afternoon, even though hypothetically the courthouse at 1PM on a tuesday should've been fairly busy. i'll be interested to see how it goes, because just cuz it's filed doesn't mean anything is certain. to my knowledge, LEGALLY, it should be a done deal, i should get an order from the judge that will allow me to get a new birth certificate and a new driver's license and all that jazz. but what do i know? the judge may want to have a hearing about it, which could be incredibly awkward in a courtroom full of other people waiting to have their cases heard, but idfk. my fingers are crossed that it'll go okay.

and it was kind of a good experience? i was as anxious as one could imagine. i'm a bearded dude walking in with paperwork asking kindly for an F to become an M lol. and the gals at the courthouse were momentarily confused, raised a few brows, had to talk to someone to see what the current rulings were in that previously mentioned lawsuit, but they were nice enough about it. they got my shit filed, they took $120 from me rather apologetically cuz that's what shit costs to file a civil petition in the state district courts. i get to find out by email if the judge will just approve the order i drafted or if he's going to want to speak to me. and i'm hoping either of those things happen before the wedding so none of that paperwork becomes a headache.

anyway this is a long post cuz i have a lot of thoughts and either i ramble on and on to my fiancee about it or i just splurge on whatever few unfortunate souls decide to read this :) thx if you do. there's no point really to any of it yk just airing out some thoughts i guess. i'll go draw some gay shit now <3

[racke7]

BNHA's Societal Problems

I genuinely really like BNHA's world-building. But with how much fanfic I've been reading, I feel like I've come to an awkward conclusion in regards to it.

The Big Problem of BNHA isn't "evil bad guy". It's "society needs to change".

This isn't much of a conclusion (lots of people will agree with me on this point), but the problem with the Big Problem is that it can't really be solved.

Or rather, it can't be solved by having someone "punch a Bad Guy" or "do something inspiring" or "reveal scandals". These things can help, but they can't actually solve the Problem.

The Big Problem can only really be solved by a boring politician, doing boring-politics stuff with regulations and legal precedents.

Deregulate quirk-usage.

Not in the sense of "anyone can do whatever the fuck they want" (the Meta Liberation Front's ideology), but as in "if you have rocket-feet and you want to run around in traffic, you at least need a goddamn moped-license".

Because, despite what a lot of people might assume (especially in these days of AI-scraping), we have laws and regulations for a shitton of fucking things.

Uraraka wants to work in construction and lift heavy items? She needs to take a basic exam for lifting things with construction-cranes, because dangerous things can happen when heavy objects fall. Uraraka wants to send things flying up into the stratosphere? She'd likely need some level of a drone-license (because she will be interacting with "air-space"). And if shit happens? She can still be held legally accountable for her actions. Because that's life.

Will this solve everything for everyone? No. Obviously, a lot of people would still get screwed over either by their quirks or by people reacting to those quirks. But it would give the government a solid legal framework for regulating quirks in a way that is safe and reasonable for a society to do.

(And as the MLF proves, "doing whatever you want" is not really feasible in a society that doesn't effectively have a "slave class" attached to it, for things to be done to.)

Dismantle the Pro Hero Industry

Some Pro Heroes would likely not be happy about being turned into cops. But with the reasonable "we will give you an appropriate license for your continued work"-attachment, a lot of those would likely either split off entirely from the industry, or go into things like rescue-work, private investigations, or even outright just "being idols".

There are a LOT of different jobs out there, and considering how many Pro Heroes already have multiple jobs (Present Mic has three), it's not so strange to imagine that a lot of those Pro Heroes might simply abandon their role as "Pro Hero" and become whatever else they were splitting their time with.

And "legal enforcement" shouldn't really be in the hands of private citizens, because that's how lynch-mobs happen.

The Problem with the solution for the Big Problem

It can't be fucking done.

See, it effectively requires popular support, which it can't have because this is part of BNHA-culture and so would require massive public upheaval (because "everything works just fine as is").

It also requires a politician who doesn't care that suggesting these things is basically akin to suggesting that "the FBI needs to be dismantled" (with an equal chance of them being found dead), despite how they likely have "good friends" in positions of power over there (otherwise they would never have made it that high, politically).

Not to mention how any Villain-attacks during this is likely to swing public-support into the direction of whichever side promises to "protect citizens" from violence (which is what the Pro Hero Industry's whole fucking PR-machine is all about).

So... it's basically a bunch of semi-impossible hurdles, stacked on top of each other.

And it's a series about punching the shit out of the Evil Bad Guy, so trying to swing the story into that minefield of a mess? Good luck.

[tiredatiny]

—Concrete jungle where dreams are made of…

Pairing: Lee Taeyong x male reader

Genre: enemies to lovers, gang au, slowburnish, angst

Warnings: a lot of cursing, gangs, fighting, arguments, guns, mentions of insomnia(?), death, abusive parent, mommy issues, nightmares, hallucinations, lowkey toxic masculinity, crying, unhealthy coping mechanism, accidental overdosing attempt but not really, quick mention of suicide

Summary: Taeyong has been trying to get help to defeat the newly formed gang but no one seems to be willing to help him.. except Chinatown’s most powerful gang’s leader.

Ah the bustling city of New York. Full of life and adventures. Some of the people living there will have a peaceful day and some of them will have the police chasing after them.

“Shit shit shit! Run faster, they’re gonna catch us!!”

“I’m trying!”

The two young men ran and ran until they reached a familiar bar. Quickly they swung the door open and hid inside the gloomy pub. The police didn’t come into the bar, they probably didn’t want to cause a scene. Both of them exhaled in relief but instantly stiffened when they heard a voice behind them.

“The cops? Really?”

It was you.

“Y/N hi uumm we can explain.” They both stood up in shame as they kept their eyes on the floor. “Just… don’t let it happen again”, you muttered and left the two men stand there confused. They expected nagging and an angry Y/N but you didn’t even yell a single insult at them.

