#i know things could still be better but fundamentally i don’t think i have anything meaningful to tell a medical professional

[m1ssunderstanding]

Get Back Rewatch 55 Years On: Day 16

Not the Love Actually India footage! https://archiveofourown.org/works/40600110/chapters/101720886 by @inspiteallthedanger is a favorite I should revisit after this painful day.

“Yes, what Were we doing?” Literally, why did you start this conversation, Paul? What did you think John and George were going to do? Just let you have your little casual chat about the footage? Come on, you know them better than that. “In your room?” “Yeah, right. I remember, yeah.” You set yourself up for this, babe. 

I would LOVE to know the real context for John’s mic-job. Because yes, that is real. He really did do that while staring like That at Paul. But it wasn’t after he said, “I don’t regret anything. Ever.” What was the real moment where John decided that was his move? And did Paul really just keep talking right over all of that? Beatles tumblr deserves access to all that footage just for all the obsessing we do. 

It is noteworthy, certainly, that we know for a fact that a good chunk of John’s India footage is just Paul, but in how much of that footage, I wonder, is Paul also focused on John?

We all know Paul approves, but why did we have to use valuable time to show monkey sex? I did not need to see that. 

“I have all the tapes, too.” Those laughs. You guys aren’t as sneaky as you think you are. Also, @ Lennon estate you won't release the tapes. Chickens.

George is just SO sick of their shit. “Because that was the purpose of going there was to try and find who yourself is.” AKA ‘I took your dumb asses on this beautiful spiritual retreat and you had to make it about your stupid psychosexual obsession just like you do with everything else.’ “And if you were really yourself, you wouldn’t be any of who we are now.” AKA ‘if you two would stop fucking hiding, we – me and Ringo too, you’ve dragged us down with you – wouldn’t be in this hellish mess.’ And here’s the thing. He’s pissed off. And rightly so. But he’s still going along with their veils and secrecy. A callback to his strumming over Paul ranting at him. He’ll still protect them even when he fundamentally disagrees. George is such a beautiful person and so underrated by people like me.

 Paul’s appreciative little look as John finally ends the difficult conversation. 

"Bye, Bye Love” is DEFINITELY *meaningful*

John calling Two of Us “Four of Us” is so sweet. Like saying to George and Ringo, “You are important too. Just because we don’t have weird thoughts about your physical adjacency to Elvis Presley, doesn't mean we don’t love you.” 

I think John’s willingness to be taught is also an underrated leadership quality of his. All the old men obsessed with Leader Lennon won’t acknowledge it, but that’s what it is. It’s humility and a recognition of other’s strength and it’s leadership.

Literally everyone else: Just don’t look and it’ll go away. John: what? Don’t look at Paul? I don’t know how to do that.

George and Ringo honestly had the patience of saints to just sit there and play through Two of Us eight million times so John and Paul could do their little accents and silly voices.

And then John can also do the traditional leadership, too. “Start again, ey. Shh, don’t talk when he’s playing there, gang.” And really, he’s the best of the four for that job by far.But it’s far from acerbic or cutting. Get Back John is certainly almost undiluted Lovely John. 

Quick reminder to anyone who may have forgotten: those boots George is wearing are literally Paul’s hand-me-downs. Earlier on the nagra reels, George was describing a kind of boots he’d like a pair of and Paul was like “I’ve got some you could have.”  Permanent baby brother status. 

“That’s a good idea, John.” “Yeah, well I’m full of ideas like that, I’m famous for ‘em. Literary Beatle, you know.” Puhlease. I know fics with more realistic dialogue.

“The things that’ve worked out best for us haven’t really been planned any more than this has, it’s just. You know, you just go into something and it just does it itself.” Yeah, George. Because of Brian. 

Paul really wants to do a big Thing at the end, because he loves performing, yeah. But what’s this about John and Yoko’s black bag? Does he think that performing together will remind John that being a Beatle with Paul is what he loves? Or does he just want closure before everything falls apart?

He really does hate to see him upset, doesn’t he. Like, I think he does a lot of things purposely to get a reaction out of Paul. And sometimes he needs to see him hurt to know he even cares. But from the way he’s watching Paul chewing his nails and rocking, you’d think Paul’s worries affected John physically. And then he breaks into “I Lost My Little Girl” almost as a sort of knee-jerk comfort instinct.  

These two shots are comedic gold.

My cabaret boys again. Heck, maybe I’ll write it just for myself. Honestly though I love that the two Beatles who loved performing and who would’ve been performers in any life (would’ve been performing circus elephants if they’d been reincarnated as animals) got to continue doing it into their eighties. One of the few happinesses in the end of the Beatles.

Get Back really is such a great character study, though. George hands John a drink. John takes it without looking at George, let alone the drink, and gulps. George hands Paul a drink. Paul smiles at him, then proceeds to sniff it and swirl it and inspect it like it might be poison before he gives it a taste. 

John chewing the mic. I hope you didn’t do That to Paul’s dick in India. What if that’s all that happened?

Bitching and gossiping: top requirements in the job description for John Lennon’s Codependent Special Person.

In these last few minutes of the day, I’m relating more and more to George. I’m sick of John and Paul and all their drama and stupidity. John suggests they write another verse of Let it Be together, and Paul looks frankly horrified at the idea.

So John lays his head in Yoko’s lap, reminding me painfully of that “ . . . except you can go to bed with it and it can pet your head without . . .” quote.

And then a few minutes later, Paul’s spiraling again and asks to go home to which John responds with a tease. “I’m just tryna get the group working, you know,” and “You’re gonna have to be strict, Paul.” And it’s just dizzying and frustrating at this point. Where are they possibly going to go at this rate?

#sorry that this one was late #And probably less coherent or insightful #Two jobs and a teething baby and a depressed husband today so it is what it is #paul mccartney #the beatles #john lennon #mclennon #ringo starr #george harrison #get back

[yanderenightmare]

saw you tag benevolent sexism as a trigger warning on one of your pics, was wondering if you could explain what that is? as compared to just regular sexism

Benevolent sexism is the same as any other type of sexism. As in, it's still very much sexism. But there is a small fundamental difference that separates it from most sexism.

Most sexism is based on "negative" feelings - such as (men are stronger than women; therefore, men are better) or (women are hormonal and emotional; therefore incapable of intellectual thought) or (women are weak and only good for birthing children; therefore, they shouldn't do anything else), etc... you know the gist...

But benevolent sexism is more based on "positive" feelings - such as (women are cute, adorable, lovely creatures; therefore, men should cherish them).

And while that's fine and all, what makes it sexist is that those thoughts are generally rooted in other thoughts that still inspire female inferiority to men - such as (women are soft, small, weak creatures; therefore, in need of a man's protection or help) or (women are pretty and dainty little things; therefore, they shouldn't do certain things or have certain jobs)

It's still sexism at its finest, but instead of having undertones of hatred toward women, it has these over-protective and overbearing justifications.

It also applies when people judge a woman's worth strictly by how good a wife, girlfriend, or mother she is - instead of how good she is at her job or in any other aspect of her life.

This is all based on sexism toward women, but it obviously works both ways.

Such as judging a man strictly on how good a provider he is, how talented he is in sports, how much he works out, whether he's likely to win in a fight... etc...

And notions such as (men are strong; therefore, they should take all the hard labor and fight our wars) or even (men are tough; therefore, they shouldn't cry) and (men are capable: therefore, they shouldn't waste their potential doing girly things)

In the fic you're referencing, there was a character (Dabi) who spoke about both sides, both women and men.

“Most girls are better survivors.” - “They learn quickly to accept what will keep them safe, and then, they find solace in whatever they can to maintain their mental health as well…” - “Boys fight until they break. Leaving them a shell of what they once were. But girls don’t have the same pride.” - “They leave themselves behind and become someone new.”

To be honest, I'm not entirely in agreeance with myself when I flagged this as benevolent sexism. But I felt some type of warning was necessary since he's talking about what separates women from men.

Dabi is complementing women by saying this while simultaneously dissing his own gender, but he's also degrading both in a way by insinuating that girls don't have any will to fight back because, in his words, they don't have any pride. He also says that girls are quick to change depending on their situation, saying that they become someone new. Meaning, essentially, he doesn't really think women take any pride in who they are and will change their personality just as quick as a chameleon camouflages itself.

It's really up to each of his own whether to take this as a compliment or not. Either way, I find it a slightly sad point of view.

But a sad compliment or not - it's still kind of tough to say whether it's sexist or not. However, it's obvious he has certain opinions about women - and I figured I might as well flag it as benevolent sexism just to stay safe.

the fic

#nightmare talks

[k1ngdom-of-thieves]

Can you do this https://at.tumblr.com/k1ngdom-of-thieves/hi-there-can-you-do-headcanons-for-the/qpbnbhv4sgel but with the vice dorm leaders?

Of course! Thanks for coming back :)

Vice Dorm leaders + Finding out reader is a girl

Trey Clover

Poor guy genuinely had no idea that you were until you told him. Depending on if you told him during book 1 or waited until later to tell him, he’ll feel slightly embarrassed or absolutely mortified that he made that mistake.

He’d apologize anyway but will still feel really guilty about it. Let him bake you a pastry or something just so he can feel better over it. Those things look so good anyway.

He asks if the others in the Heartslabyul dorm know and if you’d like him to tell them. He doesn’t mind telling them, although he might be a little embarrassed if he was the last one to realize you were a girl.

“Is there anything specific you’d like me to bake? I know you said it didn’t bother you, but I still wanted to apologize somehow.”

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie had a feeling that you were a girl. Your scent was different from the rest of the guys so he had a feeling. Still feels great to be proven right tho.

He won’t ask you about it because: 1 it’s really none of his business, and 2 there’s no guarantee that you’ll actually tell the truth when asked. So he waited for you to tell him, if you ever wanted to.

He’d ask if you told others about this before making jokes. If you said yes, prepare for the dumbest jokes you’ve ever heard. Almost constantly.

Ruggie’s gonna try to get you to do dumb shit with him just so he can’t get in trouble with Leona. He kinda forgot that only you wouldn’t get in trouble and he would still get his ass kicked.

“Hey (Y/N), wanna hear something fun we could do? How about we go into Leona’s room when he’s in the observatory and take a couple bucks?”

Jade Leech

Jade was actually surprised that you were a girl. He never really thought about it since it was an all boys school, but he’s realizes it must’ve been obvious in hindsight.

His surprise only lasts for a little while before it turns into his signature off putting smile. He chuckles and comments on how difficult it must’ve been to be the only girl for a few miles. Bro do you know how terrifying that sounds.

Of course he wouldn’t try to do anything to you. yet He’s just letting you know that if you need anything, your friends at the Monstro Lounge are always here to help. For a price.

If you’re worried about someone harassing you, just ask Jade to help you. He’d be more than happy to stand threateningly behind you to scare away anyone who tries to get to you.

“Just remember if you ever need anything, you know where to find me. I doubt anyone would want to bother you after hearing we’re in cahoots.”

Jamil Viper

Jamil did have the passing thought of you not actually being a guy. It wasn’t something he took seriously, it was just a random thought. ..right?

Until you told him that you were a girl. Even though he had thought about it before, he never once thought about it actually being true.

Don’t think that he’s taking this negatively, he’s just completely in shock. He’s actually really happy that you decided to trust him with this information.

He’s more than willing to help out with anything you might need. He has a younger sister, so he has a general idea of what to do if you get any pains or discomfort.

“I’m going to Sam’s shop to buy a couple of things. Would you like me to bring you a few things? Don’t worry, I won’t make you pay me back.”

Rook Hunt

Rook 100% knew you were a girl before you even spoke to each other. How? Don’t question it, his answer probably wouldn’t make much sense anyway.

He wouldn’t say anything about it before you told him, he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable! Bro you cross that bridge a while ago. He wants to make sure you’re ok with others knowing that you’re a girl before walking around school announcing it.

Thinks it’s so beautiful how you manage to make connections while being so fundamentally different from everyone around you. He finds your stubborn strength to persevere inspiring!

Will tell tales of your efforts even if it was something really mundane. He just wants you know that he sees how hard you try, in his own odd way.

“Oh how have I been blessed to see the trickster and her companions beat the odds yet again!”

Ortho Shroud (Completely platonic)

Ortho’s sensors initially told him that you were a girl, but he thought that there was an error and had Idia check them out. It was only after Idia told him there was nothing wrong, he finally realized that you were actually a girl.

He’s gonna be a little confused for a while, he didn’t know that it was possible for a girl to attend an all boys school. Then again, most schools don’t have robot younger brothers so he figures he’s in the same boat as you.

He doesn’t mention anything to you until you tell him, he doesn’t want to accidentally make a friend uncomfortable. Besides, he’s learned not to point things out before others tell him. Once he pointed out Floyd’s jacket was missing buttons. Didn’t end well.

Installs applications that help him understand more feminine topics. Even if you aren’t into traditionally feminine things, he just doesn’t want you to feel isolated.

“I hope I can help you when you want to have someone to talk to. That’s what friends are for, right?”

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia had no idea that you were a girl, but he isn’t that surprised. He’s seen a lot of different people in his time, so a girl in an all-boys school is honestly pretty mundane for him.

Aside from the simple change of pronouns, his treatment of you is really similar. He treats all of his friends the same, so he never needed to change how he acts around you.

He does get a little protective of you around some of the boys. Father’s reflex. With him on your side, most of the student body wouldn’t dare bother you.

Don’t be afraid to ask him if you need anything, he’d be more than happy to help. He may seem like he has a lot on his plate, with watching over practically everyone in his dorm; but he doesn’t mind doing something for you now and then.

“Well, I’m glad that you trust me enough to tell me. Let me know if you need someone to talk to. I’m sure that with my many years of walking this land, I might know something to make you feel better.”

#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst imagines #trey clover x reader #twst trey #trey clover #twst ruggie #ruggie bucchi #ruggie bucchi x reader #twst jade #jade leech x reader #jade leech #jamil viper #jamil viper x reader #twst jamil #rook hunt x reader #twst rook #rook hunt #platonic ortho #ortho shroud #twst ortho #lilia vanrouge x reader #twst lilia #lilia vanrouge

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — RIN x FEM READER

College fixes almost everything about Itoshi Rin except his most fundamental problem: you.

wc — 4k

tags — mildly inspired by normal people, angst, toxic relationships, dog metaphors my beloved, Rin is so little brother in this, loneliness, being repulsed by your own desires, implied mental illness but not explicitly talked about, self sabotage

You don’t like talking behind other people’s backs, but your friends do. 

