#(it might’ve just been tumblrs FOR YOU shit

[mollyrolls]

molly <333 I hope you're doing well!!! I hope spider akaashi was with you you're entire break :))

dodger !!!!!!!!

i’m doing ok! life is odd but at least being on tumblr doesn’t make me want to die anymore so there’s that 😭

trust and BELIEVE akaashi was with me. he’s never not. i have him surgically attached to my hip forever and ever amen

[a-multifandom-mess12]

Lowkey might be in love with you? it’s chill but also I would do anything for you. But like. No pressure bro.

[calamitydaze]

long tag ramble below u have been warned

[starlooove]

This is all because someone said that tim being wealthy DOES impact his character. Like the ppl in the screenshot are defending the idea that tim should be written as middle class and even claimed that plot points about/made possible or exacerbated by his wealth have nothing to do with his characterization bc they’re plot points and not character traits. They also previously said there’s little to no mention of his wealth whilst also trying to say his wealth doesn’t matter because it’s just “new money” (which I’d argue adds a LOT of context to the drakes vs the Waynes but that’s into analysis territory and I’m not getting into with someone who said plot points don’t impact the character 💀)

Anyways the main point of the post isn’t just to clown on them I just want y’all to take that final tweet into account; “They come and take only what they want, they don’t like to delve into the great character that is Tim.” On a post saying Tim being rich doesn’t matter and has nothing to do with his character. Tim Stans I’m not saying this is all of you, but this group of y’all is sooooo. Let’s be nice and say weird. That it makes y’all look bad. When they’re saying “they pick and choose to ignore his character” in order to defend picking and choosing to ignore his character…have a group meeting or smth yall. This is crazy.

[heylinfanclub]

On one hand I ‘they gotta post somewhere the words gotta get out somehow’ on the other Untagged Massacre on an Autoplaying Video followed by images of people getting pulled apart like mmnope I think. I’m done with tumblr.

No more dashboard. Only follow list top nine blogs. For the REST OF THE YEAR.

I have no other social media. But I gotta. I gotta get out of this place. At least discussions verbally of issues can’t FORCE YOU TO WATCH REAL LIFE CARNAGE AND HUMAN SUFFERING (which I’m sure is also a method of torture so like fucking stop iiiitt I am gonna be SICK). ‘It’s not forcing if u can turn off ur phone’ I am a slow disabled individual and that video AUTOPLAYED and sometimes when I turn my phones volume off it goes ‘haha but you WANNA hear the video ur playing tho right so I’m not rly gonna be off’. So like. Kinda did. Kinda did.

[micer2012]

a reflection on MatPat's plagiarism

Hello, my name is Della, or micer2012, and 2 years ago Game Theory plagiarized three Tumblr posts of mine, making a video that now holds almost 6 million views.

My posts explaining his plagiarism made their rounds on Reddit, Tumblr and Twitter, but despite the Hermits and Pooka commenting on it (generally in support of me or saying they don’t know enough details about the situation to say either way), MatPat and his team have never owned up to anything, and no mention of my name is present on the video. The one Reddit post they made denying it (which was made before my detailed takedown, which they have never responded to (though the mods on the r/GameTheorists Reddit were kind and made sure it stayed up)) didn’t even mention me by name, just referring to me as “a tumblr user”. (Though one of the screenshotted comments in the body of the post does say my name)

This experience was baffling, but it’s overall had a positive impact on my life. r/Hermitcraft gave me a Golden Apple Award (post of the year, 2021). My inbox was filled with excited fans, wanting to ask me questions or pose their own theories, far more than the hate I got. (Though the hate I got from Game Theory fans was VERY funny. I wondered why none of them gave me shit about saying “MatPat misgendered Evil Xisuma” before realizing none of them read that far into the post.)

And getting on a more personal, and much more important note, I met most of my current online friends through this, including my partner. It helped me grow closer with my irl friends as well and gave me an entertaining story that I tell whenever I have the chance. It was one of the first things in my life that really made me feel like my talents, my autistic hyperfocusing and analyzing of things I love, could be valuable. Useful. Exploitable. It blew my mind that MatPat thought an autistic kid’s ramblings about a Minecraft Youtube joke character were good enough to steal. To put an audible sponsorship on. To get 6 million views off of.

And that’s why I’m writing this post, this update years later. As you might’ve been able to guess, Hbomberguy’s Youtube video on plagiarism reopened this wound. It was really hard for me to sit through, it took days of pausing and taking breaks, because I had experienced everything he was talking about firsthand. 

In my 10 page long takedown post, I wrote about how his rewording of my sentences made him say things that were incorrect, just like Filip did. The content farm production style that made big companies like Cinemassacre take one creator (AVGN/MatPat) and turn him and his content into a brand, a voice that reads out scripts by other people with other opinions/theories, is a history shared with Game Theory. What really hit me was Harris talking about how big creators only do this to people they think they can get away with doing it to. How they view their victims as lesser, as not deserving of their words, repackaging them as their own to give to an audience that can gain from hearing them, but deserves better than to have to listen to the original victim.

That’s the thing, I 100% think a video version of my theory to expose to a bigger community than “Evil Xisuma Fans on Tumblr” is a great idea!! Near the end of the video Harris talks about how video adaptations of things could be a great market, even an accessibility tool, and I completely feel that about my posts. I wrote them quickly assuming the reader was someone well versed on Evil Xisuma lore, after not even watching most of the CarnEvil series, and the diagrams I made to explain them are even less comprehensible. Harris makes a joke that I completely agree with, 

“I’m sure some of my videos would do very well if someone translated them into English.”

I don’t think I would’ve ever made my posts if I didn’t have autism, and a special fixation on Evil Xisuma and Hermitcraft. I made them because I felt the character was being done an injustice, and because I wanted to share with other superfans this theory that might explain it away. I do think that MatPat plagiarizing me was ableist. I used to wonder a lot if this would’ve happened if my posts were articulated better, if they had been peer reviewed, if the posts themselves had been spread to a wider audience before MatPat made his video. At one point when the discourse was fresh (before I had the time to write out my 10 page rebuttal), a bigger YouTuber (100k subs at the time) messaged me and started talking on Discord, interested in possibly making a video on the discourse, but I think my style of typing and general enthusiasm drove him away. You can tell by a single look at my blog (or my original 3 posts!) that I don’t usually type like this. This post you’re reading now has been peer reviewed and edited, and took me hours to format correctly. That video could’ve been huge, the entire outcome of this MatPat situation would probably be much different.

I also used to stress a lot about “being the one who ruined Evil Xisuma’s story”. If you didn’t know, to me S8 Evil Xisuma’s story got wrapped up pretty quickly and unsatisfying (in my personal autistic opinion). (though this might’ve been due to s8 being experimental and ending early with moon big) There was no real culmination of the plot points and arcs going on, and I don’t want to blame myself, but when Xisuma said on stream (when the MatPat thing was first going on) that he didn’t want to focus on the discourse or draw more attention to it, it makes a lot of sense to me that he just wanted to wrap it all up as quickly as possible. For a while I beat myself up about it, of ruining the story of this character I love, but it’s not my fault. If anyone’s, it’s MatPats, but I don’t think it’s useful to just blame someone else. That’s how the story ended up going, and that’s fine. This is Evil Xisuma we’re talking about, their inconsistent lore is what made them such an interesting character. And notably, Pooka made an animation with an awesome culmination of Jeff, the Dreamer, Evil Xisuma, and his own sona’s story, and it makes me so happy to watch. Whatever Pooka does is of course his own choice, but I’m glad he got to give this personal story his own ending (if it is an ending, and not just the start of a new chapter!). 

