#Bs admission

[9w1ft]

thanks for your answer !! i think champagne problems at least has worked extremely well to push that first narrative because its what i think most gaylors believe, that karlie chose josh over her & that ended their relationship in 2019. so i think ylm goes along with that! i tend to take folkmore songs more literally than most but i definitely think theres several aspects of fiction she doesn't usually incorporate in her songs, one being to tell stories about her relationships to the public for them to believe that aren't necessarily true.

i think i take maybe 3 folklore songs literally 😆 evermore is a bit of a mixed bag for me as well.

i mean i think many if not most of us work backward from whichever grand hypothesis we have and try to see what may and may not fit. maybe that’s part of why these days i usually don’t usually share my song interpretations unless requested. it’s usually stuff that requires a lot of specific and colloquially forbidden building blocks and sometimes parts of it hang on assumptions based on other factors outside of lyric analysis and i just feel like it’s hard to capture it all in a… succinct way.

[nirmauniversity-blog]

BS (2+2 Dual Degree Programme) | Institute of International Study

ITNU offers the best BS (Computer Science, Chemical and Civil Engineering) 2+2 Dual Degree from US / Canada / Australia Offered by the Institute of International Study. The institute offers a full-time undergraduate programme that covers different fields of engineering and technology.

[iamtheonethinginlifeicancontrol]

#almost 2025 and i bet yashiro STILL hasn't gotten the raise he deserves. SIGH.

ren tsuruga is such a fun character because he spends five years crafting the perfect public persona; dissociating so hard to the point where he's treating "kuon hizuri" as a completely different person altogether; trying his hardest to sell the image of a perfect gentleman who never says or does the wrong thing...

...and enter kyoko mogami. even before he knows that she's the kyoko he met as a child, he drops the act around her and shows her his true self without even thinking about it. and even when he's actively trying to keep the facade up, she sees right through him so easily. i just know yashiro was having the biggest whiplash of his life those first couple of months when his serious, older-than-his-age charge suddenly started acting like the barely-out-of-his-teens boy that he was; antagonizing and childishly teasing this random girl (who gave as good as she got) but also being so obviously, pathetically in love with her and being completely unaware of it.

[snekdood]

OK OK.... last one. sorry. lmao

[killrisma]

I need to create a 10 piece art portfolio for college applications by October 10th… pray for me, y’all

[futurefind]

//Sasume 🤝J.in.g Y.u.an

"gets skewered for fun as part of a plan Its Fine Dwai :)"

[yellowraincoat]

My thought process was objectively less dumb than Rick’s

I can’t stop thinking that if Percy needs letters of rec from the gods, Annabeth should too. Like is she on this quest for herself and Percy? Or is it like a thing where being the chosen one has fucked up Percy’s education transcripts so badly that he needs the LITERAL gods to vouch for him 😂

Percy: Annabeth, isn’t it such bullshit that we need THREE letters of rec from THE GODS to get into New Rome University??

Annabeth: Well… you do.

Percy: I do?

Annabeth: I have a 4.0

Percy:

Annabeth: I’ve completed ap chem, and you’ve never made it through a single academic year of high school… so

Posideon after Percy completes a task: I vouch that Percy Jackson could probably do algebra if pressed

#i, Zeus, certify that it’s my fault Percy Jackson didn’t graduate 6th grade. I was pissy that year

[skribbledarker]

Back on my bs with another Zosan brainworm…. post Skypiea feels

—

Sanji, after having his “I needed a light” moment and getting shocked head-on by Enel, gains big lichtenberg scars that never fade. They’re darker than his usual skin tone, spiraling down the back of his neck, the entire expanse of his back, then curling around his shoulders and hips.

he hates them. Sanji thinks they make him look diseased, or like Frankenstein, sort of.. He doesn’t think scars are bad or ugly, no. It’s just the way they look on him.

He goes to so many lengths to hide them from the rest of the crew; he takes showers after everyone else is asleep, and his short-sleeved shirts get pushed to the back of the closet.

Chopper’s the only one who’s seen them. well, until Zoro. Somewhere in between when they didn’t like each other and when they suddenly did, the swordsman catches Sanji late at night in the bathroom, shirtless and twisting around himself to look at his back in the mirror.

Somehow, they end up on the floor, Sanji sitting cross-legged on the tile, hunched over with red tipped ears as Zoro sits behind him, taking his time tracing the patterns over Sanj’s skin.

“Do they hurt?” Zoro asks, grazing a calloused thumb over the back of Sanji’s neck.

