#everything’s just an excuse I’m selfish I’m lazy I’m an asshole it’s fine

[a-concert-just-for-me]

I love how my autism just doesn’t exist to my family lmfao

[bnhasimpgirltm]

Why Is It That You Only Ever Hurt Me? (Bakugo Katsuki x Reader)

Pairings: Bakugo Katsuki x Reader

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 2130

Genre: Angst? (It seems less angsty than it should but maybe my mental angst meter is all screwed up)

A/N: I had an idea and I acted on it. I hope it’s okay. It’s a pretty common fanfic idea, but I wanted to try and write one of my own. There is a lot of yelling, but I didn’t want to use all caps for loud yelling because it’s kinda annoying to read. Reader has a quirk that allows them to manifest emotional energy into a type of physical energy (i.e. Thermal, Gravitational, Sound)

Read Part 2 HERE 

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“Why are you so damn clingy all the time?” Bakugo shouted out, alerting everyone in the common room of your current situation. You had these fights with Bakugo quite often, small things that were a little bit annoying. Your ‘clingyness’ was never the topic of any of them. Usually they resolved after you both got over yourselves and apologized, but little did you know, this wasn’t going to be a small fight.

Laughing cruelly, you roll your eyes. You weren’t even being clingy, just asking him if you two could go on a date later, to which he responded that he ‘had better things to do than go out with you’. He should have been grateful that comment didn’t set you off, but of course he had to take it further and call you clingy.

Narrowing your eyes at your supposed boyfriend, you stood there with your fists clenched by your side and the muscles in your face tensed up. It was taking everything you had not to let all of your anger out at Bakugo, because if you did, your quirk would most likely injure everyone in the common room.

Breath. Slowly. Deep breath in, 

1. . .

2. . .

3. . .

Exhale. Slowly. Repeat. 

“Aren’t you going to say something? Or are you going to just stand there like a dumb bitch?” He scoffed and rolled his eyes.

You let the dam crack, just a little , and the anger dripped out like a faucet. Everyone felt it, and they were all waiting for your anger to cause your heavily emotionally based quirk to lose control.

“You know what?” Your ‘yelling’ was barely above a regular speaking voice right now. You were still trying to protect everyone else in the common room, not losing control fully. Not yet, at least.

“What? Are you going to say something about how I’m an awful boyfriend? About how I neglect you and never want to go out with you?” Bakugo has a smirk plastered on his face, and his smug look makes you want to punch him into orbit. 

Your lip is still trembling, and your eyes are starting to water, the overwhelming sense of anger that you felt at the moment spilling from your eyes.

I will keep my emotions in control. I will keep my emotions in control.

You didn’t want to hurt anyone in the common room, especially not Bakugo.

Bakugo steps forward, yelling in your face, “Say something!” 

“Fine!” The dam broke. Your quirk causing the anger to become thermal energy, making the room hotter than a sauna. “You’re an egocentric, self-centered, tunnel minded, asshole-”

Bakugo cut you off, starting to yell again in his deep, threatening voice.

“What the hell did you just call me?” Explosions popped in his palms, an intimidating threat to others, but to you, it was just a childish antic of his.

You humored him, starting to repeat what you said earlier. “Do I need to repeat myself? I said you were and egotis-” 

He cut you off again, “It was a rhetorical question! I heard what you said the first time! God, were you always this shit brained?” 

That one stung a little, but you ignored it and kept going. “Were you always this selfish?” 

“You think it’s selfish of me to have a goal? At least I’m better than you! You’re just another damn extra in my way that has an incoviniently powerful quirk. You’re nothing without me,” he laughs and continues. “You’re worse than that half-and-half, icy-hot bastard. At least he uses half of his quirk. You don’t even try to use yours even half way. Maybe instead of asking me to go out again you should train so you can become more than a sidekick to a D-list hero.”

That was it. You thought that you couldn’t get any angrier, but here it was, punching you in the face, begging you to say something offensive back. Bakugo knew why you didn’t want to push your quirk to the max during training. He knew that you constantly had to worry about hurting your friends. He knew, and here he was, using it against you.

“You know exactly why I can’t push my quirk too far during training,” you say, trying to remediate the already out of hand situation, and also trying to push the anger to the back of your mind where it belonged. It suceeded, because the room slowly went back to room temperature, and the students of Class 1A in the common room visibly relaxed.

“I do know the exact reason, and you know what I think? I think it’s a load of bullshit.”

This shocked you. Bakugo was always so supportive of you and understood when you had to hold back sometimes.

“Excuse me?” You ask him, your anger reheating the room, making everyone tense again. 

“Didn’t you hear me the first time? I said it’s bullshit,” he repeats, emphasizing the ‘bullshit’ part of the sentence.

“You don’t know anything about my quirk! You don’t know how hard it is to con-” Once again he cuts you off. You should have left this conversation ten minutes ago, yet your pride wasn’t letting you. You wouldn’t let him win.

“You always whine and bitch about how hard it is to keep your quirk in control, but the only reason you can’t control it is because you’re a lazy extra who has no goals. You’re weak and a constant pain in the ass, and you’re so damn pathetic that you have to cling to me all the time because no one cares about you if I’m not there,” he scoffs and starts to turn away.

He absolutely does not get the right to walk away from this conversation.

“How could you say that about me?” You ask, tears brimming at your eyes. At this point you were more hurt than angry, but the mixed emotions running through your mind could seriously make your quirk act up.

“Because,” he stops for a moment, as if he’s thinking about his words, “I never loved you.”

Your heart shatters. Dumbfounded, you stare at him, the tears that you held back earlier escaping from your eyes and cascading like waterfalls down your face, the energy of your emotions shaking the room violently. You don’t care though.

“Was any of it real?” You ask, your voice trembling.

“None of it. You don’t mean shit to me,” he speaks at a normal volume for once, something that you wanted him to do more often.

You just didn’t think that it would be in a situation like this.

“I hope you have fun pushing people away Bakugo, because when you get to the top, you’ll realize that it’s pretty lonely up there. Maybe you’ll tell yourself that you couldn’t have both relationships and success, but just know that I would have been with you all the way.” You snap at him, but it’s oddly calm. Taking the finishing blow, you say, “You’re the weak one Bakugo. You’re too weak to show your emotions to others, to pursue things other than your goal to become the number one hero. I hope you’re happy with yourself Bakugo.”

For once, the explosive blonde didn’t have anything to say. 

You walk up the stairs, taking your broken energy with you back to your room.

“Bakugo, you obviously upset (y/n). They don’t want to talk to you right now,” Jiro, your close friend, glares at him, and he glares back. 

 Wordlessly, Bakugo follows you up the stairs, ignoring Jiro’s statement from a minute ago, and presses his ear to your door.

You were crying. Sobbing, actually, loudly, something you never did in front of people, no one except him. Usually you could restrain your emotions, somehing that you learned as a part of your training. He heard you scream, then go back to sobbing, and decided that he needed to apologize now. Fuck giving you time to cool off, he didn’t mean anything he said. Once again, he let his anger get the best of him, and this time, the consequences were too much for him to handle.

“(Y/N), let me in,” he says, knocking at your door.

“God just fuck off Bakugo!” You yell through the door between sobs.

“I didn’t mean anything I said babe. Let’s talk this out okay?” He tries to sound kind, but it comes off as annoyed and it pisses you off to an endless extent.

“I don’t want to talk it out, go away,” you choke out.

 Pushing him away was so hard for you. Every part of your heart belonged to him and it hurt so much when he tore it out and stomped the pieces on the floor. It hurt so much when he said he never loved you.

“I love you so much and I didn’t mean anything I said. I was angry for fucks sake,” he’s yelling through the door now, having a hard time keeping his emotions in check. 

You swing the door open, your eyes meeting his, and you see a relieved look cross his face.

“Thank god you’re not mad at me. Let’s go on that date you talked about-” 

This time you were the one who cut him off.

“I didn’t open the door so you could apologize Bakugo,” you snapped at him, making the infamous Bakugo flinch. “I opened the door so I could tell you that we’re done.”

“You’re fucking joking. Tell me you’re joking,” he yells, the attitude from earlier already rising again.

“All you do is train and pin for that spot at the top. You never were able to make time for me because you thought I would always be there to run back to you. Well news flash bitch, I’m leaving now.” The edge in your voice is tinted with a tremble, and Bakugo notices.

“You don’t fucking mean that.” Bakugo grabs your hand. “I love you so much and I know I never said it enough. I love you and I know you love me too (y/n). Please say it back.”

Bakugo had never begged for anything in his life, yet here he was, completely at your mercy.

“That’s the problem,” you start, “I love you with everything that I have, but all you do is hurt me. The fighting, the yeling, the neglect, and I still run back to you. Tell me Bakugo; Why is it that you only ever hurt me?” 

There. You said it back, just not in the way he expected.

Your voice projected through the hallway, filled with agony, longing, and sadness. 

He never wanted you to feel like this. He promised to protect you from these types of feelings, yet here he was, making you feel the very feelings that he vowed to protect you from. 

Once again, Bakugo was speechless.

“That’s what I thought,” you begin to close the door, laughing darkly, and leaving your hollowed-out soul for Bakugo to look at as a reminder of how royally he fucked up.

As the door shut, Bakugo stood in place, staring at it for hours. When he got tired of standing, he sat with his back to the door, hearing sobs rock you for what seemed like forever

At midnight, Kirishima and the rest of the Bakusquad snuck out of the dorms and came to check on Bakugo. 

There was no Bakugo in that hallway.

All they saw was a boy, a boy who had lost something so dear to him that the loss had torn him into two. A boy who had torn down his walls for someone so important to him, only to be crushed by the bricks as it all came crashing down around him. A boy who in the process of destroying the very thing that he loved, had self-destructed himself. 

Little did the broken boy know that on the other side of the door, there was another person, a person more broken than he was, a person who despite their heart being torn out and stomped on by the person who they gave it to, still loved the broken boy. 

Little did the broken boy know, you also had your back to the door, but you weren’t sobbing anymore, just staring off into the darkness of your room, not even bothering to turn the light on. 

He didn’t know you were almost back to back with him, the only thing separating you being the thin layer of the door, until he heard you speak.

You said the same phrase that you said to him earlier, except this time, it was hollow and cold. Despite that fact, it hit the broken boy ten times harder than it did the first time.

“Why is it that you only ever hurt me?”

[kittyspring-creates]

this is a rant fic mostly. Ship Kit x Larry my oc for sally face. Warning for suicide talk.

Kit sat with her back to the wall, knees to her chest as endless tears fell down her round cheeks. Evidence of her breaking heart, sore and torn. It didn't take long for her to be found. She was at a party after all. Someone else house. Someone else plans. Someone else life in a way. The gathering of people all having a great time as they lose them selves to the bliss of alcohol and drugs. But she had thrown her euphorbia up. Expelled it a while ago, her stomach to weak for what she wanted. It sent her spiraling. Alone in the back of the house where there was no bathroom, no alcohol, no drunk girl to mess with.

Just her and now the slapping of approaching feet. She gasped, snapping her head up to meet the person. He fear calming when she saw the figure. His slight sway in his motion telling his inebriated state. He stopped his walk right in front of her then rested his forehead on the wall. He Looked down at her as his long brown hair flowed over his shoulders. Darkening his hazy expression. She hiccupped as her tears stopped. He raised his limp hand to her head. Rubbing the side of it and petting her droopy ear that laid against her. She leaned into his touch and sniffled. Closing her eyes for a moment until he spoke to her.

"What's the matter" he mumbled, voice hoarse from the burn of the night. She lowered her head back down and began to sob. Her halted tears starting up again. "Everything. This place, my place, my family, my job or lack there of. I'm stuck. Stuck in a house if man babies and a yelling step mom who doesn't believe anyone else can be upset or is allowed to be emotional. Its just like before. Like with my mom. Her abuse and intolerance of me even breathing. Like my ex and his habit of starting fights and putting words in my mouth just to storm of and make me beg for forgiveness. Its never better. Its only ever worse and worse" she rambled. She sat up to wipe her cheeks and try to take in deep breaths. Gasping for air that she needed. Her voice shaking in whines and chokes with her personal waterfall coming down her face. "Its all terrible and no matter how much I prepare for the future rent goes up and food goes up and I need to prepare more so I don't end up on the street. But it keeps going up and I mentally cant handle working full time all the time. But its an excuse, I'm just being lazy, I'm not gonna go anywhere in life like that. I don't matter, my comfort means nothing" she raised her voice. She took in one last big breath and her shoulders sank. Her hiccups subsided and her gasping lessened. She laid her head down on her knees as she loosely held her ankles. She sniffled while she looked at nothing. Taking in none of what she saw before her. "Kitten" the man began again. "Do you want to die" he wondered. Low and raspy. She blinked slowly then mumbled "Yes, more then id like to admit" she confessed.

"You want to leave forever into the abyss where no one can hurt you anymore and you can finally stop existing" he painted a picture with his words. Kit raised her head to look at him, her large eyes dull and red from her crying. "Larry" she whispered. He pushed back from the wall and moved over to the right. He dropped down beside her, his head still swaying a little. "I think about it a lot. Dying. How easy it be. How it would end everything. Sometimes I get angry. They say death doesn't happen to you it happens to the people around you. Sometimes I don't care if their sad about it cause they don't care about me now. Cause I'm not around to help them with their shit so they mourn a therapist that worked without the pay or benefits. And that scares me to. That I don't care. Are you the same Kitten" he turned his head to meet her gaze. She was still holding herself. Hunched to rest in her prompted up legs.

"Yes, I think about that to. No one would really be sad. I would disappear and they'd fake it but really they'd all be happy. After the initial shock and the anger of paying for a funeral. They'd feel lighter with out me. I wouldn't have to fight anymore just to be heard. Or be back handed for having emotions and opinions. In a way id be free from all of it, the manipulation, the trauma, capitalism. Sometimes I don't even care about losing the good things if it means I don't have to suffer the bad anymore" her voice was distant, low and hopeless. Carrying nothing but the shattered remains of her chaotic thoughts.