“Come on,” says Miyuki. Her long black hair pours down her back like a waterfall, sleek as silvery fish. If you dipped your hands into it, you’d imagine it would leave you wet. You’ve always wanted hair like that. “It’s not like he’s here! What are you worried about?”

What you’re worried about is going home to Rin and having to look him in the eye while you think about all the horrible things your friends have said about him. 

Kenta slings an arm around your shoulder and pulls you closer to him. He’s uncomfortably warm, but you don’t try to get away.

“She’s not worried,” he says, still tugging at you. Only when he tries to pull you into his lap do you put a hand on his arm, making him finally stop. “Why would she be worried about little old Rin?”

“He’s not that bad,” you say. It’s a weak defense that says nothing about how good Rin actually is. He’s better than all of them combined. 

“Stop,” Kenta snorts. “That’s hilarious. Are you starting to like the kid?”

Miyuki giggles and slaps him on the arm. “It’s because he likes her! Come on, we all see the way he looks at you. No need to be shy.” 

Itsuki chimes in. “She’s right, you know. He’s only nice to you. He’s awful to the rest of us.” 

None of them think about why Rin’s awful to them. You want to slap Itsuki, but instead you laugh and smile with them. It’s easier to just go along with it. 

It’s not like you mean it. 

This thought doesn’t comfort you as you turn off the ignition and rest your forehead against the steering wheel. Rin said his family wouldn’t be home for this entire week, but even just sitting in his driveway is nerve wracking. He’s so normal it’s easy to forget the massive gap between you until you’re in sight of his perfectly manicured lawn. It’s something that comes with the territory of being the heir to a football empire. 

The door’s open. He never listens, even when you tell him to be more careful. You creep up the stairs to his bedroom, trying to stay silent even though no one else is here. You can’t help feeling out of place and like you need to make up for it by being as non invasive as possible. Rin’s bedroom is on the right, right across from his genius brother. 

“You’re here,” Rin says, sitting up when you open the door. 

It makes you feel sick. He was waiting up for you. It’s more than you deserve. 

“I said I’d come, didn’t I?” You touch his cheek with the hand Kenta held. 

“I thought- nevermind,” he says. He clearly wants you to ask what he thought, but you don’t. 

“What were you watching?” You ask instead, hoping it makes up for it. 

“You wouldn’t like it,” he tells you, which is how you know it’s another horror movie. Sometimes, you think the reason he likes them is pathological. It’s a bad habit. You tend to overwrite everything Rin does with more meaning than he intends. 

It’s partially because he’s so clever. If he applied himself to anything other than football, he’d be the top of your class easily.  

You ask him to try it all the time, just to see how it goes. If Rin put in a little effort, he could so easily be beloved. 

But Rin doesn’t care to be beloved. It’s a divide between the two of you that you feel deeply. You care about nothing but being loved as much as possible by as many people as possible. 

You’re like a child desperate for attention. You can’t bear the idea of being picked apart and discussed while you’re not present, but you can’t bear the thought of being alone either. You care what people think. You want to be universally adored.

The only love Rin cares about is yours. 

“Were you lonely?”

“I’m always lonely.” 

Rin might not care about everyone, but there are certain people he wants. His brother, for example. You know Rin misses him. They should’ve been born twins with the way they revolved around each other. Or at least Rin did. He made having a brother into part of his personality. It was Sae and Sae’s little brother until the brother in question no longer found Rin interesting. 

He looks tired, you think absentmindedly. Too many late nights staying up watching football games over and over, which isn’t even something you can reprimand him for. 

Football is what’s going to save him. It’s going to get him out of here. 

You wish you had that drive. Rin lives for football. It’s what he gets up for each morning. You don’t know what it’s like to care about something that much. You kind of just let things happen to you. 

Like Rin. But that’s a lucky example, a good one. 

“Oh, but not when I’m with you,” he says quickly, like he suddenly thought you might take offense. 

He’s so dear. You wish you had a right to press your arms around him and hold him. 

You won’t even acknowledge him outside of his home. What right do you have to care about him? 

I don’t mind, Rin tells you. You’re different when it’s not just the two of us, anyway. 

You don’t want to think about what that means. It’ll only make you hate yourself more. 

In school, Rin slips between classes, usually unseen and unnoticed until Kenta realizes he’s there. In any other school, Rin might be popular. He was tall and pretty, with a mysterious air to him. He was the second of the Itoshi siblings, heir to a football empire. He played sports well. He could be smart, when he wanted to be. 

But Rin never tried, and people got tired of it. 

He couldn’t seem to understand others, which put up a wall between him and the rest of the world. Rin was fine with chasing endlessly. For years, Rin had followed Sae around like a puppy, wanting nothing if only he had his brother. Other people would grow sick of giving without return, but Rin assumed that was just how it worked. He didn’t know it was unusual. 

Perhaps that was why your relationship worked so well. Rin wanted to chase, and you wanted to be chased. That drew the two of you together. 

Even when you were pretending he didn’t exist in school, you were aware of him. Something in you was magnetized to something in him. 

You tried to pretend otherwise, because Kenta would only be more malicious towards Rin if he knew. Kenta wasn’t as talented as Rin was. He was pretty, but generically so. Whereas Rin's flashing green eyes were supermodel stunning, Kenta’s were soft and inviting. 

He was a charmer. He knew how to make people like him. He wanted them to want him. 

That’s why he delighted in messing with your relationship with Rin. It wasn’t enough to just have you. He wanted Rin to like him, in his roundabout way. Rin only wanted one person and that was you. Kenta mistakenly thought that if he had you, Rin would want him too. 

But he was wrong. 

Kenta hated being wrong. It made it hard for him to get along with Rin. He constantly sought him out, needling him. He wanted Rin to look at him. But no matter how hard Kenta tried, he rarely got under Rin’s skin. He found him more annoying than anything. 

It was pathetic. Kenta was exactly what he derided Rin for - a dog chasing a master that wouldn’t give. 

You gave, though. When Kenta asks you to prom, you let him. It generally happens like that. You don’t think you’ve ever taken initiative in your life. 

Rin watched Kenta ask you. It’s a big thing. He gets half the school in on it. There are huge bouquets of flowers and exploding party poppers. The marching band plays romantically as you wrap your arms around his neck. He gets an entire row of freshmen to cover you with confetti when you say yes.

Sometimes, the way Kenta treats you can feel almost romantic. 

He taps his head against yours, smiling down at you. Rin stalks through the scene, completely ignoring the two of you until Kenta grabs his arm. 

“No congratulations, Rinnie?”

“Don’t call me that,” Rin’s voice is full of irritation. “I don’t know you, asshole.” 

You stay silent, watching Rin. You’re hardly ever this close to him in school. You see him all the time because you like watching him, picking up on all of his little habits like the way he bites his pen when he’s confused on a question. But you’re almost never this close to him. It feels unreal. 

“Don’t be like that,” Kenta says. “How are you going to get your own date with that kind of attitude?” 

Rin turns to leave, relieved. Not a single person in the room truly thinks Rin cares about prom. Kenta has avoided every topic Rin could actually be hurt over. 

But it’s a feint. The true cruelty comes now. Kenta’s good at that, waiting for just the right moment to maximize the power he holds over other people. 

Just as Rin is about to leave - his hand is already on the handle of the door - Kenta says, “If you can’t find a date, I could share with you. Wanna come with us?” 

Rin stops moving. He’s frozen at the door, the tops of his ears an angry red. It’s painfully obvious what Kenta’s doing. 

“Enough, Kenta,” you snap. “Do you ever shut up?”

It’s too little, too late. But for Rin, who will take anything he’s given with an obsessive lack of self-interest, it’s everything. 

Rin’s not at prom, so Kenta can run his mouth all he wants without anyone caring. He gets tired of the lack of reactions soon enough and switches to being tolerable again. He can be fun to be around when he’s not with Rin. 

The two of you are crowned Prom King and Queen, but the whole time, you’re thinking about how badly you wish Rin was here, making snarky comments under his breath. 

You go to the afterparty. It lasts until 3 am in the morning, when the coffee wears off and even the hardiest of partygoers are stumbling home, vomiting in bushes along the way. You can’t drive drunk, so you walk instead, letting your feet carry you. When you look up, you’re in front of a mansion instead of your little home. 

Rin opens the door for you within a minute of texting him. 

“You smell like beer,” he says, his nose wrinkled. “If you have to drink, can you at least drink something classy?”

“Not all of us have money like you, Rin-Rin,” you tell him. It’s so easy to be affectionate with liquid courage in your system. Impulsively, you tug him in for a hug. He steadies you as you climb up the stairs together, a four legged beast. 

“My brother’s home,” he whispers. “We have to be quiet.” 

Rin lets you change into his clothes. He sneaks into his mother’s room and steals a pack of makeup wipes to do his best at getting you ready for bed. You curl into a ball, purposefully teasing to make his life harder. 

Rin huffs, but he’s gentle with you, even if he chides you for it. He finally gives up on your mascara when you pull on his sleeve so hard his forehead crashes into your shoulder. You don’t relent even as he makes a startled noise of pain, wrapping yourself around him. 

He’s strong, you know. You can feel it. There’s muscle all along his back, shoulders and thighs from football. But despite it all, you want to tuck Rin into your heart and hide him from the world. Feeling ridiculously protective, you pepper his face with kisses, trailing across the bridge of his nose and cheeks. 

“I love you,” he says. It takes a lot of bravery for him to say that. 

“Yeah,” you tell him, pressing close. Closer. Like you can be a part of him. Like your bodies can just go back to a time before they were separate, blurring the lines between you like they never existed. “I love you, too.”

You can say it because you’re leaving. 

You want to be what he needs. But you can’t. So you let it fizzle out. 

Sometimes, when it’s quiet and you can’t smoke any more cigarettes because you’ll develop a real nicotine addiction that’ll scare your mother into an early grave, you’ll wonder why he didn’t want you enough to follow. That had to have been it, because there’s no other explanation. 

It’s unfair. It’s cruel. It’s petty. 

But you want it anyway, because you’re an unfair and cruel and petty person. 

Rin’s like a greyhound. The way he moves is pure elegance, like that breed’s loping gait. A greyhound is happiest doing what it's meant to do, just like Rin is happiest playing football. It would be happy running even if its heart was giving out in the meantime. 

Rin’s like that, too. He never knew how to do things in half measures, which was why he kept to himself so terribly. If he didn’t, he’d go around spilling his love all over the place. There wouldn’t be a single dead flower for as far as the eye could see, everything set abloom by what he could give. 

It would be a beautiful world if that happened, everything touched by Rin’s love, which could be so wide and all-encompassing it could make up for anything else, but it would leave nothing left for him. 

He doesn’t have enough for everyone. It would leave him too cracked open. Instead, Rin carefully picks what he gives his miraculous attention to. Horror movies. Football. You. 

Rin’s a hound. He needs something to chase. He’d follow it loyally until his legs gave out, and then he’d crawl after it, his tail wagging happily. You can’t bear your own imagination, seeing Rin grateful for scraps of what he deserved. He would always be too good for this town. 

That’s his one flaw, and you can’t even hold it against him. You still think of it and him fondly, the way he sank his teeth into what he loved and couldn’t let go even if it killed him. 

But he let go of you. 

Rin was the better of the two of you. He always had been. And now there was no two of you. It was just you, which was terrible because there was no worse person to be stuck with for the rest of your life but yourself. 

There was a pervasive iniquity to you that other people could smell. It was inescapable. Something about you had been fundamentally off from the moment you were born, and it was too late to do anything about it. 

But not for Rin. 

Rin will be okay. 

Even if he’s a little shy at first, he has this earnest sweetness that makes people want to love him. He makes it so easy. 

You never learned how to do that. 

At your core, you’re a rotten apple. You don’t know why you’re unlovable, you just know you are. If you didn’t maintain your carefully crafted public persona at all times, you would just die. 

Except you don’t. 

The end of high school doesn’t feel momentous, even in the moment. It just occurs, like everything else in your life. None of it mattered in the end. Everyone went their separate ways, and all the effort you had put into making people love you died with a whimper. You think about starting over in college, but somehow it feels exhausting. You don’t think you have it in you anymore. 

It’s not that your desire to be well-liked has died down. If anything, it rages hotter than ever. You return to past conversations over and over again, trying new phrases out so the next time you’ll sound wittier. You fantasize endlessly about how you could earn their love back. 

On good days, you think there’s so much inside of you, all you have to do is show them. You’re special. You can make them realize it with only a little bit of time and effort. On bad days, you’re afraid that you’re empty inside. It’s true. You really do have nothing to offer, and everyone can see it. You’re a bad person. You deserve to be unhappy. 

You were never like this before. 

That’s not true. 

You lie to yourself a lot these days. You were, but somehow you hid it better. You don’t remember how to anymore. Your neuroticism makes it impossible to socialize. It’s all you can manage to just go to parties and get raging drunk. Perhaps it’s the only thing that’s special about you now, drinking as much alcohol as you can without throwing it all up. 

You’re only here for the free drinks, you tell yourself, even as you watch the crowd. You heard the football team is here. They’re popular. Your college does well with football. It reminds you of highschool, a little bit. Someone passes you a drink with an ice cube shaped like a football. They’re celebrating something or the other, a victory you had heard about in passing. 

You wonder if Rin is enjoying football at his college. 

A boy in your philosophy class you know as Isagi yells over the noise. “Get my man another beer! He deserves it after tonight!” 

As if thinking about him summoned him, the crowd parts just right so you can see a familiar face. Isagi thumps Rin on the back, who bears it with only a little grimacing.

You had always known Rin was worth something. Now other people know, too. You told him they would realize it immediately. 

While you’re looking, Rin catches you. 

He freezes stock-still. Around him, his team is still celebrating. A boy with a blonde undercut that contrasts his black hair chugs a beer and crumples the can against his forehead. Isagi is doing some sort of awkward dance with Chigiri, also from your philosophy class, their arms intertwined as their legs scramble to keep up. Rin is the eye of the hurricane, trembling as he looks back at you. 

You wonder if his heartbeat matches yours. You can hear it pounding in your ears. 

Taking a step towards him is the hardest thing you’ve ever done in your life. 

