#we're on good terms and he's still a solid friend

[fabulouslygaybean]

oh. huh. my ex followed my new art account

[grandlinedreams]

childhood friends trope with Law please and thank you <3333 This particular trope always has me in shambles THE INTIMACY?? OR KNOWING EVERY VERSION OF THAT PERSON?? THE INSIDE JOKES? UGHHH And lets not forget the tenderness that comes with knowing that person for years and then some. Good shit. I just want this lonely brooding twink to have something constant in his from from his childhood to adulthood. The softness makes me wanna hurl i love it

YESSSSS i am also such a sucker for childhood friends trope bls I hope I can do this justice for you!!

[Heads up!: fluff, a touch of angst, dressrosa arc spoilers]

He's lucky to not be dead.

You kneel on Law's other side, limp hand in both of yours. You've never seen him so still and quite frankly, you're terrified.

You know you should talk to him, try to keep him tethered here in the land of the living ㅡ but your mind is horribly blank given the chaos still unfolding around you.

Were you more sentimental, you'd beg. A thousand pinky promises and accompanying eyerolls, the smirk you so often threaten to punch him for when he's being insufferable ㅡ you'd take it over this.

"You must care for him quite a bit," Viola says, and you know she's trying to find something to say, to reassure you that Law is going to be just fine. "Are you..."

She trails off, tact where there often is none when it comes to you and Law. Because there's only so in sync you can be with someone else, share looks and understand what the other wants, seemingly operate as two halves of a whole before you get that question.

"No," you say, "we're just friends."

ㅡ

You're a lot more than just friends. That implies that there's been much of a time where you didn't know each other, and there really hasn't. Or that the two of you met through traditional means.

That isn't quite true either. You meet when the world is on fire for the both of you, in ways so similar and yet not.

Grief is such a funny thing when you find comfort in someone who's lost just as much as you. It's easier to tread those dark waves when someone else is threatening to sink with you ㅡ find solid ground in linked pinkies and eyerolls that follow, wide grins made hole-punched by missing baby teeth.

Of course there's also Shachi, Penguin and Bepo ㅡ they aren't far behind you in knowing Law, but it still stands that you've been a constant for longer.

"Of course I'm gonna come with you, idiot," you huff, eyes gleaming with laughter, "who else is gonna put up with you the way I do?"

You don't need to tell him you'd gladly follow him through the gates of hell. He knows, because he'd do the same for you.

There's only one person who knows you better than yourself, and his name is Trafalgar Law. You don't turn as he exits Kyros' house, eyes still skyward as he sinks onto the step beside you.

"The stars are pretty," you remark.

"You should be asleep." Law's eyes narrow when you mouth his words at the same time, and you scoff.

"Last time I checked, I wasn't the one who got shot, then almost lost an arm." Law meets your gaze, then looks away. "I'm not expecting you to apologize, because that isn't how we operate. But we made a promise, didn't we?"

"[Name]ㅡ"

"Law."

Law huffs. "We were kids."

"So? Hasn't stopped us before. As I recall, you've pulled this card on me several times." You hold your hand up, pinky extended. "Do it, Law."

Law stares at you, as thrilled about your tradition as he ever is, but links his pinky around yours. You grin, and he rolls his eyes. "You're a pain."

"Yeah," you answer, scooting closer to settle your head on his shoulder. "You're my pain, and I'm yours. That's how it works, right?"

Law is quiet, undoubtedly still coming to terms with the end of all of this and what it means for him ㅡ catharsis, a shackle unclamped from around his neck. Your hand finds his, fingers braced through the gaps of his, and you squeeze. You don't say a word, and you don't have to.

"Yeah," Law finally answers, lets his head rest against yours. "It is."

[inchidentally]

because apparently I can't stop being weird ! 🫠

(this is completely shipping goggles off btw and with the assumption that there's no point theorizing about these men's actual sexualities since a)male sports and b)required travel to countries where the penalty for homosexuality is death/imprisonment.)

I kind of love that we're all picking up on something new and indefinable with Lando and Oscar and it makes our hearts do a little squeeze without fully knowing why. I'm basically finding myself repeating everyone else's tags on landoscar gifsets. and it made me think about why and how Lando has had two main support systems in terms of friendships up til now. there's the F1 alphas/extroverts and then there are his childhood besties.

F1

so like every guy or group of guys I've seen with Carlos somehow admit he's in the alpha position and rotate around him as the leader. it's very much like Daniel even though Carlos and Daniel aren't much alike outside of that (Daniel makes noise to be the leader, Carlos just exists as a leader). for an ambivert like Lando, Carlos and Daniel are great places to be when he's getting pulled under. they're typical straight alpha types who don't believe in getting stuck in their heads or feelings (Carlos' 'mental health' ad basically being go to the gym and stay productive to not feel sad lol) and they exist in a kind of nonstop monologue. so little Lando can just bob along in the current and know that he'll laugh and forget whatever ails him. very much like what he needed Carlos for after the Mexico race when he looked so drained and ended up magically chipper again in Brazil (in reality bc of friendship and not a solid dicking down as I have tagged in a lot of places). or that private plane ride with Daniel where Lando looked twelve years old and so happy. Lando clearly needs to feel small again sometimes and these are the guys who can do that.

Childhood

Max F obviously has that role of truth-telling and soul-baring that honestly I could see Lando not being able to live without. the friend/soulmate you can't hide anything from. I'm absolutely projecting at this point as someone who feels verrrry simpatico with Lando's personality (as we're allowed to see it) but having that person who can love you while being honest and real with you is so SO SO needed. but! there are times when it's too much and they know that you need to just float for a while. I feel like there's that core group of guys in the Max F circle who are all to different degrees like this with Lando. they're much more his equals in power dynamic too.

Oscah??

I think this is where Oscar exists in like a third, unexplored space. he's been caught in 4K as a Lando fanboy but he's also got sleepy cat personality so you can only tell from the internet evidence and from the way his eyes track Lando every time they're in the same rough vicinity that he's still fairly starstruck.

to me it's like Oscar hasn't quite shaken the norm of watching Lando on his phone screen and he almost forgets that he's supposed to be the one interacting with Lando in the challenges etc.

now if you've watched the Prema content on YT you'll know that Oscar, while still sleepy and placid, absolutely knew how to play up for social media content. sure the pressure wasn't that high and he'd known some of those boys for years by then. but his timing was solid and he adopted a sarcastic voice-of-reason role to bounce off the other guys. but what's so endearing about the McLaren content is that Oscar has basically positioned himself as guest star in the Lando Show. it's like he's so relieved at how good Lando is at media content that he spends a lot of his role in it watching what Lando is doing. I'm serious when I say it seems like he forgets he's not watching Lando on a screen like he always used to.

I do however think it's a confident and conscious decision that he made to not even bother trying to be another Carlos or Daniel - or to try and copy paste a little of the banter he'll have seen Lando have in Quadrant videos. I really love that Oscar's said you know what I'm being me and it so happens I'm nothing like those other people in Lando's content.

but !! you know who's personality and sense of humor Oscar most resembles? Max F. dry humor, sleepy but can get riled up and fun when they're feeling it. sort of fondly exasperated with Lando a lot of the time. I loved the stream of Max watching the Most Likely To with Lando and Oscar because he sided with Oscar so many times and appreciated Oscar bringing up the birthday issue.

and I think that's where for Lando he's still pretty damn thrown by Oscar - not in a bad way, just still uncertain. Oscar doesn't fit with Lando's extroverted F1 world. Oscar's plenty friendly with the rest of the grid (and obv Logan) but he's choosing to largely go under the radar and he runs his social media very lowkey even during some of the major highs he's had his rookie season. he's there to race F1 cars and when that's over he's got a very good brain in his head and plenty of options. he doesn't have the same insecurities that a lot of the drivers admit to having. Lando can't rely on Oscar being a typical F1 driver to understand him.

to finally come around to some kind of point I think what we're seeing is Lando and Oscar tiptoeing around a friendship that would probably develop very fast and easily if it weren't for the F1 pressure and expectations. we're seeing Lando unusually flustered by how easy he gets Oscar's attention and how he seemingly can't annoy or inadvertently piss off Oscar even if he tries to wind him up in videos or if he gets lost in admiration for his own trophy while Oscar shrugs off his own P14 finish and smiles at Lando. I genuinely think that level of undemanding affection has Lando sort of squirmy in an adorable way.

and Oscar clearly went into the personal side of his relationship to Lando of just enjoying whatever he gets and not trying to be someone he isn't. rookie seasons are already so pressure packed and the drama with Alpine followed by the rough start McLaren had won't have helped. he's just trying to do his job and prove his place and honestly isn't bothering to hide that he's baffled and flustered at finding himself interacting with Lando Norris the way Carlos Sainz and Daniel Ricciardo were. it's easier to just let people see that Lando can wrap him around his finger.

when all the time, if they'd met via Max F or mutual non-F1 friends, Oscar would fold right into Lando's group like butter on toast. I think that's what we pick up on with either or both of them getting shy and crushing on each other like new best friends at school. F1 has picked them up and put a camera on them and we're watching them slowly learn if it's okay to put an arm around each other or sit very close or touch the other person's hair. because they know this is very Real FriendTM friend potential and they don't want to spook each other and their feelings could so easily be hurt if they thought the other person didn't want to be friends as much or if they'd turn their back on them in front of their other friends.

they're not interacting as Typical Blokes by horseplay or teasing or being loud and they're not Just Guys Bein Dudes using humor and sarcasm to figure out the pecking order.

most of the time they're so shy or Lando's in a mood and Oscar finds it adorable and they're watching each other so closely the whole time like this and aauuuuhhggggg it's so vulnerable and sweet.

that's how it feels to me anyway and why I'm so ???!!! watching them interact. and sidenote I'm so so glad Oscar is so steady and can celebrate Lando no matter what. bc Lando admits he struggles with that in turn and after the many times it's been tested it's clearly never going to be something that breaks them before they can continue to get closer <3

[conduitandconjurer]

I think I've figured out one thing (beyond that .... "ending" ....) that bothers me about TUA s4 and Klaus.

It seems like the popular dichotomy, in terms of his characterization, is "fearful of life because he's mortal" versus "careless and effectively invicible" and that somehow being divested of his abilities would pave the way to healing and guarantee sobriety. Klaus's rage at his family for saving his life by returning his powers is proof enough that HE believes this. Alongside this is the presumption that all of his character development last season, mastering the gift of immortality, is itself--RATHER THAN THE WAY THAT HE MASTERED IT (by being led on and used by Reginald, and made to equate his worth with his usefulness/skill)--should be nixed. It's bad for him to be porous to the veil between life and death. It's bad for him to be immortal. He can't "deal with it" and he'll go on a bender the moment it's restored. His unwillingness to drink the "marigolds" (until he's dying and forced to do so) is supposed to be proof of this.