“Sometimes. they sting when it gets cold.”

Zoro doesn’t say anything for a long time. Sanji feels like a bug under a microscope, just sitting there, being inspected like this. He finds himself zoning out— he doesn’t want to be here right now. This is embarassing.

“I like them.”

“Huh?”

And then Zoro’s hands are smoothing over Sanji’s shoulders, warm and careful like he’s handling a blade. “What, you don’t? It looks badass.”

no, they really don’t. “No. It looks…stupid.” Ugly, is what Sanji wants to say, but he doesn’t. The word suddenly seems a little too crass for whatever’s going on right now.

“Do mine, then?” Zoro counters, and that’s different. Zoro wears his like a collection, each mark a record of battles he’s won and lost and a testament to the shit he’s survived. Sanji hasn’t ever been blemished like that, barring the faint lines on the bridge of his nose still barely visible after eleven years. The scars just look out of place on him. Like they aren’t supposed to be there.

“No, no.” Sanji shakes his head. “Yours are— are badass.”

Zoro pauses again. “They look like vines.”

“Oh, so i’m sprouting greenery like you, now?”

That gets an exasperated huff out of Zoro, and Sanji can feel breath fanning over the back of his neck. “Stop, ‘m serious.”

It’s frightening, kind of, being laid bare under the watchful eye of someone else like this. Sanji can’t even see Zoro (well, besides his hands), but it’s almost like he can— the weight of his gaze falls heavy on Sanji’s back.

“Of course you are.”

A chill slides up Sanji’s spine when Zoro’s hands slide down to his waist, thumbing at the spots where the scars encroach onto his stomach. “ ‘s Pretty.”

Sanji’s throat suddenly feels dry, because the admission of pretty feels less like a descriptor of the lightning bolts spiraling down his back and more about him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Never thought I’d hear you call something ‘pretty,’ you brute.”

“Maybe you needed to.”

Maybe you needed to. Fuck, Maybe Sanji did.

—

gughhhh this was supposed to be a little drabble but got out of hand so fucking quickly??1!1?1?

anyways i want to shoot both of them dead lololololol

i also love projecting my self-image issues onto Sanji…. my blorbo AHHH

[litnerdwrites]

There's no indication that anybody from Velaris is, or has the ability to become, a soldier for the night court. The only soldiers we see are darkbriners and Illyrians. Velaris has also been warded two times over to keep it hidden (even though nobody knew it existed anyway). There's also no indication that either Illyria or THC have access to the library in Velaris, or have any similar resourced (even though they are the only places that provide the NC soldiers, and, by the IC's own admission, rife with misogyny and abuse towards woman and children).

The ones who suffered under Amarantha's reign were Illyria and the Hewn City. Exclusively. The ones who fight to protect the Night Court are Illyria and The Hewn City. Exclusively. The ones who were orphaned and widowed by war (up until Velaris was attacked in ACOMAF for the FIRST TIME IN 5000 YEARS (which we can assume was when it was built)) was Illyria and The Hewn City. Exclusively.

Velaris has no slums. The Illyrians live in tents.

Velaris was by no means poor, its people mostly cared for, the buildings and streets well kept. My sister, it seemed, had managed to find the only thing relatively close to a slum. (ACOFAS Chapter 4)

And yet my sister managed to find the seediest, most miserable taverns in Velaris (ACOFAS Chapter 12)

Rhysand talked to the 'governors of the Palaces' and getting them to refuse service to the people from the Court of Nightmares.

“Starting with meeting with the governors of the Palaces and getting them to agree never to serve, shelter, or entertain Keir or anyone from the Court of Nightmares.” (ACOWAR Chapter 27)

“They have been sending out the word to every business owner in the city,” Rhys went on, “every restaurant and shop and venue. So Keir and his ilk may come here … But they will not find it a welcoming place. Or one where they can even procure lodgings.” (ACOWAR Chapter 27)

Velaris is built and protected on the blood of others. One of the only issues that they faced were a lack spices, and probably other imports, due to stopping trade for fifty years.

“It’s just … so lovely to have such spices available again—now that … that things are better.” (ACOMAF Chapter 29)

After it was all over, and Amarantha was dead, they could have reached out to other courts, offered aid and helped rebuild. Or, at minimum, they could've offered Illyria and The Hewn City, aid. They could've helped them recover. But they didn't.