You realize that you’re worried Rin will ignore you. It would be fair. After all, it’s what you did to him throughout all of high school. You wouldn't even be mad if he did. 

Instead, as soon as you take the first step, Rin is striding across the room to you, leaving Isagi in his wake. 

His eyes are large and his pupils are blown out. You hope he isn’t on any substances. That would be terrible for his football career. You don’t think he would. He cares about his body too much. His body is, after all, a vehicle for his dreams. 

When he stops in front of you, his mouth works, but he has nothing to say. There’s a long moment where neither of you are able to speak. You’re not sure what to say to each other. An awkwardness that never existed between the two of you before has been born out of the time you haven’t been talking. 

“You look happy,” you finally say. He does. He looks really, really good. His skin glows with health - when had he learned to use moisturizer? He had always been fit, but he’s filled out a little more. It’s all lean muscle, giving him the athleticism of a cheetah. He’s gained an inch or two, which is negligible considering how tall he was originally. 

Do you look different? Can he tell?

“Um,” he says awkwardly. 

To be fair, you hadn’t given him a lot to work with. You look happy? How was he even supposed to respond to that?

“I didn’t know you were here,” he says. 

You flinch. Rin probably didn’t want to see you. After all, you had lost contact during high school. Maybe the sight of your face was a painful memory. Or, even worse, he didn’t care about you at all, he just didn’t want you there. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I wasn’t thinking. I can go-” 

“Don’t!” He grabs your arm. “I wasn’t saying- ugh.” 

His friends are around you now. Isagi tilts his head at you curiously. “You look familiar.” 

“She’s in philosophy with us,” Chigiri says. 

“Leave us alone,” Rin says. “Seriously, go away.” 

Isagi rolls his eyes. “Yeah, right. I’ve never seen you talk to a girl before.”

“Uh-huh!” The boy with the two-toned hair chimes in. “Who is she, Rin-Rin?” 

An unwelcome possessiveness surges up inside of you at the sound of your nickname for him in someone else’s mouth. 

“Come on,” Rin says, taking you by the wrist. It feels delicate in his hand, easily breakable. Even his grip feels stronger. 

For all their teasing, his friends don’t follow. They really do care about him. That’s good. 

“You’ve changed,” he says. You think he’s taking you to the kitchen, but he brings you up the stairs, instead. 

He’s wrong. Nothing’s changed, really. You were always a hard person to love, it’s just that now people seem to realize it. 

No. 

You’re done with dancing around the truth, lying even to yourself. Want, not love. 

You’re a hard person to want.

Meanwhile, everyone has discovered what you knew all along. Your hidden treasure isn’t yours anymore. 

Rin really found himself in college. Being the star athlete of the football team really seems to do that. He has friends now, too. His teammates seem to understand him, almost in the way you did, back then, except they never want to hide him away. He can be as prickly as he wants to, but they’ll never take it to heart. 

Life is just a series of realizing how wrong you were over and over again while realizing there’s nothing you can do to change it. 

You’re lonely. 

And your greatest fear is that you will always be lonely. 

Whether you’re surrounded by people at a party or sitting quietly on the bus by yourself, you can’t escape it. It’s bigger than you, a yawning maw inside of you that could consume everything you give it and still be ravenous. You’ve cut your bridges down for scrap wood just to feed the flames, but now standing with twigs in your hands, none of it feels worth it.

You’ll just go hungry. 

Why not, if the outcome is the same anyways? 

When he opens a door, it feels like you’re repeating a mistake that you started a long time ago. It’s a room that’s clearly his. 

“It’s messy,” he says a little self-consciously. “I wasn’t expecting anyone. Are you-?”

Out of habit, you’ve already started cleaning up. Kneeling on the ground with one of his dirty jerseys in your hands, peering up at him, something shifts in the air. The minute he starts laughing, you do, too. 

He points you towards the laundry basket and falls onto his bed. There’s an open bottle of water on the nightstand that he makes you drink before he lets you lie down with him. 

“I meant it,” you tell him, honest even though the pleasant buzz of alcohol is fading. It’s the least he deserves from you. “You look good.” 

He touches his hair, considering. “I didn’t do anything different.” 

It’s not him. It’s his environment. Rin thrives here. 

You always knew football would save him. 

“I don’t want to talk about me anymore,” he announces. “Why did you stop talking to me?” 

“I didn’t,” you say defensively. “I just kept forgetting to text.” 

“Bullshit,” he says. 

“My phone broke.” 

He sits up and fixes you with a blank stare. You’ve never been on the receiving end of one of his dirty looks before. It feels bad. 

“You can just say you don’t want to tell me, you know. I don’t want to hear lies.” 

“I’m sorry, Rin,” you say. “I don’t want to tell you.” 

You can’t confess what’s wrong with you because you don’t even know what’s wrong. Honestly, it would feel a little pathetic on your part to even tell him. You’re a shell of the person you were before, which is really saying something because the person you were before was already hollow. 

He has this stubborn look in his eyes that you can recognize. You’re afraid of it. You don’t want to be another Sae to him, another endless goal for him to chase without ever reaching. 

“I’m sorry, Rin.” 

“What are you apologizing for?” 

You don’t know either. 

“Just stay,” he says. “I don’t care anymore. You can have my room for the night.” 

The drinks are making you a little sleepy. It’s too easy for Rin to maneuver you under his covers. You used to be the one tucking him in, now he pulls the blankets over you. 

“Comfortable?”

Far from it. 

When Rin’s asleep, you sneak out of his room. It’s hard not to just fall into dreamland with him. His breathing could lull you to sleep if you weren’t trying to stay awake. 

Isagi catches you at the door. “Where’s Rin?” 

“Out cold.” 

He gives you a strange look that you can’t decipher. “Leaving so soon?” 

With the excuse that you have something to do, you creep back to your own dorms on the other side of campus, and wake to pounding on your door. 

Rin always chases. 

“I know you’re there!” He hollers, loud enough to piss off your neighbors. You rush to the door, already afraid of the texts you’ll be getting. 

“How did you know where I lived?” 

“Don’t be creeped out,” Rin says. You promise him you won’t be. “One of my friends saw you come in. He lives across the way. He texted me because he saw us together last night.” 

“Oh,” you say. “Tell him not to do that.” 

“I know,” Rin says. “He’s not a smart guy, but he means well. He didn’t realize. Can I come in?” 

“I don’t think you should.” 

“Please,” Rin says. “We can do it better this time.” 

You know you won’t, but you open the door for him anyway.

#sera writes #itoshi rin x reader #rin x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #itoshi rin angst

[tomgrcg]

we've learnt for a fact now that tom feels the full range of human emotions towards greg and that he can't let anyone in or he'll die. so how does he express his emotions? the only way he can let himself. he wants to be a specific kind of person, a roy, and how he is feeling and what he wants to do does not fit in with how these people behave. he doesn’t do it because it’s natural. he does it because he has to. he throws insults at it and tries to wrestle it to the ground but it feels weak because his heart isn’t in it.

neither greg or tom are like the roys at their core. they weren’t raised in it. there are moments of real happiness for the two of them when they’re alone and can just be themselves. there's something different in their relationship dynamic here than the relationships the siblings have. it doesn’t feel as bittersweet because they aren’t as fundamentally broken.

tom is more guarded, of course, he’s received some emotional damage from shiv so he always says or does something to keep greg just far enough away. he’s learnt vulnerability is dangerous. every time he tries to show shiv that he loves her she makes him feel like he’s done it wrong. this season he started behaving in a way that would get through to her but that didn’t feel good to him either, didn’t save him from being fired, nothing.

shiv needed the kind of love tom gave her the same way tom needs what greg gives him. but the difference is tom is more capable of accepting love from people he cares about and wouldn’t hurt greg any deeper than a weak insult, even if he could.

tom knows what it’s like to have to beg for someone who is supposed to care about you to do something for you, so when greg asked if he could possibly save him from going to jail he says load me up without a second thought. he cares about greg’s feelings and would sacrifice something of his own for them and it’s this empathy that tom has that the roy family is lacking.

it’s not hard for tom to think to do something for another person for no reason other than it would make that person feel good. no quid pro quo. but even when tom does do something good for greg he 'can’t stand the good feeling he’s engendered' because he feels like he shouldn’t be doing nice things for no reason.

the nero and sporus scene was tom telling greg he cares about him at all and “come with me, sporus?” was the marriage proposal. greg asks what’s in it for him because that’s how greg works and tom has to say “who has ever looked out for you” instead of “i want you with me”. tom cannot let him know the depth of how he feels so he lets greg think he's using him for something and only merely tolerates him, like everyone else does.

and then, because greg still doesn’t get it, or is choosing to ignore it, tom has to yell “not samson! i want you gregging for me!" he still can’t say the real reason why. the only time he’s shown his real emotions to greg is when he’s alone in a room and greg can’t see his face through the phone.

it's not a perfect relationship. it's not supposed to be. that's why it's so compelling. it’s please don't be better than me i can't stand it but i love you. it’s i’m using you to get somewhere in the world but i’ll still look after you even when i don’t need to anymore. (villainfvcker made a great post about this.)

i’m writing this after episode eight, and if they’re going all the way with greg’s transformation into a roy family member and he betrays tom in some way, it will be another case of a succession character destroying the only real connection they have for some kind of power, and regretting it later.

if anything at all, we know tom really does love greg, and that’s a satisfying enough tomgreg endgame for me, personally.

#the show is so ambiguous with people's intentions that it's easy for me to feel validated in this interpretation #tomgreg #tom wambsgans #greg hirsch #i won't be upset if nothing else happens now #my poor stupid babies i love u and am the same as you #i have kind of a neurodivergent read on the both of them so that's where a lot of this behaviour interpretation comes from #they're just trying to fucking fit in dude it's so sad #i had to write all of this down i need it out of my brain so i can think again #succession meta #i love you tom wambsgans

[shini--chan]

I really like your ~Cantin~ story with the dark Canada. It's my favorite! Can you write please what will be next when the reader wrestle the phone from him and trying to call Alfred for help. Maybe with a little bit yandere Alfred too. Thanx and sry for bad English!

Of course, let’s see what will come of this. And darling, your English is better than you probably think ;D

Yandere Canada - Sanctimonious

Your body simply moved of its own accord. Maybe it was the hope that hadn’t died already, maybe it was pettiness and you just wanted to see Willams suffer; either way, you found yourself lunging at the phone in his hand. Although surprised, your false lover managed to side step your attack and the unstopped momentum sent you sprawling in the snow to the side of the snow. 

Spluttering, you spat out snow that you had nearly swallowed and shook your head to cast off the snow that had gotten caught in your hair and the outside of the scarf you were wearing. Sadly, some snow had slipped beneath your clothing - the uncomfortable cold was spreading across your neck and chest and your calves. However, you had bigger fish to fry - there was a phone you had to get your hands on. 

Quickly you scrambled to your feet and lunged again, this time managed to get your hands on his arm and then his wrist. Fruitlessly, he tried to keep the phone to his ear but finally saw that he wouldn't be able to simply ignore you for much longer. 

“A moment Al, gotta take care of something”, he quickly shouted in the speaker and then grasped your wrist. The phone was held high in the air and with him being taller than you there wasn’t really a chance of you grabbing it from him. 

So you did the next best thing that came to mind - kicked him in the kneecap. You didn’t care which knee you had damaged, or how much damage you had inflicted. The only thing that mattered was that the hand went down and you could pry the phone from his grip. Turning around, you set off into a light jog and put the phone to your ear. 

“Hello, hello! I need help, sir”, you hissed into the phone. 

“Jeez, who are you kid, and why do you have Mattie’s phone?”, came an enthusiastic voice from the other end. American, judging by the accent. Matthew had told you he had a brother but this couldn’t possibly be him. What sense did it make to have a blood brother that was of another nationality? Difficult parents could be a reason but it would be unlikely. 

“I was kidnapped by Matthew Williams and am being held against my will. He claims to love me, but it can’t be love since… since I’m just his captive and plaything that he uses as he pleases. Please, please sir, you have to help you”, you pleaded into the phone, tears welling up in your eyes. 

There were a few moments of silence on the other end and hopefully it was because he was thinking of how he could rescue you. To your horror and confusion, however, the pause was ended by laughter. 

“You must be the one that stole Mattie’s heart. Christ, I can see why he loves you - so polite and still feisty. I’m even tempted to steal you to have you all for myself, but don’t tell him that”, he remarked once he managed to calm down a bit. 

“What the blazes do you mean? You have to…”

“Not so quick kiddo. I don’t have to do anything and since you’ve stopped being so nice, I sure am hell not gonna do that now. Not that I intended to do anything really before, but that is besides the point

“The point here is, that while Mattie and I have some fundamental differences, at the root we are cut from the same cloth. So sweetie, I can’t say that I would have done anything different than my bro. We talk, y’know, so I’m completely in the know of what is going on between you two love birds. Hell, he even asks me for advice on how to handle you. 

“So let me give you a tip, for free ‘cuz it’s you: Just give in and it will be all smooth sailing. Don’t make it more difficult than it already is.”

#yandere hetalia #yandere canada #x reader #yandere x reader

[zweetpea]

Chapter 4 The Present TBRAHE

Turns out quite bad. Suguru Geto is quite bad. How do you know? Because the first thing he said to you once you two sat down for tea together is…

“Don’t worry I don’t have any of them lurking around.” He spoke those words so calmly. 

“What?” You replied. 

“Monkeys.” His smile held no animosity towards you. It was scary how serene this should have felt. His estate was Neolithic, but not necessarily in a bad way. Koi ponds and tatami mats instead of rose gardens and Victorian tea furniture. It left you with a comforting feeling; however, that was quickly negated by Suguru’s strange comments. “Honestly I don’t know how Satoru could choose one of them over his sorceress wife. Even if your marriage isn’t happy he should at least be with another one of our kind.”

“Woah, woah, woah. Slow down, what are you talking about?”

“Oh that’s right, you don’t know what I call them. I’m talking about Non Sorcerers. I don’t associate with them.” Suguru’s smile was relaxed, it… scared you for a reason you couldn’t quite pin. 

“Why not? What do you mean by monkeys.” 

“They’re not the same species as us.” 

“They’re human!” You try to reason. 

“So, what are we? Freaks? Monsters?”

“We’re sorcerers, but we’re still fundamentally human. We’re not much different if you think about it. We bleed the same. We fear like they do. We love the same way they do. Why do you hate them?” 

