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borzoilover69 · 4 months

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the version of you whose smile can light up a room.

wdym rather than open up and admit you have faults and youre not as cutout for everything as you say you are you just end up ghosting everyone thats nuts bro.

#jake english #homestuck #hom3stuck #this piece is pretty personal to me.#borzoi art #hs #if someone can string together in words the artistic merits i took #waves hand vaguely #something about the other jake being a lot less polished than the shiny one

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lesbaurinkos · 8 months

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it’s making me so sad that britta is just lost to us forever it’s not fair… cheryl deserved her campy little baby lesbian mini-me sidekick who was so instantly down to become a little witch apprentice while also playing football and such. simultaneously both a normal young lass and fucking insane she was so fun. i know she could never have stayed of course. can’t break the cycle of thornhill can’t break the blossom curse can’t have a little girl raised with love, with happy memories there, not in that haunted house etc etc… but god i hope cheryl remembers her. sniffle

#wherever britta is i hope she’s thriving i hope she’s having fun i hope she still has her little girlfriend…#i knowwww she could never have stayed forever. never could have stayed in thornhill. cycles and curses and the like. but i miss her. YKNOW #i think about britta and the narrative cheryl’s trapped in a lot but there’s not enough coffee in me to post extensively here. so Ykno #(waves my hands vaguely) im just beaming vibes out into the world #riverdale

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thesunshinecourts · 21 days

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countdown to tsc: apr 6., 2024, 07:48 pdt

17. your bed after travelling // jean moreau thinks about belonging

They had an away game against UT Austin, which was more exhausting in flight time than as an actual form of competition.

It’s three hours to Austin from Los Angeles. (“Non-stop flight time is 2 hours, 55 minutes,” Sebastian says, pushing his sunglasses further up the bridge of his nose because he thinks it makes him look cool. It makes Jean want to spit on him. It makes Jean think about Kevin at age thirteen, when he dubiously tested out reading glasses at the recommendation of one of the doctors at Evermore. That kind of makes Jean want to spit on Sebastian more, but he restrains himself. Kevin Day at the beginning of teenagehood is not a crime that anyone should have to answer for, save the man himself and maybe Riko. He can’t, though. He’s dead.

It still thrills Jean, that thought, explicit and direct and true. It had been a fantasy for years, the kind he could never share, and certainly not with Kevin, who had loved Riko as desperately as he had come to fear him. It had been a wish, once or twice, entrusted only into Renee’s steady hands, the kind phrased not as a request, but as an expression of guilt given to the only person to whom he could lay himself bare. It is a fact, a gun pointed by Neil and a trigger squeezed by Ichirou and a new type of shackle on Jean, still heavy, but lacking teeth.

No, Jeremy Knox’s Sunshine Court has no such skin-torn, blood-soaked, jagged edges, except those which Jean brings with him. It’s almost harder to bear.)

Three hours to Austin from Los Angeles, meaning six hours round trip.

Jean is used to playing for that long on the Ravens’ court: a much more punishing endeavour than any training plan Rhemann and his cohort of coaches at USC could come up with. Playing the game against UT is laughably easy for Jean, at least when it comes to stamina and skill. Patience is a different matter, but while the Trojans are no Ravens, they are an exceptional team. When Jean makes his meagre attempts at forbearance, he thinks to himself that he is lucky to not have been a Fox. He would likely have lost his voice, given the arguing necessary to whip them into a vaguely-tolerable shape.

Kevin had always been better at that. Jean is not a natural teacher. He taught Kevin French out of loneliness, and he taught Neil to survive out of necessity. Kevin would always have been more suited to the walking catastrophe that called itself the PSU Foxes Exy team.

Belonging is always easier, Jean thinks, when one has a foothold. Personality aside—and truly, Jean has never met a person more stubborn than Kevin, which is less a compliment and more an expulsion of grief—Kevin would always have been better-suited to the Foxes than Jean, for Kevin had a man who would never turn him away simply because of who his mother was, even without knowing Kevin was his son.

Jean does not envy Kevin his father. Jean prefers not to think of fathers at all.

So no, the game is not especially taxing. The Trojans have a strong roster, and are less inclined to allow personal pique to have a say in which players get substituted, and when. (This isn’t to say that there is no personal pique to be found amongst the Trojans; whilst Jean’s experiences with them thus far have proven—if exasperatingly—that the Day Spirit Award has been rightfully awarded all these years, he’s also discovered that Alvarez has stroppy tendencies when she’s tired, and Jeremy’s occasional remarks about the Ravens are cavalier not out of ignorance, but a quiet disdain for their conduct.

So it’s not that the Trojans are all foolish Golden Retrievers rolling over to show their bellies to the world; it’s mostly that none of them are Riko, and nor are they Foxes. They can afford to offer grace as they move through the world. Jean is not sure he can.)