You made your way to the back of the bar ready to get some peace. Today had been kicking you in the ass, to put it nicely, and all you wanted to do was spend some time alone with absolutely no distractions. An impossible request.

Not even five minutes later you found yourself face to face with your least favorite person in the whole world, Lee Taeyong. It felt like the universe had stopped everything it was doing because of the way everyone’s eyes were fixated on you two. Well it wasn’t everyday that you could see your rival gang’s leader standing on your doorstep.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” You snarled between your teeth. The way he was standing, breathing- literally everything about him was disgusting. “I need to talk to you privately”, Taeyong answered.

Someone stepped between the two of you: “no way in hell Taeyong.” You stayed silent for a moment waiting for something to happen, maybe the leader would threaten or maybe even beg but no. “It’s okay Kun, let him talk”, you decided to give Taeyong a chance, “but you’ll say whatever it is you need to say right here. No private chit chat, you understand?”

“We need to team up. You and me toge-“

“Absolutely not.” To think that he was actually suggesting such an idea. “Y/N you need to understand that we have to do th-“

“There’s no we”, you cut him off again.

“Let me finish my sentence for fucks sake!”

You let out an exaggerated sigh. God this conversation was giving you a headache.

“The gangs from east have gotten together and are trying to get new territory”, Taeyong explained rather seriously. You had heard about the happenings of east but until now hadn’t seen any issues with it. “And how exactly does that affect me?” you questioned. “New territory aka Chinatown. They’re coming for you and then possibly me as well. I can’t risk it.. for my sake of course”, he mumbled the last part but you were able to catch it.

“You don’t want to do this- hell I don’t want to team up either but you have to understand that-“

“Fine.”

Everyone inside the bar was shocked to hear you agree to Taeyong’s request. Not only did you never get together with another gangs but you also never ever would work with your number one enemy.

“But this is only for my benefit, remember that Lee Taeyong.”

You later ended up regretting saying yes to the other because now your apartment was full of gang members, both yours and Taeyong’s. But why in your apartment? Simple, your apartment was in Chinatown. And Chinatown would be the first victim of east’s gang. Or at least that’s what Taeyong had reasoned before stuffing his gang into your already cramped apartment. He had also mentioned something about how keeping your enemies close was a good thing because of the saying, but honestly you had paid zero attention to him so you weren’t a hundred percent sure.

“Y’know I could really get used to this.. I mean 18 guys in one apartment”, one of your members Yangyang joked. You gave him a warning look and the poor guy’s smile instantly dropped with a quiet ‘sorry’.

“Everyone listen up!” You tried getting everyone’s attention but nobody seemed to even notice you.. well nobody except Taeyong. That cocky little bastard yelled a bit louder and like magic everyone got quiet. You showed him the middle finger before speaking up: “since we have so many people right now, we have to split into two groups to be able to live.”

You had thought earlier about the current situation and remembered that Kun had a very much bigger apartment right next to Chinatown. “So about 7 people will stay here at my place and the other 11 will be staying at Kun’s house. Understood?”

Taeyong got up from the couch with an irritated expression. It seemed like he had some complaints. “Y/N we didn’t talk about this-“

“I don’t think we need to.”

Something in Taeyong’s brain snapped. I don’t think we need to. Are you stupid or something? You can’t just make decisions on your own and expect people to follow them just like that. You’re not the only one leading the group, you know that right. “You wanna get beat up or what?” He threatened with a rage-filled voice. The dry chuckle that left your mouth made the male see red. He grabbed you by your collar while yelling incoherent insults. Neither of the leaders’ gang’s members dared to interrupt whatever the two of you were doing, in fear of starting a fight.

Before Taeyong could throw a punch, which he had been waiting to do for some time now, you pulled a gun at him. “If I were you Taeyong, I’d watch my next words very carefully.” 

“You won’t shoot me”, he replied cockily, a smirk evident on his face. Of course you weren’t going to shoot him, you weren’t an idiot. You tilted Taeyong’s head with the gun and let out a defeated sigh. “You’re right, I won’t”, you admitted with a fond smile and punched him in the face with the revolver. 

-

After the events of today, neither one of you spoke to each other. And that’s maybe a good thing because if you did, another fight could possibly happen again.

Despite the fact that the apartment was full of people, it was quiet. Too quiet actually. Did the others already go to sleep? You carefully opened the door and saw that your prediction was right. Your eyes landed on a sleeping Taeyong and- oh god how stupid he looked. Snoring and turning around on the sofa without a worry in the world. 

You closed the door and sat down on your bed, maybe it was time for you too to go to sleep for.. how many hours exactly? You glanced at the clock that was hung up on your wall. The pointers showed 2:50. When you realised that you were going to get a maximum of 5 hours of sleep, you rushly wrapped yourself in a blanket and tried to fall asleep. 

The rising sun was shining to your room through the poorly put up grey curtains. You grunted at the feeling of getting blinded by the sun and turned to your other side. You thought putting the blanket over your head would fix everything and take you to the dreamland you had hoped to go to for 3 hours now. Your restless night had started strong, you were dozing off every now and then and even managed to fall asleep for half an hour. But then you started overthinking things, what if Taeyong woke up before you and decided to harm you. Maybe he was going to punch you as revenge from earlier... Maybe he was..

You don’t know when you fell asleep or how, but you were woken up several hours later by someone with the attitude of a chihuahua.  

“I didn’t really think you were much of a sleeper, but guess I was deeply wrong.”

You raised your head from the comfort of the pillow looking around, still half-asleep and confused about the fact that who was talking to you.

“Damn Y/N, you look like shit.” 

Oh now you definitely knew who was speaking. You quickly got up while ignoring Taeyong and his snarky little comments. It was way too early to start anything with him. After brushing your teeth and getting some decent breakfast you were ready to officially start your day. 

“So did you sleep well?” You heard the question behind you. Your member and a close friend Chittaphon- or better known as Ten sat down next to you. “Okay”, you answered quickly as if you wanted to avoid the inquiry. “Stop lying you little fucker. Have you seen yourself and those eyebags?” the male hit you on the head gently with a scolding tone. 