“Why do you love them?” 

“My best friend is a non sorcerer. She’s the most important person in my life. When my mother died she held my hand. When my father remarried she stayed up all night with me trying to figure out if she was a good match for him. And when both her and my little sister died in birth she dropped everything to stay by my side, every second I needed her.”

“That’s nice, but how many curses has she killed.” 

“…what…?”

“Sorcerers are the only ones who can kill curses.” 

“That’s not true. We put energy into objects, non sorcerers can use cursed weapons. That’s actually what I came here to talk about.” 

“The Zenin act. That’s why you came here?” He chuckled. “How many of them would be willing to die for us? Sorcerers have been fight on this war for months because of the advancing forces of Ryomen Sukuna and his general Mahito. What have the mere humans been doing?” 

“Farming! You know, to feed the army.” You say sarcastically.

“That’s something other sorcerers could do. The “Humans” aren’t particularly unique in skill sets. They have nothing a sorcerer couldn’t do.” 

“That doesn’t mean that they can’t be useful. The Zenin Act has merely stopped them from providing that they are just like us. Suguru, they aren’t different from us. Please, help me overturn it.” 

“Prove it. You said you have a monkey friend. Prove that your friend can be of some use. Even if she’s only good for being a clown.” 

“Fine, come over tomorrow at noon and I’ll show you how incredible non sorcerers can be. I hope you have the day you deserve, Suguru Geto.” You said as you mounted your horse. 

Once you arrived back at the palace you untack Pendragon and walk into your rose garden only to see carpenter and gardener running amuck in the place and your Shuttlecock of a husband overlooking them. 

“Satoru! What are you doing?” He looked over as you shouted at him, his familiar eye cover graced your sights. 

“Don’t worry. I’m not taking anything away. I… I’ve been feeling bad about what I did to you. I shouldn’t have brought Marissa here on our anniversary. I thought… maybe I could do something to make it up to you. So I asked Addison for some advice on a gift and she said that you love the little snake thing I gave you. Therefore I thought of combining three of your favorite things, your roses, quality time with Addison and the snake, and I decided to make a… pet play place thing, with a lounge for you ladies… I don’t know… it sounded better in my head.” 

“Oh… um… thank you. I honestly thought that you hated me and wouldn’t ever give me anything.” 

“I don’t hate you. I just can’t say that you’re the love of my life.” He looked away bashfully. “I do want this to work out. Admittedly you are a better ruler than me. I’d be lost without you so, I’ve wanted to do something for a while to thank you but I’ve been… busy.” 

“With her?” 

“…yeah, sorry.” 

“Can we get some more yellow roses? And maybe some more pink ones too?” 

“Oh uh, sure. I’ll order some.” 

“Thank you Satoru.” You smiled softly. This was definitely the first time you’ve ever smiled at your husband. 

He’d never tell you, and you’d never know but that one small gesture sent him spiraling. He wanted more, he needed to see that small smile more. Being spoiled as a child taught him that as long as he threw enough money at the problem he could have whatever he wanted. That smile reassured him of that philosophy. 

“I’ve got to go now. Suguru is coming tomorrow and Addie and I have to prepare.” What have you gotten yourself into. You’ve let tantalus eat from the tree and now he longs harder for what’s been snatched from him.

You explained what happened that afternoon to Addison and she looked worried. “Hey cheer up.” You wrap an arm around her. “You’re one of the most talented people I know. From cooking to ribbon dancing you can do it all.” 

“Well, you’ve always funded my endeavors. I have you to thank for all my skills.” She blushed. 

‘She’s so cute! I want to boop her nose! I wonder how she’d react!’ You thought excitedly at the image of her scrunched up face at the action then pouting at your teasing gesture. 

“(Y/n)? Ma’am? Are you listening?” She broke you out of your daydream and you ushered her out blushing madly at the thought she caught you in a vulnerable moment. 

The next day you found Addison rehearsing a routine and just decided to leave her alone. Marissa and Satoru were at breakfast and you took your food and left them alone, out of respect for Satoru. 

Your office felt quite lonely, until a small dragon snuck his way in through the window. He floats toward you and lands around yours neck. “Riko! My darling, how are you?” He licked your cheek. “You’ll keep me company surely?” He hopped off of you and rolled around on your desk. “Riko, I need to work. So please just sit and be good.” He hoped into you lap and settled down for a nap. His white scales and golden hair contrasted sharply against your long emerald dress. 

20 minutes later a knock on the door sounds. “My lady? May I come in please?” The voice wasn’t familiar to you. 

“Yes.” 

“Hello, please call me Chisa, that’s what all my friends call me.” He was 5’1, long black hair tied back in a ponytail, wisps of his bangs fell around his forehead, and dark red eyes pierced into your soul. He wore standard armor like the other guards. 

“Chisa: Small and precious. That’s certainly a fitting name.” He blushed at your compliment. “You wouldn’t happen to be the guard my father has arranged for me?” 

“Yes, sometime within the past week he sent you a letter yes? I’ve also been told that Duke Geto is here.” 

“To the garden!” You got up and ran out of the office with Riko and Chisa. 

The guest list went as follows: Satoru in a blue three piece suit, Marissa in a long lime green dress, Rachelle in standard maid outfit but with gold jewelry, and Suguru in a navy blue black kimono, with a gold and green sash around the middle. He looked more relaxed in those as opposed to the normal suits he wears at most of the events you’ve seen him at. 

The three of you entered, then Addison followed a few minutes later. She wore a white dress shirt and black pants. 

“Hello everyone.” She greeted. “I have a few things for you all.” She sets down a basket of cookies. “First some sweets I baked. Secondly, I have prepared a special show for Duke Geto.” 

A string quartet comes out and she started her dance. It starts out slow and quickly speeds up as she pulls out a ribbon and twirls it around. It’s like that ribbon was an extension of her own body. Eventually she whistled and Pendragon rides out towards her. She jumped on quickly and started trick riding. Finally she makes a flip and lands then bows as Chisa and I applauded. 

“Why does she get to ride that stupid horse?” Marissa whined 

“Because she’s my best friend, she has my permission to and always will.” You looked at her like she’s crazy. 

“Well, that was certainly quite the show. However, I’m not impressed.” Suguru looked away sadly. 

“Suguru, come on. I’m not even that close with the maid but I think she was incredible.” Satoru reasoned. 

“I don’t know. I think, if you really cared about your little monkey, you’d do just about anything for her.” 

“Don’t call her that.” You grit your teeth. 

“If you want me to sign the appeal of the Zenin Act, I want you to give your blessing to Satoru and his mistress. She makes him happy, so it doesn’t matter to me what she is.” 

“Fine. I’ll stop the animosity, go ahead and date her.” You responded. 

“(Y/n).” Addison called sympathetically. 

“I don’t know. I think that you should prove it.” Marissa smirked. “Give me your wedding ring.” 

“What? No, May May.” Satoru tried to stop her. 

“It’s fine Satoru. It’s just a chunk of metal.” You reason. You take it off and hand it to her. 

“Yay! Now we’ll match Ruru! I’m going to go get yours!” She hurried off. 

“I didn’t see that coming. Sorry.” Suguru apologized.

“Like I said, it’s a chunk of Metal. I’ll go to my office and get the papers. I’d like you both to sign them if that’s okay.” 

“Yeah.” Satoru nodded as you and your posse left. 

Riko ran off once you four were back inside. “You guys go bring the papers to the boys. I’ll go make sure he’s not causing trouble.”

You ran off in the direction of your dragon friend and once you found him you froze. Before the two of she was a blond woman in a long line green dress kissing a man who was not your husband. 

“Oh shit.” You whispered as you snuck away. 

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojou satoru x reader #genshin impact x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen satoru #satoru gojo #satoru x reader #satoru angst #gojo satoru x you #satoru x you #satoru x y/n #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #satoru gojo x you #gojo jjk #jujutsu gojo #satoru #satoru gojo x y/n #jjk x reader

[fandomiplier]

no closer could i be to god (or why he would do what he's done)

pairing: character study; no pairing

genre: angst; no comfort

warnings: blood, canon typical violence, intergenerational trauma, death

originally posted on ao3

hi everyone! i have been thinking a lot about bi-han's traumas with the lin kuei (and his father, more specifically) and wanted to write something about it. i literally took most of this out of my ass, so it's not canon compliant at all lmao. the title is from hozier's "de selby (part 1)", which was my soundtrack while writing this. hope you enjoy this angst train!

watching the snow is always a soothing experience. to bi-han, at least.

him, kuai liang and tomas have set camp in the middle of a forest, a few miles away from the ying fortress. the undercover part of the mission requires extreme carefulness, resulting in no light or heat sources of any kind, especially during nighttime. sitting in between the trees at the early hours of the morning, it’s bi-han’s turn to guard his brothers’ sleep. he knows both of them don’t mind the cold – especially kuai liang -, but bi-han can’t help but smirk at the thought that he’s the one awake when it starts to snow.

he doesn’t mind it. he did, once – but now, bi-han can’t tell how much of him is organic and how much of him is just ice in a human form. his powers are such a fundamental part of himself and how he interacts with the world around him, that remembering how things were before them just feels uncomfortable and incomplete. he recalls the nights spent under heavy snowstorms, blinded and hindered by the sheer force of it. he recalls seeing the look on his mother’s face once his father began his training – well, the cryomancer training at least.

he does not remember this first lin kuei training, a distant and foggy memory he often recalls solely due to his mother’s accounts. bi-han does not remember being anything before he became a fighter. his first memories are mostly training ones, and thinking about them is often unpleasant. remembering his weakness is not the type of reminiscing he enjoys; dwelling on past mistakes does him no good when he can’t become better from them. there is nothing else to improve by thinking about his childhood, so he doesn’t.

he does remember his first cryomancer training. he had just turned 16 and his father had just returned from a mission. he remembers the look on the old man’s face once he entered their home, after the usual medical check-up and mission report. his father was equal parts terrifying and severe – and seeing the almost malicious look in his eyes is something that stills haunts bi-han, as much as he tries to evade the memory. he knew what turning 16 meant; he always knew, he was being trained for this exact moment all his life. bi-han had never been anything but resigned and reliable, both to his father and to the lin kuei. he knew it would happen eventually – and would gladly die in the middle of the storm if it meant honoring both his family and his clan.

without a word, his father guided him to the backdoor of the house, opening it. the exit led to a forest, much like the one bi-han sits now. and, without a thought, bi-han left the warmth and walked aimlessly for five days in the middle of a snowstorm.

he remembers every single second of those days. he recalls the feeling of hopelessness that arose once he realized he could no longer find his house. he recalls the excruciating pain in every inch of his body, both from hypothermia and from the walk. he remembers the delirious visions he endured, the wolf he had to kill in order to eat and survive. the rules were clear: no fire, no shelter. meat was eaten raw and bloody and warmth was not an option, not even from the skin and fur he removed from the animal. he remembers the sound of the wind, the cracking of the trees. he recalls the wetness of his pants and shoes, buried so deep in the snow he could barely feel them after a couple of hours.

he recalls collapsing after the third day, feeling every single snowflake that covered his skin before passing out.

his body was found on the fifth day, under a thick layer of snow. he woke up three days later, in one of the rooms on the medical pavilion of the lin kuei temple. his mother sat by his bed, a thick coat covering her frame. bi-han didn’t understand at first – the place felt incredibly warm, almost uncomfortably hot; she would have no reason to wear such a garment indoors. and then he realized the heavy condensed puffs of air that left his mouth with every breath, along with the delicate ice formations that covered almost every single part of the room, from the bedframe to the walls. worse, he could somehow feel every single part of that ice, almost as if they were extensions of his own body. he realized he could move them, if he focused for long enough, stretching up to the ceiling or recoiling to just the bedframe. it felt wonky, like a broken member – he could feel it, but controlling and moving felt painful.

this memory in particular amuses him. it not only shows him the obvious – he has drastically improved his skills since then, becoming the cryomancer the clan needed -, but the fact that he survived all that time in the cold with no aid or protection showed him how strong he actually was. it showed him that, even in the most adverse situations, fighting against mother nature itself, bi-han could and would rise victorious, no matter the cost. mastering ice was a natural, almost logical consequence of his existence; bi-han does not dwell on subjectivities or emotion and prides himself in his practicality and logic. his ego is often fed by the fact that he knows he’s good in every single thing he does – and that very few, almost none carry the same strength, resilience and greatness as he does.

bi-han is aware, however, that his father would never be satisfied. in his eyes, bi-han was not and would never be enough – and bi-han knew that. he was acutely aware of the critical stare the man always sported and the disdain in his voice every time he interacted with bi-han. being the eldest son taught him that praise and affection were achieved through servitude and resignation; and even when he worked his hardest and pushed past every single limit, the praise he craved deep down was still uncertain. even in death, bi-han knows every single situation his father would’ve criticized his choices, down to the exact words he would’ve used. always the same tone, always the same phrases.

in the years preceding the old man’s death, bi-han became aware of the patterns. he always knew them, at least subconsciously, but they only became notable once he actively looked for it. bi-han knew how and what and when he would say something, almost like a script from a play. it became predictable and, therefore, able to be used as leverage. bi-han couldn’t openly confront his father, he was still grandmaster of the lin kuei after all. but he could make sure the man ate his words every time he opened his mouth – and that felt enough of a victory as he could achieve at the time.

he does not dwell on their last conversation. he does not feel guilty for their last encounter.

he does feel guilty for not seeing his mother in her last moments, however. the news of her passing was delivered to him upon return from a mission, along with kuai liang. even then, bi-han knew he could and would not grieve her as she deserved – the clan needed a strong figure to support his father and kuai liang and tomas needed someone to lean on. he knew he would never be able to properly express how important she had always been during his upbringing and how much of her heart he still carries to this day. every single memory he has of her is crystalized in time inside his mind, secretly treasured like a hidden chest of precious jewelry.

kuai liang is terribly like her, in the best and worst ways possible. he has the strong sense of justice and rebellion that she did – a fierce and strong warrior, capable of the most amazing accomplishments he’s ever heard of. his mother was fire itself: bright and brilliant and terribly passional. unchecked, his mother could devour entire villages all by herself. as much as mastering ice was his own nature, mastering fire was kuai liang’s. as much as becoming grandmaster was his destiny, becoming the lin kuei’s general was kuai liang’s.

bi-han notices the sky beginning to brighten. if they lifted camp now, they would probably arrive at ying fortress before dawn.

duty called – and, once again, the lin kuei rose to the challenge.

at least, for now.