Typing this all out and getting it off my chest has made me feel a lot better. For a while I wanted to make my OWN video essay about Evil Xisuma’s lore and CarnEvil’s lore, actually going episode by episode to explain it instead of just assuming you knew as much about Evil Xisuma as I did. That idea is still not off the table, but MCYT isn’t something I’m that into right now. Maybe if something else comes out about Evil Xisuma I’ll get back on it, but for now I’m fine with letting that go. But I want to make other videos, share other theories and analysis… if I have the freetime I’d love to make YouTube videos, and if I don’t have the time I’ll continue posting to my tumblr and infodumping to my friends. Apparently my infodumping is valuable enough “content” to steal! Writing this out has made me feel a lot better though, I’m really glad I got it out.

If anyone ever wants to talk to me about the things I’m obsessed with, or reach out to me as a source in a bigger discussion about Game Theory or other channels, my inbox is more than welcome :] Thank you for reading! 

Sincerely, a tumblr user.

[vitentia]

DEAR DIARY, DAY TWO OF HAVING A GIRLFRIEND….MIGHT DIE.

pairings ━━ jackson!ellie williams x reader

warnings ━━ tooth rotting fluff I fear

synopsis ━━ you like Ellie, ellie likes you, she grows enough tit to ask you out and surprise! you said yes! yet somehow you’re more nervous around your girlfriend than when she was your crush…AGH!

authors note ━━ did I go ghost for a year? yes. did I hear someone ask for more fluff/angst amidst freaktober on tumblr? also yes. I have come to provide🫡

IMPORTANT note — if you wanna request an Ellie or Abby fic, just pm me! I think coming up with all the fics on my own is the reason I burnt out but send me any ideas you have that aren’t smut bc I SUCK at writing that. Im also considering writing for arcane?? So yeah!

Cleaning horse shit isn’t the sexiest job in the world, which is why you were eternally grateful your girlfriend had been assigned to go on patrol with Tommy this morning. Even the thought of “your girlfriend” sent shivers down your spine and a red hot blush on your cheeks. You sniffled and wiped your cheek against your shoulder, conveniently the jacket your girlfriend, Ellie, had given you last night.

Again, you fought back a smile as the words “my girlfriend, ellie” popped into your head. Just 48 hours ago you were accepting the fact that you might have to yearn for the brunette from afar for the rest of your lives, and today you were biting your lips trying not to look too happy shoveling actual shit.

“Hey girlie!” Called out the man in charge, his big gut making it’s way into the shed before his head did as he leaned against his favorite horses stead. “You’ve been relieved. Tommy and Ellie are on their way back, just put the girls back where they belong and I’ll feed them, get it?”

“Got it.”

“Good.” He replied quickly before raising the pitch of his voice and cooing down at the large horse between his palms like a baby.

You snickered at his actions but couldn’t resist the speedy pace you walked at as you grabbed your hanging bag and ran towards the shed bathroom. As soon as you locked the door behind you, you immediately shoved off your almost knee length rubber boots and changed into your cutest (aka least creased) boots. Despite not having any perfume like they did back then, you did make sure to grab a special bar of soap before you left your house and scrubbed the lavender scent into your arms like your life depended on it. Looking in the dirty mirror, you tried to vaguely make out whether or not you looked presentable. You tried lowering the v-cut shirt you were wearing but immediately shook your head and decided against it.

Just as you were in between hyping yourself up and finding an escape route, the guards on top shouted out, stating that the doors were opening.

You were a nervous wreck. Constantly pushing your hair in front of your forehead and then behind your ear while simultaneously walking towards the front of Jackson where your girlfriend would be making an entrance.

With the sun beaming behind her head and shining her brown locks into a beautiful golden color, you had to raise your hand above your eyes to protect yourself. Has she always been this beautiful or are the God’s reminding me how perfect my girlfriend is?

“Millers! You’re back early.” A nearby card player called out, kicking his feet back against a wooden barrel with a cigarette hanging half out of his mouth.

“Yeah well, Ellie was killin’ them things left and right. Would’ve thought she had somewhere to be.” Tommy joked, sliding off his horse and giving you the reigns with a smile. For a second, your heart skipped a beat, believing she might’ve told him on their journey.

“Hey, if you’re a lousy shot, just say that.” Ellie teased him back with a shrug, remaining on her horse with no movement towards getting down. You looked up at her in confusion but as soon as your eyes connected, you immediately looked away, feeling your face burn.

“Yeah, next time I go out on patrol I know who to call.” The man chuckled

“Thank you, man.” Tommy beamed

“Not you, dipshit.”

You and Ellie let out a surprised cackle, and while you tried covering yours up with a cough as Tommy glared in your direction, Ellie couldn’t hold back her hearty laugh. She slapped her thigh and wiped an invisible tear from her eye as Tommy rambled on. While her uncle turned his anger to the card player, she caught your eye and motioned her head towards the stables.

“Lead the way.”

You nodded and lowered your gaze again, mentally freaking out as you guided Tommy’s horse back into her stable with Ellie following close behind on her own. Whilst you removed her gear gently, you could hear the clanging of Ellie following suit behind you. And when she finished, she simply watched you.

“You’re so gentle with them.” You jumped at her words, not expecting her to be so close as she leaned against the entrance of the stable. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” She chuckled lightly.

“No, you’re good I, uh, I have this…idea that they’re so on edge from being outside that they can’t really tell when it’s time to relax and when it’s time to work. So I just try to make the transition easier, you know? No loud noises, extra treats, stuff like that..” You answered, giving the ol’ girl a nice rub on her sides.

Ellie hummed and leaned her body backwards, looking both ways to see if anyone was around before stepping into the stable you were in. Her steps were slow as she approached you and you resisted the urge to step away, not for any reason besides you literally thought you might combust being this close to her.

She stood in front of you, eyes staring deeply into yours while her hands remained at her sides. “I’ve been thinking about you all morning.” She said in a low voice.

“Really?”

“Of course.” Her head lowered to find your hands, she clasped both of your hands in both of hers as she admired you. “How could I not?”

Your mind was screaming, blaring alarms, and throwing burning papers in the air as the people in your head attempted to regulate…well everything.

You let out an airy chuckle and looked down bashfully. “Well, you’re lucky you didn’t see me an hour before.” She gave you a confused look, so you continued. “I was cleaning up after the horses.”

Ellie looked up at the ceiling and thought about the vagueness of your words before a smile grew on her cheeks. She lifted her hand to cup her cheek to look her in the eye. “I think you would’ve looked beautiful anyway.”

“Shoveling horse shit?” You snorted

She shrugged. “As long as it doesn’t get in your mouth, no harm, no foul, right?”

“Ewww!” You whined as Ellie laughed at your reaction. You shivered at the thought. “Too early.”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” She surrendered, admiring your entire face for a minute before looking behind her quickly. “Hey…” she whispered, almost nervous in a way.

“Hey.”

She moved closer to you, reaching up to stroke your cheek and hoping you wouldn’t notice the way her hand shook the entire way up. “Can I get a kiss?”

Your heart leaped. Your vocal chords were nowhere to found, so you attempted a simple nod. But Ellie smiled at you and shook her head.

“Can I hear you say it?”

You gulped. “Please kiss me, Ellie.”