I have some qualms with this line of thinking, despite its solid attempt at showing character development.

I think Klaus is braver than people give him credit for WHILE he is mortal. Friends have posited (and I agree with this part) that he becomes very high strung and phobic about any form of injury or illness because even though mortality is scary to someone who just found out he was immortal...and then lost that immortality...he also feels he has CONTROL over his own body and mind and life that he was NOT afforded when he could be possessed by ghosts and used for his conjuring powers (both by family and predators). And I've been harping on Klaus's need to actually have agency and grant consent since that squicky Ben-possession joke in season 2. But, agh.

To begin with, I don't think Klaus is 'afraid' of life (or at least that the fear is unwarranted or laughable) so much as he's forcing himself to endure what he KNOWS is deeply perilous and unfortunate t unlucky people like himself, without resorting to the powers that also open the door to substance abuse. Of all of the Brellies, he tries the hardest, the most often, to break patterns, when he sees that there is motivation to do so (more on this later). He is hardcore and brave as fuck, rubber gloves or not.

But is it really a good thing, or even necessary for Klaus as a character, to equate no powers with guaranteed sobriety and powers with falling off the wagon? I don't think it is.

Unfortunately, this is hard to glean from the audience pov, because all we're given in this season is the most extreme, toxic, abusive, stomach-turning example of how his powers can be abused the moment they return--and how, of course, this exacerbates relapse. We get the whole 'have sex with his body while the deceased possess it, for drug money" subplot. We get him getting so desperate for the cycle to end that he begins inviting harm and self-harming out of some grim hope that his powers will fail (getting shot in the head scene). And he needs the drugs that this awful situation provides BECAUSE OF said situation. Compound upon that the PAST trauma that it's opening back up like a raw wound (literally, from at least the age of 8). Of course Klaus is using because of his powers, but because THEY'RE BEING ABUSED.

Klaus's abilities don't guarantee a fall off the wagon. His low self-esteem does, and the inability of anyone in his life to communicate with him or intervene does. When (deleted but still important scene) Lila's relatives are calling him, in front of him, a loser junkie (etc), and he says, "Yeah, that's....that'd be me," Klaus is mortal. We see the cogs in his head turning: yeah, I'm worthless, what's the point. And it's already too late right there, unless someone intervenes.

"What's the point," AND NOTHING ELSE, is Klaus's kryptonite. And he isn't a fatalist by nature, I'll (controversially, I guess) add, but there are things nobody can endure forever. Klaus, like any addict, is there because of underlying core beliefs about himself and about his ability to change his circumstances. What I love about the deleted scene that shows Klaus INSISTING on having his AA meeting is that he becomes his own advocate, because well, the Hargreeves are "all assholes" (well spotted, Klaus, lol) in their own ways, and each has to be their OWN intervention. This has more to do with self-determination than it does with seeing ghosts. The cause and the remission of Klaus's addiction is deeper-seated than powers that are given and taken away at surface level.

Why is this so important to me? I guess because to me the powers Klaus never asked for still remind me of something perhaps not initially intrinsic to someone's being--but still something they have to integrate into their lives in order to go on living. I think it MEANS more to fans who identify with Klaus (at least it does to me, someone with debilitating chronic illness) that he be able to transform his abilities into a strength that is, to Klaus and his loved ones, benign, while also not letting it become the central facet of his identity. He IS a medium, but he is also OTHER things. He is a human being, and all human beings have many interests, roles, and hopes.

The precipiating events of Klaus's trauma are NOT his ability to see ghosts or resuscitate. They're the abuse inflicted by those who would use Klaus for their own gain. Why should he give up his powers in order to heal, just because Reginald is an unconscionable monster who was willing to kill his own child over and over and over? I wish Klaus himself had had this epiphany before the show ended.

Losing his powers for good would certainly be the quickest route to healing and growth, and fine, if fans like it, go for it. To me, though, it feels like "don't ever wear crop tops because if you do, you won't get SA'd." Like, no. Maybe the world needs to operate by a kinder standard. Maybe Klaus needs a real support group, a better family of his own, to help him contradict his feelings of self-loathing. Maybe he needs the AA counselor to stay when he shows up for his chip. Maybe he needs reliable transportation to and from. Maybe he needs to move to a different city. Maybe he needs to chat with some of the ghosts he sees, and start a fucking Tuesday evening afterlife meditation circle. Maybe he can get a cheap apartment and fill his living space with succulents that he has to be held accountable to feed and water and keep ALIVE. Maybe he should become an AA counselor and help other people go the right direction. Maybe he should resort to poetry or knitting every time he has an urge to use, and that can become a healthier compulsion. Maybe someday he can get a kitten or start dating again (someone alive, in this century). What Klaus needs is to have MORE in his life to define him than his powers and how they can be used for the benefit of others.

Maybe the TUA writing staff is weirdly sadistic and won't let any of that happen. But by God, we can. And it's important. It's important that healing and remission not be dependant on things others can bestow or take away (like powers). It needs to depend on something internal, an "internal locus of control," as the CBT shrinks call it. THAT is having control over your own life.

[lovelyrotter]

okay but i actually kinda wanna know ur take on stridercest being canon compliant O_O <- autism stare

oh hey i am also hitting you with the autism stare. ill try to get my thoughts down in a way that makes sense to more than just me hahaha

bear in mind that im an epilogue lover and i think Meat/Candy are really valuable pieces that further all of the characters and are also hard canon in the sense that we're looking at just 2 post-game universe outcomes out of an uncountable number (the book in the picnic basket representing post-canon fanfic). i think the characters actions in the epilogues make sense and are satisfying to me. yes even jane (i love alpha jane and i will not do her the disservice of 'cleaning her up' w/o showing her work for it. thats not how you depict a character who grew up with fascist programming). i could totally go on a whole tangent about this specifically but thats another post lol we'd be here forever and its also not stridercest

but okay. canon stridercest. under the cut cause it got kinda long

basically it has to do with the cherubs and how their relationships and mating rituals are pretty obviously incestuous leaning even though cherubs dont have the human concept of Siblings or blood family. the cherub who predominates will search across paradox space to mate with another cherub who closely resembles the cherub they predominated which is like textbook Freudian sexuality. theres a lot of Freud and Jungian stuff in HS imo even if im kinda [wobbly hand gesture] at the validity of these theories applied to real life and real people. but theyre super fun tools and lenses to use in fiction and i mean. gestures at all of dave

so the incest aliens cherubs. the whole reason why im talkin about them is bc Caliborn is so incredibly interested and invested in the Striders in particular. caliborn as both Lord English and Lil Cal shapes earth NOT OVERTLY but more so embeds himself in earth society, but again, the Striders lives in particular. dave is full of incest jokes. hes even apparently got a list of his friends arranged in order of how likely theyd incest-elope with each other (thank you epilogues for this amazing factoid). he seems to think about it often enough to, yknow, Do That. have a good solid think about that and construct an organized list about it. bearing in mind dave makes jokes about stuff thats a) bothering him, or b) generally camping out in his brain. hes not even really aware of it most of the time (as we see in one of the openbounds where hes all 'why am i thinking about puppets???' after seeing dirk for the first time in that dream bubble. he is thinking nonstop about dirk at that point and going off his only frame of reference for ANY dirk, which is his bro. his bro who was most likely deeply warped by Lil Cal)

sorry for the long blocky paragraph lol. but now onto the next thing

Caliborn as Lil Cal is the centerpiece in the beta strider apartment. dave cant escape him and beta dirk grew up with him. what the fuck do you do when youre childhood comfort item is also the most evil creature across all of paradox space? if youre a dirk you try to fight it. but how long can you keep fighting something like that. its safe to say that bro was affected by Caliborns particular brand of perversion and sfw kink. i dont think i have to say how insidious abusive and toxic he is about those things. and looking at the truth of beta bro (16yo alpha dirk) you can start to see just how warped beta bro became. beta bro is a false dirk (still a very Real dirk but not the Truth of dirk. beta bro has been toxified and made infinitely worse by an absolute evil influence over decades of life. in 80s fuckin texas. presumably in the system. anyone would be fucked up after that)

so for this analysis/theory im stating beta bro as a false persona. using jungian terms he is apha dirk's shadow

both dave and dirk live with a fake, carefully manicured version of their bros. they live with personas (or shadows of their guardians on the walls. hello platos allegory of the cave). they dont actually know e/o and they dont until the striunion

alpha dirk especially grows up embedded in the Public Persona Of Dave Strider 400 years post mortem and completely alone with unlimited internet access. hes a self admitted expert on his bro and we dont get to see a lot if any of his early childhood but i can hazard a guess at how much he clung to that persona of his bro. he fuckin idolizes dave. he LOVES dave. right off the bat he is in some kind of love with dave and i think if you try to argue against that then thats you slippin. i think youre a fool and have to reread homestuck because i wholeheartedly believe the striders loving eachother is part of the win state

once again this is speculation cause we get barely anything about alpha dave, but from what we already know about him im guessing this bro-persona is

achingly effortlessly cool

oozing masculinity (toxic or not, not really interested in categorizing that although toxic coolboy masculinity IS something the striders contend with & is an important facet in their lives)

a skilled fighter

a dedicated moviegoer (hes a director need i say more. this one is probably the only genuine thing about his on-screen persona)

and now lets look at jake. someone whos grown up on pretty much nothing but movies, whos doubtlessly been influenced by hollywood and its idea of gritty 'main character' masculinity through that, and who also clings to more old-school ideas of manliness (think victorian/edwardian era gentlemanly-but-loves-a-good-scrum kinda manly. moustache twirly with a monocle kinda manly. basically everything that grandpa harley is)

but okay lets look at what jake wants to be. lets take a look at his teenager persona

achingly effortlessly cool (his own 'hollywood star' kind of cool also def influenced by his favourite characters like lara croft who is indeed achingly cool. you see him succeed in inhabiting this hollywood star persona on earth c)

oozing masculinity (the old school manly mans-man kind)

a skilled fighter (two pistoles always. harder to aim cause you cant use a free hand to make up for kickback. that takes skill)

a dedicated moviegoer (again one of the only genuine parts about his persona. his questionable-to-wretched tastes aside. but bearing in mind that the SBaHJ movies are intentionally bad which is what makes them loop around to good. such is the nature of intentionally 'bad' art. jake fuckin lives in this perpetual bad-good art loop. okay enough with the art tangent keep focused man cmon)

because dirk has obviously way more contact with jake i dont doubt he sees through jakes own (admittedly way more flimsy) coolboy persona but the point still stands i think. different flavours but the same kinda guy. dirk has a type and i dont think its a stretch to say that hes looking for aspects of the bro-persona he grew up looking at in other boys, much like the winning cherub looking for the one they lost in the cherub theyll mate with

also wtf is with dirks obvious boner for dave chasing him across paradox space to decapitate him huh?? the last few sentences in Meat are about that very thing. he wants to fuc fight dave sooo bad. haha remember how the cherubic mating ritual is one of the most violent and long running spectacles in paradox space? i sure do

[arctrooper69]

My birthday is on March 9th I don't know if you do Twins Hunter X female reader like one twin is bad the other is good they both like her but she has to pick one.

