#the part where I hurt you

[mayasaura]

I see a lot of meta talking about how the John Verses are John telling the story of the leadup to the apocalypse with the most sympathetic biased self-justifying gloss to make it sound like nothing was his fault, and I guess that's why so many readings go for a hardline worst-faith interpretation of them, but.... I don't really see it.

When he tells about how he murdered everyone who had a gun, he could have played up the self-defense angle. He could have claimed he was scared, and he did it to protect everyone. He could have emphasized that he was killing cops, instead of emphasizing the civilians. He could have stuck with the story he told at the time, that he freaked out and made a mistake and hadn't meant to kill them all. He doesn't. He admits to mass murder, and he admits to having done it because he was angry. And he admits to still not regretting it one bit.

The story John tells just doesn't paint him in the best possible light. He does include all of the justifications he used at the time, he does explain why on earth any of this ever seemed like a good idea to anyone, and he does want to be understood, but he doesn't really try to sell it as having been right.

I really don't see the verse chapters as being John's justification. They're his confession. That's why they feel so good to condemn.

[inkskinned]

she says he won't let her get a dog, which is fine, because they're in an apartment, and that's the kind of thing people say about their partners. he won't let me get a dog. and you're at a dinner party and you tilt your head a little to the side just like that dog he won't let her get, because is this the thing that's going to upset you? you don't know every corner of their relationship, she could be joking, they could have had so many healthy conversations about the dog, right, and maybe she's not letting herself get the dog because of money and time and whatever. but, like, she did say let

and she wants to move away from his hometown and he wants to stay and then he tells you with a wink and a conspiratorial stage whisper don't worry i'll convince her and she laughs about it - so clearly this is something they laugh about. but you do just stand there and stare at him like what the fuck, man. you can't say what you want to say which is why do you get the final say on everything because they're both obviously aware of the other person's stance on this and have obviously had private conversations about it and what are you going to do about it except make a scene and then he'll be mad at you and call you one of those bitches behind your back and she'll cut you off, which is a loss that doesn't feel worth it just because he makes you a little skeeved out every 3rd comment

and they both agree he just isn't the type to get flowers which is fine because everyone shows love differently, and are you really gonna judge someone based on their sense of individual relationship responsibility? maybe he's constantly cleaning her car and writing her poems and making her furniture or something. maybe she doesn't even like flowers and this is perfect, actually. and no you couldn't date him, obviously, ew; but like, she tells you she's happy. you almost send her a tiktok that says don't be 25 and the cool girl that doesn't need anything, you'll hate not getting flowers at 30, but that's like, starting drama & you shouldn't start drama needlessly.

and you're a little older than her but not so much older you can pull the whole trust me on this one babe thing and besides that wouldn't have worked anyway (when does it ever) and besides you have trauma so you and your therapist both agree that you're always looking for a problem even when there isn't one. and you tell yourself that just because you see them for 15 minutes every month does not mean you can identify every single red flag based on a single shitty half-joking(?) comment

and besides, what are you going to do? she says i actually wanted another stand mixer but thankfully he stops me when i'm about to spend too much money and you're standing there like are you okay? is this normal? is this just something people say? and again - what are you going to do?

to your therapist you try to language it - it's not, like, any of my business. but sometimes, doesn't it feel like - you should do something. there's got to be something, right? you've tried dropping little hints but they sail right through and you've tried having a single serious conversation and she got upset because why does it matter to you, yes it's different but we're happy, it doesn't need to make sense to you and you're like. really unwilling to push a boundary about it anymore; because the truth is that you know logically it shouldn't matter to you, as long as both parties are happy.

and besides, you've been wrong before. it's just... like, every time you see them both, something else happens, some kind of shiver down your spine like do you even hear each other when you talk. it's their strange, bickering orbit. just the way he's on his phone through dinner or watching sports instead of helping in the kitchen or, fuck, another one of these little throwaway comments he makes about we'll see about that, babe. she laughs when he calls her passions stupid shit and meanwhile she gets him tickets to see the knicks and he tells you well at least she's smart about something and still! it's none of your business.