With a wide smile, she leaned in and connected your lips so gently, you felt like you were being kissed by a fairy. She let you both grow comfortable in the kiss before pulling away lightly, giving you the same chance, and leaning in once more when you chased after her lips. The two of you remained in a tight embrace, neither pushing the others boundary too much but putting enough pressure to know she were there. For a minute, you forgot where you were.

“Hey girlie!” A voice boomed

The two of you pulled away in shock, looking between each other before you quickly looked around at your surroundings and hurriedly threw a brown bag in Ellie’s direction. She caught it in both arms before spinning around to face the burly old man who sauntered over.

“Williams. What are you doing in my shed?” He questioned her.

You popped out from the other side of the horse and patted her side. “Sorry, sir. She wanted to give the girls some treats for their hard work out there.”

He looked between you two suspiciously before crossing his arms over his chest and staring at Ellie with a look you couldn’t put your finger on. “So you’re the one who’s been sneaking my girls extra snacks, eh?”

Ellie’s mouth opened and closed for a second before sighing and handing him the bag as if she’d been caught. “Yep, it’s me. Sorry, man.”

He sucked his teeth and snatched the bag out of her hand, reaching inside to grab a red apple and bite into it. “You’re lucky you’ve saved my ass more times than I can count, Williams.” He pointed at her and then to you. “And you, stop bein’ so damn nice. Y’all are gonna fatten my horses up. Now, get.”

You and Ellie swiftly made your way out of the horse shed, walking side by side inconspicuously throughout Jackson. Your hands occasionally bumped each other and you both resisted the urge to grab it. Ellie, because she didn’t want her business out to the whole world, and you, because your hands were probably dripping from how sweaty they felt.

You’d never felt this nervous around anyone. The secrecy of your relationship made it all the more wild. And yeah, it would be nice for everyone to know that Ellie is yours.

It’s also just nice being able to tell yourself that Ellie fucking Williams is your girlfriend.

[bunnywabigheart]

HASAN NSFW HEADCANNON PLS ANYTHING WORKS!!

ask and you SHALL receive!!! i’ve been a longtime hasanabi fan, and I’ve heard WAYYY too much into about this man’s sex life you’ve picked the right person

- you’ve known Hasan since 2020 but you two only started OFFICIALLY AND PUBLICLY dating in like march/april/may 2023

- and if you had KNOWN the dick would be THAT GOOD you DEFINITELY would’ve confessed ur feelings earlier

- you’ll be seeing sex through a WHOLE NEW LENSE

- from dating for maybe like three weeks you already know what makes Hasan “break”

- anytime yall are out with friends? teasing. IRL stream he can’t end abruptly just to fuck you? teasing. halloween? forget it you might as well just wear a bikini because we all know that costumes being ripped APART

- your lowkey obsessed with his hands oh mannn

- and bestie…if ur into cosplay better start running (I remember one time he might’ve said something abt being like addicted to roleplay??? BUT DON’T QUOTE ME ON IT)

- he is going to want to fuck u IN cosplay

- literally thinks you’re the most beautiful thing ever to exist

- tbh you blow all his ex’s AWAYYY (am I projecting…? okay fine I am a little bit lol)

- but fr you really do he looks at you like you created the universe

- and I’m not saying you’ll be “addicted” to his dick bc “addicted” is a strong word but idk

- during his streams you’ll be bursting in and being like “heyyy whatcha doing?”

- trying to watch and engage in whatever he’s watching, trying your best to tease him without getting a TOS violation or banned, etc., etc.

- him trying to shoo you away with a stunlock but then coming to see you during a “pee break”

- y’all spend at least ten minutes going at it

- chat going like “bro is taking a long ass piss 💀”

- comes back sweaty af, hair messy…yeah we all know what happened buddy you can’t fool us

xoxo,

bunny

A/N: I’m so sorry I couldn’t get more requests out I’ve been so busy with school and shit and haven’t been on tumblr or even watching many of Hasan’s streams lately :’( but here’s my present to u ily all see you soon!

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for asking someone not to make my art about a ship I hate?

This happened a couple months ago, but I’m still kinda unsure if I handled it correctly.

Basic rundown of events: I posted some art of a character on their own in the evening, and when I woke up the next morning, someone had reblogged with an addition about a ship that’s a big notp for me. I messaged them to ask they delete it as politely as possible, because people had been interacting with that version of the post specifically and it made me uncomfortable. They responded by saying I was being immature and needed to learn not to police what other people do on the internet. We exchanged a couple more messages, and I tried to explain my position my throughly. Neither of us was overtly hostile or anything, but I felt extremely talked down to by their tone of voice. After our conversation, we both blocked each other, and that was that. They never did delete their addition.

Why I think I might be TA: we weren’t exactly friends or anything. Neither of us followed each other. I’d seen them around in the fandom, and they’d reblogged some of my art in the past, but I think messaging someone I didn’t know instead of just blocking them might have been a bit of an overreach. Plus the ship in question is canon, and not particularly controversial or anything, so most people in the fandom probably wouldn’t have minded.

On the other hand, the ship being so unavoidable is a big part of the reason it upset me so much. It’s hard for me to exist in this fandom without having to see it constantly, and I don’t even ever mention the other character in it for fear of this exact thing happening. I’ve had people be assholes on my posts about the ship I prefer, or go out of their way to interpret my romantic posts about them platonically, or add tags to my art about how they only like my ship as backstory and not endgame. I don’t want to have to put a disclaimer every single time I post about this fandom. I just want to enjoy the things I like without being negative all the time. Which is why I figured messaging privately was more polite than making a stink where everyone could see. I specifically mentioned that I knew they wouldn’t have known and wasn’t mad.

No one actually ended up reblogging their addition, which is also a strike against me, but I got a lot of likes on specifically that version of the post, which made me scared they were going to. I hated the idea of having to turn off reblogs on a piece I’d worked pretty fucking hard on because a version I found so upsetting was in circulation. If it was just tags, I’d have blocked, but it being an addition is different. I don’t think asking people not to make my posts about it is “policing what other people do on the internet”. You’re in MY house, on MY post with MY art I spent hours on. Making additions to art posts already seems somewhat rude to me, that’s just not something you do, but I guess that’s a matter of the corner of tumblr culture you’re used it.

Also, their response felt very aggressive and condescending. They implied I was, like, a kid, and I do think I’m somewhat younger than them, but the only information about my age in my bio at the time was that I’m an adult, so it felt like a rude assumption. My age doesn’t have anything to do with it.

Again, though, I do absolutely see how my initial message could read as entitled. During the rest of our messaging, I did lose my temper a little bit at one point; I said something about how I’ve had to deal with shit in this fandom before, and I don’t remember the exact words since, again, we both blocked each other, but I know I swore at them. That might’ve come across as more aggressive than I wanted, and probably didn’t exactly help deescalate. (Can’t say for sure, I don’t have their side of the story)

Like I said, this situation was a bit ago now, but it upset me pretty bad at the time, and I’m still not entirely sure who’s in the wrong. So, AITA?

(Also to get ahead of this: please don’t make this about shipcourse in the comments. It’s not about that. They and I have similar opinions on that discourse from what I’ve gathered anyway. Thanks.)

What are these acronyms?

[tenjikyu]

It has been an illegal amount of time since I've been on tumblr (like a week and a half), but I'm back.

Hope you're doing well!

Anyways! Provided you're not busy (take however much time you need, whether that be a week or whatever), I have thought of another Tokyorev request since I've been rewatching the anime. There is a staggering lack of m!reader x Rindou on this platform, so therefore, here is my request.