The man turned his head to look out at the scene in front if them. "Id be sad...though I don't think it matters much. Because id know you'd be at peace. Would you be worse off it I left" he babbled. The woman leaned over to rest herself on his large form. "If you left I would never stop crying. I would cry until my heart cant handle it anymore and I took the leap myself. Its dramatic I know. Selfish even" she moved closer to him. He leaned down and rested his head in top of hers. "Kit, I'm barely surviving. Like you, its all I think about when I'm alone. How much I want to die. How much I know you want to die. How you walked out into traffic and if that car didn't swerve you wouldn't even be here. How everyone forgets and pretends it never happened. Acting like your fine. No one prioritizes you. I think about how easy it be for you to disappear." He reached for her hand and gripped it tightly. She let him, intertwining their fingers. She looked up to see him begin to tear up. "I hate that we're losing, that the assholes of the world have pushed us so far that we want to die. How they keep coming and no one seems to care or wants to do anything about it cause people are just people. I hate watching you suffer, I hate how everyone you met has taken a piece of you, that's not fucking fair. I hate how everyone's taken a piece of me. I don't even know what I'm doing anymore. Or how to make myself happy" the man began to cry. The droplets running down his face as he clenched his jaw in frustration.

"Larry I wanna take you home. But that would mean taking you to the place you hate. Where some man has walked your floors acting like he owns the place. And I can't take you to my place. Not with the constant yelling and temper tantrums going on. The lack of privacy everywhere. Its better to just stay here and fall asleep against this wall. Maybe we wont wake up" the man hiccupped at her ramble. A smile forming on the side of his face. "Your about to say something cute like 'they'll find us here together and know we were best friends'" now she was the one to chuckle and smile. "Are you quoting mew mew power" she wondered.  "Yeah" he held her tighter to stop the trembling of his hand. He ran his thumb along her hand. Trying to ground himself. The conversation ended. Both tired now and un able to move from their spot. The over whelming sadness anchoring them like stone to the floor and wall. Not like any of it mattered they concluded. They really could stay there and no one would care, no one would worry about them. They didn't matter to a soul. To the world around them.

[preserving-ferretbrain]

Red Seas Under Red Skies

by Wardog

Friday, 01 February 2008

Wardog praises with faint damnation~

I was nosing about Scott Lynch's LJ (which is endearingly titled The Dork Lord, on His Dork Throne) not so long ago and I came across this:

I was not a fan of the Wheel of Time books, probably because I came to them in my twenties with my tastes already fairly developed. I was never able to get past the opening of the second book, and those of you who've known me for ages I'm sure absorbed my criticism and invective years ago. I once wrote at excruciating length upon the weaknesses of the books as I perceived them, and while I thought it was extremely clever and somehow necessary at the time, the years since have drastically mellowed my taste for mocking the work of other authors who aren't huge assholes in person or pushing a distasteful agenda with their work. About the best I can say for my mosquito bites is that I sincerely hope Jordan himself never had them called to his attention. Something tells me he would have given them the eye roll they deserved.

And the sheer decency of it has sort of shamed me to such an extent (especially since I am a non-achiever who hangs about on the internet criticising other people's work) that I can hardly bring myself to review Red Seas Under Red Skies, especially since my attempt to write about The Lies of Locke Lamora degenerated into a (semi-harmless) mock-fest of Scott Lynch's hair. By the way the important word in that sentence was "hardly." With this mind and all due humility, here are some thoughts on Red Thingies Over/Under Red Other Thingies, which I shall hereafter refer to as RSURS for the sake of my sanity. It's the second book in the Gentleman Bastard sequence which will, I understand, eventually form a septet. I have to say, this idea distresses me. Not only has Harry Potter soured me on the number seven for life but, given the fact the fantasy genre generally can't cope with trilogies, the idea of a septet seems utterly ludicrous to me. I mean, what do you have to say that takes seven books? Seriously?

For the moment, however, Scott Lynch seems to have something to say. Ultimately there's no point in reading RSURS if you haven't read The Lies of Locke Lamora not because it doesn't almost stand alone but because familiarity with the background, the setting and the characters deepens the experience of reading. To give it due credit: RSURS is reasonably satisfying on its own terms. You can feel the slow gathering of plot upon the horizon like distant clouds (and fear the coming storm) and there are some massive danglers just left hanging in a deliberately taunting and irritating fashion but, hey, thems the breaks with this kind of thing. And, as in Lies, the mysterious Sabetha, the apparent love of Locke's life, is alluded to but remains absent: for fuck's sake, Lynch, stop it. You know she's just going to be a total let down after a build up like this.

The problems evident in Lies are evident in RSURS, only slightly moreso because you don't have the novelty factor of being a first book to distract you from them. If you didn't like Locke the first time round, you won't like him here because he's exactly the same and still, some might argue, something of a Mary Sue or the male equivalent thereof. Although I don't personally object to the love affair Scott Lynch is tenderly enacting with his (anti)hero, I do struggle somewhat with the character. As I think I said in my review of Lies, he's absolutely the nicest bastard you could ever hope to meet: he never harms or kills anybody who doesn't thoroughly deserve it, his supposedly long-dead conscience miraculously reappears whenever he's confronted by any sort of cruelty or injustice and his unswerving and self-sacrificing loyalty to his friends is a virtue of such magnitude that it eclipses everything remotely unsympathetic about him. It shouldn't, but that's the way fiction works: if your character cares about the same people as the reader, it doesn't really matter how that character behaves, they're always going to garner a degree of support and approval.

I wouldn't mind this so much if I didn't have the feeling that Locke is supposed to be a shady character for a dark world. Perhaps I have the wrong end of the stick and Locke was never meant to be anything but a big bleeding heart beneath a thin veneer of survivalist criminality but I don't think so. I think the problem with Locke Lamora is that he's neither enough of one thing nor its opposite: he's neither selfish enough to be a convincing anti-hero nor virtuous enough to be a convincing hero. I know part of his shtick is his shifting sense of self and I'm not averse to complicated, contradictory characters but I find Locke incoherent rather than complex. I'm genuinely uncertain as to what Lynch is trying to do with the character or what we're meant to think. I'm not saying he doesn't do terrible things - he mutilates someone (who, admittedly, deserves it) in the first book - but everything he does that's vile and shocking is excusable whereas everything he does that's compassionate is extraordinary. For example, in RSURS, he and Jean, hanging out a decadent casino called the Sinspire, witness an entertainment in which a young nobleman, unable to pay his debts, has to survive in cage of stiletto wasps. Needless to say he doesn't and Locke secretly makes a blessing over the young man's forgotten corpse:

"Crooked Warden," Locke muttered under his breath, speaking quickly, "a glass poured on the ground for a stranger without friends. Lord of gallants and fools, ease this man's passage to the Lady of the Long Silence. This was a hell of a way to die. Do this for me and I'll try not to ask for anything for a while. I really do mean that this time."

There is no reason for this scene to be in the book (not that it isn't cool) - there are plenty examples of the upper classes being cruel and bloodthirsty to make the point and if the stiletto wasps are at all relevant beyond providing atmosphere they're certainly not to this book. In fact, its only purpose is to remind us that Locke Lamora is great and to show him, thief and conman that he is, being humane in the face of the world's inhumanity.

Unlike some of the reviews I've read, I've never had a problem with the snappy, modern dialogue and the very modern obscenity. In fact, I genuinely relish it. Unfortunately, it was during RSURS that I realised something that had passed me by in the first book: it's the only kind of dialogue Lynch can write. Everyone sounds the same. Pirates, noblemen, thieves, priests Locke, Jean: they're interchangeable. Witty but interchangeable.

"And now, my dear professional pessimist," said Locke... "my worry merchant, my tireless font of doubt and derision ... what do you have to say to that? "Oh very little to be sure... it's so hard to think, overawed as I am with the sublime genius of your plan." "That bears some resemblance to sarcasm." "Gods, forefend," said Jean. "You wound me! Your inexpressible criminal virtues have triumphed again, as inevitably as the tides comes and go. I cast myself at your feet and beg for absolution. Yours is the genius that nourishes the heart of the world." "And now you're-" "If only there was a leper handy," interrupted Jean, "so you could lay your hands on him and magically heal him-" "Oh you're just farting out of your mouth because you're jealous."

And so on. And here we have Jean talking to his ladylove:

"Have you really been practicing on barrels Jerome?" "Barrels. Yes. They never laugh, they never ridicule you and they offer no distractions." "Distractions?" "Barrels don't have breasts." "Ah. So what have you been telling these barrels?" "This bottle of brandy," said Jean, "is still too full for me to begin embarrassing myself like that." "Pretend I'm a barrel then." "Barrels don't have br-" "So I've heard. Find the nerve, Valora." "You want me to pretend that you're a barrel, so I can tell you what I was telling barrels back when I was pretending they were you." "Precisely." "Well ... you have ... you have such hoops as I have never seen in any cask on any ship, such shiny and well-fit hoops-" "Jerome-" "And your staves! Your staves ... so well planned, so tightly fit. You are as fine a cask as I ever seen, you marvellous little barrel. To say nothing of your bung-."

See what I mean?

I think in my review of Lies I commented on the deftness and subtlety of the world building - well, in RSURS, the action has moved from a city made of elderglass to a city consisting of islands made of elderglass. Astonishing. And sadly the delicacy of touch seems to have been replaced by the typical fantasy fiction obsession with geographic detail. It's nowhere near Perdido Street Stationbut, as much as I enjoy Lynch's world, there's a bit too much of this sort of thing:

Tal Verrar, the Rose of the Gods, at the westernmost edge of what the Therin people call the civilised world. If you could stand in thin air a thousand yards above Tal Verrar's tallest towers, or float in lazy circles there like the nations of gulls that infest the city's crevices and rooftops, you would see how its vast, dark islands have given this place its ancient nickname. They whirl outward from the city's heart, a series of crescents steadily increasing in size, like the stylised petals of a rose in an artist's mosaic.

And so on for two or more pages at a time. A bit like this review really.

Also it has to be said, the plot makes no sense whatsoever. It attempts to follow the embedded narrative format of the first book but it feels strained: Lynch occasionally plays with chronology, explaining how events came about after they occur, and offers a few reminiscences but it's noticeably a device now, rather than the most natural vehicle to tell the story. And, like the first book, it begins with Locke and Jean mid-heist only to drag them - reluctant and swearing as ever - into much bigger events, allowing the plot to twist, turn, double back on itself and eventually come full circle in a strangely satisfying manner. Except this time, it turns out that the Archon of Tal Verrar wants them to become ... wait for it ... pirates. Yes. Pirates. Two conmen from the streets of Camorr. Pirates. Now, I know that pirates are just inherently cool and you can't go wrong with them but still, come on. What's next? Locke Lamora and some ninjas? Locke Lamora and zombies? I don't know whether to respect the sheer brass bollocks ludicrousness of it or complain bitterly because it has to be the most spurious excuse for a plot I've ever encountered. And the fact that even main characters complain about the stupidity doesn't actually counteract that stupidity:

"Send us out to sea to find an excuse for you, that's what you said," said Locke. "Send us out to sea. Has your brain swelled against the inside of skull? How the screaming fucking hell do you expect the two of us to raise a bloody pirate armada in a place we've never been and convince it to come merrily die at the hands of the navy that bent it over the table and fucked it in the arse last time."

This is Lynch's latest technique, by the way, one I think he might have borrowed from JK Rowling. He seems have developed a tendency to address the inevitable plot holes of his novels by having his characters draw attention to it. To be honest,

fridge logic

doesn't bother me - I don't care how Buffy the Vampire slayer pays the mortgage on her dead mother's house or how Sydney Bristow circles the globe in half an episode - but attempting to pass it off as anything other than what it is offends me. Having the Archon blackmail Locke and Jean into mustering a pirate armada for political reasons is little more than a blatant excuse for the author to have them messing about with pirates, which is in itself fair enough. However, having Locke and Jean constantly bitching about the insanity of the plan even as they enact it only serves to induce bouts of fridge logic before you're even anywhere near the fridge. It also leads to odd little moments like this:

"Why not?" [said Jean] "Why not? We carry your precious misery with us like a holy fucking relic. Don't talk about Sabetha Belacoros. Don't talk about the plays. Don't talk about Jasmer or Espara or any of the schemes we ran. I lived with her for nine years, same as you, and I've pretended she doesn't fucking exist to avoid upsetting you. Well I'm not you. I'm not content to live like an oath-bond monk. I have a life outside your gods-damned shadow."

Err...actually Jean, you're a sidekick. Haven't you noticed? You actually do not have a life outside Locke Lamora's gods-damned shadow. The more Lynch tries to demonstrate to the reader that Jean is a person in his own right the less convincing it becomes. All it does is illustrate the fact that whatever Jean does on his own account is completely meaningless because his only relevance is tied to his supporting role, a role to which he will always return. His short-lived relationship - although actually moderately engaging, while it lasts - is only further evidence of this. You can see its inevitably tragic conclusion approaching on the horizon like the sails of the good ship Obvious.

The other thing I'm feeling a little bit peeved is Lynch's reliance on a technique he seems to have ganked from Alias. Now, I'm not sure if it continues in the later seasons but the early episodes of Alias always end with a cliff-hanger. And at first I used to get tremendously caught up in them. Oh no, I'd cry, Sydney is hanging from a cliff with only her suspender belt between her and certain death. Oh no, Sydney's rival has locked her in the poison-gas filled vault. Oh no, Sydney is being held at gunpoint by the bad guys. And then I'd insist that we watched another episode to find out what was going to happen, only to be faintly disappointed when the desperate, deadly situation resolved itself harmlessly in about two minutes of screen time. RSURS opens with Locke and Jean caught at crossbow-point on the docks and then, gasp, ever-faithful Jean turns on Locke. The novel then spools backwards in time to show you how they got themselves into this mess and, yes, it's arresting except that it's basically just like Alias, a cliff-hanger critical on the surface but ultimately completely meaningless and wrapped up quicker than a streaker at a tennis match. A couple of similar situations happen over the course of the book and, despite the satisfactory resolution of the plot, there's one left right at the end. I suspect I'd be more interested/frustrated by this Tense and Terrible State Of Affairs if the experience of the rest of the novel hadn't led me to the conviction that it's merely there for affect.