Happy Birthday! I apologize for posting this a day late, it kind of ran away on me and what was supposed to be a short drabble ended up becoming six full pages long. Hope you had a great birthday!

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Fire and Ice

The icy caves of Illum hold insight to many secrets. Will your feelings for Hunter help you or hinder you on your journey?

Warnings: Dissociation. Mental struggles. Hypothermia and all the fun stuff that goes along with it 😂

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"I just don't understand! Why now?" Hunter frustratedly threw his hands up. You shook your head and took a deep breath, trying not to be angry at his unexpected outburst.

It had been two years since life as you knew it had suddenly been flipped upside down. Two years since your master had sacrificed himself to save you. One year since your best friend was killed by the Second Sister. A year since you'd cut yourself off from the Force, and a year since you'd sold your lightsaber and joined this ragtag band of rouge clones - your new found family.

"I just..." You looked at your feet, struggling to find the words to speak to the man who'd become your closest friend. Your confidant. Your unrequited love.

You sighed, biting your lip. "Seeing Tippoca City destroyed, seeing everything the Empire has done and is still doing.... I feel like I should've done more."

"Cyar'ika," Hunter breathed, sitting down beside you. He put a hand on your shoulder. "You know none of that was your fault."

You sniffed, wiping tears that threatened to fall. "I know it's not, Hunter. But what if Echo is right?" You looked back up at him. You didn't need the Force to read the conflicted look on his face. "Maybe we should be doing more. We could be helping a lot more people!"

Hunter furrowed his brow. "We are helping people. We're keeping Omega safe. We're doing what we can!"

"Yeah, but I'm not!" you huffed.

"What do you mean?" Hunter turned to face you with a confused expression.

"Hunter, I am -" you paused, "I was a Jedi. I should be doing more."

He cocked his head. "I thought you said you cut yourself off from that. You sold your lightsaber."

You nodded. "I did. I was scared, Hunter. I was a scared kid who wanted to be done with fighting wars. I hid my identity. I hid who I was because I was terrified that an inquisitor would find me like they did my friend. People got hurt because of me."

"So what changed?"

You shrugged. "I just...after seeing all this evil being done under the guise of peace, I feel guilty. It was selfish to cut myself off from something that can help fight that evil."

Hunter shifted, "But it's also dangerous. You cut yourself off to keep the Empire at bay and now you want to just jump back into the fight!? What about Omega? What about her safety? What about us?"

Us? Your heart skipped a beat, but then a more reasonable thought smothered it. He was probably referring to the team. Not me and him.

"If that's really how you feel, then I'll leave with Echo and Rex when I return." You said bitterly.

Hunter tensed. "I -" his shoulders sank in defeat. He couldn't say what he wanted to say. Not when you'd already made up your mind. Maybe he was being the selfish one. "When are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow."

"Where? Where will you go to do this? To be a Jedi again?"

You sighed, suddenly feeling very heavy. Did you really want to leave him on these terms? You didn't have a choice.

"I'll need to meditate. And I'll need to rebuild my lightsaber. I need to go to Illum. To the crystal caves."

***

It was colder than you remembered. At least it wasn't windy inside the caves. The wind had nearly blown you off the mountain as you'd waited for the crystal's amplified rays to melt the entrance of solid ice.

You were only a youngling the last time you were here. You recalled the excitement flooding your veins. But that was years ago - you were young then. Back then, that youngling had friends, she wasn't alone. She was naive - ignorant of the horrors of the war to come. Now you were flooded with an air of uncertainty.

Though cut off from the Force, you'd felt different upon entering the caves. Something in the air felt conflicted - stretched and pulled in so many different directions.

***

"Uhgggg!" You shouted in frustration. You'd been wandering around for what felt like hours.

"What am I even doing here!?" You shouted out loud. Your voice echoed eerily through the icy passageways. You sunk to the floor in defeat.

"You were right, Hunter." you mumbled. You couldn't remember what you did as a youngling all those years ago.

Meditate. Your master's voice rang in your mind. You recalled the hours he spent teaching you and scolding you when you'd begin to drift off to sleep. It had been a long time since you truly meditated. You closed your eyes.

I am one with the Force and the Force is with me. I am one with the Force and the Force is with me.

***

It seemed like hours had passed when you opened your eyes. You sighed. Nothing was any clearer. No epiphanies, no sudden emotion, no direction.

A figure appeared suddenly in the distance. A man stood straight at attention. His brown eyes were sharp and hair was long, swept back in a red bandana. Hunter.

What was he doing here? Relief flooded your veins - a welcome distraction from the dangerous chill in the air. So he decided to follow you after all. Despite the heated argument before, he hadn’t left you on your own.

“Hunter!” you called out. He didn't answer but turned on his heel heading down the icy corridor away from you.

"Hunter?" You pulled yourself to your feet, wrapping your coat tighter around you and ran after him. He didn't stop to see if you were following. It was almost like he was certain that you would.

The corridor emptied into a small, natural cave. Frozen stalagmites glistened, sending fractals of light dancing from an unknown source of light. You looked around and realized that you were alone once again.

"H-Hunter?" You shivered. No response. Had you imagined him?! It was common knowledge that the caves could show you visions. Even the younglings knew that. But why would the Force choose for you to see Hunter?

You blinked and suddenly jumped in surprise. Hunter stood before you once again but this time he held out his hand towards you, palm up as if offering something to you.

It glittered in the light - almost as if it were glowing of its own accord. A kyber crystal. Was it yours? It couldn't be. This was too easy. On the other hand, it almost felt romantic, the way he held it out to you. Alluring. You reached your hand out to take it but before you could, he vanished in a cloud of fog. Snatching your hand back as though it had been burned, you stood there in confusion. What was happening!?

Two figures emerged from the fog and you took a step back in surprise. One was Hunter and the other was also Hunter.

Each clone had a crystal in his hand, holding it out to you.

One Hunter was more prominent than the other. He stood tall and at attention. His brown eyes looked at you with pride and...something else you couldn't quite place. He smelt of pine and blaster grease. He was warm, and very attractive.

The other was fainter than the first. He still stood strong but his face was kind and sad - almost pitying. But nevertheless, he felt like home. You wanted to curl up next to him. He was cool, calm, and collected - but still he held an air of authority. That attitude was what you loved about him.

"You have to choose, cyare." The first one spoke.

How could you choose!?

Both figures had Hunter's looks and his deep, husky voice, but there was still something else there that you couldn't explain. Something different between the two of them.

Tapping into the Force did nothing but make you dizzy as if a tornado was tossing you this way and that, like you were wandering around in circles. Light and dark. Peace and Passion. Chaos and Order.

"Don't make this decision lightly, Mesh'la." Warned the fainter one on the left. "You have to choose one of us."

You took a step backwards, head reeling. Choose? How? Both were Hunter. Both were the man you'd fallen in love with.

"We'll be together, Mesh'la." The darker Hunter spoke. "Forget these inscessant politics. Screw the Empire. Screw the Rebellion. It's us against the galaxy. Just us. You, my brothers, and me. That's all that matters."

The lighter Hunter emerged again, holding the crystal in his palm.

"Apathy is just as dangerous as ignorance." He said. "You know this and that's why you have to go. You have to leave."

"No!" Growled the other one. "You can't leave me! How can I protect you if you're gone? You're mine, cyare. I care for you too much to let you go. Choose me, cyare. I'll go with you."

"Everything in moderation, Mesh'la. Be careful. I trust you, and even though I don't like it, I know that our paths are different. Our battles are different. You have always been meant for greater things. Trust me, Mesh'la. Choose me."

You looked back and forth between them. The darker one gazed at you with a lust in his eyes that made you weak. It made you hungry. This Hunter was feral and dangerous. This Hunter excited you. He wanted to join you. Together you'd be nearly unstoppable. The rush he gave you told you that the two of you could take down the Empire. You could save everyone. You could fix everything.

"Save everyone, but at what cost?" The lighter Hunter spoke sharply. There was that tone of voice you knew so well. The voice of a leader. Powerful but kind. He did what was in the best interest of his squad. His family.

"Didn't you say that you wanted to make a difference, cyare? You came here for a reason. Remember that."

You came here for a reason.

Save everyone.

Stop the Empire.

Yes. This must be the right one. The darker one made sense. This must be the right Hunter to choose. Your Hunter.

"You and me against the galaxy," You whispered, stretching out your hand to grasp the crystal he offered.

The ground shuttered and the lights extinguished.

Wrong wrong wrong.

Every sense stood on edge as the sharp warning in the Force came too late. Too sudden. Instead of Hunter's warm grip, your fingers closed on nothing but the frigid air.

The ice beneath your feet cracked and crumbled, knocking you to your knees. Pain shot up your leg, drawing a sharp gasp.

“Hunter!” A shrill scream of terror echoed through the crevasse as you fell into the dark abyss.

***

The painful, stinging smack of flesh hitting water jolted you out of a daze for a fraction of a second before your senses exploded. A violent, stabbing, cutting cold thrust itself around you - through you - stealing the air from your lungs. In a panic, you opened you mouth to scream but the icy torrent forced itself inside sending paradoxical sensations of both blessed numbness and excruciating agony to your mind. Like a datapad overloaded with too much information, you couldn't think. You couldn't breathe. You couldn't feel beyond the brutal cold.

You were vaguely aware of the sudden stop, sliding down out of the water into a small cave of ice and rock.

Coughing and sputtering, you placed your hand against the ice, forcing you to sit up but your arms shook too badly and you collapsed, teeth chattering so hard you thought they might break.

Lying there on the ice, you tried to make sense of your situation. The Force heavily surrounded this place but whether it was light or dark, you couldn't tell. You couldn't discern anything right now.

Maybe Hunter was right. I'm not ready for this. I can't do this. I'm going to die here.