How about m!reader x Rindou (romantic/fluff, whatever) where reader is a lesser known delinquent in Roppongi (2005 for reference) who constantly gets into fights, and winds up fighting Rindou and Ran. I'll leave it up to you if he wins or loses, but basically he catches Rindou's eye. I'm trying not to make my requests super detailed so I can leave space for creative liberties.

Well, there's the request, do with that what you will. Also I will probably be dropping a BSD request on you soon, so fair warning.

— 🎭

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 ( 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐝 ) 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

🎐rindou haitani x m!reader ‪‪ ༄

🎐fluff, headcanon format bc i’m struggling, lowercase intended, possibly ooc bc i haven’t touched any tokyo rev content in months but ill do my best. ‪‪the fight scene is WHACK bc i suck at writing it so im begging yall to ignore ༄

🎐 you were a rambunctious little shit growing up, and it was to nobody’s surprise you ended up roaming the streets of roppingi, picking fights with anyone you could see

🎐 you were smart though, choosing to grief on people you knew you could take on and people who were interested in fighting. you had no interest in bashing innocent passerby’s and people who could clearly stomp you into the concrete.

🎐 boxing and martial arts was something your parents had put you into as a way to vent out all that energy (it didn’t work, you still beat the shit outta the kids in your school), so you had both a good technique and a strong fist whenever you threw yourself into battle a fight.

🎐 this all changed the day you encountered the haitani brothers, rindou and ran.

🎐 their reputation was nothing exaggerated, and their eye for fashion was also nothing short of perfection. they were flashy and had total control over roppongi before they were even adults.

🎐 you never thought you’d have to end up laying hands on either of them, let alone both at the same time, until last week.

🎐 you were much less known then the brothers, however that doesn’t mean you didn’t have friends and alliances on the streets. you were a fun and energetic character, who had no problem stepping up if someone worth saving needed help. and that gave you a good reputation between the other lower gangs in the area.

🎐 so, when you saw the haitani brothers beating the shit out of your friends forehead, you wasted no time jumping in.

🎐 it was a shitty battle, with a 2v1 (your friend was fucked UP, bro was no help) , however your martial arts techniques prepared you for rindou’s quick movements, and your boxing provided a good punch to his pretty face.

🎐 in the end, it was clear you were going to lose. you bet if only one were there you might’ve stood a chance, however on the verge of passing out, decided to accept your fate and hope you don’t end up dead.

🎐 however you find that as you collapse, you watch them both walk off into the distance.

🎐 wait wtf.

🎐 they weren’t gonna torture you ? or break your bones ?

🎐 if you were a little more conscious, you might’ve been able to hear the conversation between the two brothers, however you knocked tf out not a minute after.

“so why are we letting that boy off the hook? he jumped into a fight that wasn’t his” ran curiously asked his little brother.

“to jump into a fight you know your gonna lose is honorable, however if he does it again then we can shatter his arms!” rindou perclaims, a flushed face that clearly wasn’t coming from the fight he just fought.

as ran looks back at the two bodies behind him, he thinks to himself…

nah i’m kidding ofc bro speaks his mind.

“nah, we’ve beaten up plenty of dudes doing the same thing. you just think that kid back there is hot huh.”

“ran what the FUCK-”

[goingmerryfics]

Hii!!! i really love all your writing and wanted to request smth if that's okay!

could i request law x so who's into lolita fashion/subculture? Like, on days that they're able to they'll wear really extravagant looking lolita dresses and such, and is just overall really girly, and might be embarrassed about being such, esp with someone like him. but maybe he even likes that they're aesthetic opposites. idk fjsjfjfk

Ty!! <3

(idk if i need to say this but lolita fashion doesn't have anything to do with the. other uses of the term. sometimes ppl make accusations abt it but the jfashion and book are not related)

Lolita Style S/O w/ Law

Content: can be read as GN reader that wears skirts, all SFW

Notes* Thanks for being patient with me while I worked on this request! A couple of things popped up for me (and my new-used computer quit suddenly so I have to wait to see if it can be repaired or if I should just buy a brand new one) so I’ve been trying to work around this. Back to mobile tumblr I go 😢 ! Anyway- I know all too well how lolita culture gets sexualized in people’s eyes so this is a completely nsfw-free request. I made this more relatable to those in sweet style lolita more than gothic lolita since you’d commented about them being opposites and personally, I think it would be super cute for him to be paired with someone with this style. Hope you like it :)

Law

Law isn’t the type to pay attention to what people wear as long as they are dressed in proper uniform when need be. Self expression is something personal, and he’s aware of different everyone’s style is

Though he finds it hard not to notice how you dress on your days off, whether it’s just around the sub or out on the town

It’s a lot of pastel, and a lot of fabric

You hadn’t thought of what Law or the others might’ve thought the first time you dressed up, so when you kept catching Law staring at you at various points of the day, you started to feel a little nervous

Later though, the two of you had crossed paths and he stopped you there to ask about your choice of clothing

While you explained how you enjoyed the colours and the overly girly feel of it all, he listened to every word, and even asked you some questions- like how everything fit together, and how you chose to match your accessories to your clothes

He was intrigued, and being a knowledgeable man, he wanted to learn about you and your clothing style

He’d even gone off to do his own research at the next island, and secretly commissioned a seamstress to make a little purse modeled after Bepo’s face for your outfits because god knows this guy can’t sew for shit

Law had been waiting for you outside of your door, his present to you held in his hand, in a sweet little bag. You weren’t expecting to see him, nor were you expecting any sort of gift- it was nowhere near your birthday- but here he was. He pushes himself off from leaning against the door when he sees you.

“Here. I’m not sure if it’s alright, but I thought you might be able to use this.”

He hands you the bag, and you thank him before going off about how he didn’t need to get you anything, and asking what the occasion is as you dig through the white, glittery tissue paper to open it.

“No occasion. I just thought you’d like it.” He tries to act nonchalant and calm, but he’s watching your face for any changes to see if you like it or not.

You pull out the bag and gasp- it was perfect. Fluffy and pristine white, perfect for an outfit you’d been trying to put together for a while now- and it looked like your dear crewmate. You pull it to your chest with a big smile, going on a bit of a ramble at how cute it is, and how you’re going to use it right away.

The entire time you’re squealing over your new gift he’s smiling to himself, even if he doesn’t realize it.

The next time you change into your style, you make sure to keep the mini Bepo bag at your side. It goes great with your outfit

Bepo freaks out a little at the likelihood of the purse and his own face, but you quickly calm him down and explain that it’s not the head of a polar bear that you’re carrying around

Law watches you fawn over the bag with him from a distance, smiling to himself

He joins you later to walk around town with you. He’s come to enjoy how your style stands out so well beside him against his usual darker clothes

Law will also help you get dressed if you let him, buckling your shoes for you so you don’t have to fight the layers of skirt to reach your feet, or helping you pin up your hair pieces

You’d asked him once if he’d like to try men’s lolita style and he was very quick to shut that down.

“It looks better on you than it will on me.”

He really just likes seeing you as the unique one

[gebediahhhhhhh]

I’ve seen a lot of people analyzing Lydia’s behavior in BJBJ, not only on tumblr. And a lot of posts about Lydia’s anxiety being illogical miss one certain point: anxiety IS illogical. As someone who spent enough time treating my depression and anxiety issues (and also abusing my medicine at some point) I can totally get her behavior. Let me explain.

WARNING: I’m not an expert in anything I’m talking about, this is just for fun and based on my own experience with mental issues. Also I’m very sleepy and English is not my first language.