Okay, so I've just written four pages of bitching about RSURS but the fact remains that, despite its flaws, despite everything in it that doesn't quite work for me, I still heartily enjoyed it and very nearly loved it. Pirates, for God's sake, pirates! It's not quite as taut as the first book but once Locke and Jean hit the high seas the pace really picks up and the book becomes wonderful fun, sweeping you along on sheer exuberance and panache. And, damn it all, that's good enough for me. Roll on book three.Themes:

Books

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Arthur B

at 01:09 on 2008-02-02It strikes me that the Gentleman Bastard series embodies a problem I have with lots of fantasy series, namely that one book is really enough. I've felt absolutely no urge to go and read RSURS, and most of the things you point out in the review cement that; sure, it seems to be more of the same, and that's well and good - at least it's not a serious decline. On the other hand, one

Lies of Locke Lamora

is enough for me - having read one book, I don't feel as though anything the other books say can really add anything. (I'm also utterly unconvinced that there's enough juice in the Gentleman Bastards concepts to fill 7 books. I mean, for goodness' sake, he's only on the second book in the series and already he's resorted to pirates.)

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empink

at 02:49 on 2008-02-02@ ArthurB: Forsooth, he *will* go to ninjas next.

You know, I had more faith in this guy. I thought he'd at least 'fess up about Sabetha whatshername, or tie the book back to the first one, or do something other than send Jean and Locke to cavort with pirates for no good reason. It made for fantastic cavorting and rather dull and simplistic reading, though-- I won't be buying any more sequels in hardback, or holding on to them out of guilt either.

Oh, and Kyra, the DIALOGUE. Everyone does sound the same, it's so boring. No one is allowed to be stupid, or say frightening things without twisting themselves into witty shapes and cursing fit to kill themselves. It was all right in the first book, but in RSURS, it starts to look like lack of imagination on Lynch's part.

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Arthur B

at 12:04 on 2008-02-02Yeah, I can think of several points in the first book where I had to start reading a conversation again from the beginning because I lost track of who was who. It's this really weird blind spot in Lynch's writing; he can, when he tries, differentiate between characters in terms of disposition, personality, and so forth, and you can tell that by looking at their actions. (To pick the most obvious example, Jean is far more inclined to charge headlong into a fight like a raging bull than Locke is.) But he's chronically incapable of differentiating them when they're speaking.

I can only assume that he finds dialogue difficult (and to be fair, dialogue

is

difficult), and is trying to compensate by finding a style of dialogue he's quite good at and applying it to everyone.

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Wardog

at 14:23 on 2008-02-04I'm glad the dialogue thing isn't only me ... it's the main problem I have with the series to be honest, despite all my trivial bitching above. After a while, it gets really wearing and the characters all start blurring into each other because I find that it's language rather than behaviour that distinguishes people in books - heh, she says, massively generalising.

I think I must be less bothered by "more of the same" than Arthur is - I genuinely enjoyed both books and I'll happily read more (although I've never splashed out a hardback of either, so the cost of my good will is significantly cheaper than Empink's!) as long as they stay on this kind of level (or get better!). I do find them a nice antidote to ponderous, serious fantasy. I genuinely dig the exuberance and the irreverence.

Also I've been poking about Scott Lynch's personal sites and he seems like a pretty decent, charmingly humble guy...

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Cheriola

at 16:16 on 2014-07-26You know, oddly most of the things you mention didn't bother me at all. Except the utter pointlessness of the opening cliffhanger.

The only thing I did have a problem with is the way Jean shames Locke out of his depression, and Locke keeps apologising for "letting Jean down" in those few weeks for literally the next two years. I mean, in this book, it still reads like he's just mourning/recuperating a little too self-indulgently and maybe like he has a really short bout of alcoholism - but since the next book starts pretty much the same (except Locke has even more good reason to be depressed), and Jean then actually makes a reference to some kind of mental disorder (more something like Freud's innate death wish than depression, but still), it becomes problematic in hindsight. Especially since, either intentionally or not, Locke pretty much reads like a textbook case for bipolar disorder (spending most of each book in a manic phase), if you read all 3 books right after another. So for largely-neurotypical Jean to go "If I can handle our losses, why can't you?" and being sucessful at shaming/angering Locke out of suicidal depressive phases, that's rather problematic in my eyes. I know it fits with the setting that nobody has a clue about modern psychology and how Locke's mood issues are a disease, not willful misbehaviour, but Lynch should find a way to make at least narratively clear that Jean isn't right to do this. Besides, that kind of shaming would just make things worse with a real depressive person.

By the way, I'm fairly sure Locke is supposed to be a straight up trickster hero. Like Robin Hood, or the characters of the show "Leverage". He's not just a crook, he's also a priest and he really does believe in his duty to the dead and that holy mission for class revenge that Father Chains put them all on. (Even if this was retconned into this book and not in the first.) If anything he gets ever kinder from book to book. I think the third one literally points out that Camorr culture is particularly brutal, macho and homophobic compared to all the other city states, and much of Locke's initial darkness is part of his culture (like for example an extreme belief in having to take personal, blood-feud style vengeance) and that this is supposed to be a character flaw. But as he spends time in other cultures, he grows out of some of it. For example, in the first book, he calls the villain homophobic slurs several times. After encountering the queer-positive pirates in the second novel and that little discussion with "I'll try anything once - or 5 or 6 times" guy, he never does that again. And by book 3, when encountering a random pair of gay lovers making out in a garden and being tempted to go through their discarded clothing for their wallets, he stops his kleptomaniac impulse by reminding himself that doing malice to happy lovers would be bad karma.

Also, the losses of his friends, the brush with alcoholism and several with death have seemed to have made him a lot more sympathetic with other people's failings and tragedies. I actually really liked this character development. Yeah, he starts out as a bit of a cock-sure, obnoxious ass, but he does grow up and mellow out over the years, as one should expect.

Heh, but one character actually goes into a rant in the 3rd book about how Father Chains ruined them all for life as hardened, greed-motivated criminals by saddling them with a conscience. So I guess Lynch sees your problem.

By the way, can you really call a character a Mary Sue if literally none of his grand plans for cons ever work out, sometimes because of his own sheer stupidity (e.g. forgetting the cats), sometimes because his mark is just plain cleverer than him (e.g. the paintings), and the author takes an almost perverse delight in beating the crap out of him on a regular basis?

And, as in Lies, the mysterious Sabetha, the apparent love of Locke's life, is alluded to but remains absent: for fuck's sake, Lynch, stop it. You know she's just going to be a total let down after a build up like this.

I thought so, too, and got annoyed at the on-the-pedestal-putting. But now that I've read book 3, which features Sabetha both at about age 30 and when they were both teenagers: She's not. She's really, truly not. In fact, I was genuinely amazed at Sabetha - she's the best feminist (NOT straw-feminist!) character I've ever seen a male author write. And even if half of her discussions with Locke function mainly to introduce the male part of the audience to concepts like male entitlement to female sexuality, Nice Guy behaviour, Shroedinger's Rapist, victim blaming, the general frustration inherent in being an ambitious, highly talented woman in a patriarchal society and the frustration of being in love a with patriarchally socialised guy (who messes up occasionally even if he tries very, very hard not to, and who can't help the unfair male privilege that said society gives him), and that what feminists most want in a man is the ability to listen and learn - even if she's a bit of a mouthpiece in that regard: It's for a good and noble cause, and the author's heart is in the right place. And besides, there still is a clever, head-strong, angry, conflicted, and of course snarky character behind all the Issues. Her characterisation and reasons for leaving are thoroughly believeable, and also function as an Author's Saving Throw by actually pointing out in-text that the worldbuilding in the first book was problematic. Locke and Sabetha are still in love when they meet again, and they are surprisingly mature about their falling out and their attempts to fix it (if not in their professional rivalry...)

And Locke's adoring pedestal-putting, claiming her to be the love of his life, and his whole fixation on her are just that, quite literally - and the text seems aware that it is creepy, and the only thing that saves it is the fact that Locke is absolutely respectful of Sabetha's wishes and never, ever would force so much as a kiss on her. (I found the retconned-in reason for the fixation a bit sad, though: Until book 3, Locke could be read as demisexual for only ever being romantically/sexually attracted to one person. Then it's retconned as having creepy magical reasons that I don't want to spoil.)

The only thing about Sabetha I found a little... amusing, was that teenage Locke was almost too understanding and willing to accept anything feminism-related that she says and to change accordingly. Like I bet the author wishes he was at the age of 16, now that he finally gets it. Still, again, if it serves as a positive role model for male teenage readers, I'm fine with that kind of Mary-Sue-ism. Maybe it's a little preachy, especially since Lynch tries to cover so many topics, but I was just smiling through the whole thing. We do need more books like this.

The con plot of book 3 is a bit meh (basically it's a satire about 'democratic' elections, where Sabetha and Locke are press-ganged into controlling the campaign of one rivaling but politically indistinguishable party each, with all methods allowed short of murder, all ostensibly just for the entertainment of the people who really control the power in this 'republic' - their lives are being threatened to keep them in line, but it just doesn't have the personal stakes and sense of danger that the previous books had), and the teenage flashback is largely about the gang having to stage an annoyingly faux-Shakespearean play while conning a noble into paying for the production. So the relationship between Locke and Sabetha and the object lesson in how to make feminism 101 easily digestible in a fantasy novel, really are the main draws of the book. The meta plot for the series gets going right at the end, though. Which to me felt a bit like jumping the shark, but YMMV.

But I really do recommend the 3rd book, even if the plot is a little weak. Just for the sheer surrealness of reading a male author who manages to get practically everything right with regards to feminism. I mean, I've just read Elizabeth Bear's "Carnival" thinking she must have been the one to teach Lynch - but even she had like two dozen points in that ecofeminist polemic that made me headdesk.

(That book also needs a Ferret review, by the way. It's not thoroughly bad, as such, but the social philosophising made me uncomfortable and I wasn't always sure if I was supposed to be, and the worldbuilding has huge holes at least from my biologist/ecologist point of view. Still, queer protagonists are rare and deserve a mention.)

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Robinson L

at 20:15 on 2016-12-21

Cheriola: You know, oddly most of the things you mention didn't bother me at all. Except the utter pointlessness of the opening cliffhanger.

That pretty much sums up my feelings about the book, too. I guess I just think of this series as running on Rule of Cool and nothing else. Locke and Jean become pirates? Sure, why not? Doesn’t make sense? Who cares? And of course they’re going to complain about how ridiculous the Archon’s plan for them is, but that’s part of the fun.

Dialogue’s all the same? Ehn, so what? It’s all fun. And like you, I relish the modern snappiness/obscenity.

I mean, I don’t blame Wardog or Empink or anyone else who is bothered by this stuff, but just for myself, it seemed fine.

Wardog: I genuinely dig the exuberance and the irreverence.

That’s me, all the way (well, more like ~90% …)

I think the series is of two minds about whether Locke is actually supposed to be kind of an awful person or a stand up guy who happens to be a criminal—but as explained in my comment to the

Lies

review, I’ve chosen not to engage with those aspects and treat the whole thing as a rollicking adventure yarn. I will, however, once again point out a couple instances from this book of Character We’re Supposed to Root For Acts Like a Shitheel and Is In No Way Critiqued For It By the Text presently.

Re: description

And sadly the delicacy of touch seems to have been replaced by the typical fantasy fiction obsession with geographic detail.

Okay, here we come to a criticism I wholeheartedly agree with. Ye GODS but the description got tedious at times. It got tedious on

audiobook

; I shudder to think of trying to slog through it in text format.

I didn’t so much resent the book ending on a cliffhanger – although by the time I got to it, <Republic of Thieveslt/i> was already out, so I knew I’d be reading the next installment in a few months. Mostly, though, I was just relieved the cliffhanger revolved around Locke’s survival rather than Jean’s, because there’s a chance, however slight, of the series killing off Locke’s sidekick before the final book, whereas there’s absolutely none with Locke. So I appreciate the book making it absolutely clear that it’s not really a question of

if

the poisoned character will survive, but

how

.

His [Jean’s] short-lived relationship - although actually moderately engaging, while it lasts - is only further evidence of this. You can see its inevitably tragic conclusion approaching on the horizon like the sails of the good ship Obvious.

I think you undersell the extent to which the tragic conclusion was telegraphed beforehand. We’re talking

a MegaBrooks at the very least

. And I don’t think it would be humanly possible for the way it played out to have been any more cliché. Not to mention the whole fridging angle. Easily the lowest point of the series so far for me.

I thought RSURS handled the aftermath of said inevitable tragic conclusion a heck of a lot less annoyingly than most other books with similar big deaths I’ve encountered, though (lookin’ at you,

Harry Potter

). Jean is, of course, grief-stricken, and the book portrays the depth of his unhappiness while mostly avoiding an Epic Angst Sequence (seriously, there are few things in fiction less engaging than characters sitting around moping), and even sets up some genuinely touching moments, such as in the immediate aftermath of Ezri’s death, when Locke talks Jean down by threatening to throw himself at Jean, forcing the latter to beat the crap out of him (Locke), “and then you’ll feel terrible.”

Yes, pretending Jean is anything more than Locke’s sidekick is on par with “suddenly, Harry realized Dumbledore had actually been a fully-fleshed, three-dimensional character the entire time.” (Book 3 confirms this, when, after Locke is all patched up, Jean slips happily back into his role as Locke’s Number 2 without a hint of lingering grief over Ezri’s death, even as he’s helping out his best buddy romance Sabetha.) However, I thought the conflict between Locke and Jean set off by this outburst of Jean’s you quote in the article was actually pretty decent in terms of a “tensions between the series’ Main Pairing” subplot, which are usually of the eye-bleedingly terrible variety.