Little did you know that Taeyong had been eavesdropping on your and Ten’s little chat from around the corner. He was just about to join the conversation but was stopped by you, more specifically your laugh. He was too stunned to even move. The Y/N he knew never laughed or had fun. 

“But seriously if those nightmares have made a comeback, tell me.” Gosh Ten was such a kind soul, you still had no idea how he ended up in a gang. “What are you gonna do? Scare them away or something?” you laughed just thinking about it.

The sweet moment between you and Ten was sadly cut short by a phone call. “Sorry it’s Kun I have to take it”, you murmured apologetically before answering. 

Something wasn’t right. It was quiet, not even a single “hello” could be heard. “Kun you there?” You couldn’t help but get worried. It was silent another ten seconds before he answered: “they found us.” Then the call ended. 

Maybe it was your expression that gave it away but Ten somehow also knew that whatever Kun had said was bad. “Call Renjun and Xiaojun and meet us at Kun’s place”, you ordered without thinking much. You then turned to face Taeyong, who had finally had the courage to join you in the living room, “You’re coming with me.” And for the first time ever Taeyong listened to you. 

-

You ran with thousands of thoughts racing through your mind. What if it was too late? What if someone was hurt? What if- 

“Are you listening??” Taeyong’s question brought you back to reality. “No, not really”, you answered truthfully, it was getting hard to even focus on what the other was saying. Before Taeyong could open his mouth to reply with some sort of rude comment, you both heard a loud gunshot. 

It was like something in you exploded, like you suddenly had no control over anything that was happening. The male next to you saw the clear stress in your eyes, but decided to not say anything. 

Your body started moving without realising and soon you found yourself at a building’s stairway. Only now did you realise that Taeyong was not in fact with you. But you knew to not worry about him, he was used to these kinds of situations and could handle them without help. 

Your breath stiffened when hearing footsteps approach your current hiding place. You held the gun- or specifically  The Smith & Wesson Model 27 revolver, ready to shoot the person. 

You knew they were close, close enough to shoot, you even saw their dark figure right in front of you. It’s now or never, you thought and aimed at the enemy’s head. But when you heard the bullet hit nothing, you knew something was deeply wrong. Your assumption was proven correct after turning around and being met with the familiar feeling of getting shot in the shoulder. 

The piercing pain distracted you enough to let the person escape. You let out a quiet grunt while holding onto your wound and continued moving upwards, towards Kun’s apartment. 

“What the fuck happened to you?” The sudden question made you jump and turn around, the gun now aimed at the speaker. “Woah woah it’s just me”, Taeyong put his hands up and took a few steps back, just to be safe. 

“What does it look like?” you started climbing up the stairs, careful of not being spotted by any of the enemies. Taeyong followed just behind you, also being extremely cautious.

It was silent between the two of you. Just heavy breathing and distant gunshots could be heard. “Does it hurt much?” Taeyong finally broke the quiet bubble ,“the shoulder I mean..” You scoffed at him, “are you worried about me or something? Focus on yourself.”

When you made it to the apartment, you both saw Kun and Renjun fighting with the enemy. You quickly shot one of them in the chest and the other one was down as fast as the first, thanks to Taeyong.

“Where’s Ten?” You asked as soon as your and Renjun’s eyes met. Since those two had come here together, surely he knew about the male’s whereabouts. Renjun thought about it for a moment, “he’s probably somewhere safe.” The much shorter male kind of dodged the question, afraid to say that, he had actually no idea where Ten was.

You nodded slowly, trying to think of what to say. “Make sure that there’s no more of those people” ,you motioned towards the two bodies lying on the floor “but.. if things get bad, we leave okay? Don’t want any one of us dead.” After instructing Kun and Renjun, you turned to face Taeyong, who had been standing next to you awkwardly for some time now. “You can do whatever you want, just don’t get in my way”, you murmured the sentence coldly before leaving the three males alone.

While moving around the building, the feeling of something terrible happening kept you wanting to see your friend alive and well. You had to remind yourself multiple times that Ten knew how to fight, he knew to not fuck things up. You reached the fifth floor and automatically knew someone was there with you, hiding somewhere so you couldn’t see them. You were ready to shoot whatever moved, you didn’t want to risk getting hurt again.

Slowly moving forward, you made your way through the hallway. You heard someone run down the stairs and turned towards the sound instinctively. When the familiar face made its appearance, you let out a sigh of pure relief. It was no other than Ten.

At the heat of the moment, you totally forgot about the possible enemy that was with you. “What happened to your shoulder?” Ten asked while pointing at his own shoulder, “you need Chenle to patch you up when we get back?”

“Yeah absolutely, it hurts like hell” you forced a crooked smile “but I’ll manage for the time being.” Ten smiled back at you and for a moment, it was peaceful. It’s always calm before the storm.

“Y/N, there’s-!”

A loud bang sound was heard, followed by a thud. The male that had stood in front of you a second ago was now on the floor. Your brain took a moment to process everything that was happening… there was blood. There was so much blood. And Ten was bleeding badly.

You were in panic, to say simply. With your shaky hands and unsteady breathing, it was hard to do anything to help your friend. “You- you’re,” you tried to force words out of your mouth, “gonna.. be okay.” You felt Ten’s breathing get fainter every passing second, and it was driving you insane. You sniffled quietly, tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

No matter how hard you put pressure on his wound, the blood just dirtied your hands into crimson color. You wanted Ten to say something, to say that he was going to be fine.

But it was already too late. He was gone.

You started shaking the body with sobbed pleases, he wasn’t dead, he couldn’t. When you didn’t get any response from Ten, you knew he wasn’t coming back. Loud, ugly crying filled the empty void that was the hallway. “You piece of shit had- had to die huh!?” You cried out while holding onto the other like he was going to disappear into thin air, if you let go.