When people analyze Lydia’s behavior, they usually have 2 points:

1. Lydia is afraid of ghosts in general; she’s getting anxious because she can see dead people.

2. Lydia is afraid of Beetlejuice specifically.

While the first one is more logically understandable, I don’t think it’s the thing. To me it was obvious that she was afraid of BJ and her panic attacks happened only when she saw him. The second one, though, makes less sense considering the events of the second movie, when Lydia summons BJ and she’s just like… annoyed. She looks at him and goes ew. I didn’t see panic. Which could be just her being calm and collected in the face of danger, but I don’t believe Lyds is like that, sorry 😭

So that leaves us with her reactions being kinda… inconsistent. Yeah! So let me introduce you to my hot takes:

- Lydia is mentally unstable and has big anxiety issues which lead her to panic spiraling about certain topics.

- Lydia is NOT afraid of ghosts in general (at least consciously), but seeing them still messes her up.

- Lydia’s only human and her memory of the first movie events is not perfect.

Let’s talk about this.

In the first movie we clearly see Lydia being depressed and suicidal. Here everything’s clear, I think. Depression at a young age can mess your brain big time and I doubt she got it medicated until she was a whole ass adult.

In the same first movie Lydia obviously doesn’t feel distressed around ghosts (except for BJ, because he’s a weirdo). She willingly spends time with Maitlands and dances with football players and in general she’s okay with ghosts.

From the second movie we get that she can see any ghost because of her gift. I can only imagine how many ghosts she’s met during these 36 years. Probably even before her show started, she would always randomly see dead people in all kinds of places. Some guy killed himself in this building 50 years ago? Yep, Lydia can see him haunting the place. This ability surely doesn’t bring comfort to one’s life, especially after you grow out of your teenage years and talking to dead people is no more considered a quirky thing.

Now back to her fear of Beetlejuice. In the first movie, he terrorized the Deetzes, but didn’t do anything harmful to Lydia specifically. The whole wedding thing must’ve been pretty scary though, I don’t think many people acknowledge that. In her place I would absolutely be terrified. But at the end she seems fine and cheerful, which could be a sign that she isn’t traumatized but all this ghostly stuff that much. So what could’ve happened for her to react to BJ like this?

What I’m thinking is, human memory is not perfect. It tends to blur some things, especially uncomfortable ones. And depression is known for causing memory issues as well. I, personally, barely remember my teen years. And I’m definitely younger than Lydia and saw far less shit in my life. So I’m just thinking that, for the past 36 years, her memory of encountering Beetlejuice might’ve gotten more vague and kinda replaced with… Maitlands’ stories about him.

We don’t know when exactly did the Maitlands leave, but I assume Lydia did spend with them enough time. I already saw a very good in-depth post about Lydia’s fear of Beetlejuice being fueled by the Maitlands’ experience of him being a pervy freak and whatnot. Yes, I agree!!! They absolutely did tell Lydia about all their afterlife experiences, including their first time summoning Beetlejuice. So Lydia must’ve known about him being extremely fucking weird.

Now, imagine: you’re a woman with many mental issues. Your job includes regularly seeing dead people who might look really disturbing and behave in a potentially dangerous way. You have many relationships issues as well and now… You start seeing a freaky ghost from your teenage years. What do you remember about him? Oh, not much:

- he hurt your dad and scared your family (which might have been funny when you’re 16, you do start seeing things differently when you grow up).

- he was acting absolutely disgusting towards your friend.

- he tried to marry you.

I don’t blame Lydia for freaking out. And considering she has anxiety, I can totally imagine her brain going different directions with thoughts how Beetlejuice might hurt her specifically. Been there, done that. I believe her seeing him at the studio wasn’t the first time, and her reactions just kept escalating because she kept thinking about him being a supernatural entity who can murder her, rape her, hurt her daughter, hurt her parents, etc.

But then she summons him and he’s… normal. I mean, relatively normal. You know that feeling when you’re afraid to make this really scary phone call, but when you finally do, it turns out to be not that scary? I imagine that what Lydia experienced, just ten times more intense lmao.

[ghost-with-a-teacup]

𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐃𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐓𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞 𝟏𝟒𝟏 + 𝐊𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

A/N: Posting this again because Tumblr is being a nuisance and not showing my post in tags :)) It's just really freaking fluffy, enjoy!!

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley

Was completely on board for a stargazing date. No large crowds of people? Peaceful nature, paired alongside you? It couldn’t get any better for Simon, except maybe staying in at home.

Packs a kit of things you might want, a blanket, a late dinner (that consisted of some very delicious sandwiches and veggies! You really didn’t know how he did it, those sandwiches were always so damn good)

Sets up the blanket in this really nice field he found one day when he was out on a jog. The open sky was visible for miles around, and there were little wildflowers everywhere.

Just holds you close to his side, and doesn’t want to let you go ever. Not that you minded.

“There was this one recruit that was just a little shit, didn’t bother me thankfully, but bothered another one of the female recruits,” you said, tone a bit irritated.

“Want me to do anything?” Simon asked. It was funny, he was almost like a guard dog. Guard bear? Given his size and all. It was cute, but you knew that he knew you could more than handle yourself.

“Nah, ripped him a new one the moment I saw it happen. Gotta teach them right early on, or they’ll think they can carry that attitude throughout their career” you say. “Looked like he saw his life flash before his eyes,” you giggled softly.

He only hums affectionately, brushing a hand over your head gently. That’s when you let out a gasp, pointing up at something in the sky.

“Simon! A shooting star, make a wish!” You say, sitting up and clasping your hands together before closing your eyes, murmuring a wish to yourself. He remained laying down, but he did wish for something wordlessly, as cheesy as the action might’ve been.

It was that you would stay by his side for the rest of eternity, because only then would it be enough time.

John Price

He would definitely say cheesy stuff about the universe, but with his voice it made it sound like your own personal David Attenborough.

“Did you know that we’re all made of stardust? Us, made up of the remnants of stars created billions of years before our lifetime,” he said with a little sparkle in his eyes, as if your very presence was proof of the fact.

I feel like Price, despite all that he’s seen over the years, still has such a beautiful view of the world

I mean, it makes sense, when he does so much to protect it

Not just the world, but the universe

When you look over at him, you just see this glimmer in his eyes as he looks up at the sky. So bright you can’t help but snuggle closer.

The conversation had slowed down to a stop for a little moment as you both just watched the sky in the quiet night. You take this moment to look over at John, and all his focus is directed toward the sky. His blue eyes shine bright in the glow of the moon as fascination dances through them.

It makes your heart feel warm inside, that despite all the horror he’s seen he still regards the world with such a glow.

You hope that glow never fades, only shines brighter as time goes by. You can’t help but cuddle closer, pressing your cheek to his chest. His arm tightens its hold around your shoulders as his focus is directed to you now.

“What’s wrong, love?” he asks.

“Nothing John,” you say with a smile. “Nothing at all.

Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish

Has a hatchback, so he figured it would be nice to bring a bunch of blankets and pillows and drive to a viewpoint somewhere in the middle of the night so you could both cuddle under the stars.

Is serious about the setup, everything has to be nice and cozy.

Even brought one of those little packs of string lights you can find at Walmart during Christmastime to set up so it's extra intimate.

Snacks? Of course! Can’t be getting hungry now, can we?

You sat wrapped up in a fuzzy blanket, legs thrown over Johnny’s as he held you close. Every so often he would press a kiss on your forehead as you both just talked about anything and everything. The days you had, some goofy prank he pulled on Ghost, the funny recruit you had trained the other day.