you say get the dog anyway and she laughs. like, this is is you being funny. and not you saying - no really. get the dog. get the dog and get out of here. pack up and start running.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Thank you. I'm sorry.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[mmmairon]

Hi mairon! I love the self insert comfort you did it was so cute! Would you be able to make some more? Possibly diluc taking care of someone like the girl you did in the last one — maybe putting them to bed because I’m suffering w my insomnia right now 😅 if you can’t dw!

oh, to be tucked snugly into bed by Diluc Ragnvindr

[starry-bi-sky]

rewriting my childhood friends jason and danny post be like: “how do i better convey that jason is also as “ride or die” in this friendship with danny as danny is,,,” (while still being from danny's point of view)

“Oh i know!” *turns 85 degrees towards Danny* “:) im going to hurt you”

[crybaby-bkg]

“Why is my stomach in knots?” you grumble to yourself as you look in the mirror, quickly blending in your makeup. your hands move faster than they should, your nerves already shot to shit and the stiff, hard to blend blush is really starting to irk you. you frown when Bakugou pops in behind you, his face next to yours as he takes you in.

“Whaddya so nervous for?” he asks you, dipping down to kiss the curve of your neck. he’s learned to avoid your face until you powder yourself up, and then he can go crazy. but you’re still blending something wet on your cheeks, and he doesn’t wanna upset you more than you already are.

“What if our date isn’t perfect?” you whisper, finally setting down your brush, your hands wringing in your lap. but bakugou reaches over your shoulders, grabs your palms in his, brings them to his face to kiss and kiss at, despite the barely dried concealer you had swiped on them. he hugs you to his chest, careful still of your face, frowns at the way you try to hide your blooming smile at his affection.

“‘Course it’s gonna be perfect.” He reassures you quietly, pecking the side of your neck. “You’re gonna be there with me; that’s all that matters.” You pout at him through the mirror despite your smile, watching his own face soften as he takes in your almost ready face.

“But what if my date tries to order for me, and won’t let me finish a sentence?” You sigh all melancholy, rolling your eyes into your head. You giggle when he bites at the curve of your shoulder, trying to get away but he holds you tight against his chest.

“Then I’ll beat his fucking ass.” Bakugou mutters into your skin, feeling brave enough to steal a kiss on your cheek. Him being brave—the thought makes you laugh to yourself. Bakugou afraid of scaring you, the love of his life, and being afraid of your wrath from fucked up makeup when he battles villains all day. You turn in your seat, wrapping your arms around his neck when he kneels on the floor behind your stool. He almost looks like he’s praising you, with the way his chin tilts up and his gaze is hyper focused on you and you only.

“You’re such a nerd.” You tease, tucking your chin to your neck when he squeezes your thighs in his hands. He leans forward to steal another kiss, despite the way you lean away and try to push his face from yours.

“Shuddup,” he murmurs, bypassing your hand to peck your lips. He stands when you swat at him, kissing the top of your head this time as he makes his way out of the room to start getting ready. As he leaves, he speaks over his shoulder with a huff,

“And finish your face already. Stop depriving me ‘n shit.” He grumbles. You don’t comment on how red his ears are, his admittance of wanting to kiss you again and again, how he always does. You only blow him a kiss, laugh at the way his shoulders hike and his huffing under his breath, and finally finish getting ready.

[thejacketscloset]

Could you imagine what woukd happen if Soap just up and disappeared one day. Just uprooted everything and left the military and everyone else without a word. Something that seems so out of character for him, and everyone is just left wondering why? What happened? And most of all, is he okay?

The only one who has any semblance of what happened is Price, and that's only because Soap had to give him his discharge papers. When he tried to get any information out of Soap he simply wouldn't talk.

