fake stuff could be real

Kirishima is the designated fake boyfriend. Need to get a creep to shove off? Kirishima’s your guy. Parents insist you bring someone home for the holidays? He’ll compliment you and your parents’ cooking, you just might want to remind him of table manners. Nasty ex walking by? Just take his hand, he’ll roll with it. He’s pretty reliable and earnest so people would automatically trust him with that role

*flies in*

*throws a pokeball and a feraligatr comes out*

No one cares if you don’t like pop-culture spirits! Stop complaining to people who aren’t hurting anything! Who cares if they have an Pokémon companion? Or a companion that’s from a video game? Or even a companion that’s a dragon from Dragon Tales? Let people live their lives.

*My feraligatr carries me out*

Flashpoints of Frustration

There was a moment, when the transit guard told me how much the ticket was, and I heard the number and I thought, “that’s more than I make in 3 days of working,” and I heard my voice say fuck and then my hand lashed out, and the back of my knuckles slammed against the cold hard marble of the wall.

I don’t like my temper. And I hate it when I can’t see it. When it sneaks up on me, comes around some issue, some forgotten triggering phrase, and suddenly squeezes a fist around my heart. 

Some days I walk down the street, my hands flexed into fists. I try not to look anybody in the eye. I radiate this intense sort of energy that’s caught somewhere between suicidal and homicidal. It’s like a fire, and it’s stuck in my teeth, in my brain, and it’s leaking out into the world.

Or it will. Unless I stop it.

I breathe deep. I try to focus, to see the human before me, not the product of this fucked up system that turns everybody into idiots. Try to see that my anger is not a gift, or a pathway. My anger is not an exit. 

My pulse speeds up, slows down. Eventually, stops. That’s what hearts do. 

On a long enough timeline, we all run down. Our anger evaporates like love, like tears in hot sunshine.