The flights are infinitely worse, because without an Exy racquet in his hand and the court beneath his feet, there is no escape from Jean’s own head.

The flight to Austin is better, of the two. It’s still not ideal, but Jeremy and Laila sit Jean firmly between them and essentially force him into conversation. It’s mostly grudging, and almost entirely about the upcoming match—there is not a single player at UT who Jean finds compelling, but one of their assistant coaches is a former player who once suggested something rude about Thea, who responded by checking him so hard when he next had the ball that he sprawled to the ground and slid three metres across the court.

Jean enjoys this story. He thinks Laila and Jeremy did too, from the way Laila’s eyes gleamed and how Jeremy’s voice had a laugh in it when he said, not exactly a strategy in our playbook, but I daresay it would have been satisfying to watch.

The flight back to Los Angeles is worse.

The ache from the game is settling into his body now, muscle and flesh and bone. It’s not enough to draw him out of his own head.

One of UT’s dealers had pitched herself right at him, driving herself into his hip. That level of force wouldn’t usually have knocked him over, but there’s an old ache there from Riko’s fingers and favourite toys. Mostly Jean stays standing, but sometimes he gives in.

When Jean had lived in Abby’s spare bedroom, there had been a revolving cast of visitors, though there was more frequency than variety. Renee had visited most, then Wymack. If Jean counts the times he shut his door and refused to let Kevin into his room and Kevin stayed in the kitchen asking Abby questions in a quiet voice that was never quite quiet enough, then Kevin probably takes third place. Otherwise, Jean thinks it would be Aaron.

This was less about Jean, and more about the lesson he could provide in Abby’s hands. Jean didn’t care. His whole life had been made of debt and pain and prodding. Cool fingers re-dressing his wounds—all steady hands and clinical efficiency and blunt responses—was almost a balm in the face of it.

Besides, there was something comforting in his lack of expectation. Jean has no idea what most people want from a doctor. He’s heard grumblings about bedside manner and seen some memes through the Twitter timeline Xavier and Alvarez inflicted upon him, but he found his greatest relief in the way Aaron inspected all his wounds without flinching.

Sometimes Kevin would come quietly into the room, and Aaron would roll his eyes at him, and then look to Jean, as if waiting. Jean did not mind so much if Kevin came in with someone else, like Renee or Aaron or Thea. (Well, he had minded very much the time he came in with Thea, but that was due more to the lack of warning. Thea herself had been someone Jean found himself missing.) He liked it more when Kevin came in with Aaron, which was less to do with their behaviour—Aaron was more likely to tell Kevin to shut up or fuck off, but Renee’s quiet presence was equally effective at keeping him in check—and more to do with the fact that Jean preferred to speak to Renee alone, because she was the person he could trust most in the world.

Once upon a time, that had been Kevin, but then Kevin left Evermore, and left Jean, and the first time Jean heard from him in months was when a terrified Kevin called him to beg Jean to tell him that the rumours were false, that Edgar Allan was not coming south.

The rumours had been true, and Jean Moreau has never been a liar, not even for Kevin.

Jean thinks about this as he thinks about the thudding ache at his hip, where Aaron’s fingers once re-dressed a wound, where Kevin had placed a cool compress years before, where Jean’s younger sister had once drawn a rose when they were five and seven, because a rose had been the only thing she had known how to draw.

He supposes it still might be. He wouldn’t know.

Jeremy shifts in the seat beside him, and Jean cracks open an eyelid to glare at him. He hadn’t even realised he’d shut his eyes, but no matter. He cracks open an eyelid, glaring, and finds Jeremy making a half-apologetic, half-beleaguered expression back at him. It’s an astounding combination, one he would have considered impossible prior to the Trojans, but sometimes Jean wonders if it’s less that Jeremy is particularly talented at facial expressiveness and more that no Raven ever had cause to teach Jean what apology looked like in the lines of a furrowed brow and downturned lips.

“Sorry,” Jeremy whispers, as if the facial expression wasn’t enough. “Were you napping?”

Jeremy has known Jean for several months now, so Jean feels as if this is a foolish question. He makes a derisive noise. Something flickers in his chest when Jeremy shakes his head, looking rueful and amused and sleepy-soft all at once.

Jean ignores it, obviously.

“Right, right, Mr No Naps,” Jeremy says. Jean has suffered many indignities since his arrival in Los Angeles, but being dubbed something that a six year old child would name an especially belligerent cat is a new low.

“We’re not that far now,” Jeremy says, glancing up at the flight map in interest. Jean looks over. He’s right. Twenty minutes or so. “Which means there’s no point in sleeping…” Jeremy continues, almost cajolingly. That gleam from Laila’s eyes earlier seems to have jumped to Jeremy’s as he looks at Jean.