Hopeless, you felt so hopeless. You couldn’t do anything but wet Ten’s shirt with your tears. All critical thinking was thrown out the window a long time ago, you didn’t know who shot him, you didn’t know if you were going to be dead next. Honestly, you couldn’t care less at that point.

You had no idea how long you laid there, on the floor with Ten. But when his body started getting cold, you knew deep down that it was time to leave. Yet you didn’t want to go, not yet. But when hearing someone call out your name, you had to get up. With a long breath in and out, you tried to get the composure back that you had lost before. You took one last painful look at your friend and with that you left the fifth floor. 

“There you are-” Xiaojun’s expression changed drastically after seeing the state you were in. With bloodshot eyes, your face red and puffy, the male knew that you had cried. “Did something happen? Are you hurt?” You tried answering his questions, but a sudden wave of coldness, followed by dizziness, totally overwhelmed you.  

The shoulder. You had been shot. How could have you forgotten about that?? You knew what was happening, you had lost a lot of blood. “Xiao..”, you took a few groggy steps towards the other. Before you could continue your sentence, an army of black dots covered your sight of vision, and just like that, you were out.

-

An old house in the middle of nowhere. You knew where you were, you were home. Calling a place like this a home, wasn’t something you were proud of, but it was all you got. 

Walking on the pathway, that once was nothing more than grass, felt safe for some reason. The door of the house was open and you stepped inside. You knew that you shouldn’t be here- no, you didn’t want to be here. But as long as mother wasn’t home, it was safe. 

You looked at your own reflection through a broken mirror, mother had thrown a plate at it once. You made your way to your own room and sat down on the bed. It was silent, it was better that way. 

“Y/N.. mother’s home..” 

Whenever mother came back from work, it was best to stay out of the way. You had learned it the hard way. So you quickly hid inside your closet, just like you did as a child.

“I heard you cry, love.” Mother was near, you could hear her footsteps outside the closet. “Why are you crying Y/N?” You held your breath and tried to be as invisible as possible. 

The door opened and there she stood. Mother asked the same question again, yet you couldn’t answer. “Come out of the closet please, you shouldn’t be hiding.” You didn’t have time to react, mother was already pulling you out by your hair, even if it hurt, you couldn’t scream. 

“You killed Ten, didn’t you Y/N? Is that why you’re crying?” You looked up from the dirty floor and saw mother sobbing. You instantly tried defending yourself, but got kicked in the stomach as a punishment for talking back. “Now everyone’s going to think that I love a son, who’s a murderer!” Mother threw things at you, some hit and some didn’t.

You flinched when her soft hand caressed your bloody cheek. “You could’ve saved him” mother whispered, “he would be alive, if you didn’t do what you always do.” With a kiss on the forehead, mother stood up and said her final words before leaving: “I still love you, even if you’re a murderer.”

-

You woke up covered in cold sweat. Did you have a nightmare? You took shaky breaths in and out while trying to figure out where you were. You saw a clock and could feel the pillow against your head, you were laying on your own bed. But you couldn’t stay here, you needed to get some water and maybe even fresh air. 

You quietly opened the door and started making your way towards the bathroom. You took note of the people sleeping in the living room, there were more than you had thought, maybe all the members from Kun’s apartment came here. When the door to the bathroom closed, another door opened. 

Taeyong had woken up earlier to you shuffling and talking in your sleep. He was just about to shake you awake, but stopped when you suddenly opened your eyes. He got scared so bad that he almost let out a quiet scream. You didn’t see him though, maybe that’s a good thing.

He listened as you walked through the apartment and when hearing the sound of a door opening and closing, Taeyong carefully stepped outside the room, trying to figure out where you went. Not like he really cared or anything, it’s just that Chenle made him watch after you. When you had passed out and carried back to your place, at first you weren’t waking up at all and when you finally did after two hours, you managed to fall asleep- or maybe the medicine that Chenle gave you put you asleep. 

Either way, Taeyong was put in charge of you for the time being. Chenle or Kun would have done that in a heartbeat, but they both had something to take care of. After the fight back at Kun’s place, Ten had gone missing. They had gone looking for him and that’s why Taeyong ended up being your babysitter. 

You had locked the bathroom door, just in case. Watching your own reflection through the dirty mirror, you saw how much of a mess you truly were. Messy hair and dark eyebags made your face look very unpleasant, to put it nicely. You noticed something in the background of your reflection and for a split second  you were a hundred percent sure it was Ten. 

You slid down to the bathroom floor with a soft sob. Ten is dead.. Ten is dead.. you tried to calm yourself down with those words but as expected, it didn’t help at all. The walls were closing in and it felt impossible to breathe, you thought you were dying. Nightmares that once were just dreams, had become a reality for you and it’s hard to escape nightmares when you’re wide awake.

There had to be something for this kind of condition, some type of pill that would make you calm down. You reached for the cabinet and a bunch of bottles dropped to the floor. Reading them in somewhat of a hurry, you ended up grabbing pain killers and swallowing seven pills.  

“Y/N.. uumm you in there?” 

Someone knocked on the door, it was so loud. “Stop banging on the door...”, you said more to yourself than the stranger on the other side. You finally stepped out of the bathroom and a chill ran down your spine when realising the stranger was Taeyong. “I’m going to”, you took a quick look at the state of the bathroom and then turned back to face the male, “take a q-quick walk.” You didn’t wait for an answer. 

Taeyong stood beside you, while you struggled putting your shoes on. “You really should stay here” he whispered just as you were about to leave. “I mean, Chenle and Kun will kill me if they found out, I let you go for a walk. And you could get sick and get the bulletwound infected-” You scoffed at him and opened the door, “no need to lie. You don’t care about me.” 

“Yeah.. I guess you’re right.” Taeyong weakly forced a smile on his face and when you slammed the door close, he muttered something before going back to bed. 

The fresh air hit your pale face and the sounds of New York calmed you down a bit. You didn’t know where you were going, you just wanted somewhere far away. 