"H-Hunter...." you whimpered, words barely slipping past numb lips. Cold. Maker, it was so cold. The alarm bells in your head were screaming. Get up! Get up! But you found that the will to do so had long since ebbed away.

Tears froze on your cheeks as you choked on the deathly cold - teeth chattering endlessly as muscles painfully contracted.

"You're a failure." The dark whispered harshly. The menacing voice echoed off the walls of the ice chamber, reminding you that you were trapped. There was no way you'd be getting out of this one. Not this time. "Weak. Pathetic." It growled. "You failed the Jedi. You failed yourself. You are unworthy and now you are going to die alone."

Curling in on yourself, you wrapped your arms around your stomach in a desperately futile attempt to stay warm.

So tired.

Hunter I'm sorry.

Your eyelids fluttered closed.

***

"Get up!" A harsh voice whispered at your ear. "Get up!"

A half breathed groan eked past your lips as you lay huddled on the ice, unmoving. The cold didn't bite as hard now. You felt listless. Slow. Gazing at only white through heavily hooded eyes. Even blinking seemed to take tremendous effort.

"Now!" The voice urged.

A thousand fleeting thoughts tumbled around in your mind - slow and mottled together as though trudging through an avalanche or wading through honey. Nothing made sense. You were just so tired.

"Fine." A different voice echoed through the cavern. It was darker than the last. "Just stay here with me then." It growled - dark, sultry, and warm. It was so warm.

You could smell him - a musky, rich, woody scent. It was Hunter's scent. His warm hand swept gently across your face, cradling your head as you leaned into his embrace.

"Hunter," you mumbled, closing your eyes as he wrapped his arms around you.

"Yes," he responded. You could almost feel the vibrations in his chest. "Just rest cyare. Close your eyes. I'll keep you warm."

His words were compelling, his voice intoxicating. More than anything, you wanted to believe him. You longed to give into his embrace, to close your eyes and sleep. He was warm. The ice was cold.

"This isn't right!" The first voice whispered from the ice. "You're not supposed to be here."

The icy whispers gave you pause, suddenly giving voice to the lingering doubt flickering in the back of your mind like a powercell on its last sparks of life.

"Get up! Move!"

An overwhelming jolt of terror flooded your chest as panic gripped the ragged edges of your mind. You shouldn't be here. This wasn't Hunter.

You turned to look at him and gasped. Red flame burned in the holes where his eyes should've been. He stared back at you longingly. Possessively.

"Stay here with me, cyare. I told you I'd keep you warm."

Oh how you longed to stay in his embrace - to drift off to sleep in his arms, but something told you that if you did that, you'd never wake up.

Stiffly you shook your head, unable to do much more. You felt frozen, out of place, paradoxical to the warmth surrounding you.

His arms held fast, gripping your body tighter and tighter against his chest.

Wrong.

Get off. Get off. Get it off!

You panicked, flailing around, though his arms locked you in place.

This was wrong. What was once warm and comforting was now becoming suffocating and hot. Too hot.

"No!"

Finding a sudden strength, you tore him off. Fingers ripping at fabric in a desperate attempt to rid yourself of the suffocating heat.

"Quickly now! Move!" The ice whispered.

You found yourself running. A hole had now formed in the wall of your icy prison. For a brief dissociative moment, you watched yourself run, body dragging itself onwards towards an outstretched hand.

Sliding around a corner you caught a glimpse of the fire behind you. Still burning, still pursuing. You stumbled, flames licking at the backs of your legs. Hot. Too hot. A frenzied panic gripped you as you fought to free yourself from it's ever burning touch.

"Keep running, cyar'ika!" The ice whispered, stronger this time. "Run!"

A figure formed ahead of you, giving voice to the whispers. He held out a hand. A second figure emerged. The same two as before.

"CHOOSE!" They both screamed. Your head pounded. You fell to your knees, wanting to curl up into a ball and give into the numbness consuming you.

Just close your eyes. It's all a dream. Sleep. Your delirious thoughts flickered traitorously through your mind.

"Choose! Choose! Choose! Choose! Choose!" The screaming voices seemed to get louder and louder, wrenching you from your lethargic stupor.

"I CAN'T!" you screamed. "I CAN'T CHOOSE. Neither of you are right. Neither of you are Hunter. I love the real Hunter."

The ice shuttered again as you sank to the floor, closing your eyes, preparing for your imminent end. You couldn't move but it didn't seem to matter anymore. You would freeze to death - even if you got it right.

Goodbye Hunter.

Suddenly the two figures merged into one. Your eyes flickered open, squinting at the blinding light. The figure held out a hand.

No. Please no more. I can't take anymore.

As though it could read your thoughts, a voice spoke from the cavern. Hunter's voice. The two had become one voice now.

"Take it, cyar'ika. You survived. You did so well. Trust me one last time."

You reached out with the last of your strength and took the hand. The ice shook with a violent finality.

Had you chosen wisely? Was this another trick?

You burst through the ice and collapsed. There was no fire. No ghostly ice vapors. Just quiet. Peaceful quiet.

You lay on your back staring up at the clouds. It was snowing. A giggle escaped from your throat, drawing a weak smile on your lips. The snow felt so good on your exposed skin.

Voices drifted down the hill. Tech. Echo. Wrecker. Hunter.

There was something heavy in your hand - the hand that had grasped onto your savior. Slowly, finger by finger, you uncurled your hand. The kyber crystal glimmered as the sun emerged from behind a cloud.

Hunter's frantic voice grew louder as the clones neared you.

A smile formed from frozen and cracked lips as your eyes slipped shut. You were safe. Hunter was here. The real one. Your Hunter. You'd passed the trial. You'd chosen the light. And Hunter would be there when you awoke.

--------------------------------------------------

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[ghostaholics]

ɪɢɴɪᴛᴇ

Pairing: Johnny MacTavish x fem!Reader Warning(s): [ 18 + only ] friends-with-benefits (incoming); implied reverse sunshine/grumpy trope; mentions of sex (w/ dom and sub vibes but like it’s subtext; pining (mutual); religious imagery; angst (?); not much plot while Johnny is clowning around the entire time; I could not explain to you why reader is in a constant state of distress lmao Summary: Johnny thinks a FWB relationship would be good A/N: there will be a follow up; (I made Johnny sound incredibly Scottish?? I dialed it back in various parts for easier reading if you notice inconsistencies) - I tried to get this out as my winter break is ending soon, so sorry for the rushed intro and ending (I’ll come back to fix it after the term) Word Count: 2.7k Translations: [know/ken] [I'm/ahm] [don't/dinnae] [of/o'] [you/ye] [your/yer] [for/fer] [mom/mam] [can't/cannae]

He's an unwavering fixture in your life, a constant that you can depend on; you know that he's always been waiting at the end of your warpath for you in that special way where he can absorb every negative emotion without a second thought.

You’d asked Johnny to spar with you – a terrible decision on your part as you’re now suffering the consequences. He manages to do another take down maneuver that has you slammed onto the ground, your back colliding with the hard surface. It tears the breath out of your lungs.

His voice is low and teasing in your ear, a rough timbre that melts you from the inside out. "Tap out."

You're panting, gasping for air as best you can after being winded from his throw. Still, you show snark in the face of defeat. "Fuck you."

The accent is there. "C'mon hen. You really wan' tae keep this up?"

It is several more moments of him cutting off your air supply before you slap the floor in frustration. It only stokes the annoyance in you further.

He rolls over onto the mat, collapsing onto his back next to you. "Solid work. Gonna have bruises in the morning. Two-fer-o, but—"

“Let's go again.” Your body is sore and aching with a promise of further pain. It’s not enough, especially when you can feel all of the pent-up frustration and disappointment that’s followed you off the field. You wish that it had stayed behind, but you still carry it with despite your best attempts to shake it off.

He turns his face towards you. Sweat dots his temple. He appraises you for a second before he shaking his head. His mouth curls down into an expression of displeasure. “Nah, we're done for the day."

You, decidedly, do not agree with this.

You don't think, only react. Maybe you can catch him off guard. It's undignified, but you do it anyway. You need a win after these past few months, no matter how small and dirty. You swing your body, exploiting the momentum to pinch him into a headlock.

He's quick to act though, expertly avoiding your ambush. A flurry of movement – Johnny lays you out with brutal efficiency.

It's infuriating.

You huff out your annoyance, less than pleased at this turn of events.

He's straddling you, weathered and calloused hands on your skin. Thick fingers curl around your wrists, pinning them to either side of your head. He leans in closer, the weight of his body pressing into yours. "Behave," he admonishes.

A wave of heat draws into your limbs at the command.

You instead, settle for narrowing your eyes at him.

"Thas' three, by the way,” he says around a smug grin. "But whose keepin' count, right?"

"Ready tae tell me what's got you so worked up?"

“What makes you think something’s bothering me?”

“Everybody and their mam’s noticed, hen. You’re not exactly doin' a great job o’ keepin' it under wraps. Hell, you were so strung out on the plane ride, I had to make sure ye didn’t accidentally take home a giant rod up the arse once we landed.”

“Did you just admit to checking me out?”

He did linger a few metres back after deboarding.

Johnny gives you a pointed look. “It was with your best interests in mind, bonnie,” he says solemnly. “Like wan o' those welfare checks. Just bein' a good mate and all that.”

“Thanks for your service,” you say dryly.

He’s a natural flirt at heart, a sweet talker to boot. It’s how he wormed his way into your life in the first place with nothing but boyish charm and megawatt smiles. He’s trouble, and the kind of personality that you never took seriously because for all intents and purposes, he did it with everyone.

“I hate tae be the one tae tell you the bad news, but you’ve also got this… face or somethin’”

“What face?”

“Like whenever my mam bitched at me fer forgettin’ my cleats an she had to swing by the pitch to drop ‘em off.”

“Johnny!”

“Tha's it – tha’s the one. God, you sound jus' like her, too. If I close my eyes, feels like ‘m right back home and she’s chasin’ me around with her broom.”

“I should’ve left you behind in Frankfurt.”

“Funny enough, she said somethin' similar when I was eight. Swear on my life. Now tha' one’s a good story.”

"Come back to my room." The offer is innocent. It's a familiar pattern, practiced enough times that you know the routine by heart now: side-by-side, leaning up against his headboard; third party – the company of an Ardbeg passed between the two of you like clockwork as he does his best to put your mind off of whatever circumstances have you in a piss-poor mood. The effort is always endearing. He tries so hard, the least you can do is pay attention. And you do, closely — so much that you've got the image committed to memory. He’s got permanent residence in that faraway corner of your head where all good things stay safe.