The task force is a little heartbroken, some more so than others, and every attempt to contact Soap after just seems to fail or be ignored. Most give up, but Ghost is desperate. He messages Soap every day, but he stops expecting a response after a while. He'll send Soap updates on his day, things he thought Soap would've liked to see, general thoughts. It's ridiculous, but he simply can't move on without some kind of closure.

What he doesn't know is Soap reads every message, they're one of the few things that keep him going now, if only he could get the confidence to text Simon back.

[musubiki]

worst hostage ever. (prev)

[marzipanandminutiae]

Sorry if this is inappropriate, but I was kinda wondering what caused your house fire? What to avoid doing the future if it was preventative ya know

My housemate's e-bike battery was charging in their room, and combusted. I was at work; thankfully everyone else got out safely. But we all lost our apartment and most of our personal possessions. The bike's owner lost literally everything- they were in the shower and escaped wearing only a towel. Their room looked like a crater; that's not an exaggeration.

I support electric vehicles as part of the fight against climate change, but I REALLY need people to be aware of the risks. The lithium ion batteries they use are not like the one in your phone or your computer, or even in an electric car. While any of the above can catch fire, it seems like the ones in e-bikes and e-scooters are more likely to at the moment. And the fire burns hot and fast- I've heard conventional extinguishers can't even put it out, though I don't know much about that. This wasn't an off-brand bike or battery, either. It was by Rad Power, a well-known and popular company.

Follow all the recommendations for charging the batteries: on a flat surface, attended, and DO NOT leave them plugged in past full charge. That can help, but since this battery was not fully charged when it exploded, I strongly recommend charging them outside if at all possible. I believe some people do it inside an enclosed charcoal grill, the round sort with a cover? The cord would have to stick out but it's still SOME sort of protection in case of fire.

Personally, I will never live in a house with one again, but I have Trauma Reasons and some people need them for cheap reliable transportation. I get that. They're here to stay. We just have to protect ourselves until the technology gets past its teething troubles.

Close your bedroom door when sleeping and when you leave the house. I lost a lot, but my room was the least damaged because my door was closed- the fire literally skipped over my room and up through the ceiling crawl-space.

Beyond that- basic fire safety, I guess. Don't leave candles unattended, etc.

Take care of yourselves, people. Trust me, you don't want to go through even a nonlethal house fire- and this was the best-case scenario.

[helpimstuckposting]

I’m a ghost and you are a shadow

Part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven

—

Ever since the Upside-down and Vecna and the world going to shit, Steve’s spent a lot of time roaming the bars inside and out of Hawkins. Once he’d finished with his dad’s liquor cabinet and the only liquor store in town stopped selling to him, he started being a regular at multiple establishments.

It was hard, after losing Max and El and Will and others Steve couldn’t think about without ripping open the wounds again. The portals were all closed, but at what cost? The world was technically saved, but Steve’s was a wreck. The metaphorical wounds were still ripped up and bleeding, fresh holes that would never quite stitch themselves over and heal.

His parents never came back, and he couldn’t even blame them, it’s not like he expected to be worth it to them. He was an adult now, on his own, there was no need for them to come back and pick him up. Honestly, he never wanted to see them again, didn’t really even know who they were. Steve had lived with practical strangers his whole life, made a semblance of family from skin and bone, and had it all ripped away from him.

Steve Harrington was always meant to be alone.

So he drank, went back to King Steve’s routes, used the alcohol to ground him while his mind drifted away to heaven or hell or wherever. It didn’t matter, because Steve never remembered the night before. The nightmares melted with the sunrise, the tremors and gasps, and flooding eyes gave way to cotton mouth and hunger in the daylight, and the blinding sun made it easier to forget all the bad things. Easier, but altogether impossible none the less.

So Steve didn’t quite remember how he ended up in the woods behind his house, dead leaves tangled in his hair and a particularly sharp twig shoved into his spine. He groaned against the sunlight blinding him through the branches and dug the stick out from under him, standing up on wobbling legs to trudge back inside. It wasn’t uncommon to find himself on his porch or lying in an old and tattered lounge chair, or even on a park bench some times. He wandered a lot. There was nothing else to do.