“Here I am bleeding out from a gash in my side when L.T. tells this stupid joke. Completely out of the blue. Hells bells, I can’t even remember what the joke was now, I’m sure it wasn’t even funny but it was so random I laughed,” he chuckles to himself. “That just causes blood to spurt out from my side and all over Ghost’s hands as he's trying to patch me up, and all he can say is ‘Fucking hell Johnny’ which, of course, makes me laugh more,” he laughs. And you can’t but laugh along with him, the sound so contagious and light.

“Sounds like one hell of a mission, hm~?” you say, pressing a kiss to his chin.

“Aye sweetheart, wish you had been there. Would’ve patched me up real nice, better than L.T. ever could’ve done,” he says, brushing his fingers over your cheek fondly.

“Of course,” you respond.

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick

Comes prepared to say the least. Snacks, blankets, heat packs, hot chocolate, you name it and he’s got it.

Was very giddy when you asked him if he wanted to leave base with you for a while to go stargazing.

You remember him saying on the first date that it was his ideal date, but at the time it was smack dab in the middle of winter, and while it wasn’t a bad time per se, there were better seasons to go in.

Loved learning about the stars in class as a kid, and it’s just stuck ever since.

You’re lying in Kyles's lap as you listen to him talk about his favourite stars. Every so often he would feed you a piece of candy as he did, otherwise, his fingers were running through your hair soothingly.

“Sirius is the brightest star we can see from Earth,” he points out before his hand returns back to the top of your head. “It’s actually a binary star, which means that they are a pair of stars orbiting alongside each other,” he explains before looking back down at you.

“What?” he asks as he looks at your goofy grin.

“Nothing, I just like the sound of your voice,” you say in response, and Kyle only trips over his words for a moment before deciding against them, opting to just kiss you instead.

Konig

Puts you on his shoulders as you walk through the open field, and says it's so you can be closer to the ones that are at least half as bright as you.

This makes your cheeks heat up with embarrassment, much to his amusement.

He’s just really sweet the entire time

Doesn’t know much about the stars and constellations so you make it a point to teach him all about them

He doesn’t say much in response, instead, he just listens to your voice as you talk excitedly.

“I think Lyra is my favourite constellation. It’s about the lyre, a musical instrument that was created by the god Hermes! He gifted it to Orpheus, you know the one from Hadestown that I always listen to?” you say excitedly, and Konig only nods as he watches you with fond eyes.

“I’m boring you, aren’t I?” you ask, your voice tinged with sadness, judging by his lack of response this entire time. Panic flashes in his eyes as he feels you pull away from him slightly. He grabs your wrist in response, pulling you back to him.

“Never, Liebling,” he says. “You just speak so excitedly about this, and I enjoy your happiness as though it were my own. That…and well, the sound of your voice is very lovely,” he says, pink flushing his cheeks. You feel your own heat up at the admission before you pull him into a sweet kiss.

“Alright,” you smile.

A/N: I actually have a really vivid memory of going stargazing as a kid. Back in sixth grade, we were at an overnight camp in the middle of the Canadian winter, and when nighttime hit the counsellors took us out to this big open field in all our snow gear and just told us to lay down in the snow to look up at the stars. I just remember it being so calm and quiet. It was kinda far up North from any cities (close to Algonquin park :P) so there was no light pollution. Still one of my core memories, haha.

Anyway! If you want me to expand on any of these headcanons into a proper fic just let me know!!

[honey-milk-depresso]

getting back into the twst community is hard…

Warnings: Rant post

So… yeah.

It’s been way too long since I’ve ever made any fics or art because I’ve been so busy with school and all, and I kind of dreaded the day I’ll fall out of TWST because I kind of don’t want to.

It’s like your too tired to even catch up and bother what’s going on with the fandom and the series itself but you also want to because it’s the core reason why you’re even here in the first place (in my case, Tumblr with this blog and my art blog that gives me so much memories).

To tell you the truth, I joined TWST when I was 13 but it’s becoming much harder to just keep up especially when I’m getting older. I’m literally turning 17 soon and I just wish I could find a reason to keep going but I have a lot on my plate irl and I’m exploring into new fandoms, some of you might’ve guessed which one it is (spoilers: it’s Batfam), but I don’t want to lose my roots of TWST because it’s my first “home”.

I haven’t been talking to friends online, I’m kind of a ghost nowadays left to idk- rot I guess? I mean, not rot but I’m pretty much just unaliving myself online a lot more often than I want to admit that I kind of forgot like… everyone. And sometimes I think I can’t find a reason to talk with anybody on my blog anymore when I feel this shit. Like, this is like pinnacle shit I’m feeling nowadays when I’m online instead offline which is cool and all (or not) but… idk, I feel inadequate.

I’m sorry, I’m just gonna cut the rant up to here but yeah.

I wish I could get back on art soon though.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

trading paper dolls - chapter two

Fandom: Masters of the Air Rating: T (may change) Chapter: 2 / 3 Word Count: 2628

Summary: Tired of the pin-up girls, Alex draws Buck Cleven in a similar style, never intending for the sketch to fall into the hands of Bucky Egan.

read on tumblr: one

Stalag Luft was full of secrets. It was the one thing there was plenty of. If Alex looked as though he were hiding something, well, that was unexceptional; it made him look like everyone else. It made him, if anything, safer, because it increased his trustworthiness in the eyes of those around him. And those eyes were always looking, always peering, always glancing away with a quick flick that you couldn’t quite prove. Luckily, Alex was quick too. While most of those boys had flown (or flown in) bombers, he and Macon knew planes of a different velocity. That made them observant, made them careful, and Alex wanted to be careful with those boys’ trust now that he was gaining it. Trust was the one commodity he knew he wouldn’t be able to buy back if he lost it.

He was still drawing. Actually, he was drawing more publicly than he had before, even testing out a sketch on the hut’s front step, the cold biting his fingers as he gripped the pencil. Two goons on patrol passed his perch. Alex glanced up and saw one of them looking at the page in his hands, but then the guard only sneered and continued on, neither alerting his companion nor disciplining Alex for whatever crime they might’ve decided he had committed by drawing a pretty white girl in close-fitting pajamas. Spreading filth? Having a hobby? Surely those were both extreme offences in the eyes of cogs in a genocide machine, Alex thought sarcastically as he retreated into the bunkhouse, flexing his freezing fingers.

“You know I’ll help you no matter what,” Macon announced from his bunk. “Unless you get frostbite from bein’ stupid. That’s where I draw the line.”

Alex rolled his eyes and crossed the room to sit heavily on his own bunk.

“Got it.”

He knew that wasn’t the end of it though; he could feel Macon looking over his shoulder, like he always did, like a judgemental angel.

“What’re you doin’, doin’ that out there?” Macon demanded.

“I thought…” Alex sighed and set the half-finished drawing aside. “I thought I could make a trade.”

“With Nazis?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit. Guess they’re horny too. Maybe you should draw a girl in a… what’s the dame version of lederhosen?”

“Dirndl.” The answer came from Crank, reading at the table.

“Dirndl,” Macon repeated, instead of telling Crank to mind his business, like Alex knew he probably wanted to. They were both feeling fortunate for the group’s tentative acceptance of them though, and Alex was glad Macon seemed equally unwilling to jeopardize that over a small annoyance. Crank could hardly help overhearing them anyway.

Alex laughed.

“Yeah, maybe next time.” He hunched forward and rubbed his forehead. “Or it was just stupid, like you said.”

“What’d you think they’d give you?” Macon wondered.

“Not much they have access to—not much material. I was hoping, you know, information.”