Jean sighs, surrenders. He seems to be doing this a lot lately. Riko never managed to break down that last final inch, that holdout within Jean that refused to lose his accent or stop speaking French to Kevin or any of the tiny rebellions that Neil dismissed but Jean needed in order to have any pieces of himself left for Renee to save that day.

Riko tore every concession from Jean’s bare throat, but the Trojans seem just as adept as getting what they want out of Jean with teeth bared in smiles instead of snarls.

“You should have knocked over that backliner,” Jean says. “He’s a lunk. He would have taken seconds to get up. You could have scored in that time.”

Jeremy, because he is terrible, laughs. “You have such a way with words, Jean,” he says, but he sounds amused. Almost infectiously so. “I ought to be able to score without knocking anyone down,” Jeremy points out.

“Yes,” Jean agrees immediately, “but until that’s the case, you should drop them.”

There is probably something seriously wrong with Jeremy Knox, Jean thinks, watching him laugh. He seems as delighted as ever by Jean’s honesty. He won’t abide unfair barbed statements to his team, but he always seems game to field Jean’s criticisms himself.

It’s only right, Jean thinks. They’re Kevin’s favourite team, and they took Jean in when the backlash would be far greater than whatever meagre thanks they managed to get out of Kevin. Of course there’s something wrong with them.

They pass the rest of the flight in much the same manner, until the descent swoops a little steeper than expected and Jeremy squeezes his eyes shut and grips one hand over his arm rest and the other over Jean’s forearm. Laila wakes up during this, blinking sleepily at Jeremy, before saying, “Oh, babe, your cuticles look awful,” which makes Jean look incredulously at her and Jeremy laugh.

Sleepy chatter gets them through disembarking the plane, and baggage claim, and onto the bus, winding all the way back to campus, traffic egregious even at this hour. Alvarez tows an exhausted Laila by the elbows with an excruciatingly fond expression, Sebastian almost snaps his sunglasses underfoot when they slip off his nose before Derek says, “Dude,” while Emma throws up an arm to stop him in his tracks, and Jeremy half-stumbles into the door before he gets his key in the lock and opens up their room.

Tomorrow, at some point after breakfast and coffee prepared with entirely too much creamer by an overzealous Cox, Jean will marvel at that thought. At the ease with which it sprung to his mind: their room, meaning Jeremy’s and Jean’s, meaning Jean’s, meaning that which belongs.

In the morning, he will think about what it has meant to be Jean Moreau: his first home lost to him through a transaction, where he was an object and not a person, a thing to barter and not a boy with a bed and a family and his own mind; Evermore, his second place to exist, where his bed was so often a landscape of his own destruction; and that bed that he slept in when staying with Abby, crisp and clean and safe and entirely, undeniably unknown to him.

Kevin asked Jean once, when they were younger, to tell him about his home. Jean had looked at him and asked in the blankest possible tone, what home? A home is a space you’re meant to belong, Jean had meant, and there was no place like that for him. There was Riko and his chains, and everyone told Jean that was his place, but he would never call that home.

In the morning, Jean will think about this, and what it means to have a space that belongs to you – to be a boy who owns something for once, instead of just being owned –

In the morning, Jean will think about this, but for now, he kicks off his shoes, peels off his socks, and falls onto his bed, a place he trusts enough to sink into a dreamless sleep, long enough to start to soothe his tired bones.

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yuesya · 6 months

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I can see why some people are complaining about chapter 30 since the situation is practically screaming suspicious activity. However, that's a perspective that only we the readers are privy to and not the characters so it can be overlooked.

I'm actually more interested in the events of chapter 31. More specifically, I'm curious as to why Kiyohara is still alive. Wouldn't have been more efficient for Araya to slit his throat or break his neck when the man was unconscious instead of placing a barrier around him like Matsuhime said?

Is it an oversight or something else on their part? Becuase I doubt these child abductors would draw the line at murder in order to carry out their scheme of ritual sacrifice, especially since dead men tell no tales.

Another thing I found interesting is that Araya knows the metaphysical implications behind Shiki's technique despite having only met her once with the cursed eyes. This leads me to believe that perhaps this isn't the first time Shiki's cursed eyes have awakened in the Gojo's history. It's entirely possible that it flew under the radar since it's awakening is both obscure and difficult to achieve.

It wouldn't be impossible that someone else, like Shiki, who was mistaken for having no cursed energy was cast out of the clan only to awaken it at a later date. Hence how Araya discovered the technique long before the Gojo knew of it's existence and was searching for it all this time.