(c) fandomiplier. do not repost.

#mortal kombat #sub zero #bi han #kuai liang #mk1 #kuai liang mk1 #bi han mk1 #autistic bi han #bc i will die on this hill #tomas vrbada #smoke #mortal kombat 1 #subzero mk1 #scorpion mk1 #smoke mk1

[prismaticpichu]

If you’re someone out there who enjoys my writing—enjoys anything that I do with my words or prose or style—I feel there’s something you oughta know!

I would not be anywhere without the incredible authors I took inspiration from.

I’m admittedly still a wee lad trudging through high school, and I still gotta whole lot to learn! And I’m gonna have fun on that journey. But I legit think I’ve absorbed and learned more from reading all these gifted works more than the lessons we were taught over the years. Ofc, the fundamentals were taught there—teaching me the rules before I could break them. But it was these people that taught me how to break those rules and how to do them effectively. And when you’re a writer, I find, there is no better learning experience than reading words on a page!

My style really seems to be an amalgamation of so many different things and people—prolly a lot of subliminal stuff, too. Though I feel like there’s at least two I gotta give HUGE hugs to for being so influential <3

~

LuckyLadybug on FF.Net! ~ Literally the first ever FF7 fics I’ve ever read. Literally the sole reason I love Zack & Sephiroth’s friendship. Her fics are absolutely legendary, all written in a very consistently clean and swift style. It’s not an overload on sensory detail, but it also ain’t choppy in the slightest. It really does strike that perfect balance of rhythmic and simple that I always try to fall back on when I find myself getting too flowery! It’s a real life savor—for real! And speaking of For Reals, almost everything I craft about Zack & Sephiroth’s relationship stems from the bond she created. I learned so much about how to make emotional, powerful scenes that really can convey just how much people can platonically love each other. She’ll always be the true power of friendship queen! And the best Zack & Sephiroth author I’ve ever had the honor of reading.

@altocat! ~ Oh boy… there is SO much to say xD Where to even start? While Ladybug was the foundation of my little fanfic quest, I don’t think there’s a soul who helped me build and evolve more than Alto’s works. Because if you aren’t aware, this goddess is just an artist with words. We’re talking the most vivid and powerful imagery you can imagine! Imagery that was so powerful, in fact (and I don’t think she even knows this lol!), that at least a solid year of my works fall into this Altocat-emulating-esque era. Never with the intention to copy, of course, but to try my hand at creating prose that was rich in rhythm, language, and meaning. And while I think I did take this WAY too far sometimes (I can say that bc I’m the author- and I know what just sounds unreadable in retrospect xD), but it was part of the learning process. And one I’m still in the middle of today. For more context, Alto was also the one who taught me the value of fragments and isolating words for emphasis. That something concise could be powerful. Beautiful. Beatiful and valuable. Like words that mirror the characters’ quickened heart rates as their thoughts begin to splinter and spiral and how to wield syntax in a way that’s both enjoyably breathless and taut with anxiety at the same time. I learned how to imbue emotion to my work and peel it back so it’s pure and raw. Altocat is an absolute MASTER of angst, and while I used to write relatively “dark” things, I don’t think I really ever got them right until readings AMT’s (see this! for more details on that gem). In a similar vein, she also taught me the kind of impact that beginning and ending lines can have—how to not waste them and how they can circle back to each other in clever and gorgeous ways. I learned the importance of diction from her work; I learned the meaning of SO many new words lol; I learned how to make dialogue just a tad more interesting. Overall, really, I think Alto really did teach me how to write in a lot of ways. At least, in the sense of taking a step that I had no idea was in front of me. A step I didn’t know existed, because I really never saw more beautiful craft in my life.

Anywho! I think I’m rambling a bit x,D I hope I didn’t embarrass you, my friend. Or weird you out lol!!! I was just doing some reflecting, really, and I just needed you to know how impactful your fics have been to me. And you have no flipping idea how honored I am to know you as a mutual <3 Ty for everything ❤️ Ty for being you!!

(For reference, this is why I always say to NEVER underestimate the kind of impact your works may have on people. No matter how small or how insignificant you think they may be. Because who knows??? Maybe you’ll end up changing a life, too <33)

~

Thx for listening to this spiel, folks!!! Much love!! <33

#was gonna have a little evolution post of my writing (from the very first Pokémon fic I wrote 6 years ago) to today #but i’ma little sleepy and I’ll fish through those files another time! #pichu writing #ff7 #beautiful authors #<33333 #fanfic #writing #sorry alto LOL #much love!

[gold-rhine]

Guili Plains: the sitcom

In which Cloud Retainer forces Morax to choose superior invention at gun point and he chooses a gun, Yaksha siblings have to deploy Xiao’s secret power while being caught between a rock and a dust goddess, and Guizhong invents a music machine which can bring tears even to the eyes of Lord of Geo.

Characters: Morax, Guizhong, Cloud Retainer, Xiao, Bosacius, Bonanus, Indarias, Menogias

Warnings: none, safe for view, Morax and Guizhong could be read as either platonic or married for 300 years. 2023 Lantern Rite spoilers I guess?

Kinda part 2 of this fic , but can be read as stand alone. Pure fluff and comedy.

..... I .....

“Ah,” Morax said, very carefully and prepared himself for the tough conversation when he saw his two friends this evening. He knew a storm approaching even before the thunder hit. “And to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I don’t have anything to say about the farce she proposes,” Guizhong said in a tone that suggested she actually had quite a lot to say.

Cloud Retainer ignored this statement, but her eye twitched.

“We seek your council to use your authority as our arbiter to resolve the argument of whose mechanical creation is more superior.”

“You do,” Guizhong said immediately. “I do not. I *know* I’m better.”

Morax blinked, slowly considering his next words.

“Did it not occur to you that I… uh, am not so well versed in the art of engineering as both of you are?”

“Yes, that’s the entire point of her bringing in an ignorant layman as an authority,” Guizhong said. “She plans to impress, no, to *bamboozle* you with the unnecessary complexity of her plans, so that you’ll naively name her the best engineer.” 

“One thinks that Rex Lapis, as the most spiritually in touch with our nation, should be the one to realize which invention connects to it’s traditions.”

Morax blinked again.

“You’re doing your lizard thing,” Guizhong said. “With the slow, but repetitive blinking, not with the tail. You’re stressing him out, Cloud Retainer.”

He was too sober for this.

“Ladies, would you like to have a refreshment drink?” he said, walking up to a table with a wine decanter and filling up the cups.

“Sure,” said Guizhong. “I’ve been too sober for this for at least the last hour.”

Cloud Retainer squinted at him and said, “One might prefer to excuse herself from the festivities.”

“Oh, are you still not over his square cups?” Guizhong said, picking hers up and rolling her eyes. “Come on!”

“One just thinks that it is highly unusual to...“ Cloud Retainer glanced at him, cut herself off with a fake cough, fixed her glasses and continued. “It bears no importance. But back to the matter, allow one to introduce you to one’s humble invention, which represents a pinnacle of form and function that a loom can ever achieve...“

She was unrolling the scrolls with design on the table while Guizhong elbowed Morax and whispered conspiratorially “Psst. I have snacks. Do you want me to bring them out so you can pull out square plates too?”

“Is it Mora meat?” he asked back in a same hushed voice.

“Yeah.”

“No. This pettiness would be unbecoming of us.”

Guizhong narrowed her eyes, “You just don’t want me to eat my lowly mora meat with your fancy wine. You know what, you deserve her snobbery for your snobbery.”

“... And this is why it’s obvious that intricacy of one’s design is clearly superior to ballista's simpleton construction,“ Cloud Retainer was gesturing at her scrolls. “Though for the sake of fairness we should give Guizhong opportunity to present herself.“

“No need, I’ve heard quite a lot about it,“ Morax said and Guizhong huffed. She downed her wine in one gulp like a shot (Morax winced) and stepped up to Cloud Retainer.

“You know what’s your problem? You fundamentally misunderstand the true purpose of engineering. You think you’re better by the virtue of making your designs so complex and intricate that no one can repeat them, but it is in fact the opposite. Good engineering is about perfecting and simplifying the design until it can be easily used, maintained, replicated or upgraded by others. My ballista is so simplified on purpose, so that even someone untrained like him”, Guizhong pointed at Morax, who almost choked on the wine he was sipping, “would be able to fix and use it if needed with the minimal information he’s got from listening to me rumble. We make these machines for the PEOPLE, Cloud Retainer, not for bragging about how unique and intricate you can make your gears.“

Cloud Retainer pursed her lips and said, ice cold and glaring daggers over the edge of her glasses.

“One believes we’ve heard enough. It is time for you to name the winner, Lord Morax.“

“Oh, just name her and let’s be done with it. I don’t know why I’m wasting my time trying to explain the ethos of good design while all this arrogant bird wants is a meaningless stroke to her ego.“

Morax finished his wine, put the square cup down carefully and met Cloud Retainer’s eyes.

“If you demand me to choose, I will have to choose ballista.“

“What? Preposterous!“

“Yeah, of course he chose right winner for the wrong reasons.“

“We’re at war, Cloud Retainer,“ he said calmly. “Obviously, our nation would presently benefit more from a weapon than a loom. I don’t know what you expected me to do.“

“One expected you to have a better judgement, but perhaps one was mistaken indeed.“

Morax took a deep breath.

“Would you like some snacks?“ he finally said pleasantly and conjured a square plate.

..... II .....

“So, what is so urgent that we’ve been summoned for?“

Bosacius held up all four of his arms in a shrug in answer to Menogias, who just joined a group and tried to keep with a quick pace, but look dignified at the same time.

“Would’ve told you already if I knew. I was only told to assemble everyone and get to Rex Lapis’ tent as quickly as possible.“

“Was there an invasion?“ Bonanus speculated, tucking a strain of blue hair behind her horns in a worry. “Why else would Lord Morax need all of us at once?“

“A couple of us would be enough to handle a simple conflict on the borders. No, it must be a new hostile god at least!” Indarias said. “Ah, I hope he’s flammable, I’m tired of the wet aquatic freaks that you can’t even set on fire.” 

Alatus pursed his lips and shot Indarias a disapproving glare. ”Our duty is no laughing matter.”

She chuckled and ruffled his hair. “Oh, cheer up, little one, it wouldn’t kill you to have some fun once in a while.”

Alatus bristled in indignation, but before he could answer, they’ve reached the tent and muffled sounds of heated argument from within stopped any attempt at bickering. Everyone looked at Bosacius. He sighed and stepped first inside of the tent.

“... solutely ridiculous and I would not stand for you treating me like I’m some helpless useless... What is that?“

Guizhong and Morax turned when Bosacius appeared. He gave a ceremonial bow, looking pointedly away.

“My Lord. My Lady.“

The rest of yakshas entered the tent and stood in what was less of a military line and more of a group huddled behind Bosacius wide back.

“Generals,“ Morax said calmly. “You are to follow lady Guizhong on her mission and ensure her safety.“

“Oh, for fuck’s sake... All five of them?! I’m going on a scouting trip, not to declare a war!“

“You’re going into what is basically a hostile territory, hence even the need for ballista there.“

“So? I can take care of myself, I don’t need five yaksha generals babysitting me. They can do something more important.“

“Your safety is of the outmost importance.“

“You are so stubborn about the stupidest things sometimes! General, you have to agree that escort of all yakshas at once is a dumbass idea?”

Bosacius startled, being suddenly put on the spot. Bonanus made a squeaky noise behind his back. Menogias grunted, Indarias fire crackled in agitation. He could feel the stares of all of them at the back of his head. Bosacius looked from indignant Guizhong to Morax, who did not look like he was open to criticism.

“My Lady,“ he said diplomatically. “We yakshas are a simple folk, born for battles. We are soldiers, give us orders and we will fight to death, but I certainly could not hope to give any valuable input into your strategizing decisions.“

Yakshas behind his back breathed out in unison.

“Wow, you really are turning into a tyrant,“ Guizhong said to Morax, who raised an eyebrow in a expression that usually stopped all arguing, but she proceeded without missing a beat. “Even your strongest generals are afraid to voice their opinion.”

“Enough! I’m leaving and i’m leaving *alone*,“ she turned to yakshas and gave them a narrowed look. “And if someone tried to follow me, I would like them to consider that being crushed by a stone spear is a quick and easy death, but dying from chocking on dust is a very slow and painful torture.“

She stormed out of tent. Bosacius looked at Morax.

“Follow her,“ the geo lord said calmly. Bonanus squeaked urgently, Menogias rumbled and elbowed Bosacius.

“Um,“  Bosacius said. “As my Lord commands. I would just like to mention that it might be hard for us to ensure Lady’s safety while choking on dust.“

“Follow her stealthily,“ Morax said after a pause.

“Um,” Bosacius started saying. Morax folded his arms and narrowed his eyes.

“Sure,” Bosacius said quickly. “Of course. Stealth is my middle name. I’m barely noticeable in broad daylight.” 

“Ugh, I HATE being caught in the middle of family scandals!“ Indarias grumbled when they all got out of tent.

“Don’t disrespect our Lord,“ Alatus said with a frown and had to dodge hair ruffling again.

“You’re lucky you’re so adorable, you tiny killjoy.“

“We could’ve maybe got out of it if it wasn’t for the incredible eloquence of  Bosacius. “UM,“ Menogias mimicked mockingly.

“Well I didn’t hear any of your famed eloquence at all.“

“I simply respected your right to speak as our supposed leader.”

“Oh, so you respect my right as a leader when it’s time to argue with Rex Lapis, but won’t stop backtalking for the rest of...“

“Guys, guys, we need to do something,“ Bonanus said, fidgeting with her arms. “We’re going to lose her if we waste any more time.“

“You’re right. Ugh, what to do...“ he turned to the anemo yaksha. “Alatus! You’re going first, because you’re the most... stealthy. We’ll follow closely.”

Smaller yaksha stepped up and nodded solemnly, but Bonanus moved to hug him protectively.