Macon burst into laughter that startled the book out of Crank’s hands.

“You thought…” he panted. “You thought those damn Nazis were gonna take one look at those perky cartoon sweater-fillers and let you in on their plans?”

“I don’t see you tryin’ anything!” Alex said defensively. The plan hadn’t sounded quite so foolish in his head as it did leaving Macon’s mouth.

“Maybe you could bandage my damn neck with something and see if one of them goons feels tempted to write secret information on it.”

“Alright,” Alex said, signalling the end of their talk with a dismissive wave over his shoulder at Macon.

So, his plan hadn’t been any good. At least it hadn’t made anything worse. That was always a very real danger, and one Alex did not wish to bring down upon the heads of himself and his bunkroom fellows.

Feeling his ambition had been frustrated but not yet blunted, Alex tucked the pencil behind his ear and left the bunkroom. He went to the library, where he hoped he’d be able to make some real progress. It was empty when he arrived. Skimming his fingers over the spines, Alex drew a book from the shelf seemingly at random. He made sure to sit away from the windows and facing the door so he would be able to see if anyone walked in.

Cautiously, he cracked the book open, then thumbed a few pages back from where the leaves parted naturally. He had left a folded sheet of paper there, and there it remained. Though this wouldn’t have been how he’d have found out had the drawing been discovered (there would have been more violence—more fists, more guns, more dogs), Alex sighed in relief to see it still in its place. He shot another look at the empty doorway before sliding the paper free and unfolding it.

It was a map—one of his. Most days, he had nothing to add. Some days, he added little things, like guessing at the density of a stand of trees. All information was valuable; if anyone tried to escape, perhaps it would be necessary for them to double back, to hide amongst those trees. Lately, Alex had also roughed in dashed lines to represent the routes the goons took when they patrolled the camp. These, of course, weren’t fixed, but he could tell the cold was getting to the Germans too, and that they often followed the same path when they were keeping out of the sharp, dry wind that whipped between the huts. Alex found the line that represented the route the guards had travelled today as he’d sat outside and pressed his pencil to the dashes, darkening the path to indicate repeated use.

Every mark he made on this paper, every line he added, was meticulously straight. Straight fence, straight rows of huts, straight guard paths that turned corners and turned back on themselves with right angles. It was how Alex was managing now, since that other drawing had gone missing. He kept the curves for the fantasy pin-up girls (who were girls, exclusively) and the straight lines for reality. No crossover. He wasn’t tempted to go there again. His truce with Egan felt far too tenuous.

He would feel Egan looking at him at all hours, only to have the man glance swiftly away when Alex summoned the nerve to meet his stare. Alex suspected Egan was paranoid that he was already watching him, which made Alex absolutely certain Egan still had that drawing of Buck Cleven. Neither could expose the other without dooming himself, and Alex guessed he really didn’t know Egan well enough to be sure, beyond doubt, that he wouldn’t do something so unprofitable and reckless.

Alex had no plans to give up Egan’s secret—secrets: that he’d kept the drawing, and what continued possession implied about his other hungers—and he wished more than anything that he could just forget he’d ever done the sketch. Unfortunately, he knew it was out there. So slight, so fragile that paper. So relatively meaningless, considering the scope of their circumstances and their precarious chances in the hands of capricious tormentors, but so valuable for the raw need it betrayed in the one who concealed it. War, Alex knew, confinement… these things winnowed down desires until a man could only want one thing or else feel the lack so sharply that his mind would starve long before the meagre rations gave out. Egan’s one thing was Buck Cleven, and Egan knew Alex knew.

Did he really think Buck didn’t?

—

If Bucky could’ve burnt the paper, he lied to himself and told himself he would’ve. As it was, the drawing kept him warm, no flames needed, making him feel as though someone had dropped a hot spark down the back of his shirt whenever he peeled open the page’s softening folds and stole a glimpse. It wasn’t always easy to resist.

He kept it with him, down in the pocket of his coat. Out in the bitter chill of the yard, hands shoved deep, he would twitch the page between his cold fingers, curl it around his thumb, all while glowering at the goons or chatting with Brady or fetching a pail of water like a goddamn dystopian nursery rhyme. At night, Bucky smoothed the page flat and slept on top of it. He could hear its muffled crinkle when he shifted. He ached with how hard he needed it to not tear, but he couldn’t bring himself to hide it elsewhere. This was how the paper had become worn; this was why it was no longer crisp, but soft, like skin.

The beds weren’t warm, and neither were the bunkrooms that housed them. Still, Bucky managed an occasional sweat. This, added to his body’s persistent grime, was fading the pencil lines Jefferson had drawn. He was seeping into Buck, the lines that made Buck up rubbing off onto his skin and clothing. When he erased him completely—and it was a when, not an if—Bucky wondered whether it would feel like a loss or an accomplishment, a man gone or a single body holding traces of them both. Because he felt, some days, to be only a trace of himself. A lone shot in the night, a slicing sheet of rain snatched away by the wind. He felt sharp and cold and intangible. He clasped the drawing of Buck all the tighter to feel like he was real.

The thought of telling this—telling any of it—to Buck the man terrified Bucky. He couldn’t unzip his skin and unbuckle his ribs and unclasp his heart and say, Look here. This is where I need you. It’s gettin’ pretty desperate, Buck. Better to use the drawing to wipe the filth off his face than to dirty the man.

It would be fine, Bucky told himself—lying again—if not for two things: that Jefferson was a loose end, and that Bucky knew a day was coming, faster and faster, when his body would overrule his brain. Some morning, his eyes would find Buck’s as they were just waking up; some afternoon, he would stand too close to him; some evening, he would lean his leg against Buck’s under the table while the boys played cards; and, late some night, he would go to Buck in the dark and remind him of the radio, would remind Buck how he had gathered what he’d asked for, would say, Put me to use, because I only feel the edges of myself when you define them. Beyond that was an abyss, a haze, a pit—and Bucky’s imagination was too scared to jump.

“Your mouth”—those words were the dual harbingers of Bucky’s collapse. He spoke them to Buck while watching him eat a thin soup with a shallow spoon. Buck paused with that referenced mouth open, spoon on its way up. He lowered it back to the bowl.

“What’s that?” he asked, like he hadn’t heard.

Bucky cleared his throat, then shook his head, wearing a vague smile.

“Your lips are cracking,” he said. “From the cold.” He added, “Mine too,” like that would make it better, but now he was thinking about Buck’s mouth and his own and his head was swimming, only partially from hunger.

Slowly, Buck replied, “Uh huh.” He kept eating.

Bucky stared down into his bowl as he finished the meal. He worried Jefferson was watching him, but he wouldn’t look up to prove it; he preferred being discrete to being right. That might have been a first. Where his glance eventually landed was back on Buck, who wasn’t looking. Regardless, Bucky suspected his suspicion. He felt stupid and obvious. He felt he was one big pair of eyes.

It took minutes for him to fuck it all again, but worse. Dizzingly so.

He’d pushed away from the table after eating, donned his coat, and sought his solitude in the yard. Hadn’t worked. Buck had followed, just long enough after that Bucky knew before he even turned to look at the inevitable owner of the approaching footsteps that he’d taken time to wind the thick blue scarf around his neck. He always took more care than Bucky did; this, this situation, Bucky felt, would never happen to Buck. He would never have succumbed to the same insanity, falling asleep on a drawing of his best friend and waking up with a pale grey tattoo on his stomach where the graphite had transferred.