He still had money in his trust fund, still had his parents house to stay in, it wasn’t like anyone was knocking on his door to put him back together. Eddie was somewhere, in another state or wherever he ran off to. Again, Steve couldn’t blame him, either. Wayne wasn’t here anymore, there was no reason for Eddie to stay after everything. There wasn’t any reason for Steve to stay, but there wasn’t anywhere for him to go, either.

So he stayed. So he drank. So he blacked out and woke up outside sometimes.

He rested against a tree for a minute, trying to gain his bearings and see past the blinding sunlight, rubbing circles into his eyes until he saw sparks of white behind his eyelids. He was probably a mess, probably looked half dead, hadn’t been able to look into a mirror in months.

Blinking out into his backyard, he could see a bit better now but the world still wobbled on its axis just a bit. It would probably be another half hour until he was sober enough to see straight, but he wasn’t going to stay in the burning sun for that. He trekked across the dead grass of his yard, using passing lawn chairs and tables as crutches to make the distance more bearable, ignored the memories pressing at the edges of his mind and embraced the pain in his head to push the thoughts away.

The house seemed a bit cleaner on the inside than he last remembered, but he couldn’t be sure. He couldn’t remember the last time he cleaned, but he couldn’t remember much of anything these days. That was the point, after all.

Steve rounded the hallway into the open arch of the kitchen entry — hoping he had some cereal left in the pantry somewhere, not brave enough to handle the stares and whispers he’d get at the diner or grocery store — when he was roughly slammed against the kitchen wall. His head swam with the abrupt movement, stomach churning uncomfortably. He blinked against the sudden impact, feeling one of his own kitchen knives at his throat; pressing, but not digging, a warning. The knife wobbled slightly before the grip righted, pressing just a bit stronger than before, a threat.

Steve opened his eyes, trying to get his brain back online in his hazy state. Putting the pieces together slowly. Brown hair. Curly. Angry eyes. A set grimace on his lips. Eddie Munson. The last time Eddie Munson had a sharp object to his neck, Steve was pinned to the wall of Reefer Rick’s boat house. Now, pinned to the wall of his own kitchen, Steve couldn’t pull his eyes away, couldn’t fathom what Eddie would be doing here, either.

“Eddie? What the fuck are you doing in my house?” He asked, pushing through the uncomfortable cotton mouth and stale alcohol taste on his tongue.

Eddie just stared at him, the hand fisted into Steve’s shirt tightening. He winced.

“Seriously dude, what are you doing?” Was he still asleep outside? Was he ever outside? What the hell did he drink last night?

Eddie kept staring, glaring, like Steve did something wrong again. Steve always did something wrong, he just couldn’t figure out what. The grip on his shirt tightened again, pinching Steve’s chest and clearing his head just a bit more. Definitely not a dream.

“Who are you?” Eddie growled out, shoving Steve harder into the wall.

Steve blinked. What? That was not the question Steve was expecting. Not that he was expecting any of this, really.

“Who. Are. You?” Eddie repeated.

“Steve. Harring-ton?” Steve replied, following the other man’s cadence, words dripping with confusion.

Eddie’s glare tightened like his grip, knife digging into his throat just a bit more. He was sure his brain should be screaming danger, danger, danger, but the fact that it was Eddie standing in front of him was throwing him way off kilter.

“Seriously, Eddie, what’s going on?” Steve begged, unsure if the confusion muddling his brain was because of the alcohol, lack of any decent nutrition for the past few months, or something else. Did he seriously miss something so big that had Eddie up in arms like this? He couldn’t possibly look so bad he was unrecognizable.

“Is this some kind of trick from Vecna? Hm? What are you?”

“Eddie, man, I seriously have no clue what you’re talking about!” Steve’s voice was gaining a more hysterical edge at this point, but it had no effect on Eddie what-so-ever. “I am so not sober enough for this, just tell me what’s going on!”