The other parts, you remember too well – ones that he doesn't know about himself. You can't help but notice the little details; they would have to be ripped from your brain for you to forget.

bright blue eyes, glassy and crinkling at the corners when's he had too much to drink and starts laughing at his own jokes

the smell of Scotch on his breath, vanilla and caramel and smoky, spiked with the spearmint from his gum that he chews throughout the day

moonlight, how it blooms across the profile of his face and shines on the scar engraved into his chin (got it because he saved your life and that was his penance – “How’s it look, bonnie? How’s it look?”)

his smile, magnetic and disarming – it draws you in, lowers your defenses and sways you into returning one that matches his own

when he speaks, it's a husky voice, wrapping around you like a blanket, lulls you to sleep as he regales you with all the ways he was a shite-stirrer as a lad and you inevitably drift off

It’s a fever dream, every time – a warm and pleasant haze that washes over you and heats your insides.

And it should not, will not ever happen again.

At least, not after last night, when you'd narrowly avoided the colossal mistake of leaning in and almost kissing him. He might've been too far gone to realize it – you're not sure. But you caught yourself, and that was enough grounds to put a stop to this whole thing.

"Need to ease up on the drinking. With the way we're going, I'll probably die from liver disease before I catch another bullet in the shoulder."

He lifts the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his brow, an action that reveals the hard planes carved into his lower abdomen from years in the military. A happy trail disappears down into the lining of his cargo trousers – something that you dutifully try to ignore. “Know wha' I think y’need?” he asks, breaking you out of your thoughts.

You cross the space to grab your towel off the bench. You’re not all that interested in hearing what bright ideas he has to offer anymore, but you decide to humor him anyways. “What?”

“A good shag.”

Your head snaps back in his direction. “Oh my god, could you be less crude?”

His laughter echoes across the room. He thinks he's so fucking hilarious.

You hurl the towel in his direction. “Piss off, Soap!”

To your disappointment, he catches it – stupidly brilliant reaction time – before depositing it on his shoulder with relative ease. Johnny's looking quite chuffed with himself. His eyes sparkle with amusement. “When’s the last time you got one in?”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Ah dinnae ken,” he says with skepticism. “Wi’ the way your hand-to-hand is, ‘m fully confident my arse is safe for now.”

You let out a low growl of frustration.

He keeps spurring you on. And Johnny, of course, brings up, “Was it March 18? Swear tha’ was the only time I’ve ever seen you in high spirits without my help.”

Your face burns with indignation.

Bastard.

His mouth curves into a devilish grin. He's looking positively thrilled with this newfound discovery. "’M right, aren't I?"

Your brain stalls as you try to come up with a lie, but the silence is more than telling about your circumstances.

His laughter has died down by ten-fold, but there's still a commiserating smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He tips his head in sympathy, like he's grieving a loss. "Oh, hen..."

You wait for the ground to open up and swallow you whole; it never comes. "Not another fucking word, Johnny."

So anyhow, he can’t bite back his opinions on the matter; he's relentless – too persistent for his own good. He takes a few steps forward, ready to put a hand on your shoulder in consolation. He's never had much consideration for personal space, always the touchy-feely type to throw an arm around you while walking into base after a good op, or drawing you into a hug when he knows you’re feeling down. The expression on your face must have him reconsider his decision, because he wisely stops in his tracks. "Look, it's nothin' t' be ashamed about. You’re sexually frustrated.”

"This conversation is over."

It's a fruitless endeavor. Whatever hope you've held about him dropping the subject is reduced to ashes.

"Jus' a bit o' a dry spell," he carries on – the primary objective is to inflict misery on you. Johnny takes it all in stride, now acting impervious to how much you want to curl up and die. He brings up your sex life as if it's as casual as talking about the bloody weather. "No wonder yer wound up so tight, though. Haven' had the company of a nice bloke in ages —"

You're utterly mortified. You cast your eyes to the ceiling, hoping for some sort of god to strike you down. It would be a merciful death. However, the plea goes unanswered, much to your chagrin. "I'm in hell," you say to yourself in disbelief. "I'm actually in hell right now—"

He continues, paying no mind to the internal crisis that you're suffering at the moment. "Got loads o' friends tha' I think you'd get along wi'. Have plenty o' them on speed dial."

"I'm doing perfectly fine on my own, thank you."

His eyes cut to yours. "I mean, judgin' from how strung out you always are, I'd say tha' whate'er you’re doin' isn' workin' so well. You sure you’re gettin' yourself off alright?”

You almost choke. "Jesus fucking Christ, that's not what I meant. I don't need you to set me up with anybody."

"Alright, hen. I’m hearin' ye loud and clear."

"Finally.”

“It’s just—”

“Johnny…”

"Can I say my piece?”

"For God's sake," you mutter.

He looks at you expectantly.

You gesture to him with an impatient wave of your hand.

“‘M sorry for giving you a hard time. Jus' have trouble believin’ tha’… well, y’know.”

“It’s opportunity. I’m not interested in spending leave with the company of strangers,” you explain. “And I don't exactly have many options on base – nevermind the fact that I'm spending every night slumming it with you."

He snorts at the last revelation.

You roll your eyes at him. You shoot him a look that says, Am I wrong?

“So ye haven’ asked Price or the L.t yet, then? They don’t seem like the relationship type. I think they’d do right by you.”

You give him a flat look.

He grins.

“You’re insufferable.”

“Couldnae help myself, hen. You know me.”

"Keep pulling my chain. See where it gets you."

He studies you for a beat. It’s an awfully long time for him to be thinking about this.

You wonder what his next daft comment will be.

It’s even more stupid than you expect.

“And so you thought about what would happen if you asked me?”

Idiotic, because yes, you've poured over it again and again. There are some lines that you simply shouldn't cross. You’re not entirely aware what your expression is – shock, annoyance? Both?

Either way, Johnny notices. "Don’t give me that look. It's a fair question," he supplies.

You turn your nose up at him, ambivalent. “Must think highly of yourself to assume that the idea even crossed my mind.”

He’s fast with a quip. “I know you’re thorough and tha' ye looked at every option available tae ye, whether it was actually possible or not."

“Clever now, are you?”

"You asked if I could spar with you earlier, aye? But from what I can tell, it didn't do shite. So if you wanna take your anger out on somethin’, I don’t see how this is any different. It’s jus' sex – like scratchin' an itch.”

“Sure,” you deadpan. “If the itch was in the back of my cunt.”

He barks out a laugh. “Aye.” His gaze comes to fix on you, blue eyes all hot and electric with a ferocity so intense it’s nearly scorching. "Ye get it."

Still, he waits patiently – the virtue of a saint.

“Johnny—”

This would never work, you try to say.

And maybe he can sense it. "C'mon," he rasps. His patience wears out, presumably. Then, the words of a sinner – wicked and shameless, unapologetic – they’re cut from the same cloth of forbidden things, a path that you shouldn't go down: “Use me.”

Something catastrophic happens to your brain. If you had any resolve before, it's nowhere to be fucking found now. Every rationale thought, obliterated. There are a million splintered fragments and you can't piece them together enough to form even a semblance of an appropriate response.

What the hell are you supposed to say to that?

Johnny always manages to fill the silence between the two of you. “Dinnae overthink it. I know your scrapin’ together every argument in the book to convince yourself why this is a bad idea. But before you say no, I can promise you tha' I have a thousand better reasons for why it isn’t.”

You're on the verge of capsizing. If you ask, you might never come back up again, and the temptation to go down is very, very appealing. When you finally regain your voice, it sounds like a broken prayer. "Give me one."

He doesn’t even have to mull over it that long. There's no hesitation from him. It’s like he’s had it waiting in the chamber this whole time. "We're close enough fer me to say that I'd do anything fer you, aye? Take what you want. I’m all yours."

“You say that to just any of your mates?”

His face is the picture of innocence. “Only for you.”

You’re stuck in time. Frozen. There’s just his confession still hanging in the air. It’s a long stretch of time before the cogs in your head start running again. You let out a shaky exhale. Fuck, I want you so bad — it's there. Almost, right on the tip of your tongue. Nearly bleeds out. It would make things so messy. “I‘ve got to clear my head. I'll — um, yeah.”

"O’ course." Johnny nods in understanding. There's a small smile on his lips. Polite. He takes a step back, makes space, returns to the sidelines.

You can finally breathe again.

He can’t forget his closing remark though – give you something to chew on. “You’re probably never gonnae wan’ tae be my sparring partner after this, but for what’s it worth, bonnie, I don’ mind the way you feel under me.”

Goddamnit.

[aussie-the-hedgehog]

My Hero Academia - Chapter 425 Thoughts (Spoilers)

I'm surprised I haven't done a post like this for the previous chapters. It's always healthy to get my thoughts out through posts, so I might look to do it more often! Obviously I left the spoiler tag here, so if you don't want to know what happens, don't click it! Peruse at your own risk.

I was not expecting this chapter to jump so quick back to the academia portion of the series. I was thinking we would get another hospital chapter or two. I guess when Horikoshi said after 424, "We're going back to the title," he really meant it. I'm honestly glad for it given what we got in this chapter. I dearly missed the school shenanigans and character interaction. It hasn't been since before My Villain Academia we've seen it.

It was cool to start with the graduation ceremony involving Mirio, Nejire, and Tamaki. It was delayed because of this war, so it makes sense for Horikoshi to start with this.

The boys of U.A. lamenting Nejire's graduation will never not be funny.

It's cool to see Nejire grow into a social butterfly from not having friends due to her quirk. I do wish more was done with her character. She screams like a Starfire clone and could have had an arc similar to the TT03 iteration.

I enjoyed Mirio's speech. It captures the essence of his character and shows what he desires to do as a pro hero. Honoring Sir Nighteye with his motivations sounds like a good wrap up to his character arc.

I liked seeing Mawata being an outspoken leader in this chapter. I hope we find out what her quirk is before the series ends. I wish she was more fleshed out earlier on in the narrative, but I'm not losing sleep over it.

It's so refreshing to see the kids in class together again (now as 2-A). Like I alluded to before, it's been a very long time since we've seen the "Academia" side to this series. I love how Horikoshi is dedicating a solid amount of time returning to class shenanigans before he ends it.

I love the ending for Aoyama's arc. I had a feeling Tsukauchi would grant him the ability to return to U.A., but the twinkling hero wants to redeem himself on his own terms. For that, I deeply respect him.

Aoyama giving Izuku cheese as a parting gift was too pure. It made me tear up.

Shinso will be Aoyama's replacement! Obviously we knew Shinso would come to the hero course at some point since the end of the joint training arc. We only didn't know which class he would join. It makes sense for him to join 2-A given Aizawa is his mentor. Speaking of that..