“What? No, we can’t endanger our little brother!“

“No, no, he’s right,“ Indarias said. “Guizhong won’t hurt him, he’s too small and cute!“

“Am not!“

“So this is your genius plan?“ Menogias folded his arms, lip curled sarcastically. “To rely on Alatus’ cuteness?“

“I am stealthy!“

“Well, we need SOME plan. I’d ask you for ideas, but we don’t have time to wait until you design all of us camouflage outfits.“

Girls gasped and looked at the geo yaksha. Menogias snarled and pointed his finger at Bosacius.

“I wouldn’t rely on you wearing shirt ever, you barbaric...“

“Boys!“

..... III .....

It was a beautiful summer day and Morax was sunbathing in his original dragon form. He enjoyed his humanoid shapes just fine, but nothing could beat the sensation of scales of a cold-blooded creature literally absorbing sunlight.

Everything was perfect. The wind was rustling in tall grass and carrying faint smell of glaze lilies, the sky was of that deepest dark blue color that it only gets on July middays with no shred of clouds in sight, birds were chirping, Guizhong was sitting next to him, leaning against his side and fussing with her latest project. She would mutter under her breath things like “soulless music... I’ll show her soulless music...” or “elitist conservative snobs...” or sometimes move his tail to get to one of her wrenches or scrolls, but he was used to this and so it didn’t deter him from slowly dazing off. 

He was almost completely asleep when the loudest most agonizing noise startled him awake. It was the worst sound he’s ever heard in all thousands of years he’s lived, it somehow combined mechanical screeching, excruciating wheeze of nails dragged on glass and also deep low reverberating bong.

He flew up, ready to end the misery of whatever abomination was making this wail, but the horizon was clear. The sound stopped as abruptly as it started.

“It worked!“ Guizhong yelled excitedly from the ground.

“What worked?“

“My bell!“ she presented what indeed looked like a metallic bell, beaming proudly. Morax blinked and carefully landed next to her.

“You mean you made a thing that makes *this sound*... on purpose? Are you inventing torture devices now?“

“No, don’t be silly! It will be an instrument that will be able to compose and perform beautiful music! Eventually. Of course it needs work first, I will be tuning it in, but the important breakthrough is that it can make sounds by itself!“

Morax blinked and shrugged, which in his current form looked like a ripple, started curling back into position he had before he was so rudely woken up, and then froze in the middle of a movement, glancing at Guizhong sharply.

“For how long will it keep making these kinds of noises before it can play beautiful music?“

She opened her mouth, closed it, chewed on her lip with her eyes darting.

“Oh well, you know, it’s hard to say exactly... Oh! Do you maybe want some wine?”

“I will have to ban this, for the safety of the nation. And perhaps, the entirety of  Teyvat.”

“It won’t be *that long*, come on! Do you want snacks with that wine? I’ve got some fancy snacks, not just mora meat!” 

“They locked the knowledge of less torturous weapons in the abyss, Guizhong.“

“Ah, come on, don’t be melodramatic, drink your wine, it will be fiiiiine“

#rhine writes #rhine writes light #guizhong #zhongli #morax #xiao #genshin impact

[suffersinfandom]

gifset by seraph-novak

So there’s a critique of this scene (and Ed in season two as a whole) that I haven’t been able to shake. The post went into how the whole mermaid sequence was ruined by the rest of the season -- about how this beautiful scene was, put in the context of Ed’s behavior in the rest of season two, an ominous rebirth of a villain. The writer couldn’t see Ed as a protagonist finding the will to live; they saw a monster getting another chance to terrorize his victims.

I really hate that. I’ve already typed way too much about how I don’t think that Ed is abusive or that the Kraken Era was all that bad, so of course I disagree with any take that characterizes Ed as a monster. But do you know why this post stuck with me?

It made me unreasonably sad.

There’s a danger in over-identifying with characters (and I do think that a lot of the tension in OFMD fandom comes from over-identification), but it’s so easy for me to understand what Ed’s going through in the first three episodes of season two. I’ve been there. Judging by this post, many of us have been where Ed is. 

We’ve struggled to live while we’re drowning. We’ve been trapped and hopeless and desperate for a reason to keep going -- for someone to give us hope that things can be better. 

And we’ve also hurt people in our despair. 

When I was in my Kraken Era, I was a sick college student who’d been fighting depression since middle school. I’d just escaped a “friendship” with someone who (I can admit in retrospect) abused me mentally and emotionally, and I had no other friends because that person had effectively isolated me. I was alone and I was convinced that I was a fundamentally unlovable person who had no right to exist. 

I pushed the few people I had around me away. I isolated myself from my mother as much as I could while living in her house. I cut off communication with my online acquaintances (who would later become good friends) and didn’t speak to anyone at school. For a while, I was so focused on my pain and self hatred that I barely thought about other people. It was an intensely selfish and self-centered existence, and I hurt my mom and everyone who could’ve been a friend. When you're in that desperately hopeless, depressed mindset, you don't care about hurting people because your own pain is so all-consuming. If anything, you want to hurt others so they'll give up on you in the same way you've given up on yourself.

It’s different from what Ed did, of course, because he’s not me and I wasn’t a pirate captain with the lives of a crew in my hands. The harm I could cause was severely limited by my lack of power, but I still caused it. I was still trying to isolate and cut ties and push away anyone who could’ve helped me even when I desperately wanted help. I wasn’t a good person.

Watching Ed go through a self-destructive arc that’s immediately identifiable, deeply personal, and so well done was incredible, and seeing the show support him instead of demonizing his behavior? I have no words for the way I felt during season two’s run. 

OFMD makes Ed a sympathetic character who’s worth loving even when he’s at his lowest. It gives us a lead who fucks up when he’s in the depths of his despair and it doesn’t pity him or wave away his problems or make a monster out of him. It doesn’t even have his romantic interest save him! Instead, it lets Ed save himself when he realizes that there’s still hope and love out there. 

This show reminded me that we’re not monsters even if we’ve hurt people. It told me that recovery is possible, and so is forgiveness. It asked me to keep loving Ed through his entire arc, and in doing that, it forced me to love the parts of me that I’m still working on as well.

So I know that I shouldn’t be bothered by people who see season two Ed as an irredeemable monster who gets an undeserved second shot at life, y’know? But even though I’m a decade and a half out of my own Kraken Era, I’m still in a perpetual state of recovery. There’s always a persistent doubt -- a suspicion that there’s a fundamental flaw in me that no amount of therapy will fix -- and that doubt latched onto some random person’s conviction that Ed is a monster. It says, If Ed will always be a monster, what about you?

And I know that voice is wrong because it’s always been a liar. I know that it doesn’t matter that some portion of the fanbase turned on Ed in season two because that man isn’t real and he’s not me. I know that, for people who haven’t experienced something that was reflected in Ed’s arc, it might be difficult to sympathize with him (and with real life people who blow their lives up in their despair). 

There will always be people who don’t understand or can’t empathize with that kind of desperate hopelessness, but there are also many, many people who get it… and some of those people were clearly in season two's writer’s room. Some of those people are in this fandom.

I guess what I’m getting at is this: I hope that, if you saw yourself in Ed’s early season two story, you know that you’re not a monster and you’re not a villain in someone else’s story, no matter what anyone else says. I hope you know that you’re worthy of love. 

I hope you know you’re not alone.

#ofmd #me typing things #edward teach #cw suicide #tw suicide #look i just have some feelings okay #i love ed teach #i love being forced to like myself more because of ed #our flag means death #mental health

[dumblemonchickenwing]

“One day the bird will leave its nest.”

It echoed in between his ears.

Rouxls glanced down at the round dumpling in his hands (Lancer). He could not tell why sudden thoughts took over his mind at this peaceful hour. But the longer silence lingered, the more of those thoughts arose inside. 

“He really grew.” Or “Were I actually a good Vice Fathere?” Or: “Do you actually deserve to hold this child in your hands?”

Rouxls remembers how much he used to despise Lancer when he was first assigned to the Castle. How much of a nuisance the little one was to him and he remembered it so vividly: how he called the boy such mean names. He’d call him a water beetle, a silly worm, a yellow beak. 

What.? Those words weren’t mean? Even if so, Rouxls will only remember those nicknames as evil in his book.

The more attached Rouxls became, the more hateful he felt towards himself for every small thing he had said or done to Lancer in the past. It almost felt like a cruel irony of fate, for he knew that his old self never would have expected to care for the child in the end. And although current Rouxls and past Rouxls are the same person, the current Rules Card feels that none of his feelings match anything that the past Rouxls once was. Some would say that Rouxls grew as a character but the reality of things was different. He never became “better”. Rouxls may have just experienced some fundamental change in his heart, - nothing more , nothing less. And the biggest part of said “change” - was his attitude toward Lancer.

As he stared at Lancer, he felt something deep, dark and heavy cloud his chest. A feeling that is hard to describe in one word. He was supposed to feel relieved when the child is safe and sound in his arms - fast asleep - yet he feels a strange sense of uneasiness and anxiety. Rouxls knows it comes not of his hatred to Lancer - he does not hate the boy - but rather of his care toward him. Why is the feeling that is supposed to be soothing and warming, is so dark and upsetting?

And then Rouxls starts to understand why.

He is afraid of losing the child.

It is strange.. Lancer is right here, yet Rouxls feels so much terror deep inside - as though Lancer may evaporate at any moment. The more he thinks, the more catastrophic scenarios he sees in his mind - equally dumb scenarios, yet Rouxls believes them all as much as he believes Lancer is blue. Kaard was never the smartest in the deck but he was no complete fool either. However, when it came to losing something (or in this case - someone), he was one of the first to succumb to believing anything.

Adults must never succumb to fear. When it comes to children, the adult must be indestructible. Rouxls was never the type to display a reasonable amount of confidence - for he had far too much of it for his own good - but among children it is better to be overconfident than insecure. 

To adults, children are beings in need of protection.

To children, adults owe protection.

To adults, children don’t need to prove anything.

To children, adults must prove they are worthy of trust.

To children, adults must show loyalty til the end.

To adults, children don’t need to be attached forever.

Rouxls knew it all. He knew that Lancer owes him virtually nothing. Yet he could not help but find it unfair, deep down in his heart, that Lancer could leave at any moment, once the boy gets bored. But there is nothing he could do about it. There was nothing he should do about it.  Rouxls understands that the only reason Lancer adores him is because the boy is still too young. In fact, Rouxls knew, deep down, that Lancer will grow up one day and he will see through all the lies and neglect the Rules Card has put him through. And Rouxls will not blame him for leaving.

The choice never belonged to Rouxls in the first place.

It was Lancer’s all along. And Rouxls dares never take it away from him. Not by force, not by pleading. Not by hinting. Rouxls must never show any ounce of doubt that may cloud Lancer’s decisions.

Only when Rouxls made sure that Lancer was asleep, he said quietly:

- When you grow up, ..I will miss you.

#rouxls kaard #lesser dad #fanfiction #lancer deltarune #dtr lancer #angst cw

[wachtelspinat]

I've been in a rut as of late, and I really want to get better at form and anatomy. Your style is one of my favorite ones ever, what would you say were your biggest inspirations throughout the years?

hey, first of all i’m so very sorry for the late reply. hope you get to see this still since it’s been a while since you sent this ask... sorry

secondly, thanks a lot! i try to give some insights here, this question's always kinda hard for me to tackle because i'm having a hard time identifying my style and what makes it tick, idk... i guess it's a combination out of everything i like, starting from the artstyle of tf2 to various styles of my mutuals and people around here (but i think tf2, wanting to draw humans ever since i first laid eyes on tf2 and the cartoony artstyle of it all are my major fuels, ngl). 

as for anatomy and form: this is a matter i just recently pushed myself into because i felt really stuck in my ways. like... i never really did studies in my life, so when i wanted to draw i kind of had to count on it to ‘just work’, idk if this makes sense... i always felt like i didn’t actually know what i was doing there, and i worked with ref a lot (i would always recommend using ref, no matter what, what i want to say is that i realized i had not enough fundament to truly fool around in the way i liked to). and now that i started actually doing anatomy studies i feel so dumb because yeah. it IS making things easier x) i understand tho that for most it’s a motivational issue... you have to find a way to make it work for you. like doing studies, but implementing what you learned into a sketch of your blorbo, as an example.

as for resources, it’s hard to find good tutorials, mostly because the place is flooded with art bros trying to tell you “you don’t NEED anatomy and here is why” and then they make a sketch and you can SEE that they put SO MUCH ANATOMICAL KNOWLEDGE INTO IT. so there’s a lot of bs out there. there is good stuff out there tho, but it might take you a while to find what’s best suited for you. i could make a list of yt channels that really helped me but the thing is, everyone is at their own lvl and with different goals in mind, so i don’t think this would be very helpful.

what i can link you to tho are 2 videos that really opened my eyes in regards of a) finding your style and b) getting better at drawing a certain topic.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SLfH9yOGs3o - this video tackles the whole ‘finding your style’ topic. because i often give the tip that you don’t find your style, style finds you (and i still think that is in its regards correct, because you just get subconsciously influenced by the media you consume and like and your fave artists’ style’s if you really dig them) but the ability to actively WORK on your style is there. it’s just something you have to put a lot of work into. but we’ll never stop learning, so there’s that. (she describes it with her landscape drawings but really this works for anything... from dynamic linework to just trying to find the right energy in your pictures)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k0ufz75UvHs - this one really helped me getting over my fear of ‘drawing something ugly’ (big words from someone drawing ugly men as a hobby) but hear me out... because i have a weird brain that makes me recoil from something my mind thinks is ‘imperfect’ i really often get stuck with my art and either don’t experiment at all or get stuck with a sketch and spending hours on it trying to fix it... so approaching this matter like the video described just... melted that away. because when you draw 20 faces a day just telling yourself “NOBODY will EVER see this” you start loosening up... or at least i did. it’s also good for an analytical brain or people who strongly lean into that. this approach was especially nice while being stuck in an artblock... because i could easily just fool around and it kind of changed how i see doing art... like... nothing is ever perfect so i don’t have to make it perfect, i can analyze my art through a more neutral lense than my emotional attachment to it now... does that make sense?

last but not least, there are a ton of good resources out there for anatomical studies, my fave is still “anatomy for sculptors, understanding the human figure” by uldis zarins sandis kondrats.