“Steve Harrington is dead!” Eddie yelled in his face, “Steve Harrington is dead, so what the fuck are you?”

—

If y’all have world building questions pls ask in the replies because maybe it’ll get me somewhere near a plot. Anyway, please enjoy sad lonely Steve

[swordheld]

hi! your blog is one of my favourites and i absolutely adore reading your thoughts. my grandfather recently passed away and it feels like i lost myself with him. how do i continue living after this? there is this constant weight on my chest and it feels like an emptiness has made a home inside of me. how do i go on when it feels like the world crashed on my shoulders?

hello, love! this is so very sweet and kind of you, and i hope you're treating yourself gently and kindly right now - there aren't words for a loss like this. that heaviness is difficult, and hard, and painful. it's okay if things don't feel okay, right now, or even soon - i think that's something that a lot of the people i know that have gone through similar grief feel: like they should be able to get back to a relative 'normal' in a [insert far too short period of time].

but it's okay if it hurts. that's where i'd like to start. you're allowed to feel that emptiness, that world-crashed feeling that goes beyond words, beyond time. don't feel like you have to rush this to feel some sort of better. things get easier with time, i promise you this, but sometimes painful feelings are important to feel, too. cry, scream, feel your emotions. they're a part of you. grieve.

it's perhaps a little silly, but when i think about death i always think about a couple of space songs: mainly drops of jupiter by train and saturn by sleeping at last. there are perhaps others that speak to the emotions better, but these two have always hit something a little deeper for me, and are popular for a wide-reaching reason.

and while personally i don't know much about grief like this, i do know a lot about love; and i think they're a lot of the same thing.

the people we love are a part of us, and this is why it takes from us so deeply when we lose them, because it does feel like we've lost a part of ourselves in the wake of it. but it's because they were so central to our experiences of living - our lives, that the separation introduces a hollowness - a place where they used to be. a home that now goes unlived in.

an emptiness, like you said.

but just because they're not here physically, doesn't mean he's not still there, in your heart, in your life, your memory. you can hold him close in smaller ways, as well: steal a sweater, or cologne/scent for something a little more physical and long lasting for remembering. hold onto the memories you cherish, the things that made you laugh, the ease of slow mornings and gentle nights. write them all down, slide a few photographs in there, go through it and add more when you miss him. keep them all close, keep them in your heart.

you're not alone, in this. he's still there, with you, it's just - in the little things.

he's with you in the way you see and go about your daily life, in doing what he liked to do, in the ways he interacted with the world that you shared with him. the memories you recall fondly when the night is late or the moment is right and something calls it into you like a melody, an old bell, laughter you'd recognize anywhere.

but i think, perhaps most importantly above all others - talk about him. with your family, your friends, his friends, strangers; stories are how we keep the people we love alive. the connections they've made, the legacies and experiences they've left behind, and so, so many stories.

how lucky, we are - to love so much it takes a piece of us when they go. grief is the other side of the coin, but it does not mean our love goes away. it lives in you. it lives in everyone who knew him, in the smallest pieces of our lives.

the people we love never really leave us, like this: they're in how we cook and the way we fold our newspapers, our laundry, in the radio stations we tune in to and the way we decorate our walls, our photo albums. they're in the way we store our mail, organize our closets, the scribbled notes in the indexes of our books. the meals we love and the drinks we mix, the way we spend time with one another. they've been passed down for generations, for longer than history - and we are all the luckier for it.

think about what you shared with him, and do it intentionally. bring him into your life, like this, again. whether it's crosswords or poetry or sports or anything else. if one doesn't help, try another. something might click.

i hope things feel a little easier for you, as they tend to do only with time. i hope you find joy in your grief, even if it is small and hard to grasp at first. know that your hurt stems from so much love that there isn't a place to put it properly, and that it is something so meaningful and hurting poets and storytellers have been struggling to put it into words and sounds that feel like the fit right for eons, and that it is also just simply yours. sometimes things don't have to make sense. sometimes they just are - unable to be put into words or neat little sentiments, as unfair and tragic as they come.