And what’s this guff about “moderately engaging?” I found it one of the two most engrossing parts of the story, along with some of Locke and Jean’s interactions. Jean and Ezri are adorable in every single scene they’re together: they bond over martial arts (with Jean being impressed that tiny Ezri actually managed to take him down at first), and their mutual affection for the Gentleman Bastardverse’s Shakespeare analogue. And then there’s the celebration scene where the two of them officially get together, soon after Jean has had his argument with Locke. And he’s keeping his distance from Ezri and it seems like at first he’s heeding Locke’s “you need to stay away from her, bro” bullshit, but it turns out, no, he’s craning away because he’s near-blind and he’s trying to see her properly and it’s incredibly cute you guys, like seriously.

Another thing I really like about the Jean / Ezri relationship is that the presentation feels balanced. I instantly get why Ezri is attracted to Jean as much as why Jean is attracted to Ezri, and in that scene during the celebration where, of course, Jean is being all shy and awkward, there’s a part where we suddenly see Ezri being shy and awkward as well. I’ve read a lot of similar romance arcs—especially those told from the male perspective—where the viewpoint character is vulnerable and complex while their love interest is all strong and confident and basically put on a pedestal.

I actually found it more engaging than Locke’s relationship with Sabetha in

Republic of Thieves

. While I agree with Cheriola that Sabetha is a great character, we don’t get much sense of her interior life, and the only times she displays vulnerability are when it directly relates to Locke. Also, it takes a long time into the story for her to tell Locke and the reader why she’s attracted to him, and I don’t feel the text really

shows

her being attracted the way RSRUS does with Ezri.

RSURS opens with Locke and Jean caught at crossbow-point on the docks and then, gasp, ever-faithful Jean turns on Locke. The novel then spools backwards in time to show you how they got themselves into this mess and, yes, it's arresting except that it's basically just like Alias, a cliff-hanger critical on the surface but ultimately completely meaningless and wrapped up quicker than a streaker at a tennis match.

Oh my god, that was the worst; maybe even worse than Ezri’s death.

I detest flash-forward openings as a general rule. I feel like there

may

have been one or two I’ve encountered which actually worked okay, but if so I can’t remember them now. Those possible examples aside, at best, flash-forward openings contribute f***-all of substance to the story, and at worst they undermine immersion by distracting the reader from the current action with questions which aren’t going to be answered for another 200-400 pages.

To be fair, some flash-forward openings, while still crap, sometimes do something clever with the reader’s expectations (I remember one where a guy wakes up and wonders what the heck is going on, and when we get to that part of the book in turns out the original guy died, and this is a clone, so that waking up sequence is technically his birth). RSURS is not one of those stories, though. The sequence takes on no new significance or added meaning for having read the rest of the book up to that point.

But wait, it gets

better

! Jean turning on Locke is in itself not terribly surprising: they are master con artists, after all. The linchpin (no pun intended) of the tension to this scene is that Jean fails to give the hand signals which mean “this is a scam, play along,” leaving Locke, and the readers, to wonder if this is a real betrayal, after all. Then, after Jean has dispatched the two assassins he says: “Oh, yeah, didn’t you see me giving the hand signal which means ‘this is a scam, play along’?” and Locke is all like, “Gosh, man, I must’ve missed it.” And that’s an end to it. Are you f**king kidding me?

Granted, this sort of stuff happens all the time in real life, but narratively speaking, it’s the worst kind of cheap trick for creating false tension. It

might

have been forgivable if there were some long-term consequences to the whole business. Locke and Jean have both been dosed with a slow-acting poison at this point in the story, and I thought maybe Locke’s failure to notice the hand signal was an early warning sign that the poison is beginning to effect his perception. But

no

. Or maybe Jean really was considering turning on Locke for some reason or other and then had a change of heart, and made up the part about the hand signal. No sign of that, either.

Look, I’m glad Jean doesn’t actually betray Locke, because as story turns go, that would have been at least as irritating as Ezri’s death, probably worse. But first you hit me with this bullshit flash-forward, then you double down on the bullshit by revealing the whole thing was just a trifling misunderstanding with no effing consequences whatsoever? What a waste of time.

… So yeah, on balance, I was not well pleased or amused by this sequence, especially as our hook into the main story.

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Robinson L

at 20:30 on 2016-12-21And now it’s time for another installment of Robinson Dissects the Ethics of the

Gentleman Bastard

Books. This week’s episode: Captain Zamira Drakasha Edition.

So yeah, Zamira is all kinds of awesome, but like with the other main characters, it’s best to turn one’s critical thinking off when thinking about her actions, or it becomes very hard to think of her as any kind of hero.

Case in point: she takes Locke, Jean, and the rest of their sorry crew onto her ship as probationary pirates. You do good, you play by the rules, you become full crew members; you step out of line, you die. All pretty standard stuff, except it turns out when she says she will kill you for breaking the rules, she means it.

One of the guys who originally signed on with Locke and Jean now despises the two of them intensely and is kind of an asshole in general, so the reader is primed to dislike him. He’s getting picked on by some of Zamira’s crew members, and finally he gets pushed too far and grabs a weapon to defend himself with. But laying hands on a weapon is against Zamira’s rules, so she has him executed on the spot. For the kind of mistake that anybody could make. And the reader is supposed to be okay with this because the guy was made to be unlikable. It could just as easily have been someone like Jean or Locke making a similar mistake, prompting Zamira to execute them, and the reader to hate her, in turn. We’re not invited to judge her character based on her actions, but on how we feel about the characters she acts against.

Later, there’s the time when we first see Zamira’s

Poison Orchid

attack a merchant ship, which involves pretending to be in peril themselves. As the pirates are preparing to board the ship, one of Zamira’s lieutenants tells the new recruits “if any of you are feeling moral qualms about attacking these merchants, just remember that they thought we were in distress, and only came to help us when we signaled we were willing to give them unconditional salvage rights.” Which, if you stop to think about it, is a

really

clever rationalization to psych people up to potentially commit an atrocity. I mean, if that were the point of the sequence—which it isn’t—I would’ve said it was brilliant. For all they know, the captain of the merchant ship was just a huge asshole, and literally everyone else aboard was clamoring to help the

Poison Orchid

right from the beginning.

It also seemed like, in the three way struggle between the Archon, Stragos; the proprietor of the big gambling den, Requin; and the members of the Priori; Stragos winds up being the Designated Villain of the book, not because his actions are worse than those of Requin or the Priori (we’ve already established they can be equally vicious), but because it happens to be Stragos’ actions which got Jean’s girlfriend killed. He gets punished, whereas Requin and the Priori members get happy endings, only because Stragos hurt someone the reader is supposed to care about.

Locke and Jean are quick to forgive the Priori member who was sending assassins after them because the Bondsmages told him the two Gentleman Bastards were going to cause him trouble. Which, okay, the assassins all failed, and all got killed, but by the logic of this story they were probably all Bad Men who deserved what they got, so no harm, no foul, right? Except, no, there

was

harm. One of the attempts to kill Locke and Jean was a really convoluted scheme to give them free drinks which were laced with poison. And the thing about convoluted schemes is that they’re full of holes, as in this one where Locke and Jean weren’t interested in the drink in question, and passed theirs on to the dockworker at the next table, who proceeded to die in their stead. No one in the story ever gets any kind of comeuppance for this murder, ‘cause I guess we’re not supposed to care about red shirts.

So basically, what I’m trying to say here is that the ethics of this series are all kinds of messed up if you look closely.

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Robinson L

at 00:00 on 2016-12-22

Cheriola: book 3, when encountering a random pair of gay lovers making out in a garden and being tempted to go through their discarded clothing for their wallets, he stops his kleptomaniac impulse by reminding himself that doing malice to happy lovers would be bad karma.

That was cute. Another very minor point I appreciated from that book was in a scene where Locke has to hold Sabetha as part of this play they’re performing and the narrator (speaking broadly from Locke’s perspective) talks about what it’s like for someone to hold another person whom they’re attracted to. It would have been

so

easy to gender the subject of attraction in that sentence as female, or to say something like “a person of the opposite sex whom they’re attracted to.” But no, it’s a general statement, and so the book sticks with generalities, not making stereotypes about the genders or orientations involved. Again, a minor point, but one I’ve seen even a lot of nominally well-intentioned works fail at, so I was mildly impressed.

I was genuinely amazed at Sabetha - she's the best feminist (NOT straw-feminist!) character I've ever seen a male author write.

I think it was this part which finally clinched it for me to read the series. As a male author myself, I can’t help but take it as a challenge.

As mentioned earlier, though, I feel like we didn’t get much sense of Sabetha’s internal life, except as it relates to Locke, and she has to tell Locke (and the reader) what particularly attracts her to Locke, rather than the book showing us.

It probably was implausible to have 16-year-old Locke be so receptive to Sabetha’s Feminism 101 lectures, but for me it was preferable to the second hand embarrassment of having Locke throw out insipid, MRA-apologist arguments for Sabetha to shoot down.

Since I’m not seeing a

Republic of Thieves

review on the horizon, I suppose I might as well give my thoughts on the book in general. Overall, I liked it, and Sabetha is a fine addition to the series’ cast.

I also kind of dug the way the main caper of the book was not a high stakes life or death game of taking on some brutal, affluent, entitled snot or other, but rather fixing an upcoming election. It shows you can have all the same drama and intrigue without putting countless lives on the line, which comes as a nice change of pace. (Granted, it turns out there are countless lives on the line in the Bondsmagi’s larger game, but that only comes up after the whole thing is over, so in my view it still counts.)

My political sensibilities being what they are, I particularly liked the election angle to the plot because the book depicts it as 1) an aristocratic exercise with no pretense of populist input (only a small fraction of the city’s residents have the franchise), and 2) a complete farce in any case, because who gets elected has f**k all to do with who’s better leadership material or has the best policies – the book dispenses with such preposterous fig leaves and dives straight into the real heart of electoral politics: naked corruption, double dealing, and general chicanery. There’s also the implication that who gets elected is ultimately trivial in terms of how Karthain is actually run, because the real ruling elite (in this case, the Bondsmagi), make damn sure that in practice, it gets run exactly the way they believe produces the greatest benefit for the city’s inhabitants. (The book seems to suggest that what they think is best for Karthain really is, which is where its views and mine diverge, but other than that, I’m completely on board with the book’s representation.)

Locke’s backstory seemed … really out of place. Given how magic has always taken such a tertiary role in the books up to that point, I didn’t expect it to play such a huge part in Locke’s past. This felt like the backstory to a character in a very different type of story, honestly. But other than that it’s just kind of, “whatever.”

[mystery-moose]

FIC: Angus McDonald and the Flight of the Flying V (24/24)

[AO3 link]

They’ve come a long way, but even ten years after the world was saved, they’re still not quite where they should be. A whim, a missing painting, and a handful of near-death experiences help a flip wizard and his apprentice bridge the gap.

Taako does his best. Angus takes some risks. Introductions are made, bonds are tested, and lessons are learned — better late than never.

a/n: Thanks to everyone who read this far, who read from the beginning, who left kudos or a comment or just enjoyed this over-long self-indulgent nonsense. Y'all have gotten me through some tough times, and I appreciate it more than I can say.

And thanks most of all to @orchidcactus, without whom this fic would never have been finished, let alone been any damn good whatsoever. You are the shiniest diamond, and there is no better beta (or friend) in the world. <3

As he woke from a dreamless sleep, Taako reflected that for someone who didn’t particularly need it, he spent a lot of time unconscious. He’d wondered in the past if that was something common to elves, or if he was a particularly lazy example of one. Though to be fair, a good portion of that unconsciousness wasn’t exactly voluntary.

Alright, that’s enough introspection. Where the hell are we?

Taako wasn’t in pain, exactly, but he was sore literally everywhere, from toe to tip and skin to bone. He flexed his fingers and his toes (all accounted for) and tilted his head to work out a kink in his neck before he bothered opening his eyes.

Clean bed, with white sheets. Clean room, with no real furniture. Single window looking out at the city. Taako didn’t have to be a fancy detective to know what a hospital looked like, though this one didn’t look as fancy as the last one he’d woken up in.

He looked to his right, and found Angus asleep in a high-backed chair by his side. His arm was in a sling, and he was wearing his old glasses; Taako still recognized the places where eleven-year-old Angus’ makeshift mending spells had put them back together just a little bit bent.

Taako smiled and took a slow, leisurely breath.

Everything’s okay.

Then he turned to his left, and found Kravitz sitting in the opposite chair. Arms crossed. Glaring at him.

Or not.

Taako swallowed and chuckled nervously. “Hey, rabbit.”

Kravitz leaned over and twisted Taako’s ear.

“Ow ow ow ow—”

“Do not rabbit me,” Kravitz growled. “You nearly died.”

He let go and Taako rubbed gingerly at his ear. “Yeah, but… I didn’t? So—”

“I get a call from Angus, out of the blue. He put me on with a healer. I had to listen to them detail your extensive injuries, and the likelihood of your recovery, all while I was sitting in our living room reading Fantasy Home and Garden thinking everything’s fine because you didn’t call me!”

“Hey—”

“You should have called me,” he hissed, anger mixed with hurt. “Why didn’t you call me?”

Taako grumbled, noncommittal. “Didn’t really think about it.”

Kravitz scoffed and leaned back in his chair, looking away.

The sad part was, for once, Taako wasn’t bullshitting; he’d never considered calling Kravitz for help. Not once.

“It wasn't—” —your business, is what he had been about to say, but Taako cut himself off before he said something he might actually regret. “—I felt like I could handle it.”

“Handle it?” Kravitz whispered in disbelief.

“Yeah. Handle it.” Taako frowned. “I can take care of myself. Been doing it a long time.”

“Again.” Kravitz leaned in and tweaked his ear again. Taako winced and swatted his hand away. “You. Nearly. Died.”

“So I made a bad call!” he said quietly, holding his hands out. “It happens from time to time!”

“And what happens when you make another ‘bad call’?”