-

“Where the fuck is Y/N??” 

Taeyong was shaken awake by two unrecognisable people, his eyes tried to focus on their faces, but the temptation of falling asleep again was making it hard. The leader heard the same question again, he had no idea what they were talking about, you were there with him, sleeping on your own bed- oh wait you weren’t. “Why’s he not here?” The two men, who Taeyong now recognised as Renjun and Chenle, let out a sigh “That’s what we’re asking, you idiot.” 

Taeyong thought about the last night, he had woken up at around 4 AM to something and had gone back to sleep- no, there had to have happened something more. He tried rewinding the memories from earlier and this time he remembered you. More specifically, he remembered you leaving to go for a.. walk? 

“He.. Y/N went to get some fresh air” Taeyong recalled, “but he didn’t come back?” 

-

For three days, Taeyong looked for you for three days. The guilt he was feeling couldn’t be described with words, it was something else. Letting you go just like that when earlier, you had been through hell. The first and worst thought that crossed Taeyong’s brain was that, you had committed suicide. That’s why he had been trying to find you like crazy. And maybe that’s why it felt like a miracle, when seeing you alive and well. 

He hesitated to approach you at first. You looked so.. peaceful, he didn’t want to ruin that. Watching you just exist, the view of the Manhattan bridge slowly disappeared. It was just you and him. 

“We were really worried about you y’know.” You looked up and saw Taeyong stand next to you, it was obvious that he was feeling awkward. You hummed in response, not really knowing what to say. “You said, you were only going for a walk”, the other didn’t even dare to look at you, just watch the scenery in front of him. It was silent for a while. “Do you think I’m a coward, Taeyong?” The sudden question made Taeyong look at you in confusion. “No, no absolutely not-” 

“I’ve been acting like a fucking coward.” Your voice was shaky, “a-and I just ran away because I’m a stupid piece of shit who can’t take a-any responsibility!” You didn’t want to cry, not in front of Taeyong. Still the salty tears spilled from your eyes like a waterfall. 

You felt a pair of arms wrap around your body, it felt good. “W-what are you doing?” You tried to not sound weak, but the sniffling made it oh so hard. Taeyong thought about an answer for a moment, “comforting, I guess..?” You nodded, accepting the safety he was giving. 

You two had stayed like that until you had calmed down. It was getting cold and you started making your way back home, without talking about what happened on the bridge. 

As you were about to open the door to your apartment, you turned to Taeyong. 

“I think I like you, but I don’t know if I can love you.” 

[house-afire]

Doggie Heaven (fix-it, Izzy & Fang, Izzy & dogs)

Turns out, when half the Caribbean’s spent the last twenty-odd years calling you Blackbeard’s dog, it really fucks up death’s sense of what berth to hand you.

That’s as good an explanation as Izzy can come up with, anyhow, since he bled out on the Revenge and woke up in doggie heaven.

It’s not so bad, really. Better than most place he’s been. A lot of it is an endless meadow, peppered with wildflowers and crisscrossed with streams. He just has to watch where he steps, because this might be the only heaven with quite this much piss and shit in it. It all fades away after a day, though, so there’s never too much of it; the dogs just seem to like a good bouquet of smells about.

They seem to like him too. Bring him sticks when they want to play. Lick his tears away when he’s lonely. When Izzy stretches out at night, under the glittering canopy of unrecognizable stars, the dogs come and sleep around him. One squat, white, bullet-headed terrier always curls up in a ball up by Izzy’s armpit, so Izzy has to sleep with his arm slung out across the furry, furnace-hot twat. It’s not uncomfortable—heaven and all—but Izzy pretends to mind anyway: he scratches the pup around his flared, pointy ears and tells him he’s a fucking terror.

One day he wakes up with the Fucking Terror lying on his chest, silhouetted by blue sky.

“You’re lucky this can’t kill me here,” Izzy says, rubbing the dog along his ribs and listening to his tail thump. “You weigh a fucking ton.”

The Fucking Terror puts his chin down against Izzy’s sternum and looks up at him adoringly, and all of a sudden, Izzy remembers.

“Fuck me,” he says. “You’re Fang’s dog.”

The Fucking Terror wags his entire back half at hearing Fang’s name, to the point where he tumbles off Izzy’s chest. The weight of him seems to stay, though.

He didn’t give the order for Fang to kill the Fucking Terror, or whatever the dog’s name was back then, but he made sure it was done. Didn’t try to argue Edward out of it. Didn't stop it.

You shouldn’t have brought him here in the first place, he told Fang. Blackbeard’s right: the ship’s no place for a pet. You going to take him out for walkies in the middle of a raid? All he’ll do is eat up more than your share of the rations and make us all soft.

He remembers Fang crying. Fang’s clothes matted with short white hairs.

“I’d stop it now,” he tells the Fucking Terror, “but he wouldn’t order it now anyway, would he? And then there was a time when he wouldn’t, and I told him he should. I hung on his neck about it.” He exhales. “Our whole lives, there were only ever a few days, really, when we could save each other from ourselves. And that was too late for you. We had such rotten fucking timing, me and Ed, until the end. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t look out for you. Didn’t look out for Fang.”

The dog licks his face. Dogs are the forgiving kind.

Izzy knows better now than to take that puppy-eyed love for granted, or think it comes cheap just because it comes easy. He pets the Fucking Terror and presses his face to the dog’s bristly side, breathing in the smell of him.

“Wish I could take you back to him,” he says, one arm around the dog’s neck. “You’re young still, and Fang deserves—”

The Fucking Terror barks directly in Izzy’s ear.

Underneath all the ringing that ensues, he realizes that he has an unnaturally clear idea of what the dog is—wild as it seems—trying to say.

Wish I could take you back, he said.

The bark answers: You can.

It’s a reply that, until this last year, Izzy Hands would have said existed only in places like doggie heaven. Life’s not that kind. You fuck things up and you live with it, that’s all.

