he says i hate everyone except you and that is addictive and that is kind of romantic and beautiful because you're young and you're kind of a sarcastic asshole too and you don't like bad boys, per say, but you don't really like good ones either. and you like that you were the exception, it felt like winning.
except life is not a romance book, and he was kind of being honest. he doesn't learn to be nice to your friends. he only tolerates your family. you have to beg him to come with you to birthday parties, he complains the whole time. you want to go on a date but - people are often there, wherever you're going. he's just so angry. about everything, is the thing. in the romance book, doesn't he eventually soften? can't you teach him, through your own sense of whimsy and comfort?
at first - you know introverts often need smaller friend groups, and honestly, you're fine staying at home too. you like the small, tidy life you occupy. you're not going to punish him for his personality type.
except: he really does hate everyone but you. which means he doesn't get along with his therapist. which means he has no one to talk to except for you. which means you take care of him constantly, since he otherwise has no one. which means you sometimes have to apologize for him. which means he keeps you home from seeing your friends because he hates them. you're the single exception.
about a decade from this experience, you'll type into google: how to know if a relationship is codependent.
he wraps an arm around you. i hate everyone except you. these days, you're learning what he's actually confessing is i have very little practice being kind.
v tired of coming out to ppl who are familiar and accepting of the aroace term, who then still turn around and say "yeah but you might still one day meet someone, right?" like I promise you most aspec ppl are aware it's an option, but it's still rude
I get you're trying to be supportive, but it still comes off as "don't worry, perhaps you're not really aroace/broken"
ok among my favorite parts of qsmp is the fact that charlie slimecicle can only hold the act of being mad at mariana when mariana isn't in the room. like he successfully rp'd being mad at his deadbeat puta esposa for months while mariana wasn't logging on, like he complained about mariana at the wedding, during the election, in subsequent appearances, and then he's messaging mariana in the chat during purgatory and he's still holding it
and then they're both at spawn like as close to face to face as they get. and bro CANNOT hold the act it drops so fast lmfao he was like "yea cellbit i'm gonna kill mariana" and instead they have a genuinely heartfelt conversation and then rp sexo in the fountain
and i know i'm brainrotting purgatory rn but i'm actually thinking about this bc i saw a clip of mariana and slime talking during the awards show and literally. slime's face goes from 😡🤬 MARIANA'S HERE, SAY SOMETHING PUTA ESPOSA to 😄😁 the second mariana shows up on the screen
like he's still pretending to be mad but dude is grinning like absolute crazy and i love that
Hip against the table, that gets his attention. “Hey.”
Sam looks up from his notes. “Hey?” Quizzical, with his eyes slipping away for a split second to check the clock on the far wall. “I thought you’d come get me at six.”
Dean shrugs one shoulder. “Guy can’t change his mind? It’s a free country.”
That gets him one of those puppy frowns, some frankenemotion of amusement and annoyance, with some suspicion thrown in the mix. “Well, I’m not done.”
Dean is already pulling back a chair, legs scraping over dark grey carpet floors. “That’s cool, I’ll wait.” He sits, chair groaning as Sam shrugs and returns his attention to the book in front of him. Not even a ‘sure, whatever’.
But that’s fine, that’s cool. Dean can wait.
He looks at the wall, watches the clock tick away silently at the next minute. He looks at the carpet floors, wonders how many stains have soaked into the carpet and if any would show up under black light. He looks at the books, tries to guess their topic without moving in closer. He looks at Sam.
The seams of his shirt are pulled tight, crinkling a little. It’s Dean’s, used to be, some vague shade of dark blue that always looked better on Sam. Rolled up, too, the ass, and stretched over his biceps. His forearms are tan and strong, he’s fidgeting with his pen as he reads. The rhythmic click-clack of his pen should be annoying, but it just draws the eye to his long fingers. When Dean flicks his gaze up, it sticks to the shadows under Sam’s collar, the dip between his collar bones. Shoulders, the golden shimmer on his chin where the neon light catches in his afternoon stubble. His Cupid’s bow. The mole on his cheek.
“Hey.”
Hum, no real answer. Sam flips a page, circles something in his tattered spiral notebook.
“Hey.” Dean kicks his chair.
“What?” Annoyed, this time. Sam glances over, long lashes and a furrow between his brows.
But Dean is leaning in already. One hand rests on the table, crinkling paper under his palm. The tip of his nose brushes Sam’s cheek, then he fits their mouths together.
Sam tastes like Sam, like a day at the library, like dusty carpets and the scent of books. Like the aftertaste of coffee, like neon lights and surprise. Dean nips, coaxes. His neck aches, his lower back pulses with pain, but he doesn’t pull back until Sam returns the kiss, until he rests a warm palm on Dean’s cheek and everything tastes like Sam, Sam, Sam. Until the book slips off the table and bounces on the carpet floors. Forgotten.
[i hate your phone, throw it away // I wish it had never even been invented]
However, his utter lack of any formal training means Merlin is not a very good sorcerer.
The magic he does should be theoretically impossible, but he's got enough raw fucking power to just make it work. Infant demigod smashing blocks together and creating a Lego Death Star.
Merlin: *does magic that Should Not Work*
Other sorcerers:
AND THEY ARE RIGHT TO FEEL UPSET
IMAGINE YOU'RE A SORCERER. YOU'VE BEEN PRACTICING YOUR CRAFT, SHOOTING THE SHIT, LAYING LOW, PLOTTING PLANNING.....THEN THIS FARMY BOY TWINK SHOWS UP AND NUKES THE FUCKING PRIESTESS OF THE LAKE OF AVALON
I'D FEEL PISSED TOO
like, bro, you meet him, you're apprehensive of him bc 'shit that's emrys'. the emrys. the dude that's said to be the greatest sorcerer to ever walk the earth. you meet him. you can feel his magic and like holy shit, what the fuck was that??? you ask him how the fuck he gained so much power by the age of 21????
merlin: you mean....y'all don't also just have magic doing shit when you're a toddler
you, the sorcerer who has had to spend years getting control to fucking heat up a teapot: .........no.......no our magic doesn't do that
goddamn do you wanna just chuck this adult child into the lake and be done with it. better yet, you wish for the sprites to just pick you up and use your body as a sacrifice for entrance into Avalon.
and then, and then
you see how this motherfucker fights against bandits and "WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU JUST PUSHING THEM AWAY??? WHERE'S THE SHOWMANSHIP??? THE PIZZAZZ??? HOW MANY SPELLS DO YOU KNOW???"
merlin, who forgot he can freeze time and space and can launch lightning bolts at people: uh....3???
it takes the triple goddess to restrain you from murking the prophesized warlock right then and there.
"NO, NO, FUCK THAT, FUCK THIS, FUCK ALL O' Y'ALL!" you scream as you jump on a ship and move to a place that doesn't have op young adult children who didn't study shit and yet still get an A+