“Jeezy creezy, my dude, what is your damage?” he hissed back. “Even if I died, it’s not exactly 'so long and farewell,’ is it? It’d be like moving to another county for you.”

Kravitz looked actually offended, and for a second, Taako was legitimately confused as to why.

“You think this is about me?”

Oh.

Taako turned. Angus was still fast asleep. Thankfully.

“Contrary to what you may think, there are people in the material world who give a damn about your continued presence in it.” Kravitz crossed his arms again. “Think about that the next time you decide to do something monumentally stupid.”

Taako turned back with a sneer. “I’m not exactly in the habit of rushing in, Krav.”

“Oh, so this was a fluke, then?” Kravitz asked. “And what caused it?”

Taako opened his mouth to respond and Kravitz cut him off.

“I can’t believe you sometimes.” He raised a hand and gestured emphatically between the two of them. “You could have talked to me, could have tried to say something clearly for once in your life. Instead you go off and nearly get yourself killed because running away is apparently the only way you know how to communicate! And then when something happens to you, I have to live with knowing it was my fault—”

Taako reached out and grabbed his hand. Tight.

“Listen,” he whispered firmly, glaring at Kravitz. “Because this is important. Any stupid, callous, selfish decision I make? That’s on me. Not you. Not Angus. Not anyone. No one, and I mean no one, runs Taako’s life but Taako. Capisce?”

He let go and looked away with a scowl.

“Nothing I do is anyone’s fault but mine.”

Silence. Taako hated this kind of silence. It was absolutely miserable. Maybe that hadn’t been the right thing to say, or the kindest. But it was the truth. That ought to be enough.

“You really are very self-absorbed,” Kravitz said flatly. “You know that.”

Taako nodded, staring at the wall. “Yup.”

Kravitz sighed. Taako chanced a glance in his direction. He was resting his head in his hand, rubbing his forehead. He straightened and leaned back in his chair.

“Just call next time,” he mumbled wearily. “Talk to me. Please.”

Taako was about to insist there wouldn’t be a 'next time’ if he had anything to say about it, but decided against it. Instead, he nodded, eyes drifting down to the blanket.

“Sorry,” he said softly. “I know I’m… me. And that’s… it can be rough.”

“Yes. It can.”

Taako gritted his teeth. When he looked up, Kravitz wasn’t smiling, but he wasn’t frowning, either. He simply reached over and held Taako’s hand, ran his cold thumb across along the knuckles.

“But I don’t have any regrets.”

Taako felt his mouth twitch into a smile as he leaned back into his pillow.

“Cool.”

Taako dozed off again; he didn’t feel at a hundred percent yet, and didn’t feel like waking Angus if he didn’t have to. He blinked his eyes open to find the boy standing by the door, arm out of the sling and talking to Silvia.

“'Sup?” Taako groaned as he sat up. “What’d I miss?”

Angus rushed over and hugged him immediately. Taako winced.

“Okay, okay, still sore, thanks.”

“Sorry,” said Angus, pulling away. He looked beyond relieved. “Kravitz went to get food, you’ve been out for nearly a day and we were starting to get worried.”

“You kidding?” Taako rolled his shoulder. “I’m the picture of heal — ow.”

Angus laughed — it felt like an age since he’d last heard that — and rested his hand on Taako’s shoulder. “I’m just glad you’re okay, sir.” Taako smiled and pat his hand. “Likewise, boychik.”

He looked over and saw Silvia standing by the foot of the bed, hugging her elbows and smiling nervously.

“Angus filled me in on everything that happened,” she said. “Pretty crazy week you’ve had.”

“Eh.” Taako shrugged dismissively. “I’ve had crazier.”

“That’s… actually true,” Angus said, somewhat reluctantly.

“Oh, hey, uh.” Taako gestured vaguely in Silvia’s direction. “Sorry for, y'know. Thinking you were evil and shit.”

Silvia brushed it off. “It’s cool. I mean, I would have thought I was evil too.”

Taako nodded towards Angus. “He didn’t.”

She blinked. Angus quietly cleared his throat and looked away.

“Nope,” Taako said flatly, propping his elbows on his knees. “Never a doubt in his mind. Should have trusted him to begin with, but I’m a real stubborn asshole, y'know?”

Angus blushed and gently pushed his shoulder. “Taako.”

“What? It’s the truth, ain’t it?” He turned to Silvia. “Boychik’s always been an excellent judge of character. You’d think I’d know that by now, but here we are.”

He extended a hand.

“We cool?”

Silvia smiled and shook his hand. “We cool.”

“Good.”

Taako didn’t let go.

“You break his heart and I’ll destroy everything you hold dear.”

Angus’ eyebrows shot to the top of his head and his mouth fell open.

Silvia didn’t flinch. She leaned in closer.

“Likewise.”

Taako grinned and nodded, satisfied. He let go and turned to Angus.

“You should put a ring on it.”

Angus sputtered helplessly. Silvia started laughing.

Just then, the door opened and Kravitz walked in. He held up two large paper bags and grinned.

“Who wants Fantasy Panera?”

“Oh, hell yes!” Taako clapped his hands together. “Garbage food! Let’s go!”

Taako was halfway through his roughly-adequate approximation of a chicken club sandwich when the door opened again, and a tall woman in plate armor stepped inside. Silvia dropped her sandwich and shot to her feet with a salute.

“Lord-Commander!”

“Oh, sure, come on in,” Taako said through a mouthful of dry bread. “Not like I’m recuperating or anything.”

“At ease, Lieutenant,” the tall woman said to Silvia, amused. “You’re off-duty, remember?”

Silvia shuffled nervously, then sat back down. Her sandwich lay forgotten on the bed.

“Is something the matter, ma'am?” Angus asked curiously.

The woman shook her head. “Not at all. Simply an informal debriefing.”

She turned to Kravitz, still seated by Taako’s side, roast beef on rye in his hands. “Sir, if you’d excuse us?”

Taako reached over and rested his hand on Kravitz’s wrist. “Like hell.”

The tall woman frowned slightly, and opened her mouth to speak before she was interrupted.

“It’s fine, Dierdre. They’re all owed some answers.”

Lady Blisk walked in and closed the door behind her. This time, Silvia and Angus both shot to their feet.

“My Lady!”

“Lieutenant.” Lady Blisk nodded to her. “Dierdre explained how quickly you and your captain acted in the face of a, shall we say, reluctant chain of command. She’s recommending you for a civil commendation. You should be very proud.”

Silvia looked like you could knock her over with a feather. Taako sneered — both at her thrill at validation and at what he saw as a thoroughly inadequate reward — while Lady Blisk conjured a small floating disk upon which she sat. Silvia and Angus both returned to their seats. Kravitz, to Taako’s silent appreciation, had done nothing during all this but continue to eat his sandwich; working directly for a goddess made you a lot harder to impress.

“Captain Yates and his cadre have been sworn to secrecy about what little they know regarding the context of all this,” Blisk explained. “The only ones who know the full truth about the Door and its Key are the people in this room. I’d like very much to keep it that way.”

Angus nodded. “Of course, ma'am.”

“Yes, my Lady,” Silvia said.

“Sure, fine, whatever,” Taako mumbled, taking another bite.

“Where’s the Key now?” Angus asked. “Destroyed?”

“Sadly, the enchantment is too powerful to ever fully destroy,” Blisk said with a sigh. “But you have my assurance that the Flying V is as far from anyone who might use it as is possible.”

“And the Door?”

“Locked. Hopefully for good, this time.” Blisk crossed her legs and rested her cane in her lap. “Of course, this means that the Museum has been informed you were unable to recover the painting — its theft and subsequent destruction have finally made the news.”

Angus nodded. “Figured.”

“Rest assured, however, that the city of Neverwinter recognizes and honors your valor, and will richly compensate you for services rendered.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary—”

Taako slapped Angus hard across the shoulder.

“…but I’ll accept it graciously, ma'am,” Angus said, rubbing his arm. “Thank you.”

Blisk smiled. “It’s the least we could do. Truly.”

“What about Gavin?” Silvia asked. When all eyes turned to her, she shrank a bit. “I mean… what’ll happen to him?”

“'Gavin’ is an alias,” Dierdre explained. “His real name is Gabriel Vincent Stanton. Lady Blisk expelled him from the Guild of Magi some years ago after repeated offenses regarding misuse of magic and unauthorized experimentation. Apparently, he’d been operating under a number of different names before he arrived at your door, Mr. McDonald.”

Angus grimaced. “He was very thorough. I checked his background myself when I hired him, and didn’t find anything out of place.”

Blisk shook her head. “You couldn’t have known. I doubt anyone would have suspected.”

“Mr. Stanton will be spending the rest of his life in a cell,” Dierdre said sternly. “Somewhere isolated and very, very quiet.”

“Wait, wait, wait, hold the fucking stone.” Taako set his sandwich down. “He’s still alive?”

Everyone looked at him. Blisk and Dierdre nodded.

“What the fuck?” Taako threw his hands up. “I went through all that shit and he’s not even dead?! Fuck this!”

Angus closed his eyes, amused. “Sir.”

“No, for real! I am very upset! That bitch-ass piece of shit should be in the ground!”

“Death would be preferable, yes.”

Everyone turned to look at Dierdre, including Blisk.

She shrugged, nonplussed. “Well it would.”

Blisk gently patted Dierdre’s arm, and turned back to the group.

“Well then. Any other questions?”

No one spoke. Kravitz set down his roast beef and extended a hand towards her.

“Pickle?”

She considered it for a moment, then plucked it from his hand and took a bite, humming appreciatively.

“I suppose that’s that, then,” Dierdre said with a chuckle.

“Oh!” Blisk said suddenly, swallowing quickly and reaching into a small purse on her belt. “I nearly forgot. There is one last thing. More of a formality, really, though I’ll spare you the ceremony…”

“Y'know, I didn’t really think they gave these out anymore?” Taako said as he adjusted his hat and admired the large ornate key in his hand. It was as long as his umbrella and twice as heavy, made of pure gold that caught the sunlight as they left the hospital.

“They were meant to go to the city gates, originally,” Angus explained, hefting his own key in his arms. “But since the gates are always open these days, it’s more of a ceremonial thing.”

“Could fetch a lot of dough if we melted 'em down.”

Angus looked at him knowingly. “Or make a nice piece of statement jewelry.”

Taako’s eyebrows rose. While he reexamined the key in this new light, Silvia came up alongside Angus.

“So what’s the first thing you’re gonna do, now that you’re out of the hospital?” she asked.

Angus looked up thoughtfully. “I guess put an ad in the paper. 'Help wanted. Light office work. No murderers need apply.’”

“Make sure to underline that last part,” said Kravitz.

“Double underline,” Silvia added. “In bold.”

“Yeah, because the last guy was so forthcoming about his personal history,” Taako said sardonically.

Angus laughed. “Maybe I’ll swing it solo for a while.”

Silvia quirked an eyebrow. “Solo?”

He turned to her and grinned. “Well, not all the time.”

While the two of them made goo-goo eyes at each other, Taako slipped his wrist through the key and let it dangle from his forearm beside his umbrella. He leaned against Kravitz’s shoulder. Kravitz stuck his hands in his pockets and leaned back.

“Young love, Krav,” he drawled. “Ain’t it sweet?”

“Sickly so, dear.”

A loud horn sounded from the down the street. All of them turned to stare at the very large, very fancy wagon with the ornate side-plating and silver-capped wheels puttering down the street. It came to a stop in front of the hospital doors, and the driver, clad in fancy longcoat, goggles, and driving gloves, jumped down onto the sidewalk.

“A gift from the Lord High Steward,” he said, bowing to Taako. “With much appreciation to you, sir.”

Taako stared at the driver and blinked. He looked at the wagon and blinked again.

“You know,” he said, “I’m really starting to come around on that chick.”

“Brilliant,” Kravitz sighed. “Now we have to take the long way home.”

“Who said anything about home?” Taako wrapped an arm around his neck. “We need to take this baby on the road!”

“Taako, please. I’d really prefer to—”

“We could head to Goldcliff,” Taako suggested, wiggling his eyebrows, and drumming his fingers against his husband’s shoulder. “It’s not more than a week out. There’s nice hotels, fancy restaurants—”

“Really, dear?” Kravitz said flatly, unimpressed. “Restaurants?”

“—and a casiiiiinooo,” Taako finished in a sing-song tone.

Kravitz opened his mouth and froze. Nothing about his expression changed, but Taako saw the red in his eyes light up.

“You know, it has been a while since we’ve had a proper vacation.”

“Hell yes it has!” Taako stepped back and pushed Kravitz forward. “Now go and figure out how to drive that thing. I’ll be right there.”

He turned around. Angus had stepped back with Silvia, and was stowing his key in a bag of holding on his belt. As Taako sauntered over, Silvia touched Angus’ shoulder.

“I’ll, uh. Wait over here.”

Angus smiled and squeezed her hand. She turned away and walked back towards the hospital.

“Well, Ango,” Taako said with a tip of his hat. “Wish I could say it’s been fun.”

“Yeah,” Angus replied with a chuckle. “Me too.”

“Was good to see you, though.”

“You too, sir.”

They stood across from each other, within arm’s reach. Taako felt like there was something else he should say, but he wasn’t quite sure what.

“I told you I’m proud of you, right?” he asked, stroking his chin.

“Yes, sir.” Angus smiled and adjusted his glasses nervously. “It meant a lot.”

He nodded absently. “Right. Good.”

“And I’m glad you came. I… don’t know if I could have done this without you.”

Taako scoffed. “Please. This idiot wizard? All I do is drag you down.”

“That’s not true, sir,” Angus said firmly, shaking his head. “Not at all.”

Taako ignored him and waved dismissively. “C'mon, boychik. Don’t play. We both know it’s the truth. I taught you a few tricks, sure, kept you fed and clothed and shit, but everything you are now — every good thing, at least — that’s all you. Don’t know where you got it from, but it wasn’t me.” “Sir!” Angus exclaimed, gently taking Taako by the shoulders. “Stop.”