But as impossible as it seems, he’s gotten these kinds of chances before. There’s a reason why, even in doggie heaven, where he moves gracefully as ever and without any pain, he still has one golden hoof: because he loved this undeserved epilogue more than anything else in his whole fucking life, and there’d be no heaven without it. Doggie or otherwise.

So he’s going to follow the spirit of Fang’s dead dog, because, well, he followed Stede Fucking Bonnet, too, and it turned out all right until Pinocchio the Cunt put a bullet in him.

“Lead on, then,” Izzy says to the Fucking Terror.

The dog gives another enthusiastic, all-rump waggle, hops to his feet, and starts jogging resolutely towards the west.

“I always thought the west would just take us deeper into dying,” Izzy says. “That’s what people usually mean by it, down there.”

The Fucking Terror, one bafflingly comprehensible answer aside, is the strong and silent type; he doesn’t bark out any particular response to that. Which is probably just as well, now that Izzy thinks about it, because it’s one thing to try to resurrect your friend’s dog and it’s another thing to have a fucking philosophical discussion with it.

He follows the dog west.

It’s hard to tell much about how time and space work in doggie heaven. As far as Izzy can see, they may just do what the dogs want or expect them to do.

The Fucking Terror doesn’t think in miles, just in terms like near or far, and he knows that where he’s taking Izzy must be very far away.

So it is. They go without sleeping or tiring, but all the same, they walk for what may be days or even weeks. It’s a long enough trek that the world around them changes, and the meadows turn to dunes, to shale, to sand, to lush tangles of green. The air warms, and Izzy can smell the sea.

The ocean opens up before them, wide and blue.

And the Revenge is there, settled onto the sand not like Bonnet’s run her aground again but like she’s there as naturally as driftwood. Ships aren’t meant to look this good on land, but this one does. She’s as pretty as Bonnet’s model of her, and she’s waiting for them.

They’ve carved a new unicorn for her prow, painted it black and gray and given it one shining gold hoof.

“Fucking twats,” Izzy says, his eyes burning. “Salt’s going to eat away at the paint. You’ll have to touch it up every other week.”

The Fucking Terror yips at him a bit until Izzy picks the dog up and gives him a proper cuddle. He settles down so comfortably in Izzy’s arms that Izzy decides to leave him there and just carry him aboard. It’s practical, or so he tells himself.

The Revenge is quiet: a living ship is a ghost ship, apparently, if the land is full of ghosts already. But as Izzy walks through it—the Fucking Terror doesn’t seem to object to him taking his time—he finds signs of his crew, here but just out of his reach. Roach’s galley smells like fresh bread and the broth from the Pirate Queen’s ship. There are nicks in some of the posts where Jimenez has been throwing knives. Frenchie’s lute is slung into a hammock. There’s the potted plant that once proved Bonnet’s pirate bona fides.

One of the rooms—Izzy refuses to acknowledge that he knows very fucking well it’s what they called the jam room, because if he does, his brain will start leaking out his ears—has been converted into Spriggs’s personal gallery. Lots of dicks—some of which Izzy knows on sight; you didn’t forget the bend in Pete’s once you’d seen it, God knows—but sketches of ships and shells and birds, too. A few crew portraits where everyone’s got their cocks or other bits put away.

There’s a drawing of him singing at Calypso’s birthday.

The Fucking Terror looks at the picture with interest.

“I know,” Izzy says, trying to make a crack about it and not sure he's putting it over. “Stunner, wasn’t I?”

The dog sends his tail flying into Izzy’s chest.

This little tour of theirs has to come to an end. If Izzy stays here any longer, he’ll be too fucking heartsick to leave the dog behind the way he should. He has to let the Fucking Terror live, the way he once let him die; he never did enough for Fang in life, but he’s going to do this for him now.

Can’t leave him on the deck, though. For all Izzy knows, the weather in the real world isn’t anything like this calm. (And that’s if this half-baked scheme of his—some bastard child of Ed’s plans and Bonnet’s—even works at all.) He hasn’t come all this way to let the little fucker be swept overboard.

But every sailor keeps a trunk, stored down belowdecks for safety, and it doesn’t take Izzy too long to find Fang’s.

Time was, this would have been locked, but nobody here is careful. Somehow, they’ve all found the one place where they don’t have to be.

Inside, the clothes all smell like Fang—sea and sourdough and rum and black pepper. Like the only hug Izzy’s had in years. He strokes the rough cotton of the top shirt and looks at where it’s mended with some bright purple thread that can only have come from Bonnet. It’s turned a tear into a pattern.

Purple’s Ed’s favorite color. Izzy always knew that, even though he used to pretend neither of them had a favorite anything. He knows Ed’s stitches, too—God love the man, but he’s shit with a needle, and Izzy’s crookedest scar comes from the time they both got drunk and decided they could do the surgeon’s job for him. These are too neat for Edward. Fang’s own work, probably.

Izzy lays the dog down in the trunk, in the nest of Fang’s clothes, and it feels like he’s tearing his own heart out of his chest.

“I’ll miss you,” he says, his voice raspier than ever from the tears he’d not going to fucking shed over a fucking dog that was never even fucking his to begin with, over the life and friends he’s already fucking lost. “If you can’t stay here, come find me. And—just fucking love him for me. Love all of them. Be a good dog.”

The Fucking Terror rubs his head against Izzy’s hand, licks him once, and curls up in Fang’s shirts.

Izzy scrubs at his eyes with the heels of his hands and sighs. That’s it, then. It’s done. He turns to go.

But—

His leg hurts.

He can feel the ship rock and sway in the calm, always-there way you almost never notice after a lifetime at sea. You don’t even feel it like this after being ashore, only after being becalmed for longer than you can stand.

The air is filling in with distant sounds.

Behind him, the Fucking Terror barks.

“What was that?” someone in the corridor says. “Is someone up to something weird in bed?”

It’s Fang. That works well enough. It’ll be nice, him being the one to find the dog.