He turned and nodded at Buck. The blue made Buck look colder—his skin more wan, his eyes that squinted in the pale light bright and diseased—but also more beautiful. In spite of the distress holding the one drawing was causing him, Bucky wanted Buck captured like this too: this pallid, enduring creature against the barren landscape of dirt and huts. Buck walked close and Bucky sighed hot air in his direction.

“Y’alright?” Buck checked, and Bucky nodded but turned away. He didn’t want company.

He strode to the lee of the hut, out of the wind, but Buck came. They went together. Didn’t they always? Bucky leaned back against the wall, hands in his coat pockets.

“John,” said Buck, and that was all.

Then, he did something he hadn’t before, slipping his hand in next to Bucky’s, down in the pocket where Bucky was toying with the folded paper. Bucky stiffened and Buck frowned in confusion. He hadn’t felt it yet, but because Bucky didn’t try to extricate himself, Buck was able to explore. His fingers slid between Bucky’s, slow like rain, and Bucky closed his eyes, knowing it was all over, deciding he was at least going to enjoy these final moments. Buck’s fingers felt slim, his palm rough, his hand an easy one for Bucky to hold. He felt Buck hit the paper and stall his movement. Tears rose like a tide behind Bucky’s eyelids until one rolled out, so cold on his cheek that it was almost hot.

“Something they shouldn’t see?” Buck asked under his breath. He didn’t mention the crying, so Bucky assumed he hadn’t noticed.

He knew who Buck meant: the Germans. He thought Bucky was carrying plans of some kind, maybe a map.

Bucky shook his head, spilling more tears, and now, Buck saw.

His hand went to Bucky’s face. By the time Bucky opened his eyes, it was gone, but he still felt the way Buck’s palm had curve to cup his cheek.

Buck said things, many things, attempting to soothe Bucky even though he didn’t know what was wrong. He said them in the low voice that seemed to roll out of him. But, like a man adrift in the ocean, Bucky had given up. He smiled at Buck as if he were a hallucination—a final sight before his head went under. A kindness from his panicked mind. He understood that this was alarming, what with his wet eyes, but he sniffed and pressed the paper into Buck’s palm, still in his pocket. He felt the back of Buck’s fingers as they closed around it. And then the handoff was over. The waves were rising. His legs were too tired to kick.

Buck concealed most of his confusion, but Bucky knew he would be curious. Even so, he didn’t leave right away. He stayed. The two of them, sheltered from the cutting wind.

“Don’t… just don’t ask where it came from,” Bucky said when Buck finally pushed away from the wall. “That doesn’t matter. I take full responsibility for that.” He darted a look at Buck’s closed fist in explanation. “It’s just mine. Anything now… it’s between you and me, Buck.”

Buck smiled like this was the first thing that made sense.

“Always is,” he said simply.

Bucky nodded his gratitude.

[carmyberzattosjournal]

Entry 19: Normal Straight Jacket

Bearblr Promptober Day 19: Only One Bed

Summary: Carmy and Sydney get stuck with one hotel room on a conference in New York, and Carmy is suffering for it. (908 words)

Warnings: Swearing, chronic pain, mentions of drug use (no characters use drugs), Carmy is very self-conscious, mentions of fem reader/rando lass who is a trauma surgeon, she/her pronouns.

Notes: All journal entries will be titled as such and tagged with #cb journal.

Thank you for reading. Thank you to @carmenberzattosgf for putting together this prompt list. Sideblog for commentary and yapping: @m-z-shoroi

Also, if random letters or words are black/white instead of the colors they should be, that's Tumblr being dumb, I've been fighting it for days.

19 Oct 2024

I’m going to rethink acts of chivalry for the rest of my life.

So, Syd and I are at the conference in New York. I asked Sugar to do all the booking for our trip because (a) I don’t have time for this shit, (b) I’m going to fuck it up anyway because non-kitchen logistics are not my thing, and (c) Syd was already up to her eyeballs looking for new line cooks because we had a second fucking person disappear right at the start of service to go smoke crack in the back alley.

God's still a sadist, in case you were wondering.

Anyway, Sug did everything right. Like she got us rooms walking distance from the venue, so we didn’t have to put up with a rental car and all that shit, but the hotel fucked up our booking. They double-booked my room, they’re packed, the other person showed up 2 hours earlier than we did, so guess who doesn’t have a fucking room now?

At least they refunded us 75% of our booking for the massive inconvenience. More for Cicero.

So, we got one room. One bed, a shitty little table that rocks back and forth so bad that just interacting with it makes me want to hurl it out the window—not that it matters anyway because there’s only one chair—and a couch. Oh, and one bathroom. One shower. I lived on a houseboat in Copenhagen with the shittiest little shower you can’t even imagine to avoid this exact roommate scenario because being around other people, I swear to fuck, drives me fucking crazy.

I need to be able to get away from peoples’ eyes. There are few greater hells than being witnessed at all hours, than being scrutinized for your peculiarities and faults like you’re a lab rat being assessed for the gas chamber or some exotic breed of slug some random fucko put in a petri dish to poke with a stick. Every little weird thing I do—the incessant fiddling with objects, drumming my fingers, touching my face way too often to be remotely fucking normal, muttering to myself as I figure out something complicated, even writing in this fucking notebook—I become painfully aware of all of it. There’s this straight jacket on how to be “normal” that gets cinched around me—not of my own will. I fucking wish I could be as unapologetically myself as Fak is—and it ratchets tighter and tighter until it feels like my own skin is too tight on my body, and I need to get the fuck out of dodge. Kitchens are brutal and fast paced enough that I don’t have time to be a fucking weirdo and no one has time to pay any attention to me, but a conference? The funeral dinner at Ever (which I had to sit still for lest everyone at that table think I’m tweaking)? A fucking random fucking hotel room in fuck-off New York with Syd of all beings?

Darling, I feel a lot better around, but even now, she understands that I just need space and time to not be observed. It’s why we still don’t quite live together even though I know she wants to move in. More accurately, move me out, because those stupid fucking radiators and the idiot fucking landlord… Anyway, I’m on this dumbass couch because I’m short enough to fit on it (one point for being a short bitch, I guess) and Syd’s sound asleep because if I had to argue about who went where for one more fucking second, I might’ve bitten her head off, which would’ve set up an even more miserable day two than the one we’ll have anyway tomorrow.

She also still doesn’t know that my back is fucked up. And bringing it up now would’ve just made me seem like an asshole, or she would’ve gotten mad for not telling her sooner (which is fair, by the way. I definitely should’ve told her sooner), but we are now here and here is a couch that only looks nice. It feels like it’s full of sawdust or something. The grimy-ass floor might have more cushion to it. And the texture is this awful cheap polyester that whistles when I shift at all.

My back is killing me. Between the flight, then the first day of the conference (mostly sitting), and then this shit, it feels like I’ve got knives in it. Stretching didn’t help. And I’m not asking Syd to stand on it like Darling does. The pain does this weird thing when it gets this bad; starts to feel like a being. Like some hideous, horrible creature festering under my skin, invading my bones; a putrid blossom—maybe that corpse flower, Titan arum—that threatened to burst from my spine. When it gets this bad, I find myself touching the spot over and over again, sometimes going to the mirror and pulling up my shirt to look at my unbroken skin, to reassure myself that nothing was there. Half the time, I expected to see a scar, something visible to explain why it hurt so much, something I could point to, something that had a story I could tell. But no. It just hurts. It hurts the same way most things hurt: the usual way.

Well, if I had to pick one of us to be tired and the other to be well-rested tomorrow, I’d pick it like this.