This ask was submitted before the recent chapter, and I just want to say that your observations on Kiyohira made me cackle a little bit. (Rubs gremlin hands.) It makes me really excited to see people catching on to tidbits that seem a little weird at a glance. There are (usually) reasons for that aside from plot holes lol. Hope some of the curiosity was answered!

Araya is Suspicious for sure, especially with how he's focusing on Shiki the way he is. More on that in the future!

#QA #zenith of stars #sorry for being vague about araya but #(hand waves)#i actually held off on answering this ask because of the kiyohira stuff in the chapter haha

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spider-man-2o99 · 9 months

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Captain's Log: been a couple minutes

hi. quick update. not dead. just had a psychotic episode nd was real fuckin freaked out bcuz of th blinding paranoia and all the other everythings for a couple months, there. i needed to take a break from tumblr for my own mental health, bcuz i was just... it just. got to be All Too Much, and when that damn movie dropped on top of it all, especially, but-- i digress.

when i get scared, i hide. so. i took a break. because every time i logged onto tumblr, i would just purposefully spend hours looking at shit that i Knew would be emotionally distressing at best and actively triggering at worst--Do Not Do This, btw. shock, horror, surprise, CapCap, but yes, self-harm does in fact do harm to oneself--and it has largely been a long two months shivering in delusional-terrified-prey-animal-mode under a metaphorical fucking rock in the meantime... but, that said, i do still apologize to those of you who i made worry, going dead silent like that.

ep's over now. the time away was... good for me, i think. ultimately.

even as odd as it is, as a result of it, to see the post-movie sm2099-sphere, and watch from the outside the effects of my own whale-fall as it ripples through that little space that used to just be mine to bear for so long, for the most part. funny little quiet echoes of my own ego and thumbprints i can only recognize because i see them on my own hands every day, and then idly kinda wonder if i deserve to even have had that kind of impact in the first place. the earnest sincerity of that kind of love frightens and flatters and completely, utterly, melts and destroys me, entire. it is sweet to be acknowledged. it is perplexing to Exist outside of myself, and be praised for it.

..and it is amusing, sometimes, when i can occasionally tell that someone has just Sparknotes-ed from my fic instead of reading the comics because they misinterpreted one of the Jokey-Jokes and/or My Headcanons in there as actual 100-percent comic canon, lol (it's happened more often than you'd think?? im no snitch but i SWEAR im not making this up. im autistic i love 2 Recognize Patterns Across Multiple Bodies of Text 4 fun).

i don't know if i'm quite ready to be Back, yet. but. tonight, i am okay. and i Will Be okay, in the days to come, as well. things are hard now, but they will not always be.

so. i'll see you later, whenever that is. i hope the future is kind to you. we'll get there together, even if it isn't.

#talking tag #ask to tag #tl;dr lmao furry bitch cant handle minor internet fame comma panics about it for two months & thinks evrybody wants 2 Kill Them LOL #and perhaps this is. just. like. a wildly egotistical ramble. idfk.idk! idk! i cant tell. i hope not. i know. i know i was self-isolating #and still kind of am. but. im.#Working on it.#(waves a hand around vaguely.) y- yknow.#(sigh) we;re working on it. prommy.#anyways. be safe. be kind to people. keep love in your hearts. it will not hurt forever. i love you.

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tennessoui · 2 years

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I’m a little bit a lot feeling bad for Padme in couples counseling does she really think things between her and anakin are great? Part of me wondering if she knows they are not going to last. Do you think she might call it off with anakin I mean he did ditch out on their anniversary bc he can’t leave obiwan on his own for 5 minutes without freaking out

Padmé is really like “me and my husband and my husband’s emotional support Jedi master”

Jk honestly I mean. I know their marriage does get called off. It’s an obikin fic and i dont ship anidala or obianidala so theres only the one option for this fic. As for who does the calling off, I don’t know for sure yet! You’d think this Padmé would see the signs that her husband is either a) in love with someone else or b) a shitty husband or c) falling in love with someone else, but Padmé was willing to overlook child murder (twice!) for her husband and canonically wanted to run away with him and their kids instead of bringing him to justice. The ship was sinking and she was still trying to steer. Like. In canon.

So I don’t really see her being the one to call off the marriage or ask for divorce. I can see her asking Anakin to leave the Order, run away with her, they can try for children, make a family, etc etc etc. she’s even willing to go to couples counseling if Anakin wants! Work and revitalize their marriage!

(Anakin says no because he doesn’t have the time to go to TWO couples counselors)

And also I feel like it probably needs to be Anakin or Obi-Wan will never truly believe that Anakin wants to be with him instead of Padmé. Unfortunately for Padmé, I’m thinking it needs to really be Anakin’s decision to get the divorce, to let go of the attachment. For his relationship with Obi-Wan, but also for himself as a person and a Jedi.