Aizawa remaining their homeroom teacher was a great choice. U.A. is still not at normalcy (and may not for a long time). so it makes sense for 2-A to remain under his tutelage.

Mawata makes it clear the upperclassmen of U.A. will play a major role in helping rebuild hero society. It is not a huge surprise given Endeavor lost an arm, Hawks is quirkless, Mirko has one limb left, Jeanist is working through legal trouble, and Edgeshot gave himself to save Bakugo (not sure about Edgeshot's fate atm). U.A. is a beacon of hope for hero society now, so it is up to them to carry the mantel.

Ochako still being flustered by any mention of her speech is adorable (and totally something I would do).

Many are calling out Ochako for hating Izuku's "haircut," but she recognized very quickly it had to be shaved because of the damage he suffered against Shigaraki / All for One. She hopes she sees him with a full head of hair again. I don't see it as teasing or hating on him. Ochako has always been one of the more blunt characters in the series.

Tokoyami's reaction to his new hairdo is amazing.

Izuku's concerned face next to Ochako's laughter screams seeing through her facade. They are best friends. He knows when she's struggling. He can see through that laughter.

Horikoshi is definitely using this as foreshadowing to a conversation where they unleash their feelings on the war. It's obvious from this chapter and the last that they are mentally struggling. I believe this eventual conversation will end in a resolve they will look to change hero society for the better and confess their love for each other.

The mystery character is quite interesting. Is it Tenko? Izuku's father? Someone totally different? We'll have to wait and see.

Shoto is not in a great place either. He looks so exhausted from the panels he's in. At the end we find out why.

Endeavor potentially sitting in front of where Touya is being contained. He has probably visited him every day since he was put in there. He provided Rei with flowers often while she was in the hospital. It doesn't feel too different.

It will be an agonizing wait to see what happens next, but I will patiently wait. I'm very excited to see what Horikoshi does next. My prediction is 426 shows us Touya's fate.

I'm hoping in the ensuing chapters after 426 we get an Izuku and Ochako talk. I've had my anxieties about it not happening. Yet, with the buildup we've had and Ochako confessing her love for him to Toga, I can't help but feel it would be bad writing if it doesn't happen.

Honestly, if I think about it, Ochako is probably intertwining her confession to Izuku with her failure to save Toga since she confessed her feelings to the villain. There is definitely lots of emotional tension there. We'll see what happens!

[samueldays]

A friend recommended Deadworld Isekai to me the other day. To damn it with faint praise: it was good enough that I finished reading all three volumes, and the author has a solid grasp of spelling and grammar.

It has the usual LitRPG problem of re-reifying abstractions to produce weird round-trip-translation nonsense that has become the heart of the LitRPG genre, one of the most finely polished turds in the world.

The thing that stood out to me as the most 'fixable' problem, though, was the fake suspense and the fake threat. Oh no, the protagonist is in over his head, however will he survive? Oh no, the protagonist is on the verge of death, what asspull deus ex machina is going to save him now?

The cast is too small and the premise too specialized for there to be a serious threat of replacing Matt as protagonist, and once you've introduced CRPG Healing you can't threaten injury short of death, so I roll my eyes at every new danger, confident he'll be perfectly fine (and powered up!) a chapter later.

I want to contrast this with Lord of the Rings, which looms over the wider fantasy genre so much that it gets taken for granted, and I sometimes see people thinking of it in terms of the popular cliches that were copied the most. But I feel it's pretty good about threatening Frodo, and that's less copied.

At some point in The Return of the King, the reader has seen Gandalf die and Boromir die and the Fellowship broken, and then parts of the Fellowship met new cool people, and then those cool people started dying too, with Theoden bravely dead on the battlefield and Denethor horribly dead in attempted murder-suicide.

It starts to look like Frodo might die, IMO, it's genuinely plausible that Tolkien will kill off another major character at this point. The deaths are mounting, Frodo's psyche is fraying, and the savvy reader sees Sam is right there to take over if Frodo dies. The main protagonist will probably still survive because that's how stories go, but it's not all that obvious.

It looks like death when Frodo is stung by giant spider and carried off by orcs, but it's much less of a deus ex machina to hear that the spider was using paralytic venom to save a meal for later. Frodo isn't getting a sudden powerup or new ally, it's just a spider being a spider.

With no magic healing, several magic items lost, and Frodo increasingly traumatized, the quest gets closer to Mount Doom. Here Frodo puts on the Ring, which is not how these stories normally go! No heroic last-minute surge of willpower. Frodo is sick and tired, looks at the Ring of Power, and decides that in fact, he would like Power for himself.

Gollum bites Frodo's finger off, falls into the lava, and the Ring is destroyed nonetheless. Tolkien again makes it look like Frodo might really die in the resulting volcanic eruption, now that his importance to the story is over and the Ring is destroyed and the rest looks like cleanup from the army marching on Mordor in the other plot thread.

But the book isn't over yet. If you're reading Lord of the Rings in print, you can feel there's another hundred pages left to go at this point. Frodo is saved, Aragorn is crowned, our heroes are victorious, there's celebrations and marriages and vacations and songs.

Then Frodo heads home at long, long last and finds Saruman got there first and started polluting the Shire.

The last surprise is that Saruman dies really fast. The rest of the book is appendices. What, you expected a hundred pages of Frodo fighting the Shire Wizard War? Nope, we're done here! Also Frodo has to leave, Sam takes over at the very last. It's a good series of plot twists, without being a plot swerve.

[radicalandmathematical]

Deciding not to date men is actually a huge decision and not as easy as people make it sound sometimes. You can read the arguments people make and realize that y e a h, chances are it's gonna go poorly and you'll be unhappy, but still want it. You can want a good relationship. You can still believe there are good men out there and you can find one and be happy, have a good healthy relationship.

Whether there are good men out there or not doesn't really matter, if you date in hopes of trying to find one you're going to encounter bad men. So in the end you have to realize that it's not worth it to even look. That even if good men exist, you may not find one. You probably won't actually. You'll end up with someone who seemed good, but then gradually got worse and now you're invested and it's hard to leave, or you don't realize how bad it is, even though 5 years ago before you started dating him you would have. It's hard to come to terms with this.

Everyday since before we can even talk, women and girls are bombarded with the message that we should desire a relationship, a husband. We're often sold a highly idealized version of relationships, and it's really easy to want that. To want someone who loves you and supports you. To want companionship and someone to have fun with. Someone to spend your life with, a partner. And you can say you can get that from friends and family all you want, but we are looking for a romantic version of these things, this is what we are being told to desire. Romantic, not platonic. It is incredibly difficult to receive this message for so long, to internalize it, and then give up on it, to give up on dating men.

It takes time. It takes realizing that chances are you can never have that, whether you choose to date men or not. it's an incredibly bleak realization for many women. It's hard to accept. Being told men are evil because look what these men did isn't going to magically make women decide not to date them, to give up on finding a good one.

It's denial. Surely this can't possibly be true, because then we can never have what we want. Yes these men did that, but surely not every man would do something like this. I will find one who doesn't!

And it's kinda true. Not every man is a rapist, men who don't watch porn exist, there are men who do most of the childcare, etc. We know this, and so we can imagine that a good man must exist, an intersection of all the ways in which an individual man may not be horrible. Except...if a man isn't horrible in one way, he's probably horrible in another. The intersection we're looking for is most likely empty, and if not, it's an incredibly small pool and finding such an elusive man is near impossible and not worth the search. It just takes time to realize this.

Just give women time to come to terms with this stuff instead of acting like a single solid argument should change our minds and convince us on the spot that there are no good men so we shouldn't date. That a few examples of men being awful means we should understand there are no good men to be found anywhere no matter how hard we look. Don't be condescending to women who aren't there yet. It just drives us further into denial.

So what does make it sink in? I can't speak for other women, but for me? Just seeing more and more examples of men being trash (without people being condescending about women who still want to date them). Making strong, fulfilling friendships with other women, especially women who are single and uninterested in dating. (Having happy relationships shoved in your face gives you an example of what you're "missing out on," and women who are looking for a relationship reinforce the desire for one.) Seeing other women, especially older ones, being single and happy, but not pushing it, just living their lives. All of this, over time, can help you realize hey, I don't need that in my life.

[doggernaut]

OMGCP Fic Rec BINGO - Day 3

(Previous BINGOs here and here)

it's canon to you • rocky shore by wit (@parvuls)

One of the things I like best about Check, Please! is that by focusing on big moments on the page, Ngozi leaves so much room for us to imagine all the things that might have happened in between those big moments. This fic by @parvuls covers the first part of Year 3, as Bitty and Jack navigate their new relationship and all its complexities, including Bitty's anxieties about sex and the secrets they're keeping. It includes all of those missing moments we didn't see in the comic, but we know must have happened in order to get them to that solid place they're at by the time they come out to their friends. (And remains canon-compliant in the process!)

subverted trope • You and Me, We're a Miracle by PorcupineGirl (@porcupine-girl)

I love a good soulmate fic, but sometimes I have a hard time suspending my disbelief when two would-be soulmates discover their connection and are suddenly in love. This soulmate fic subverts the trope by establishing early on that Jack doesn't have a name on his wrist, and is okay with it. He still manages to fall in love. @porcupine-girl's world building is always top-notch, even in a short fic like this, and her headcanon for deeply in love, smitten Jack is so close to my own that I know I'll finish reading any fic she's written with a goofy smile on my face.

free spot • Nature by foryouandbits (@foryouandbits)

When I want to get lost in a fic, I choose something by @foryouandbits. This AU, in which the members of SMH are performers in a Cirque du Soliel-like troupe, is probably my favorite of theirs. It recreates the Zimbits story we know and love in the terms of this specific AU. All the plot beats are there: a traumatic backstory for Bitty, a Zimmermann family legacy, SMH found family, and Bitty and Jack working together to overcome Bitty's fears. It also has one of the most romantic scenes of any Zimbits fic I've ever read.

short fic (under 1K) • Poems for Jack by YourPalYourBuddy (@ivecarvedawoodenheart)

This is exactly what it says on the tin. Two years of Bitty and Jack’s developing relationship, remixed into poems from Bitty’s POV. His humor, frustration, and growing feelings for Jack are all there. The fact that the author was able to pull this off in only 445 words yet still hit all the important canon plot beats is nothing short of remarkable. 

you weren't sure you'd enjoy it but REALLY did • [podfic] Hockeyed Up by read_by_Sophie (Sophie)

This pick might be cheating a little because this is one of the first fics I read in the fandom and I immediately loved it; this author’s characterization of Jack just felt so right to me and continues to be a fic I return to when I need to get into Jack's head for my own writing. The fic I chose for this spot, though, is the podfic version of Hockeyed Up. I only started listening to podfic a few years ago; I had never been able to get into audiobooks and I wan’t sure I’d like podfic any better. However, needing something to listen to during a long run and not enjoying any of the books I’d downloaded on Libby, I decided to try listening to a podfic of a familiar fic. This one was about as long as my run, so I chose it. And I loved it. And now I listen to podfic on the regular. But this is the one that started it all, and it’s a favorite so I re-listen to it at least once a year. Bonus: the author/reader of this fic has a French-Canadian accent, which really adds to Jack’s characterization since it’s from his point of view. (This is also my commercial for podfic: this fandom has so many wonderful podficcers; if you haven't tried listening to podfic yet, you absolutely should!)