but i promise it will not feel like this forever. your love is real. and perhaps, on where to begin on from here - i think it's less on finding where to begin and just beginning. and you've already started. you've taken the most important and crucial step: the first one. wherever you go, after that, from here? you'll figure it out. you always have, and you always do. it'll come, as things always do. love leads us, as does light - and you're never alone in your hurt. in your grief, your missing something dear to you. i think if you talk about it with others, you'll find they have ways of helping you cope as well - and they have so much love of their own to spare, too.

as an aside, here is the song (northern star by dom fera) i was listening to when i wrote this, for no other reason more than it makes me think of connections, and love, and how we hold onto the people we love and how they change us, wonderfully and intrinsically. it's a little more joyous than the others i've mentioned, and plays like a story, and it made me think of what is at the core of this, love and stories and i am here with you, and maybe it'll bring you some joy, if you'd like it. wishing you all my love and ease 💛

[mayasaura]

I just want to talk about the nursery being painted and the purpose of the Tomb to be without a door. Anastasia had a family - and putting to the side the pact with Alecto there's some implicit symbolism to John asking for the workers of the Ninth to die constructing the Tomb with that image of new life. (Still can't articulate my disbelief that he went and didn't think that asking Anastasia of all people, The one who lost her cavalier to him, would have problems)

Yeah. Especially finding this out about the Ninth, where nurseries becoming tombs is a thing we're sensitive about.

On one level we've always known Anastasia had a family. Like, we know she's Harrow's direct ancestor. You can't be heir to the line of someone who never had children. But the nursery.... Yeah. It really hammers it in. Her friends painted a nursery mint green for her children.

And now it's a tomb.

[mattodore]

you can break, throw yourself away, leave it behind. and, if you need to, you can break me too. you can disappear, but please just take me with you when you go.

[gaylactic-fire]

I still maintain there was (and probably still is) a very weird circlejerk surrounding whump/angst in the LU fandom

[ineed-to-sleep]

NEW TATTOO BABEYY. IT HURT

[lesbianfakir]

To elaborate on my ruekirtho throuple thoughts, sometimes I think about a world where their shared love for mytho brought rue and fakir together instead of driving them apart. They’re both incredibly lonely kids who have lost too much and, as much as they care for mytho, a heartless doll isn’t replacement for real human companionship. So they find each other.

Rue knows it will never last. No one beyond her Prince will ever love her. She sees the way Fakir throws rocks at the flock of crows that gathers around her. When he discovers her identity—and she knows he will discover her identity one day—they’ll go back to being enemies. He is the Knight and she is the daughter of the Raven, his killer. Still, it’s nice to have a friend even for a little while. So she lets herself forget. She forgets who, what, she is. She forgets that there was ever a before. She forgets that they won’t last.

Fakir knows there is something very, very wrong in Rue’s life. He sees the deep scratches that stand out against her almost unnaturally pale skin. She speaks in a hushed tone with a haunted look in her eyes when it’s time to go home. She won’t tell him anything, though. He doesn’t even know where she lives; it’s as if she disappears at the end of the day. He just hopes that one day, when it comes down to it, he’ll be able to protect her from whatever haunts her.

By the time the story goes into motion, the two, along with Mytho, are near inseparable. When Mytho begins regaining his heart, Rue and Fakir work together to put a stop to it. When Rue begins losing track of the days, feeling as if someone else is trying to claw their way out of her chest, she almost goes to Fakir for help. Almost.

It is, of course, Fakir who shatters the illusion that is Rue. Her one and only friend calls her an ugly crow, and in that moment she remembers what she is. What she’s always been. They’ve been enemies from birth. This “friendship” was nothing more than the a sad illusion created by a lonely girl—a girl who no longer exists. And she knows now, in her father’s absence, her “friend” will die at her hand. This is their fate and fate cannot be changed. Still, it was nice while it lasted.