Taako shut his mouth and looked away for a moment — the boy’s gaze had gotten very intense. When he looked back, Angus was fighting tears. Taako felt a tightness build in his chest.

“Sir.” Angus spoke firmly, squeezing his shoulders. “You didn’t just teach me how to cook and cast spells. You taught me how to look after myself. You taught me about loyalty, and responsibility, and how there’s meaning in our mistakes. You were there when I needed you, every time. And all that because an eleven-year-old kid asked to come with you, and you didn’t hesitate for a second. I wouldn’t be half the person I am if it wasn’t for you.”

Taako stared at him. The tightness in his chest got worse. He blinked. Blinked again. His lip began to quiver. He sniffled, looked away, looked back. There was no escape.

Angus blinked back tears, smiled, and said, “I couldn’t have wished for a better dad.”

Ah, fuck.

Taako sobbed. Angus pulled him into a hug and held him as he cried into his shoulder. Taako shuddered and shook, clutching tightly at the back of Angus’ jacket as he rode out this despicably visible display of emotion.

“I love you,” Angus said quietly.

Taako sniffed loudly, and so softly he barely heard it himself, whispered, “Love you too.”

He spent a minute there, sobbing into the boy’s shoulder. As he got a hold of himself, he took long, shuddering breaths. Taako gently extricated himself from Angus’ embrace, and shook his head.

“Fuck you,” he grumbled, rubbing his eyes. “Ruined my makeup, you little twerp.”

Angus reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. Taako snatched it from his hands with a scoff.

“Of course you have a handkerchief,” he said snidely, drying his face. “What are you, eighty?”

Angus grinned. “Next time you can conjure one yourself, Mr. Wizard.”

Taako laughed, brief and watery. He wiped his cheeks and then pocketed the handkerchief without offering it back. Angus chuckled and pushed him gently in the shoulder.

“So,” Taako said, avoiding eye contact. “See you at Candlenights?”

In his periphery, Angus nodded. “Absolutely.”

“Cool… cool.”

He sniffed loudly and exhaled, forcing himself to look at Angus one last time. He looked as upsettingly vulnerable as Taako felt, but he was smiling, and that made Taako smile back.

“Take care, kiddo,” he said.

“You too.”

Taako tipped his hat, and turned away. He climbed up into the driver’s bench alongside Kravitz, who rubbed a hand across Taako’s back.

“We good to go?” Taako asked.

“Good to go,” Kravitz replied slowly. “Unless… you’d rather stay?”

Taako barked out a humorless laugh. “Hell no. I’ve had more than enough of this fuckin’ town. Let’s get goin’.”

He looked back while Kravitz started the arcane engine. Angus and Silvia stood on the sidewalk outside Neverwinter General, holding hands. Taako took off his hat and waved it.

“Adios!”

The wagon kicked on and started puttering down the street. Angus and Silvia smiled and waved as they left. As they turned a corner, Taako sighed and leaned against Kravitz’s shoulder.

“Good kid.”

Kravitz kept one hand on the controls and wrapped the other around Taako’s shoulders.

“That he is.”

Taako closed his eyes and smiled privately.

I did good.

“So when’s the ceremony?”

“We’re not getting married, sir.”

“Really? Because it sounds pretty serious to me, is the thing.”

“Sir.”

“Alright, alright, jeez. She’s coming up for Candlenights, though, right?”

“Yeah. She’s excited about it. So am I, actually.”

“She hasn’t met any of the Bureau before?”

“Nope.”

“Poor maydl.”

“I don’t know, I think she’ll get along great with everyone. Especially Magnus.”

“Yeah, sure, him and his rustic fuckin’ hospitality. But you know he’s gonna be asking about that ring too.”

“…shit.”

“Yep. Done fucked yourself, boychik.”

“…well, at least Merle will be there to preach about the evils of marriage.”

“Ha! If you’re lucky, he’ll be half-cut on Redcheek cider before dinner.”

“You’re cooking, right?”

“No, I’ll be there cheering Magnus on — of course I’m cooking! What kind of question is that?”

“Just asking! Thought I’d get there early and help. Make sure I’m not getting rusty, y'know?”

“I wouldn’t turn down my faithful assistant.”

“Apprentice.”

“Sure, sure, that’s what I meant.” “Right. Well, I’ll call again before we leave.”

“Cool. Keep it real, Angarang.”

“You know it. Love you!”

“…yeah, yeah, you too.”

[transannabeth]

FUCK OKAY RIGHT SORRY I NEED TO SCREAM AT SOMEONE AND YOU"RE HERE AND I REALLY ENJOY YOUR BLOGS SO YOUR GETTING THIS DUMPED ON YOU. FEEL FREE TO IGNORE THESE FEW ASKS I JUST. GOD. NEED TO TALK THIS OUT TO SOMEONE WHO DOESN'T KNOW ME.

all under the cut because this is pretty long and then i put an almost equally long response

I... god, I don't know dude. I've just been feeling so fucking numb and tired and useless?? idk. Like everything takes too much effort and I have so much school work due but I just cant make myself do it.

Instead of working Im just sitting here like an asshole, watching stupid videos that I'm not even really enjoying and feeling like I both want to cry and sleep for a thousand years while also never wanting to actually g to sleep

and yeah like maybe I'm really depressed or something. Maybe there's actually something fucking wrong with me and if I just TELL someone then I can get help but like... I feel like a fucking fraud. Like I'm just faking all of this as an excuse because Im a lazy piece of shit who doesn't deserve anythingand like... god. I want to die, dude. I really want to fucking die. and I say that so much to my friends as a joke and shit so it's kinda become a numb, meaningless phrase and I don't know if I mean it or not half the time when I say it or type it. But right at this minute... I really want it all to just stop and like. idk. life is too much and too hard and I want it to stop

and I feel like I'm gonna make you panic and feel bad and shit but like. I wont do anything about it. I wont actually like kill myself or anything. I'm too much of a fucking idiot to do that. It's all for the attention, right? ... fuck. I want to die but I wouldn't do it because I also want to live and be someone and mean SOMETHING to SOMEONE just once. I want to be enough. to mean something

I wont die because I dont want to make anyone feel as fucking shitty as I do and I honestly just dont know what to do. Im such a selfish godamn jerk and I just cant talk to anyone about this because then they'll know how awful I am and I don't want that. .... I want it to stop hurting though. I want life to fucking take it all back and let me live through the happy times again. Before everything became such a god damn mess

I know I was happy once, and I don't know when I stopped, but... I did stop. And I just feel so numb and all the good things are fleeting and ending and I'm expected to be making decisions about my future but I'm still just a kid. how does everyone already know what they want to do with their life when I don't even know if I want my life.

i was doing a calc mock exam, so i’m really really sorry i wasn’t on earlier when you sent these but i hope you’re doing a little better right now

(here’s some shitty advice/rambling that you are more than welcome to ignore)

i’ve definitely felt this. like…yesterday i did nothing but scrolled through tumblr for several hours although i knew i had a lot to do and really should’ve done….anything else

now obviously, i am no psychologist or therapist or anyone who can actually diagnose you. but to me? that kinda sounds like depression. and the whole feeling like a fraud thing? also can be a symptom of mental illness. mental illness does this annoying thing where it convinces you that there’s nothing really wrong and you’re totally fine and just lazy or overreacting

the future is terrifying. it’s really scary. and making so many decisions when you literally are still a kid is the worst and it can be really overwhelming (i am there right now and i’m freaking out honestly). it’s ok to not know what you want to do. so many of my friends don’t know. i know so many people who went into college thinking they wanted one thing and then realizing they wanted something completely different. it’s ok not to know

honestly, if you can bring yourself to do it, talk to someone. i mean, i’m obviously here and i’ll talk to you if you ever need me to, but like previously stated, i am no professional

try to find little things that make you happier. which, admittedly, can be really hard when you’re feeling like this. focus on getting little things done, like spending fifteen minutes doing something other than watching those videos or getting up and eating some crackers or something, little steps can be really important

i’m really bad at this but i hope you start feeling better soon. at least a little. i know these episodes can be really long or just a day or two, but i hope things will start looking up

[wahbegan]

gender-critically replied to your post“gender-critically replied to your post: TELL ME ALL ABOUT THE...”

cmon you asked

All right fine well basically 1st BioShock the whole game just serves as a counter-argument to Atlas Shrugged and it does address like the possible merits of a completely unregulated free-market society, but it, but it ultimately rejects it as horrible. Bill McDonagh, that dude who is literally one of the most interesting characters but his whole story is only put out through audio diary shit like he never appears in-game except as a corpse but anyway Bill McDonagh, especially his tape “Meeting Ryan” is basically what Rapture was meant to be, what it could be if everyone had honor and integrity and pride in their work. “I met Ryan the day me and the lads were installing the plumbing up in his posh Park Avenue digs. “Oi,” says he. “What’s with all the brass fittings? General contractor had me down for the tin.” I said “Well, I suppose it’s the general contractor who’ll be bailing out your loo once a fortnight, then. If it’s price you’re worried about, I’ll be picking up the brass, so not to worry squire.” “And why would you be doing that?” “Well,” I said, “profit or not, no man bails water out of privies built by Bill McDonagh.” The next day I find out I’m Ryan’s new general contractor!” And all that shit about how Rapture doesn’t always win and they have to let Fontaine’s businesses alone and whatnot. He represents the ideals of Rapture/Ayn Rand. But, speaking of Fontaine, he represents the reality of a me first hyper-capitalist free-market society. A shameless sociopath con artist. His only goal is to get as much money as possible, by any means necessary. He doesn’t care about anyone except himself, and his only interest in other people is how they can be useful to him. He does help people, particularly in spoilers for a game that came out 10 years ago particularly in his guise as Atlas. But he helps people just incidentally. He helps people, not out of the goodness of his heart, but to get them on his side so that he can use them. People are tools to him. It’s amusing Ryan and Fontaine hate each other so much, because Fontaine is literally the perfect end result of Ryan’s philosophy. Fontaine is the reality of the human condition. A society built with no government, with no restrictions, with a completely free market, is an amazing idea and would work if everyone had empathy and integrity and honor like Bill McDonagh. But most don’t. Most are only looking out for number one. They’re selfish, callous, and avaricious. So a society like Rapture is doomed to fail.

BioShock Infinite, on the other hand, now like i feel like this game kinda fails on the whole sociopolitical theme front. Because, now don’t get me wrong, they got everything historically just about right. The Founders are actually even a bit backwards for the time, like even by 1912 standards they’re racist and xenophobic, but it makes sense in context. And a blind man could see that the game’s taking the piss out of xenophobia and jingoism and religious fundamentalism. But first of all, it’s not really...there’s some shit in there about how the Prophet preaches mercy and forgiveness and humility Lady Comstock i think Lady Comstock is the closest to a Bill McDonagh type of character in Infinite, talking about how God forgives everything and she’s growing disillusioned with her husband’s bullshit, but it’s all kind of a strawman like the racists in this game are so cartoonishly racist that it would even offend racists which kinda takes the teeth out of the deconstruction, you need it to be more grounded in like what racists actually believe y’know like how Get Out was a potent satire because it deconstructed the kind of appropriative liberal racism that’s extremely common in society and that goes under the radar and that a lot of people don’t think is a bad thing. In this, the racists and fundamentalists are so removed from at least today’s reality that y’know there’s not much of a real social point being made on that front. And then there’s how the game treats the Vox Populi. Look, the Vox Populi were a fairly historically accurate representation of armed communist and/or anarchist revolutionaries at the turn of the century. The “Kill anyone who looks like they’d give us trouble. Anyone with a gun, anyone wearing glasses.” that is ripped straight out of the Khmer Rouge’s actual policy. Massacres and human rights violations and general atrocity are all part of revolution. Always. I didn’t mind that, or them turning on you. They had their reasons. They had good reasons, actually. If some random asshole showed up claiming to dead hero of your revolution, a man who had died in your arms, you might be a bit suspicious too. But what i hate is they seem to have been written off from the start. The game seemed to want you to have a really strained, enemy-of-my-enemy kinda relationship with the vox, so that when they turn on you it feels natural, but they don’t do anything to strain that relationship before that point. The Vox don’t really show any signs of being malicious until the massacres are underway like 2 minutes before they turn on you. The game didn’t make me naturally wary of them at all, i really liked them. I LOVED that brief part where you fight for them. When you take down the zeppelin and they’re chanting DE WITT! DE WITT! DE WITT! That was legit my favorite part of the game. So to hear Booker and Elizabeth casually just off-handedly without much evidence go “yeah Fitzroy’s just like Comstock” and have them suddenly be your enemies is super jarring and feels like a lazy hand-wave.

Ultimately, BioShock Infinite’s problem is that it falls prey to the golden mean fallacy, hard. It takes these cartoonish ultra-left-wing thugs and these cartoonish ultra-right-wing racists and pits them against each other with Booker’s cynical “yeah, whatever, everyone’s wrong, everyone sucks, i don’t give a shit about politics”  at the center like it’s supposed to be the take-away message. It’s like Atlas’ bit from the first game “There was a time i cared about politics...but it’s just an excuse men use to kill each other.” BioShock Infinite seems to be whole-heartedly buying into that philosophy without consideration for people actually wanting to make the world a better place, which i find lazy and disappointing.

[gotta-save-your-ass-for-a-change]

Who Would Have Thought?: Chapter 10

Chapter Title: Like It Or Not Fandom: Shameless, Mickey/Ian Rating: M Summary: Mickey’s grumpy and Ian’s amused. Notes: I mean, honestly, this is mostly just filler, but sometimes that’s necessary, right? Also, I just really like Trevor and the idea of Ian and Mickey developing a friend group, so yeah. This happened. Some bigger stuff coming up, but I need to work everything up to it, so bear with me.