[camellcat]

scrambled thoughts about s4 bc I'm losing my goddamned MIND

just finished s4 of Doctor Who. quick question: how the hell do you go on without Rose Tyler? I can't even imagine I literally. what.

like once s3 rolled around I really fuckin realized I was apparently very much watching this show for ROSE and her dynamic with the Doctor, not the Doctor himself or whatever else lmaoo

ONLY Rose has made me bawl my eyes out, let alone even tear up at all. I just can't even fathom being able to connect with any other plot or character like I did with her and her love for the Doctor.

I just ohh for all of s3 most of s4 I just missed her so much??? like Martha and Donna are great (well, I didn't like Martha at first and you can definitely guess why based on all of this but once s4 rolled around she was great!! loved her) but oh my god they were just no Rose Tyler.

plus WOW I really got so attached to her relationships with other people?? like Donna and Martha's families n whatnot made me feel NOTHING whereas I could not get enough of Jackie and adored Mickey (Mickey is family. he is. I don't care if he's her ex or whatever. he's part of the family). Captain Jack Harkness my one true love (btw just sayin I really think Rose and the Doctor should've gotten a hello kiss. maybe not the Doctor he did not deserve one for leaving Jack but Rose did!! hello!!! you gave them "I'm going to go die" kisses give them "hello we're all still alive missed you" kisses!!!). idk if maybe I was just so clocked out of s3-4 that I missed something but I swear those two just had like no really compelling personal relationships outside of the Doctor, and maybe like one specific family member (lookin at you, gramps).

the fact that Rose ended up liking Martha and Donna though??? dfindsnjdj dying dying DYING I love that she would've been friends with them both. they deserved to all sit and gossip about the Doctor like she did with Sarah Jane right in front of his face.

also oh my god no one why why why please PLEASE I'm not used to consuming sad media I try and avoid it as much as possible and this show is just. just. oh my god.

Rose is so close to what she truly wanted. she'll have a life with the Doctor, but not her Doctor and not the life she fought so hard to get back. instead she's still still still stuck in Pete's World, unable to travel across time and space and save the universe with her Doctor (and don't get me wrong, I love the idea of Tentoo, but it just rubs me the wrong way no matter how I try and look at it. it feels like when a character's memories are erased. they're still technically themselves, but something important is missing all the same. and that thing missing is the TARDIS in this case Tentoo is the best thing she could've gotten lol). I feel like I can't even adequately put it into words why her ending makes me as upset as it does I just hope you Get It. I don't think it would've been good for her to not have ANY other solid relationships like she would've had if she'd gone with the Doctor but also oh my god. oh my god.

and the Doctor is once again without his brilliant, fantastic Rose.

I really hope she doesn't come back though unless it's on her own terms, because she missed her friends or smth. I really hope she's able to travel the world and it be enough for her as long as she's got Tentoo by her side. I really, really hope she's happy and fully in love with Tentoo and they are living the BEST life they can.

Fuck. this SHOW.

[chronicowboy]

fear in the foundations (oh, but this is a solid house we've built) | 3k

(AKA: the secret relationship fic)

Their relationship starts like their friendship.

Not in the back of an ambulance over a grenade, but with clasped hands and a bashful smile.

Its not a big thing, in the end.

Christopher's long awaited freedom had finally arrived—begrudgingly and with plenty of stipulations, enough to warrant a contract as Buck had joked before adding his own terms and conditions to the agreement—and it was his first time going to the park with his friends.

Alone. Unsupervised. But actually allowed this time.

And Eddie had invited Buck over to keep himself occupied, so he didn't drive himself crazy with what ifs and worse case scenarios. Except, Buck had been just as bad as him, barely able to sit still on the couch, not a lick of attention paid to the telenovela playing on the television.

They'd tried to grin and bare it until Buck had turned to Eddie with his imploring, owlish eyes.

"Wanna go for a walk?" He'd asked, and Eddie had narrowed his eyes at him for all of two seconds.

"Sure. Where were you thinking?"

"Don't know." Buck had shrugged, too worried about what trouble Chris could be getting into to worry about overstepping. "Park's supposed to be cool."

Eddie had looked at him for a beat too long, eyes scrutinising and warm and swimming with something that made Buck want to sink into the couch cushions.

"Park is good."

And they'd walked laps around the fields, keeping Chris in their view with every circuitous route of the park, hands brushing with each step, when, suddenly, Eddie had laced their fingers together. Eddie dragged him over to the oak under which they used to have their picnics when Chris still thought they were cool, and they'd just sat there, blushing as they stared down at their joined hands until Eddie had whispered,

"You're Christopher's dad." And Buck had been reeling so much at that that he almost missed the next part. "You're family, and I'm sick to death of pretending you aren't."

"You know you don't have to pretend with me." Buck had croaked.

"I know." And Eddie's smile was so beautiful, so fucking adorable and flustered. "I've been scared of wanting things my whole life, Evan. But I want you, and I could never ever be scared of you."

They told Chris that night, went on their first—second Buck would argue, is it really a date if we're stalking our son? Eddie would argue right back—the day after, and they'd been together for two blissful months before things started to go wrong.

(continue reading on ao3)

[pretty-prince-lulu]

SIDE CHARACTERS/COLONISTS TIME

have a readmore. I want to write words and I just took my ADHD meds so I'm having thoughts that come in sequence instead of pinging off each other like marbles falling down stairs

lyfield there has a social skill of zero and is abrasive, and yet is more popular than his highmate wife. for reasons I can understand.

mel and misambil there, a drakonori and a frost giant respectively (also a couple) are his absolute rock-solid BEST friends. they have maxed 100/100 best-friendship links. they come and train together all the time. they have also banded together to try and befriend caelum, a shy little animusen who spent his childhood as a selective mute and is incapable of the social worktype.

they also share tips and mutual lessons with each other in magic. Misamibil is a shadow (I guess you'd want some stealth counterbalance to the fact that you're 5 times everyone else's height), Mel is an apothecary and shares his potions with his BFF while they train and Lyfield is a shaman who can throw up healing totems and invoke Enrage on his friends when actual battle strikes, which causes them to do a fuckton of damage until it wears off.

Lyfield is also huge and apparently clumsy as fuck. He goes ass-first through at least one chair a day. He's a night owl and gets real shitty if he has to work during the day, but he mostly uses his night shifts to train, which means everyone in the colony is constantly hearing his fucking rifle. ALL night. every night. He's good at making weapons and clothing but 99% of the time he just wants to do combat training. he refuses any and all cleaning and he won't carry jack of shit.

Mel is a masochist who LOVES the cold, explaining his choice of spouse. (his real name is Tak. We're not sure why he calls himself Mel. I guess it does sound classier?). He mostly trains our animals. he LOVES cats (he will bond with them very fast), is 'angelically beautiful' and can grab people with his tail and just grip them until they're finished being fuckoffs. That royal coat is of apparently awful quality but I CANNOT get him to take it off and not put it back on immediately.

Misamibil is a quick sleeper, quite obviously absolutely massive, shares Roly's fondness for cannibalism (she still hates him but will apparently warm substantially if he learns some magic; we have... been unsuccessful teaching him so far), abrasive (hey, maybe that's why she clicks with Lyfield so well) and apparently sickly but I seldom see her catch very much. Maybe it's a relative term for frost jotuns. due to being the size of a Jeep she is a very good miner, but mostly (when she isn't training) she's one of our field medics. She has a good relationship with most people she's spent time with but she stays pissed off at the occasional apostates we get for a long while. I guess disavowing the faith that she has annoys her.

not forgetting, lyfield's wife, Varklir:

is one of our teachers for the colony's children. She has a perfect link with lyfield but that's mostly because she's a highmate; they have little in common and don't see each other while working much because the rifle range and the school are on opposite sides of the colony (which felt like a good idea to me).

she's a good teacher but to be honest she's kind of a bitch. she is aware that her coworker Crane is beautiful but is the only colony member that I've noticed that does not a bonus to their relationship with him for it. She does NOT care- in fact, she snubs him a bit because he also hasn't bothered trying to learn any magic. I'd contend he has a pretty good excuse for being the main schoolteacher and a key researcher on the side despite being a vampire subtype that still has to sleep, but she disagrees with my assessment. She's also kind of annoyed by her new student, Irocarve (half genie half highmate hence his baldness), as he has come to his first day of school without putting on pants first, and that gets a relationship penalty here. He also doesn't know magic, but he's listening to his lesson, which earns him a few singular points of opinion back. Jesus Christ, Varklir, he JUST turned three today.

She is a summoner, which I feel like is increasing her disdain of the colonists without magic as her summons are doing a significant portion of the work around the compound on their behalf. She was apparently a jeweler as a youth. Nimble, small and enlightened (meaning she's very resistant to being worn down by the constant magic tax caused by her summons). She is also apparently a martial artist, despite being incapable of violence, which means if she ever IS in a fight she can yoink the opponent's weapon and throw it to the ground. She's vengeful, but that trait has been suppressed by her Highmate blood. I would argue that the suppression is, uh, incomplete. She has negative relationship points with every single non-magician member of Chaos Gene.

I cannot decide if I like her or if she kind of annoys me...

[lunapwrites]

April Reading 2024

I legit can't remember what format I use for these titles... Anyway lol.

Once again, coming in a day late with the reading I did yesterday - generally a MUCH different vibe than I usually get from my cards. So without further ado, let's take a look...

I had a lot to say about this one, so I'll drop it under a break.

Starting with the tarot cards, this was an unusual pull for me. Cups and pents heavy - we're dealing with matters of the heart and home. Also, the presence of so many face cards and a major arcana card tells me this is likely to be a month of Significant Events.

The Fool in the past position refers to the start of a journey that we're currently on. The Bean situation, in other words. Not really too much to comment on there, other than the generally positive and optimistic vibes of the card.