SORRY THIS GOT A BIT LONGER BUT i put A LOT of thought into this as of late so yeah... maybe it’s gonna help someone too

#ref

[majimasleftasscheek]

tigerfish ramblings

I really enjoy thinking about them healing and coping with each other so I hope yall enjoy! this will prolly have some repeats from my last hc post but this is a lil more in depth

they could meet up in prison, Saejima noticing the new guy who’s just entered the regular population, apparently housed in a medical prison due to severe injuries. it was recommended Nishiki stay where he was but he insisted he didn’t want to be pitied for the current state of his body. anything that happens to him now is more than deserved—he’s convinced he should suffer for everything he’s done.

so Saejima sees this sad sack, struggling with something, and decides to help him. Nishiki doesn’t want it but something about the way Saejima insists is different. Saejima’s not here to feel sorry for him. he can tell Nishiki’s an independent sort of guy. Saejima’s just pragmatic: thinks if this guy’s got a mind to keep living despite his trauma then he might as well put in the effort to make living worth the time—get help when you need it; it’s a waste to spend it struggling. so he offers that help and Nishiki’s never really considered that—that he doesn’t have make every living moment hell for the sake of some self imposed punishment. he begrudgingly accepts. he’s still unsure if he should be allowed kindness but this gets them to talking.

they find out the two of them are Tojo fools, Nishiki being wildly impressed Saejima’s the 18 Count guy but the big guy’s not so proud of it. it hits Nishiki coldly, that someone so legendary is here with him now, rotting away in jail, nothing to his name other than murder. he relates that he was a patriarch himself and now he’s nobody, fundamentally dead to everyone who’s left alive to care. they both have a sad little laugh over the things they’ve done only to end up in the same place, perhaps already forgotten.

Saejima’s had all the time in the world to think though, to understand that what he did will always follow him so he looks to the future. what’s there to do than move on and face the hauntings that plague him? however, Nishiki’s still fresh in the realization that everything was for naught. that his life’s work afforded him nothing but irreversible damage and a legacy to be ashamed of. Nishiki wants to move on but can’t. it’s too soon and too real. Saejima’s hopeful, though.

he wants to see his sister, Majima, his boss, he wants to know what’s happened since he was put away. Nishiki doesn’t want to see anyone. doesn’t believe he’s deserving of seeing anyone. Nishiki wants to undo everything and wonders, would Saejima do the same? Saejima doesn’t see the point in asking. what would it change? would it make him feel better? to pretend he didn’t do such terrible things as if wishful thinking could minimize his actions? no, now is just acceptance and punishment. taking responsibility. Nishiki... he has trouble with that. he can’t wrap his mind around moving on—to a degree he doesn’t want to. he wants to stew in loathing and blame. it’s all he’s ever really known of course, being in Kiryu’s shadow. Nishiki regrets decisions while Saejima regrets things he hasn’t yet done. Saejima knows he can’t change the past so there’s no point trying to live in a time that no longer belongs to him. Nishiki wishes he could. that it was that easy.

Nishiki thinks Saejima would have been a great patriarch because he cares. he cares like Kiryu does. he’s kind to people that don’t deserve it like himself. Nishiki thinks it’s great that Saejima has people waiting for him since he can only wish that for himself. Saejima asks about this Kiryu guy and Nishiki’s quiet. doesn’t even know how Kiryu’s doing after the bomb. he hopes he’s okay, alive at least; it’s Kiryu, he has to be. Nishiki laughs, saying he should have been more like Kiryu, more caring and brave and steadfast. maybe things could have turned out different. maybe he could have been better. Saejima tells him that anyone can be better, but they don’t have to be like someone they’re not.

Nishiki’s shocked. his entire life was a comparison to Kiryu and this guy, this legendary guy who’s too good to him, doesn’t compare him to Kiryu. it’s not normal for Nishiki to feel valued. it’s not normal for him to think someone’s not lying to him. but Saejima must mean it right? to see value in someone like him who’s done nothing but self loathe and self punish. maybe he’s just being nice but Saejima’s so blunt and sure of himself that Nishiki can’t help but believe him. he was right about this guy, Saejima cares a lot. too much. Saejima has to get it through Nishiki’s thick skull that he cares just the right amount. 

so maybe Nishiki can feel vulnerable around Saejima. feel like himself again. someone that doesn’t have to put up fronts. someone that doesn’t have to worry about how he looks when he cries about better times when life was easy and simple. when he remembers his sister and how he feels like he failed her. Saejima gets that. he mentions Yasuko and hopes she’s okay. hopes that everything he’s done hasn’t destroyed her life but he knows it’s not the case. how cruel it was for him to leave her without a word, without a plan. Nishiki would say Saejima is someone Yasuko would be proud of, not for his actions but the person he’s become. remorseful and mournful. human. Nishiki forgot how to be that and for the first time in a long time, he’s been able to feel real again. 

but the guilt comes back. Nishiki fails to see how Saejima can think he deserves more than even basic human kindness, how he should have died in the explosion, how he’s a waste of space. Saejima grabs him and tells him to sack the fuck up and realize that living is their penance. to survive is to do better, be better. that’s how they’ll make up for the things they’ve done and if it takes the rest of their lives then that’s how it is. punishment is living through the consequences. judgement is the guilt and burdens they’ll have to bear. he says they deserve to live because they deserve to face their responsibilities. it’s about doing good with the time they have left and that means being more than just worm food. it’s why Saejima’s so compassionate, why he’s so helpful. he’s not going to take more from the world than he can give. he’s already taken so much just to end up with nothing. what a real waste it would be for them to rot away when they could do so much more to atone. 

it’s curious, how Saejima wants to be strong for others than himself. Nishiki wants to try but thinks he can’t. Kiryu was always the stronger one, in every sense. Nishiki is nothing without Kiryu. Saejima sits him down, tells him he doesn’t know who the fuck this Kiryu guy is at all so he doesn’t matter. Nishiki has to stand on his own here and it’s terrifying. he can feel himself being judged but it’s not Saejima doing it, it’s himself. he’s afraid. he’s seen what he can do, what he became. yet he’s equally ashamed of the weakling he was. Saejima commends him for still being here, despite the damage to his body, despite the hurt he caused, despite the fear he has. there’s no weakness in that. 

Nishiki takes a long time to feel comfortable as himself again. he wants to be his own person, to really try to be better. but what can they do really, while in jail? Saejima says it doesn’t have to be some grand gesture. it can be small things. simple things. even if it’s just offering a friendly hand to someone who didn’t think they deserved it at all.

forgiveness isn’t easy, nor should it be, but the act of trying to get it, to be better to deserve it, to wallow in the pains of coping and healing is both punishment and freedom. Saejima laughs, “shit’s gonna be difficult but it wouldn’t be fair to us or anyone else if it weren’t.”

#F E E L I N G S #my hcs #tigerfish #saejima taiga #nishikiyama akira #my art

[new-berry]

I never should have gone to bed!

Mikel / Granit NSFW work of fiction etc etc not edited. No warnings :)

Happy early birthday @longeyelashedtragedy unless you hate it, then hold out for Frank and Jamie Jamie Jamie.

Or just type “I hated it” no matter what and pride will compel me to finish Frank and Jamie (there’s magic)

Mistaken for Strangers

As long as you know Mikel loves Granit, and Granit loves Mikel, you know all the important things. There is nothing else you need to know going into this.

You can switch any of the lesser facts to something you understand better or like more. That’s fine. It doesn’t change anything really if they were rugby players instead. It’s just a forty minute half instead of forty-five. Should still work though. Both ball sports.

You don’t need to know the offside rule. You don’t need to have memorised the top goal scorers by season. They don’t even have to be sportsmen, if you don’t want.

It also ends. In every telling it ends. You have to know that as well. The weeks have run out of days.

I want to assure you: You don’t have to know anything else about them to understand this story.

It might be better not knowing some things. For example: it might be better if you didn't know that Mikel was Granit’s boss.

Mikel has dark hair and dark eyes. He ages slowly, he has a scar on his knee that hurts when it rains or when he stands for too long. He’s vain.

Mikel can easily be a blonde though. He could be Michael and have an arm injury that would make typing difficult for long periods, if you’d prefer. He’d still be Granit’s boss. Even if they worked in an office. Even if they were architects.

He’s Spanish. He could be French though, if you think that accent is sexier. (It’s not, but it’s fine if you think that.)

Granit has a temper. Mikel looks like he has one. Mikel looks hot blooded and impetuous. (He might be better as a redhead than a blonde. If he is ‘Michael’ that is.)

He isn’t. Hot blooded or impetuous. He is impatient and slightly arrogant. But he’s quite handsome so he can carry it off. Granit is though, both hot blooded and handsome. (You could make him a little more handsome. You could make his teeth a tiny bit smaller and his chin slightly less prominent.)

Granit is also married. You can skip that, but, It’s important. But it’s fine to pretend.

Mikel is married too. (That isn’t the most important thing through. What is the most important is Mikel loves Granit and Granit loves Mikel and you already know that this ends).

Granit has daughters that he loves. He wouldn’t mind a son, so it’s okay if you give him one instead. Or as well.

They are both dog people, but cats are acceptable. They meet because of football. Fairly important. If you keep this story in London it should be football. And if it is going to stay football in London it should be Arsenal. Along with love, Arsenal is non-negotiable.

Love and Arsenal and endings. This could potentially happen at Chelsea. Definitely not at Spurs. Fundamentally not a West Ham story. This could never have happened at Fulham.

This is a love story where the lovers come second. There was a chance, once, this could have happened at Spurs. But that player never slammed his hand down on that manager's desk. That player never leaned over and sneered in his manager's face. That player never spread his legs wide and sat his ass down on the corner of that manger’s desk with his chin lifted up like “try me.” Maybe he should have.

If you hate England (fair) this could also be Athletico Madrid. If you want them to be drinking beer the night before Granit leaves you can set this in Germany. But it would have to be Dortmund if you did.

Look: I don’t make the rules for love and love and Arsenal and endings. Contracts run out of seasons. I hope you like bees if you move this to Germany. I hope you like the colour yellow.

Mikel is shorter than Granit and he has to press up on his toes to kiss him. Mikel is Spanish (or French) and Granit is Swiss (and Albanian. Or Swedish and Croatian, that could also work).

You can say: the Spaniard pressed up on his toes to kiss the taller Swiss man. You shouldn’t, not because it isn’t true, it’s very true. You just… shouldn’t say things like that.

However, you’ll have to keep that bit now. Not just for the aesthetic, the beauty of how it looks, Mikel the boss, (or the gaffer or the mister) but it also informs the ending. This always ends. It does end with a kiss. But first it ends with Granit turning his head away when Mikel presses up to kiss him.

There are ten years between them and that is perfectly acceptable. They didn’t meet when Granit was young. There isn’t the messiness of say, fifteen year old Granit meeting nearly twenty six year old Mikel.

This isn’t that kind of story. If you wanted it to, it could be. Granit knew about twenty six year old Mikel. If not football - could be Paul Maurice or something he could coach the Panthers - Mikel is still well known.

You could scooch the ages up and down a bit if you like. Granit thirty to Mikel’s forty becoming thirty-one to thirty-nine. Thirty two to thirty eight.

I want you to know, Granit loves Mikel. And Mikel loves Granit. And they both love Arsenal. Eventually.

Sometimes football is just a job, a stopwatch that runs out of seconds. Before Mikel, Arsenal was just a job. So it could be any job. Could be a coffee shop or a call centre.

Granit isn’t the kind of person to just go through the motions but he needed to learn to feel it the right way.

Mikel’s hands are always soft at first and Granit had to learn that first, how to receive softness.

I don’t want to dwell on the ending, even though it’s inevitable. The beginning was beautiful. Cold. Cold like winter and cold like losing. Cold like your own fans turning on you.

Granit sitting on the edge of Mikel’s desk leaning back. Like it was his office, like it was his desk. Mikel stepping between his legs. Like this, Granit leaned back, they are closer in height. Mikel stays off his toes and Granit is caught flat footed. A shy man running out of bravado, a lover running out of bluff.

Desks and offices aren’t made for first times. Too many hard angles, too many corners. Mikel and Granit half stripped, grinding against each other, hands grabbing then trailing away just to grab something else.

Too fast, too awkward, after a ringing threatening silence. A timer running out of time. Then the glossy soft sound of them kissing again.

It didn’t have to be an office. Granit could have stormed into Mikel’s kitchen if he was a cook. Could have slammed his hand down next to the precisely diced onions. Could have fronded each other against a stainless steel bench being careful of the knives.

Or if they were mechanics- they are very good at their jobs if they were mechanics they would be formula one - maybe they would have kissed that first time next to a car jacked up with one tire constantly, lazily rotating. Kissed until the car ran out of racetrack. Until the wheel ran out spins.

There will always be a middle. There will always be a redemption.

Always Granit- Swiss /Albanian - possibly Swedish / Croatian - going from villain to hero. Always eventually accepting the cheers of the crowd.

Granit would always have called Mikel to hear him breath down the line when it could have been a text. Mikel will always slide his fingers into Granit’s hair with its soft curls (or glide his fingers through his long flaxen locks, or smooth his hands across Granit’s shaved head for preference). This will always happen with eternal gentleness.

Even the times they are angry and fuck. Even when Granit is drunk and raging. Even the time when the title has been awarded and they can’t look at each other and they can’t stay away from each other.

Ifyou don’t already know, they didn’t win that title. Even though this is a love story and a redemption story this isn’t a fairy tale. (So it couldn’t have happened at Spurs then).

Mikel will always touch Granit’s hair softly first. They will always break the law to see each other. It might be Covid protocols. It might not be wearing a mask when they are near each other. (Hardly worth a mask is it? When they are breathing messily into each other's mouths and blowing each other in the office in Mikel’s garden.)

If it were some other crime, an elaborate Las Vegas heist when they maybe would have stolen a golden statue and had sex, with it sitting on a side table in a dingy hotel room with a “welcome to fabulous Las Vegas” cap covering the top of it.

If they were in the Mafia perhaps they would have killed someone and gone home to have grim terrified -exhilarated sex with the smell of blood still in the air. If they had committed actual crimes , not just the moral failings, Mikel would still press up on his toes and slide his hands behind Granit’s ears into the softness of his hair.

There is a part before the ending. A part before the race ran out of racers. When it was almost like they could have it all. When they had a trophy almost on their fingertips, and their wives were clueless, and when Granit had looked down in wonderment, his hands planted on the bed next to Mikel’s head. The distant thump of their bodies together, the counterpoint of the headboard. A song running out of beats.

Granit caught in only a sort-of lie. Where was he? With Mikel (cook, mechanic, late night TV host).