Ao3 Link

Chapter One * Chapter Two * Chapter Three * Chapter Four * Chapter Five * Chapter Six * Chapter Seven * Chapter Eight * Chapter Nine * Chapter Ten * Chapter Eleven * Chapter Twelve * Chapter Thirteen * Chapter Fourteen * Chapter Fifteen

Ian wakes wrapped around Mickey, the comfort of their new bed leaving him warm and cozy as he nuzzles his face against Mickey’s shoulder, pressing a gentle kiss there and breathing deeply, taking Mickey in, fingers drifting to stroke along Mickey’s upper arm.

“Mornin’ sleepyhead,” Ian murmurs when he feels Mickey stir just a bit against him. He can see the way Mickey’s features shift with a grin as Mickey rolls onto his back so he can lean over to capture Ian’s lips in a sweet good morning kiss.

“Mornin’,” Mickey mumbles back with that adorable sleepy grumble Ian loves. “Now let me go back to sleep. Fuckin’ tired, man.”

Ian laughs at that, reaching out to pinch at Mickey’s hip playfully. “Uh uh,” Ian protests as he swings himself up and out of bed, “time to get up. I need to refuel. Pancakes?”

“Then fucking make ‘em,” Mickey shoots back, scrunching up his brow and pinching his eyes closed against the sun as Ian throws open the curtain that covers the large window to the side of the room. “The fuck, man. I just married your ass. I deserve sleep.”

“Not happening,” Ian argues with a playful singsong to his voice. “We don’t even have stuff to make breakfast.”

“Then fuckin’ order it. And you go pick it up. Let me sleep,” Mickey whines, dragging the bulky comforter up over his face. “Besides, your sister said they got us necessities. Probably includes some fucking eggs and bread.”

“First of all, I doubt it,” Ian argues, trying and failing to keep the amusement out of his voice at Mickey’s muffled protests. With a smile, Ian crawls himself back up onto the bed beside Mickey, tugging at the covers until Mickey finally relents and lets Ian strip away the blanket. “Second of all,” Ian continues, pressing another kiss to Mickey’s lips, “I wanna show off my new husband.”

After a moment, Mickey sighs wearily, shaking his head and giving Ian a little glare. “Fuckin’ hate you, Gallagher.”

“Gallagher-Milkovich,” Ian corrects with a laugh as he bounces back out of bed again to head into the little ensuite bathroom off the master to get himself ready. “And I love you, too, asshole. Now, up and at ‘em, Sleeping Beauty!”

“Hey, Trevor,” Fiona greets when she spots him in the diner. “What’re you doin’ here?”

Trevor gives her a smile and sips at his coffee. “Got a date,” Trevor explains, “Figured I’d bring him in for the best damn pancakes this side of town.”

“Cute,” Fiona scolds with a grin. When Sierra approaches to refill Trevor’s coffee, Fiona lays a hand on Sierra’s forearm before she can leave and whispers, “This table’s on us, all right.”

Sierra smiles with a nod. “You got it, boss,” she agrees, throwing Trevor a wink.

“You don’t have to do that,” Trevor protests.

“Yeah, well,” Fiona waves him off, “you and your new man didn’t have to comp my brother and his new husband a cocktail hour, and yet, here we are. Take it. It’s the least we can do.”

“Fine,” Trevor gives in, offering her another little smile. “How’re they doing anyway? Off on their honeymoon?”

Fiona tilts her head in thought for a moment. “I mean, they’re taking ten days off, but they’re not going anywhere. Spending it in their new place. Shutting themselves off from the world. Guess it’s a type of honeymoon?”

Trevor laughs at that. “That certainly sounds like Ian and Mickey, huh?”

Fiona lets a bright grin stretch over her features at that. “Yeah, guess it does, huh?” she agrees. “They’re excited about it. Happy. I like seein’ ‘em that way, you know. Took ‘em a long time to get there, but they deserve it.” She pauses for a moment, realizing who she’s talking to and backpedaling a bit. “Sorry. You probably don’t wanna hear this.”

“Nah,” Trevor disagrees with a little wave and a shake of his head. “It’s all right, Fiona, really. We’ve all moved on. We’re friends now. And I’m working on building a new relationship. It’s all good. I’m glad they’re happy.”

“You are a better person that I would be,” Fiona insists, giving him a little pat on the shoulder as she notices Casey approaching the diner. “I’ll leave you to your man, all right? Make sure my girls take care of you two.”

“Thanks, Fiona.” Trevor gives her a smile. “And when the boys come up for air, tell ‘em Casey and I wanna take them out for lunch.”

“Will do,” Fiona offers heading away, but giving Casey a little wave and a bright “hey” as he heads through the door.

“The fuck are you two assholes doing here?!” Fiona shouts across the diner when she spots Mickey and Ian. “You just got fucking married. You’re supposed to be basking in the afterglow or some shit.”

“Yeah, well,” Mickey counters, voice sleep rough and grumbly, “my husband’s lazy as fuck and he didn’t want to help me make breakfast this morning.”

“Actually,” Ian corrects with a little smirk, “my lazy ass husband didn’t want to get out of bed this morning.”

Mickey’s rubbing at his eyes and he looks legitimately exhausted. Fiona laughs when she approaches them. “Wore him out last night, huh?” Fiona directs at Ian, rubbing playfully at Mickey’s shoulder.

Mickey scrunches up his face into an annoyed glare as he shrugs her hand away. “Just bring me some fucking coffee.”

With a bright smile that makes Mickey scowl, Ian gives Fiona a little laugh. “Definitely wore him out.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Mickey shoots at Ian, turning back to Fiona in irritation. “The fuck is my coffee?”

“All right, grumpy,” Fiona rolls her eyes and taps his shoulder again. “I’ll get you your coffee.”

“Thank you!” Mickey shoots over his shoulder as she walks away, and his voice is halfway between annoyed and sincere.

“Hey!” A voice interrupts from over Mickey’s shoulder, and when they turn, it’s Trevor and Casey who are just slipping out of their booth. Mickey gives a little scowl, but Ian shoots a bright smile their way.

“What’re you guys doing here?” Ian asks, scooting over and motioning for Mickey to do the same. “Sit, guys.”

“That okay with you?” Trevor asks Mickey with an eyebrow raise, as he takes in Mickey’s questionable mood.

“Why the fuck not,” Mickey offers, and his voice is agreeable. “Maybe you two can entertain this asshole so he leaves me alone.”

Casey looks confused for a moment, even as he slides into the booth beside Ian, and Ian just laughs. For a moment, Casey catches Trevor’s eye, and Trevor gives him a nod. “It’s fine. Just Mickey. And Ian. They do this a lot.”

“Interesting,” Casey offers, unsure what to make of the display, but there’s amusement playing behind his eyes. “Not a morning person, huh?” Casey asks Ian then, the amusement evident in his tone as he watches Mickey closely.

“It’s fucking adorable, isn’t it?” Ian teases with a little smile.

“Fuck you,” Mickey throws back and Ian raises his eyebrows with a smirk.

“That would be Mickey Milkovich speak for I love you, Ian, and I am so happy I married you last night,” Ian jokes with a little smile in Mickey’s direction.

Mickey throws him the finger and Ian just laughs.

They’re all making small talk; Ian and Mickey working to get to know Casey a bit. They’re thankful for everything Casey’d done for them, and they’re both happy that Trevor’s working to move on, even if their motives are a touch selfish, what with the way everything went down between the three of them. Ian and Mickey both know Trevor’s not holding a grudge, but it doesn’t stop them both from feeling a little guilty about the whole situation. Mickey’s still not entirely awake enough to make decent conversation with actual human beings, though, so Ian’s carrying the brunt of the burden. Mickey’s mostly just hoping to avoid saying anything that’ll freak out Casey, so he keeps himself focused on his pancakes and coffee and let’s Ian be his usual charming self.

When Fiona shows up to freshen Mickey’s coffee, Mickey tunes back into the conversation. He’s out of food, so he doesn’t have much excuse anymore to avoid.

“So, you guys really aren’t going on a honeymoon, huh?” Casey asks curiously, and he’s watching Mickey as he asks it. “Seems like you deserve one after all you’ve been through.”

“Nah, no honeymoon,” Ian explains, sipping at the water in front of him. “Don’t really have the money. Got a new place to furnish, you know? We’re gonna spend today stocking up on anything important we need for the apartment, and then we’re gonna spend the next ten days in bed.”

“Fuckin’ liar,” Mickey grumbles with a little glare in Ian’s direction. “That’s what you said about today, too, and here we fucking are, asshole.”

Ian tries to contain the amused little smile that plays at his lips before tilting his head toward Casey. “My husband loves me,” Ian offers with affection and Mickey gives him a little scowl.

They’ve been there for a decent stretch when Fiona grabs Mickey to chat for a minute about work. Part of Mickey wants to tell her to fuck off—he’s supposed to be off for the next ten days, and he plans to take full advantage. But if he’s being honest, he’s a little exhausted with the prospect of continuing to entertain their friends, especially after the day they’d had yesterday, so he gives Ian’s hand a little squeeze before following Fiona back to the little office.

“Ian doing good?” Fiona asks as she shuffles some of the papers on the little desk, motioning for Mickey to sit.

For a moment, Mickey watches her cautiously. He’s not sure what to make of this. “Yeah,” he answers, brow furrowed in question. “Why, Fiona? What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing bad,” she assures with a little wave. “Just wanted to be sure that with the stress of the wedding and all that he’s still in a good place. ‘Cause I’ve got an offer for you, if you’re up for it, but I think it’s important that Ian’s good before we move forward.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” Mickey crosses his arms over his chest, tone reflecting confusion and a touch of curiosity.

Fiona takes a deep breath and then meets Mickey’s eyes. “Look, Mickey, I’m hoping to move away from the diner soon. With the apartment building, I’m going to be bringing in a decent amount of money, and I’ve got a friend who wants to partner on some commercial real estate deals. He’s looking to flip some properties, get in cheap, fix ‘em up, and then sell to the highest bidder. People are convinced the neighborhood’s up and coming or some shit. Means, if we move quick, we can make some serious money. I’m not leaving Patsy’s yet—it’ll be a while. But I thought, maybe, I could bring you on full time with a plan to move you into management down the road if everything works out the way I hope. But what that means is that I’m not going to be able to be as flexible with your schedule. Might not be able to keep you on the same shifts as Ian. So, I just want to be sure he’s in a good place before we make any choices.”

For a moment, Mickey’s silent as he works to process the information she’s just given him. “What about the girls?” he finally asks, concern in his eyes. “They’ve all been here longer. Shouldn’t one of them be first in line for management?”

“I’ve talked to them,” Fiona admits honestly. “They’re not really interested in a potential management gig. Sierra’s really the only one who’d be able to handle it, and she’s got her son. Doesn’t want the extra time commitment. Plus, when you’re waitressing, tips are usually where the money is. And in all fairness, the management thing might not even happen. Right now, this is just me offering you a full time position. You’ve been taking on a lot of extra responsibilities lately anyway, and you’re basically working full time with the shifts you’ve been covering, so I figured it’d be worth a shot. Try full time, see how it goes for you and Ian, and then if the management spot opens up, we can think about that then. Thoughts?”

Mickey leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as his brow furrows in thought. After a moment, he shifts forward a little as he meets Fiona’s eye. “I need to talk to Ian,” he confides honestly. “I’m interested if he’s okay with it, but I also don’t want to put too much pressure on up front. Already a lot of big changes here, you know? So let me talk to him, and I’ll get back to you.”

“That’s fair,” Fiona nods with a little smile, reaching out to shake Mickey’s hand.

Mickey rolls his eyes at that but indulges her, and she just laughs. With a smile of his own, Mickey stands to leave but thinks better of it just before he steps out the door. “Hey,” he calls, turning back to catch Fiona’s eye, “we still good for the ten days off?”

“Of course!” she confirms immediately. “Promise I have no plans to interrupt your honeymoon. You two enjoy the time. We can talk about this officially when you get back. Just figured, since you were here, might as well put it out there. Especially since you were dying for a break out there.”

She throws him a little wink at that, and Mickey can’t help but raise his eyebrows a bit in confirmation. “You’re not wrong,” he admits before giving her a little wave. “I’ll let you know when we get back to work.”

“Hey,” Mickey greets again as he rejoins the group, standing beside the table and locking eyes with Ian, but not moving to sit back down, “what do you say we head home and explore? See what Fi and the Gallagher clan stocked us up on and figure out what we need asap, so we can get back to the honeymoon.”

“A couch,” Ian supplies quickly.

Mickey just shakes his head with a little smirk and fixes Ian with a challenging eye. “Who the fuck said I was lettin’ you outta bed for the next ten days?”

“Fuck off,” Ian singsongs back as he slips out of the booth after Casey who steps to the side to let Ian past. When Ian’s within range, he reaches out to wrap a hand in the material of Mickey’s shirt so Ian can tug him close for a kiss. It’s quick, but there’s promise there, and Mickey can’t help the playful smile that stretches across his face at that.

“See ya!” Mickey throws over his shoulder at Trevor and Casey, eyes never actually leaving Ian as he tosses a hearty tip on the table despite the protests he hears from Sierra and drags Ian out the door, the two of them nearly tumbling over one another as they hurry away down the street.

When they get home, they immediately begin with the once over. Ian digs up a pen and some paper from the bag he’d grabbed from the Milkovich house before heading over the night before, so he can take stock of everything they have and everything they need. Ian’s excited at the prospect of making the place their own, and he can tell Mickey’s feeling the same, even if Mickey’s trying to hide it.

They start with the little linen closet in the hallway beside the main bathroom. It’s mostly empty, but there’s a shelf full of towels and washcloths, and on the very top shelf, they find the crocheted blanket that usually lays over the back of the couch at the Gallagher house. Ian smiles fondly when he sees it, running his fingers over the soft, worn yarn. It reminds him of home and Fiona—all of the happy memories from his childhood—and Ian’s glad to have that little piece of home to help them settle in. Mickey sees the happy reminiscences written across Ian’s face, and he ghosts gentle fingers over the small of Ian’s back, smiling softly at his husband when Ian turns happy eyes to him.