But he won’t find Izzy, and Izzy has to remind himself of that, to not let his hopes rise up so far he chokes on them. He’s a ghost, and if Fang can even see him in the first place, all he’ll do is run—that’s what you do when the dead try to follow you.

And odds are, Fang will never even know he’s here.

The door opens.

“Anybody knocking boots in—”

Fang stops.

“Izzy,” he says, and Izzy doesn’t even get the chance to think before Fang is engulfing him in a tight embrace. It’s like having the dog on his chest all over again: he’s being crushed and he fucking loves it. “Izzy, you’re not dead!”

“I am,” Izzy says. It comes out as a croak. “I was.”

Fang still doesn’t let him go. “You’re too warm to be a corpse and too solid to be a ghost. That’s good enough for me. The barking’s a bit weird, but we can—”

“That wasn’t me, for fuck’s sake.” Izzy disentangles himself just enough to gesture at Fang’s open trunk. “Fucker found me up in doggie heaven. He wanted to come home.”

Fang looks. His eyes were already shining, and this finishes off the job and lets the tears fall. “Fluffy?”

“Fluffy,” Izzy mutters. “No wonder I didn’t remember that. Dog’s not fluffy at all, he’s sleek.”

The Fucking Fluff sits up in the trunk and barks until Fang scoops him up too, and then they’re just like that, all pressed together, wet with tears and dog slobber. And it’s not any heaven Izzy’s ever heard of, not with his aching leg and Fang’s beard half in his mouth and a dog named Fluffy, but it’s life, it’s a second chance, and he holds on and is held.

[eelhound]

"What would it be like to be truly content with what we have? You can understand that in regard to material things, of course, but I also mean it in regard to our life in total. What would it be like to walk down the street like that? Not imagining where you’re going or where you’re coming from but being content with whatever the street, the world, has to offer at exactly that moment in time.

Dogen said it would be like this: 'The mind and the externals are just thus. The gate of liberation is open.' What? Let me explain.

At the Zen center we have a few beautiful tea bowls made by a Japanese potter, all of which are chipped now, because people wash them and stack them in the metal rack, and they’re very fragile. When I talk to our community members about not putting them in the rack, they say, 'They’re too delicate to use. Why do we even have them?' Suzuki Roshi had the same problem with the teacups in his own Zen center. (It must be a Zen center epidemic.) A student complained to Suzuki about the cups. He smiled and said, 'You just don’t know how to handle them. You have to adjust yourself to the environment, not vice versa.'

This is what Dogen was saying, too. The gate of liberation is always open. Liberation from what? Liberation from walking around in a dream, like a zombie looking for contentment outside your immediate and precious life. If only you could actually recognize and receive what is here in front of you, rather than what you wish were here instead. Why is that so hard? I don’t know, but I do know that I certainly have a tendency to want to adjust my environment to myself, not the other way around. Instead, is it possible for us to constantly give thanks for whatever our life gives us? This is how to practice being truly content with what we have — even when it seems impossible.

One of my heroes of practicing this radical contentment is the 18th-century haiku master Issa, who is a beloved poet in Japan. He has a haiku that goes 'Everything I touch / with tenderness, alas, / pricks like a bramble.' Essentially, 'Everything I touch turns to shit.' He had his reasons for saying so. His mother died when he was 3, and he was raised in part by a loving grandmother, who died when he was 14. He was sent away from his home by his father and stepmother, not returning until he was 49. He then met his wife, Kiku. Their first child died in birth. Their second died as a toddler. Then a third child died, and finally, Kiku herself died. It was after their second child’s death that Issa wrote probably his most famous poem: 'This world— / Is a dewdrop world, / And yet, and yet . . .'

Issa was so interested in that 'and yet.' In a body of work inspired by incredible suffering and melancholy, there is also that incredible sweetness of the 'and yet,' which pervades his writing. It’s a sweetness that coexists with sorrow, and it reminds us that sweetness is always available to us, if we’re willing to fully enter our life, just as it is."

- Koshin Paley Ellison, from "Being Content with What We Have." Tricycle, June 2019.

[jaskiersvalley]

Hi! Please don’t be freaked out that I essentially just stalked your blog? Emoji ask game, if you feel like it <3

😈💖🧐

Finding that someone has trawled through my blog is honestly the highlight of being on this hellsite (affectionate). It fills me with such unbridled joy. Having said that, my brain holds memories worse than a sieve holds water so I cannot for the life of me remember anything I post or reblog, as such the ask game is a mystery. By way of apology I shall pop on your doormat a fic like a cat would present a carefully hunted leaf.

Technically the Truth

The perk of Geralt dating Jaskier was that Lambert and Eskel met Cahir. How exactly Geraly ended up dating a popstar was beyond understanding but his makeup artist was a perk for sure, even if they couldn't visit him quite as they wanted to. Cahir had two dogs which, at first, had been a delight for Lambert and Eskel. Alas, they couldn't meet them. Being rescues with a gnarly past, they were distrustful of new people already and fiercely protective of Cahir. Add in their size and the stereotypes of their breed, Cahir did not take any risks. It didn't stop him sending pictures of the dogs in various ridiculous situations, Lambert's favourite was perhaps the one involving duck printed onesies, caps and, for some hitherto unknown reason, a pacifier.

Introductions were slowly made, meeting on a walk. Treats only worked to some extent as a form of bribery and buying the dogs' favour. While out and about, things were fine. But when home, it was a bit of a different matter. Still, they worked hard and finally both Lambert and Eskel were accepted and welcome visitors in Cahir's home.

For a makeup artist, Cahir sure seemed exclusive. He toured with Jaskier and his manager, Fringilla. There were very few other clients he worked with, Essi was one of them and, with some disdain from Jaskier, he also occasionally worked for Valdo. But mostly he was not only Jaskier's makeup artist but also confidant. Tours were one thing but Cahir also tagged along to trips, interviews, appearances. The biggest honour was when he asked Lambert and Eskel to take care of his dogs for a couple of weeks.