Four of Cups in the present position is reading me for filth - I'll be the first to admit I am in a period of withdrawal in terms of my overall energy levels and social battery. Frankly, I'm fucking exhausted lol. But this card is giving me a very gentle nudge and reminding me that I can't live here. And maybe send a couple of texts.

Page of Pentacles in the future position is echoing the same energy from The Fool, but in the sense that we're nearing the end of the journey... or at least this stage of it. The Page is a messenger, a notice of arrival, and the Pentacles usually indicates material matters (finances, gifts, etc) and the home. This could be read as an early Beansgiving (thank you to @femme--de--lettres for that lmao) but given that this Page is Pents rather than any of the others, I'm more inclined to chalk this up to the shower later this month lol.

Normally I'd read these last two cards separately, but the context makes me think they're referring to two roles for the same person - that being my partner. He usually shows up as the Kings in these suits, but the Knights aren't unheard of for him.

Normally, the Knight of Cups represents enthusiasm, intuition, and a romantic spirit. However this particular position gives a more utilitarian bent to the card: he is also a defender, someone supportive in my corner no matter what. This speaks directly to the solid dependability of the Knight of Pentacles - where often the Knight of Cups can be a little flighty, the Knight of Pents is a grounding force. He represents responsibility and long-term planning. There's a much-needed balance between these two knights that's going to be particularly vital in the coming days - keeping things light and fun while still providing a steady hand to keep us on track (because one of us needs to have the brain cell and unfortunately that is currently not me lol.)

The runes are interesting ones to pair with all this: Tiwaz generally represents energy (typically masculine) and victory or success. Raidho is normally a travel rune, but that travel can be spiritual as well, echoing our Fool and Page of Pents. There's also an element of reunion here, which could be (again) referring back to all the people who will probably be showing up to this party - all my (offline) friends, family I haven't seen in a while, etc. and then finally there's our good friend Jera back again for the first time since Bean made their presence known. This is a rune that represents forward activity and good fortune, as well as fertility and the harvest (again, indicating we're getting to the end of the cycle here.)

However, all three of these taken together have an additional meaning: that I've got the strength to get through the periods of adversity during this time. It's just another normal part of the "wheel of life" and I'm going to ride this out and push through and come out the other side victorious, just as I've done every other time before. Lovely hopeful message, isn't it?

The Oracle cards are mostly reinforcing this message: Power/The Ram evoking this image of charging forward, ready to break through any barriers in my way. Instinct/The Wolf simultaneously reminding me that my intuition is trustworthy, and warning me off impulsive decisions and behavior - that power I have can turn destructive, and my teeth can be sharp.

So overall, this is telling me that we're getting into the final push here (ha) and that I'm really going to get my legs under me this month - so long as I remember to lean on my partner when I need to. He wants to help, so let him (you stubborn mule of a person you). We're really going to start getting things done now.

[thesinglesjukebox]

MAGGIE ROGERS - "DON'T FORGET ME"

In which we manage to not mention Sally Rooney...

[7.36]

Hannah Jocelyn: Maggie Rogers makes the best Kacey Musgraves song we're covering today. The production is weirdly underwhelming, especially compared to Surrender, but if it all sounds a bit bland, the nuts-and-bolts songwriting here is solid. [7]

Julian Axelrod: I've always appreciated Maggie Rogers, despite never being a diehard fan. But every few years she comes out of nowhere and drops a song that knocks me on my ass. "Don't Forget Me" knocked me on my ass. The last song of hers that had this effect on me, 2021's non-album single "Love You for a Long Time," was an ebullient ode to blind devotion that felt like the first peek over the horizon of a long forever. "Don't Forget Me" comes at long-term partnership from the opposite direction. Our narrator watches her friends' relationships stall out over time with a mixture of bafflement and isolation, yet she can't help but yearn for the relative safety of an unreliable companion. "Take my money, wreck my Sundays" sounds like the vows of the worst couple you know, but it's wrapped up in a sweeping hook that would make for an amazing first dance. [8]

Nortey Dowuona: Maggie Rogers is a storyteller. This is her greatest strength. Telling stories is difficult, especially as lyrics; the easy thing is to tell the half-remembered sketches, the poorly thought-out experiments, the overly detailed ears on pancake faces. But telling a complete story is the mark of a great songwriter -- a great writer in general. Maggie lights up your ears when the sound of "I'm still trying to clean up my side of the street slides past you, glittering with the slight glint of frustration at watching Sally find another anchor in the world, no longer there to watch the raccoons dig in the cans on her lawn. Later, she turns the knife with 'She seems happy, but that's not love to me, a reminder that the frustration is beginning to bubble over -- is it worry for Molly, who might be abandoning herself to chase her guy wherever he goes, or the knowledge that she doesn't have someone she could trust that much? It's concrete in its weight yet feathery in its subtlety. Then she gently casts "and maybe I'm dead wrong, maybe I was bitter from the winter all along." She's willing to let go of being frustrated at Sally and Molly finding happiness and willing to try again, trying to recast it as her own bitterness about her thwarted chances of love, willing to thaw out and step forward into the breach. "Take my money, wreck my Sundays, love me till your next somebody, oh, but promise me that when it's time to leave...don't forget me." [10]

Ian Mathers: There's something so compellingly bleak, intended or not, in "Give me something I can handle/A good lover or someone who's nice to me." Or? I've never smoked, but this makes me want to gaze moodily off into the middle distance with a cigarette in my hand.  [6]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: With every song she makes, Maggie Rogers is very self-consciously attempting to write herself into great-American-songwriterdom. The funny thing is that it works – the more effortful her efforts toward greatness are, the better she is. I wanted to be cynical about "Don't Forget Me," about the rootsy chug of its guitars and the grand sustains of the piano, but with every listen Rogers' writing endeared me to it a little more. Where her earlier work trafficked almost entirely in the vague inspirational register of first-person heartbreak and growth narratives, here she shines her light more outwards, capturing her own social milieu with care and grace – in passing references to green eyes and weddings – and using those observations to self-examine in a mode that feels more honest than anything she's done before. All that autofictional jazz wouldn't be worth much if she didn't also have a handle on songcraft, but she constructs an exceptionally sturdy folk-pop vehicle that initially struck me as rote before I noticed all of the well-wrought details in each individual part. [9]

Jackie Powell: I saw Maggie Rogers perform “Don’t Forgive Me” live this past summer at Forest Hills. I liked the sound. It was quite Carole Kingian. But it’s not until now that I’ve realized that this is her “Yoü and I,” a deeply personal narrative that could become her most critically acclaimed and beloved song. Rogers, like Lady Gaga, writes about the sacrifices that her chosen life presents her with. She contemplates whether the sacrifices she’s made in not living like her friends Sally and Molly are actually worth it. In verse two when she’s discussing Molly’s life circumstances, there’s a line that could easily have been less insulting: “She seems happy, oh, but that's not love to me.” Rogers could have replaced that with something like “She seems happy, oh, but that’s not the life for me,” but opted for something a bit more grating. I wonder why she made that choice. Maybe it’s because she wants to draw a contrast between settling and having low expectations. Rogers said herself that “Don’t Forget Me” is about having low expectations, and there’s a yearning in the hook for those low expectations to amount to something that’s worth remembering. That’s all she wants: relationships with people that live on even if they are over, and that aren’t just bygones.  [9]

Katherine St. Asaph: Listening to this, I was reminded of Jess Bergman's excellent piece in The Baffler, "I'm Not Feeling Good at All," about the subgenre (that increasingly feels like just the norm) of books about aimless millennial women who drift through half a lonely life like the protagonist of "Don't Forget Me" does: "She has no friends or resents the one she has. Her boyfriend is distant. Perhaps he’s not even her boyfriend anymore, but still, she thinks of him often. She rarely eats. Absent what you might call drive, her life proceeds by rote.... With this literature of relentless detachment, we seem to have arrived at the inverse of what James Wood famously called 'hysterical realism,' describing a strain of fiction overflowing with eccentric characters and detail that, in its exaggerated vitality, depicts life as 'fervid intensity of connectedness.' What these novels constitute instead is a kind of denuded realism. Rather than an excess of intimacy, there is a lack; rather than overly ornamental character sketches, there are half-finished ones. Personality languishes, and desire has been almost completely erased—except, of course, the desire for nothing. ... However individually stylish or inventive, taken together, the novels tend to replicate the sensations of apathy and tedium they seek to describe." I don't dislike this style of writing nearly as much as others seem to, and I don't even dislike it in music necessarily -- Bergman's first paragraph describes the plot of ABBA's unarguably classic "The Day Before You Came" so well I'm kind of amazed it was written about something else. But "Don't Forget Me" sure does replicate tedium, despite being on the surface a more hopeful narrative. Maybe it wouldn't if the arrangement was as un-smooth as Rogers' voice is. [5]

Joshua Lu: The instrumental is gorgeous, the lyricism is poignant, and the singing is so strained it plows through everything like an excavator through a rainforest. Maggie Rogers has a beautiful voice, and she does not have to fight for her life every time she wants to express an emotion. It makes her sound like she's making music the universe does not want her to create. [4]

Isabel Cole: It’s the hitch in her rich, steady voice on “nice”: “a good lover or someone who’s nice to me.” Such a meagre ask, the lowest of low bars — unless, of course, you’ve had cause to learn not to take it for granted. She sings it like it’s a dream so wild she can hardly bring herself to say it out loud, and it kills me every time. [7]

Alfred Soto: Keeping Nilsson's "Don't Forget Me" (and Neko Case's cover) in the rear mirror, Maggie Rogers writes her own summa. No regret but some pain. The piano and bass lock well enough for Rogers to let her voice crack on the strategically placed syllables. A adult song without arthritis. [8]

Aaron Bergstrom: I've always been clear on what I don't want. I thought navigating adulthood would require more active efforts to suppress jealousy, but it turns out that I spend way more emotional energy on listening to people brag about their lives, maintaining a polite smile while thinking "oh my god this all sounds miserable," then walking away feeling equal parts superior and broken. Why don't I want that? Shouldn't I want that? What do I want? On "Don't Forget Me," Maggie Rogers centers her dislocation on idealized romantic relationships, but that feeling seeps into everything. We all know what the "right" answers are, what we're supposed to want. Setting aside those one-size-fits-all dreams is an important first step, but it's not enough. You have to replace them with something. Maggie knows what she wants: someone who will be nice to her, someone who will remember her fondly even if it doesn't last forever, which it probably won't. That's such an honest self-appraisal. Molly and Sally would probably tell her to dream bigger, but these dreams are hers, and for that reason alone they're better. [8]

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