What were they doing? Talking about football (menus, wrenches, the Supreme Court).

Why so late? (The season is teetering on the brink, the restaurant is teetering on the brink, democracy is teetering on the brink.) In no universe does Granit consider telling the truth.

‘We made love on the couch. We kissed all the way through. Mikel fucked me, and before he did he used his fingers to make it easier and becuase it feels amazing. Also the season is on the brink and democracy is fading.’

A comedian will run out of jokes. A drunk will run out of excuses. A husband will not run out of wife.

They come second, Arsenal not the wife. And in the early summer Mikel presses up on his toes and Granit turns his head to the side. He gets a new job, he moves to head office, “spends more time with his family”.

I’m sorry. It turns out there is no other story. There is only this Mikel. There is only this Granit. There is only their story. And it ends.

#fic

[perexcri]

there’s nothing more cruel than to be loved by everybody but you - [byler week - day 5]

yeah so i thought this fit the secret identities thing until i wrote it and realized it uhh. isn’t quite that. so enjoy whatever this is i guess - lots of miscommunication and a fun set-up for potential enemies to lovers

also it’s my personal headcanon that Will is a music snob, so if you don’t like that then uh,,,,i guess skip this one idk

title from: wilson (expensive mistakes) by fall out boy

dedicated to: the listening party for fall out boy’s new album that i went to last week in a city an hour away from me; i came up with this stupid idea on the drive there! indie record store in [city redacted], you were very nice, and thank you for having a decent selection of poetry i could pick from :]

Don’t ask Will how this ended up being his job, because he honestly doesn’t know. One day, they had a meeting for the university’s queer artists’ zine where he was complaining about everyone’s responses to the new U2 album (yes, it sounds different from other U2 albums, but obviously if you look at the lyrical and metatextual themes of Achtung Baby, it’s still very much U2), and then BAM–suddenly he’s in charge of doing the cover art for the zine and writing music reviews.

Sure, he could probably turn it down, but nobody else will take the job.

Also, he’s pretty sure they wouldn’t do it right, because, as much as he loves this group, their music tastes are…well…not everybody has an older brother like Jonathan Byers who makes sure they grow up with proper music opinions.

So, if anything, Will does this to keep the spirit of reviewing and recommending underground artists in New York City alive for the zine, and also because he doesn’t think anybody else could do it justice, no offense to them.

But Will is loathing this job for their upcoming edition. He’s sitting in that weird liminal time between class periods where people are in the chaotic throes of rushing around or throwing their notebooks open to prepare for the lecture; his elbows are pressed into the desk that’s just a little too small, and his head is in his hands. He’s staring down at the one submission he’s been putting off for precisely three semesters, because the president of the zine said it needed to be done before they moved on to new submissions, so could you please just lower your standards for one night and go listen to them play so you can write the damn review?

The Fellowship of the Ring, the submission card reads in faded pencil. Scratched under it in the slightly-fresher ink of the zine’s president’s pen, it reads: Thursday - The Purple Hall - 8 PM.

And, God, Will wishes this show was just gonna be a live reading of the Tolkein book. It would be so much better than what he knows it actually is.

The Fellowship of the Ring is a local, up-and-coming act in the underground venues of the greater New York City area that everybody loves because they sound like Nirvana and, you guessed it, throw out Tolkein references like they’re Led Zeppelin. They’re huge on college campuses, where students pass around live-recorded tapes of their supposedly-legendary performances all the time, gushing about how even the bass sounds, the peeling shrieks of guitars, the way the vocalist wavers between grumbles and ethereal, falsetto howls. They even gush about the lyrics and how they truly capture the experiences of Western youth in these first few years of the new decade: malaise, boredom, this sense that there is no great struggle for the future left for them, only an endless drowning in comfortable excess.

Will had even seen a girl with the band’s logo tattooed on her shoulder.

Which is…fine. He guesses.

If you like shitty music, that is.

See, that’s the fundamental problem here: Will likes doing these silly little reviews for live music around New York because half the time, the music is passably decent, and even if that doesn’t work, the lyrics can make up for it. There’s so much creativity in the air, and people are doing so much with it.

Not The Fellowship of the Ring, though.

Where everybody else sees innovation, Will sees reductivity; where everybody screams about the charm of the lyrics and the pop culture references they sneak in, Will sees a demeaning pandering to an audience. Every single time he has been subjected to the squawks and out-of-tune guitars of The Fellowship, he’s spent his time thinking he would be better off to save himself the time and just listen to Nirvana’s Nevermind for the millionth time, because that’s all The Fellowship’s trying to do, anyway, and at least then Will could listen to something good.

Yeah, Will hates The Fellowship of the Ring, and now he’s squeezing his temples so hard that the letters on the submission card are beginning to swim in his vision.

“Hey!”

Thankfully, Will is saved by his very friendly, incredibly good-looking neighbor in History of the American Constitution, Mike Wheeler.

“Hey!” he says, trying to gain back the energy that seeing The Fellowship’s submission card had unwittingly drained out of him.

And honestly, seeing that flash of Mike’s smile and how the fluorescents dance in his eyes, Will feels like he has enough energy to power the sun now, even if they are going to have to sit through yet another lecture about Article II–whatever the hell that means.

“What’s got you so down?” Mike asks, head tilted to the side, some of his hair tumbling into his eyes, and all Will wants to do is push it away–

But, no, he has to have a coherent conversation right now, so he shakes his head and tries his best to return Mike’s smile. “Oh, nothing…Just something for that zine I work on.”

“Oh, yeah!” Mike snaps his fingers, causing some of the buttons on his jacket to rattle together. He always wears a leather jacket no matter the weather or the rest of his attire, and today, paired with plaid pajama bottoms, held-together-by-duct-tape converse, and a baggy Care Bears shirt, it shouldn’t work, but in Will’s eyes, it does. “I think I saw one of those around! I wanted to grab a copy, but somebody else did before I could get to it.”

“I can bring you a copy of the next issue,” Will says, then, remembering the task at hand, groans and puts his head back in his hands. “That is, if I even survive it.”

“What, are they making you skip classes for it?”

“No, worse: they’re making me listen to a band I hate.”

Mike winces. “Yikes.”

“Yeah.”

“That sucks.”

“Right?”

“Can’t you just, like…push it off?”

“I did. For three semesters.” The professor wanders in with a mumbled greeting and a steaming cup of coffee in hand, and Will lowers his voice in anticipation of the lecture beginning. “That’s why I have to do it now.”

“Maybe it would help if somebody went with you?”

Despite having flirted with each other mercilessly all semester during this one shared class of theirs, they haven’t hung out much outside of it, so to be faced with the possibility of something that could potentially be labeled as a date between them is shocking. For a moment, Will can forget about the future torment awaiting him Thursday evening at The Purple Hall’s listening stage, and he thinks that maybe, just maybe, having somebody to talk to over the drone of the lazily-played guitars could make the evening slightly more bearable.

“Yeah,” Will finally says, a grin stretching across his face. “Of course. Yeah, that’d be awesome!”

Mike returns the look twofold, and one of his legs begins to bounce. “Awesome! When is it?”

As the lecture begins, Will resorts to a torn piece of notebook paper, like he’s a kid passing notes in class again to survive the boredom. He scribbles The Purple Hall - Thursday 7 PM, then hands it to Mike, who responds with a quizzical look at the paper, scratches something out, and hands it back to Will.

The Purple Hall - Thursday 7 PM 6?

Will shoots him a thumbs up, prays it wasn’t too awkward, and then folds the sheet of paper up and sticks it in his pocket.

And if he carries it around there for the rest of the week, then that’s his business alone.

---

The pros: this is one of Will’s favorite music venues, there’s several bands to look forward to tonight, and Mike seems wholly invested in the idea of this being a date, if him leaning closer and the playful hand on Will’s knee mean anything.

The cons: Will has to listen to the fucking Fellowship of the Ring in approximately ten minutes.

He’s able to put the thoughts off for the first hour. After all, The Fellowship isn’t set to perform until 8–he and Mike had met at 6 as planned, and Will has spent the first hour and a half trying to be blissfully unaware of the torturous fate awaiting him.

Even as his skin begins to crawl at the thought of having to hear those plucky, out-of-tune guitars and the lead singer screeching about the Gulf War under the guise of Star Wars references, he does feel a little settled. Mike’s fingers are surprisingly warm, and the alcohol they’ve been nursing makes his chest glow with warmth. It’s easier to laugh, to be focused solely on Mike and these wonderful, looping conversations they’ve found themselves ensnared in.

“This one’s good!” Mike half-shouts over the drum solo of the current act, consisting of just a drummer and a bassist crooning over their heady rhythms. They’re called the Jazz Squares, or something like that. Whatever.

At least they’re not The Fellowship.

“The drink or the band?” Will queries. His own head’s spinning with the beer he’s been sipping on for the better part of an hour, and he already feels lightheaded, because he’s a lightweight, and Mike’s got something to do with these pulses of courage thumping in his chest, right?

“Both!” Mike takes another long sip from his Jolly-Rancher-blue mixer. Will had asked him what was in it earlier, and all Mike had responded with was Coconut-something and a whole lot of rum!

They’ve talked about so much already–their families, their majors, their hobbies. Mike comes here a lot, he reveals, and he mentions that he plays guitar, too. He keeps it a playful secret when Will asks for more information, though: how long have you played? Do you write, too? Are you in a band, because I could put you in the zine if you wanted–

It’s a surpriseee, Mike had drawled in response, a stupid grin twisting his mouth as his fingers had vacated Will’s knee momentarily just to ruffle through Will’s hair.

As the Jazz Squares’ set finally dies down to some spotty applause (this is more of an alternative scene, after all, but a gig is a gig), Will lets out a groan, melodramatically knocking his forehead into the table, and finally drags out his notebook.

“What’s that for?” Mike asks, eyebrows high on his forehead.

“For that review I have to do,” Will grumbles.

“But isn’t that act on in, like, two hours?”

Will blinks a couple of times. He supposes he hadn’t actually told Mike which group he was here for, but he thought the fact that he originally proposed a meet-up time of 7 would have communicated enough that it was somewhere around then. “Um, no? I didn’t say anything, I guess, but I think they’re up next.”

Mike’s fingers begin to nervously tap on what remains of his electric blue potion. As his and Will’s gazes snag together for several heady seconds, he purses his lips, then throws back the rest of his drink, swallowing the last of it in just a couple of gulps.

Will slowly draws his notebook out, flipping to the page he had specifically marked The Fellowship of the Ring with a disheartened, frighteningly life-like frowny face scrawled next to it. “Is something wrong?”

Mike drags his wrist across his mouth, smearing any remaining drops of blue onto his leather jacket’s sleeve. “So this band you hate that you have to review…It’s The Fellowship of the Ring?”

“Yeah.” Will taps the top of his paper. “I didn’t say anything, but…Yeah.”

“Oh.”

“Why?”

“Um.”

Will quirks an eyebrow up. “I mean, do you like them? That’s fine, of course, I mean–people have different tastes and what-not. I’d just have to seriously question your judgment in all matters music-related, I guess.”

“Um,” Mike repeats, fingers now tapping a dangerously fast staccato against their bartop table. It makes the remaining beer in Will’s bottle slosh around. “Um…This is bad.”

“What? Are you a super fan or something?” Thanks to the alcohol, Will feels bold enough to scrunch his nose up with disgust. “I mean, fine, whatever. But seriously, if you want a second date, I’m gonna take you to a record store so you can hear some actually decent music. If you’re impressed by that fucking band’s reductive bullshit, you’ll be positively amazed by a group like The Clash or Smashing Pumpkins or–hell, even fucking U2–”

“Excuse me!” the MC calls over the mic; when the feedback whines, he takes a second to tap at the mic, then announces: “Calling everyone’s favorite up-and-coming group, The Fellowship of the Ring, for soundcheck–their set starts in five!”

The club erupts into raucous cheers. Will has to hide the involuntary groan of annoyance he lets out behind his hand.

Mike casts a nervous glance at Will, then pushes his chair out and looks like he’s going to walk away, the buttons on his jacket clicking together. He nearly trips over the saggy laces of his converse, and through the tears in his jeans, he almost looks like he’s shaking.

“Hey, wait!” Will says, reaching forward and grasping Mike’s wrist. It makes the other guy stop, a blush creeping up into his cheeks, and Will tries to push down his distaste for the band and lets out a sigh. “Listen, I’m sorry–I was being stupid. It’s just a band, after all. If you like them, that’s fine, and I will…” he swallows here, and it hurts, taking on this insurmountable task of trying to push his music-snob’s pride down. “I won’t make fun of you for it. I promise.”

Mike blinks a couple of times before a reassuring grin overtakes his features. “Uh…Nope. That’s okay, Will. It’s not for everyone. I wasn’t like…trying to run out on you or anything.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I’m still gonna be here.”

“Then why are you getting up?”

Mike points at the stage, where a drummer and bassist are setting up their instruments, their eyes scanning the room in search of their infamous guitarist and singer. “Didn’t you hear? We have soundcheck. The set starts in five.”

Will slowly nods. “Yeah. Then the next act starts, and I have to scratch down whatever notes I can think of for them, and then we can get back to our date.”

Mike stares at him for several seconds.

And then it all catches up with Will.

“Oh, shit–”

Mike’s grin turns into something playful, his eyebrows shooting up beneath his bangs. “Can’t wait to read your official review of my fucking band’s reductive bullshit!” he says with a two-fingered salute, then spins around to make his way to the stage. He’s bathed in the dim lighting of the stage, hunching over his guitar the second he straps it around his chest, and Will wonders how somebody who was brave enough to wander around in a leather jacket and a fucking Care Bears shirt and look that good could be involved in a band that’s just–

This bad, Will finishes for himself as Mike strums his first cord, its electricity shaking the walls of the club, and he begins yet another signature Fellowship song that’s nothing more than various John Hughes and horror movie quotes juxtaposed over warring drums and guitars.

Of course Will would be stupid enough to fall for the lead singer of his most-hated band in the greater New York City area.

#byler #bylerweek2023 #ficlet #did not feel like messing around with html for line breaks today so sorry for the extra dashes :))) #also the will being a music snob thing is a headcanon so like #pls don't crucify me i just think it's a silly thing to write about #anyway #i think this could be secret identities if i'd been willing to commit more words and planning but i wasn't so <3