It was no hardship really. The first week flew by, they sent Cahir photos and got brief messages in return. Whatever it was Jaskier was filming (possibly a music video?), it was keeping Cahir busy. The second week they heard even less from Cahir. By the end of it he had seemingly dropped off the face of the planet. Worried, Eskel questioned whether Jaskier had been in touch with Geralt. Finding out he was home already made something twist cruelly in his chest. To make matters worse, at the end of the two weeks Fringilla was the one to appear, taking the dogs with her. House and hearts empty, Lambert and Eskel were at a loss.

Things didn't get better. Though it wasn't a comfort, Geralt started spending more time with them, seeming to sulk. It all came tumbling out after a few beers.

"I miss him," Geralt grumbled.

"Who?"

"Jask." The word was scoffed as if it should have been obvious.

Eskel rubbed his nose. "Isn't he home? Shit. You aren't having troubles too, are you?"

Shaking his head, Geralt knocked back the last dregs of his drink. "No. He's got these damn dogs living with him. Something about a will or some shit."

"Why's that an issue? You're Mr. Animals Guy. Let me guess, they're tiny teacup yappers?" It was nigh on impossible to hide the bitterness in Lambert's voice.

"I wish. Two big bastards, he says they're friendly once you know them. But fuck, they keep growling and snarling."

Lambert and Eskel shared a glance. It was Eskel who spoke up. "Geralt, listen to me very carefully. You said will, right? And these dogs, they big, one is brown and white, cropped ears, the other is solid grey, missing an ear and has scars on his neck? Called Peaches-"

"-and Fuzzles," Geralt finished, frowning. "How the fuck did you know?"

"Cahir." Voice barely more than a broken whisper, Eskel leaned against Lambert, trying to hide his breaking heart. "What the fuck happened?"

Anger was easier than grief and Lambert gave into it. Face twisted into a scowl, he squeezed Eskel's hand in his. "We have some questions for your boyfriend. How dare he not tell us?"

"Tell you what?!"

"We're paying him a visit right now. And making sure Peaches and Fuzzles are happy."

Just like that Lambert was up and grabbing his shoes, not caring that it was late or that they'd all had drinks. The taxi took them to Jaskier's without a hitch and he angrily jammed his finger on the buzzer. Familiar twin howls went up. After what felt like an age, Jaskier cracked the door open.

"What? It's a bit late and I'm not up for guests."

Pushing at the door, Lambert stuck a foot in. "Let us see them. And you better tell us why the hell you have Cahir's dogs."

Whatever it was that Jaskier saw in them, he stepped back, allowing them to barge in.

"They're in the garden," he said and gestured in the general direction. "Just-" breaking off, he shrugged, "-be gentle, okay? It's been rough."

Not really caring about Jaskier's woes, Lambert was hurrying to get to the dogs, Eskel hot on his heels. Only, the dogs weren't alone in the garden. The first thing that gave it away was the glowing cherry of a deep cigarette drag. A dark, familiar sihlouette was huddled on the bench, dogs by his feet.

"Cahir?!" Lambert near enough screeched. His determined march was only cut short by the deep growl of one of the dogs. It slowed him down enough to collect himself. "You have a lot of explaining."

The outside light came on and Eskel caught Lambert as he staggered back. Bruised, tired eyes stared up at them as Cahir took a moment to gather himself.

"Hey." Even his voice was wrecked, hoarse and scratchy.

"Is that all you have to say?" This time Eskel was the one to finally snap. "You fall off the face of the earth, Geralt tells us Jaskier has your dogs because if was in your will. And all this time you weren't dead?"

"You prefer if I was?"

"No!" Lambert's outburst drew another growl and Cahir tutted at Peaches.

Stubbing out his cigarette, Cahir pushed to stand, movements stiff. "Things went tits up. I'll call it in then explain inside."

In the end Jaskier was the one who made some mysterious call. He returned to the living room where Geralt, Lambert and Eskel were on a sofa while Cahir was in an armchair, dogs by his feet. Sitting down, Jaskier groaned.

"So, we may not have been completely liberal with the truth. Technically I am a popstar and Cahir my makeup artist. But, uh, that's a cover. We work, or rather, I do and Cahir used to work for the intelligence agency. I could get us places, Cahir had the time to do the work while I distracted."

Lambert laughed and the others looked at him like he had grown a second head.

"What? You don't believe this bullshit?" He stared at Eskel and Geralt, face falling. "Oh shit. You do." In the light of the living room it was much easier to make out the bruises on Cahir's skin, the shape of a brace around his knee under sweatpants, the sling which he had a knack for slipping his arm out of. A little weakly, Lambert added, "I just thought Cahir was too embarrassed to tell us he fell down some stairs or something."

"I wish," Cahir huffed.

"You rest your throat," Jaskier interrupted and took over. "That would be a nicer thing to recover from. Cahir's been staying with me since he was released from hospital. For obvious reasons we can't tell you how he was injured. He needs to rest-" here, he gave Cahir a pointed look, "-and not smoke."

"Bite me."

"In the interest of his health and recovery, it was deemed best he stay with me until he could be on his own again."

"Meaning?" Eskel didn't like the sound of that.

"Physical and mental rehabilitation," Cahir spat with disdain. "Company mandated. Will have some lovely scars and nightmares."

"Cahir," hesitant suspicion laced Eskel's voice, "are you being kept here against your will?"

The bark of a laugh turned into a coughing fit that left Cahir red in the face with tear streaks down his cheeks. "Just can't be alone. Jaskier knows the drill. Not for civilians."

"Do you still want us?" Eskel pushed on and next to him, Lambert sat up a little straighter.

"Don't think you'll want me after this."

"Come home with us." It was Lambert who said it, half a command, half a plea. "Peaches and Fuzzles too."

A long look was shared between Cahir and Jaskier who not so subtly shook his head. Taking a deep breath, Cahir nodded and offered the other two a small smile.

"That sounds nice. I'd like that."