There are a couple of boxes at the bottom of the built in shelving unit, and Mickey nods toward them. “Think we should see what kind of crazy shit she tossed in those?” he asks with a raised brow, and Ian nods in confirmation.

They each grab a box and settle themselves on the floor of their bare living room, dragging open the worn corners of the cardboard. Inside the first, Ian finds some old clothes—the stuff he used to love when he lived in the Gallagher house. There are a couple of pairs of jeans, some t-shirts and flannels—even a couple of Mickey’s old shirts Ian had squandered away in the bottom of his dresser drawer for all those times when missing Mickey got to be too much—and Ian’s old winter coat, all freshly washed, along with a note from Fiona that just reads: Thought you might like some of this stuff.

In the second, Mickey finds an envelope full of pictures on the very top. There are some of the Gallagher family, a few from their time since Mickey got out. But most are from all those months they spent together as a couple before Mickey was sent away to prison. Mickey lets out a little laugh when he sees them, shifting close to Ian, so they can flip through them together, laying aside their favorites to tack up later.

Mickey smiles when he finds one of he and Ian, sound asleep in Ian’s old twin bed in the Gallagher house, the two of them curled tight around one another in the tiny space. Part of Mickey misses that—the way the ridiculously small bed forced them to cuddle close, gave them an excuse to be intimate where anyone could see. It was freeing.

Still, Mickey probably would have killed whoever took the picture if he’d found out about it back then.

But he’s feeling light and happy and nostalgic, so he lays it in Ian’s hands with a smile that Ian returns. Mickey’s not sure he’s ever felt so complete as he does now, sitting beside his husband on the floor of their own little home and flipping through an envelope full of memories. Something about the solid real of the past they’ve shared together in the photos he holds makes Mickey feel like they might really have forever in front of them.

As he catches Ian’s eye, Mickey reaches out to twine their fingers loosely. “Can’t wait to get the wedding photos back,” Mickey admits quietly. “Still feels a little surreal, you know? Looking forward to having that solid reminder.”

“Look at you,” Ian teases gently, “all soft and sappy. Who would’a guessed I’d be able to soften up Mickey Milkovich?”

“Fucker, I married you. Of course I went fucking soft,” Mickey counters, pinching Ian’s side before pressing a kiss to the redhead’s temple as Ian swats at Mickey’s hand.

“All right, all right,” Ian laughs, as he drags the box over to him so he can keep exploring, “let’s see what else is in this thing.”

“Whatever you say,” Mickey agrees with a smile.

Later, after they’ve finished their explorations, they’re lying together on the living room floor. The pictures back in their hands as they flip through them together, Ian’s head pillowed on Mickey’s chest. They both know they should get up, do some shopping to make sure they at least have food for the next few days, but they can’t quite bring themselves to burst the domestic little bubble they’ve settled into. It feels good just being together in their new little home, and they’re not ready to disrupt that again just yet.

When Mickey finally lays aside the photographs, Ian shifts a bit—just enough so he can meet Mickey’s eyes at that angle. Ian raises up for just a moment to press a kiss to the corner of Mickey’s mouth before settling back into his husband’s arms. They’re quiet for long moments, just savoring the closeness they have now, the happiness they’re finally allowed.

“Did you ever think we’d end up here?” Ian asks after a bit, his chin resting on Mickey’s chest as he meets the other man’s eyes. “Married, happy, together?“

Mickey lets his mouth tip in a little half smile as he considers the question, running his fingers gently over Ian’s shoulder. “I don’t know, man,” Mickey admits honestly. “I used to think about it—it was this crazy fantasy I never would have admitted to anyone. This idea that I might be able to live with you and love you and stand up by your side to promise forever without the fear that was always there, you know? That was way back, though. Before you took off for the army. Before I married Svet. A little bit before my dad caught us. But it was mostly after. That time when I was being forced into marrying this chick my dad forced me to bang to fuck the fag outta me. I was so fucked up from it all. I used to think about what it would be like to say fuck it all and marry you instead. Sometimes, I’d think about what it’d be like if we took the baby and ran off together, just the three of us. Wondered if we’d be able to do it, you know? Start a little family, go straight. Thought about gettin’ a job at a shop, fixing up cars to get us by. It was this crazy fucking story I created in my head to help get myself through it all.”

“That what you wanted to be?” Ian asks curiously, unsure what else to say, really, as he works to process Mickey’s confession. “A mechanic?”

Mickey shrugs against Ian, gives it a little thought before answering. “Don’t know,” Mickey admits. “Not sure if it was what I wanted to be, exactly, or if maybe I just thought I’d be good at it. Was the only thing my dad ever taught me I didn’t hate him for, you know?”

Ian nods a little, and lets his fingers come up to play at the hem of Mickey’s shirt. “I’m sorry I left,” Ian tells Mickey honestly. “I know you needed me. Back then, though, I didn’t really get it. I was young and stupid and selfish, and all I could think about was how hurt I was that you were marrying someone else. Didn’t think about how much it was hurting you. ‘m sorry for that.”

Mickey kisses the top of Ian’s head at that, giving his shoulder a little squeeze. “In all fairness, I wasn’t exactly open about it. I pushed you away. Wasn’t fair to you.”

“None of it was fair,” Ian agrees. “Our whole fucking lives have been unfair. But I love you, and I’m glad we went through it all because we’re here now. Never leaving you again, Mick. I promise you.”

Mickey smiles at that, nuzzling into Ian’s hair and cuddling him close. “Same,” Mickey agrees quietly, sure that whatever they might come up against, they’re both in it together this time.

And, for now at least, that’s enough.

Chapter One * Chapter Two * Chapter Three * Chapter Four * Chapter Five * Chapter Six * Chapter Seven * Chapter Eight * Chapter Nine * Chapter Ten * Chapter Eleven * Chapter Twelve * Chapter Thirteen * Chapter Fourteen * Chapter Fifteen

[angry-healers]

"Its not that big a deal"

So, proto ultima is out, and much like many others I figured I’d queue up for it. Queue up as astro, get my AoE balance ready while I wait for the queue so my team doesn’t need to wait for buffs, and I’m hyped to get a quick scaith run done and see the new fight. Load in, see I am co healing with another AST. Cool deal, balances for everyone, balances forever. 

“You want to main or off heal?” no response, just standing still with diurnal, so I swap to nocturnal as a different group pulls the first boss. “I’ve got first buff if thats okay.” no response, I pop my AoE balance and notice it didn’t buff the other astro.. They’re not in the arena… 

Okay this is fine, I’ve solo healed harder content than this before. Its only the first boss of dun scaith, no biggie. *queue the healer horror story stereotype of all DPS wanting to commit mass suicide* oh okay.. this is fine.. just lightspead aspected helios to keep everyone alive, ascend the smn while lights still up.. swift raise the DRG, hope the SMN is kind enough to grab the ninja. Thisisfine.

Alliance B has two scholars neither of which seem to wish to heal anyone in their own party. Time to pick up some more slack. I'mokaywiththeeventsthatareunfoldingcurrently. The scholars also don’t want to res their party members if they die to mechanics or lack of heals. That'sokaythingsaregoingtobeokay. So I am solo healing for 15 people, which is less than fun, but we manage a kill albeit less than cleanly. 

Notice my cohealer sprint for the chest. Look at their buff bar. sprint and diurnal are up. no buffs. “Hey, cohealer. I know you missed that first fight and thats okay, but just wondering, why didn’t you set up your buffs while you waited for us to clear that?” I ask, just out of curiosity more than anything. “I was busy eating” Oh… Oh… I mean, its not that hard to press a good two to 3 buttons to set up your buffs, but alright.. Just seems kinda inconsiderate to eat food if you’re running content. 

“Alright, I was just wondering. I’m sure you’ll get something good ready before the next big fight. :)” queue next trash pull, queue healer sitting afk again, queue DPS and tanks eating gazes and getting stunned before they kill the crystals. Whelp, time to synastry somebody and spam those aspected helioses. Manage to clear the trash out with only a few weakness stacks here n there. “Hey cohealer, why didn’t you help me there? I know its not your fault that people messed up mechanics, but everyones only human, and I really could have used some help fixing that bad situation.” “I’m still eating." 

Okay now I’m fricken mad. I don’t mind cleric-n-forget scholars if they at least communicate that. I can solo heal content just fine if I know ahead of time. But this person isn’t playing the game at all, they want to simply be carried without doing work. "Well, why did you queue up if you were going to be busy eating?” I didn’t want to outright say they were being lazy selfish and miserable, I tried to be nice. “Its not a big deal” this would be their only argument for just about everything. 

“I just wish you would have communicated before hand, or been willing to help a little is all.” “my food was burning, thats why I wasn’t in the first fight. Its not a big deal” says the would-be healer. Now I’m really agitated. “You don’t think its just a little bit inconsiderate that you’d queue for content other people want to run, and then not actively participate in it?” “I’ve solo healed this before its not a big deal.” missingthepointtherebuddy. 

So, by this point we’ve got the jester down, and people surprisingly did mechanics right so healing it was easy enough. “Its not really that I mind solo healing, I’ve had plenty of partners that prefer to DPS. Its just that you haven’t really been doing.. anything. Its more than a bit selfish of you to just queue for something and then expect to be carried. And saying ‘its not a big deal’ doesn’t excuse the fact you’re acting entitled when you really haven’t contributed to the team.” “It could be worse, I could be afk or something, its not a big deal.” and right then and there mypatienceforyourbitchass.exe has stopped responding “If you were afk, I would have vote kicked you by now and found someone who genuinely wants to run this. By doing nothing but being around you’re making it harder on me, and denying someone else from running content they’d actually enjoy doing and helping with. So stop being so selfish and self centered and help a little, and maybe don’t queue for content when you’ll be too busy eating.” Kicked. For. Harassment. Nope, I’m done here. Fuck you, fuck the party who enabled your bullshit, and fuck me for trying to be a bigger person and put up with it that long. I am pissed, that person is scum, and I just need to vent my burning hatred for a few moments. FFFFFuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu-

=======================

Party was probably a premade and yes that healer was a selfish idiot. Look, if you’re going to queue up for something as time intensive as Dun Scaith, don’t do it while you’re doing something that will take priority of your time. Seriously? Kids? Busy/asleep/tended to before hand. Food? Eaten/cooked. Responsibilities? Taken care of. The only thing that should be interrupting you are unexpected and unavoidable circumstances. Like holy shit, I have no sympathy for people like this. “It’s no big deal” my ass. Stop being lazy and get your shit done before queuing.

It’s absolute bullshit that you got kicked for calling them out which is why I assumed you were in a majority pre-made and queuing with a majority premade is a nightmare when one of them is a straight asshole with no one willing to call them out on their dickery.

-- Mod Mhi

[nunaya-business]

My father, if you're a regular on my Tumblr then you already know this, was a paranoid Schizophrenic. Those who live with someone like this understand the crippling anxiety that comes with their delusions. Living with someone that has this is like waiting for a bomb to explode. You know that it might happen with the smallest poke, but it may be a deactivated one that just may never explode, but that anxiety is always there.

My dad was on and off his meds as many schizophrenics are, and he was manic when that happened. The thoughts and delusions his brain was creating would slowly build up and make him snap. We had an escape plan if that would ever happen.

I was sitting in my math class one day when my mom called my cellphone. She only does this when there's an emergency. I knew that my dad had stopped taking his meds because of his recent behavior. I could feel my heartbeat in my head, and the extreme anxiety welled up in my chest so much that I thought I was gonna throw up, and i started to shake. My mom then texted me immediately after my phone stopped ringing telling me to go to the main office and call her. So I raised my hand, and asked my teacher if I could go. I imagine it wasn't hard to see the distress I was in, and she asked me if everything was okay. I said, and I remember the exact words,

"I don't know, please just let me go it's an emergency."

She gave me permission, and I ran to the office and called my mom. She asked me if I remember the emergency plan, and I said yes. She told me to go to the neighbor's house right after school and to call my grandparents to pick me and my brother up. I asked her what's going on and I don't remember what she said, but I had a full on panic attack at that moment. She asked me if the counselor was there that day and I told her she was. She told me to go to the counselor so I went back to the classroom, grabbed my stuff, and left to the counselor's room.

What I remember was panic. I was sobbing, hyperventilating, and talking all at once. She kept me in her room until the dismissal bell rang and that's all I remember. I think my grandparents were at the bottom of the driveway when we got off the bus, but I'm not sure.

The pure panic that I had felt from the time I was 13 until the time up to my father's death was the most horrible thing I've ever experienced.

It pisses me off when people say that they can't do simple adult shit because of stupid reasons. My aunt is a good fucking example of this. She's one of those people that are like;

"Boohoo I had such a bad childhood. My parents loved me and spoiled me but boohoo they never gave me shit. All I had was my gangster friends."

It pisses me off because I have a very legitimate reason for not leaving my house, I could use the excuse that I had a traumatic late childhood because of my father's mental illness but I don't. Because I'm not a piece of shit. I'm taking a gap year before college not because I'm lazy and I don't want to go to school. I'm taking a gap year so I can get an actual job (I babysit for my gramma), travel, try to adult a bit, figure out what exactly it is that I want to do in my life, think about what I'm going to do during college, save money, and establish temporary housing for summers and after college. I have a lot planned for the year I'm taking off from schooling.

Lazy people are fine with me. I'm lazy in the way that I don't like to move on the days where I'm not doing anything. I like to watch YouTube and draw all day. If you're lazy and you don't want to do certain things then that's fine! As long as it's not important. If something you don't want to do can be put off a day or two or you don't have to do it at all then don't. It's fine I promise. But don't lay around when you have work to do. Don't rely on others for money unless they're the people you work for. Don't use welfare unless you have to.

It's the assholes who don't get up, get a mother fucking job, shirk responsibilities, leach off of others, and stuff like that that piss me off.

If you haven't gone through something cripplingly traumatic, then you don't deserve to be that selfish. Get up, man up, stop being a pussy, stop being a whiny little bitch, and make your life worth living, because no one can do that for you.

RANT OVER