Velaris protected by the blood and sacrifices of Illyria and the Hewn City. What exactly have the IC, or the people of Velaris done in exchange? Deny them service and lodging? Did nobody contest this? At all? Did nobody, in this entire city (a place that's supposed to be the only 'good' in the Nc) ever protest? Or even ask about the conditions in either Illyria or the HC?

I know that there was something similar happening in the winter court, with Viviane protecting a small city near the border, but in that case, Viviane had to stay there to keep whatever magic shielded it strong, whereas in Velaris, the city was already a secret, and shielded, so I'm still not following why he had to shield it again. Also, the city she protected took in any outsiders that made it there, and the wards on Velaris, actively encouraged people away from the city.

And in the aftermaths, there is no reason to think that Viviane, or the people of that city didn't extend their help in rebuilding The Winter Court to others who had not been as lucky. Whereas we know for a fact that neither the IC or the people/governors of Velaris didn't extend help. Instead, they agreed to help segregate the HC residents even more.

So the argument that 'Velaris is the only good place, because the The Court of Nightmares is made of monsters and Illyrians refuse to change' is bs. At this point, the only change either should make is letting the IC, and Velaris fend for themselves during the next war. There is no reason for them to lose their loved ones and spill their own blood for the people of a city that will refuse them service and lodging just because of where they're from, at the encouragement and behest of their shared monarch.

Remind me again, how and why that stupid bat should be high king? He can't even govern his own territory.

[fazeruined]

@curseofbreadbear

" It's okay. It's not your fault. " Cassie reassures, sounding a little weary, but it's more so at her overall situation than Freddy's capacity to help her (or lack thereof.) In fact, he's arguably been the most help she's gotten so far even if mostly moral-- well there's Helpi, but a lot of his help has felt... backhanded, to say the least.

But first things first: her flashlight predicament.

Granted, it's likely the least of her problems in the grand scheme of things, but it's still a necessity; Visibility has become a great issue with the PizzaPlex in the dilapidated state it has gotten. Walking around blindly is a good way to, for example, fall through a hole she'd otherwise notice with a light source.

Not to mention the flashlight helped make things a bit less scary for a little kid, and Cassie could use all the peace of mind she can get.

Wait, "be back"? Before she can inquiry what Freddy had in 'mind', the damaged Glamrock was backtracking, soon only his heavy steps echoing through the ruined attraction being what Cassie could make out in the darkness (her view range was much shorter without the flashlight.) Good thing she could hear him to get a general idea of his location. Still she felt pretty lost as she remained in place, antsy; like being stranded on a raft in the open ocean.

She nearly misses Freddy being right down the platform, but the flashlight was still on, so she could notice the light moving in the darkness when he held it back over the edge.

" Oh. Oh, you found it! Thank you! " Cassie bends down to take the flashlight back. " Great job, superstar. " ... it felt an appropriate praise for his help. She spares a moment to look the flashlight over in her hand: She's mild surprised that it didn't break upon being dropped... half the time, Fazbear Entertainment-branded things are so cheaply-made, that breaking them just by staring a little too hard wasn't fully out of the realm of possibility.

" Huh? Help getting down? " Cassie lays out, again to make sure she got Freddy right. " Wait, let me see... " She points the flashlight down over the edge to assess the bottom and height a little more clearly, aside from seeing him standing down there as well. She lightly bites the inside of her cheek.

" Umm... I... I think I might need the help, yes. I'm kinda scared of jumping down myself and breaking a leg or something... "

Which might not be an actual risk, but badly spraining an ankle instead or sustaining some kind of injury due to landing 'wrong' had a pretty good chance of happening.

[Yet again, the girl's wording perplexed Freddy; she thought she had "lost Gregory, too?" From context, he assumed she meant that she thought he'd died...which meant that somebody else in her life had either passed or gone missing before him. That theory might have been correct, as not long after, she confirmed that Gregory was "all she had left." Perhaps...she had lost her family. The implication was there; it seemed that she was relying on her friend, which did not inspire Freddy with confidence about her home life.]

[Freddy was programmed to contact security or social services when it came to abandoned children; guards would look after them until their families came back, and in a worst-case, he might have to watch as the foster care system took over. He wasn't sure if he could commit to either method now, in his condition. Some intrinsic part of his programming wanted to look after her himself, knowing that she had a lack of guardianship...but he did not know if he would be a good fit. He was broken, and he was not sure if he could be fixed. He was at a complete and utter loss, and it devastated him.]

I̶̛̻̼̳͊͛ ̸̖̫̝̈̓A̴̜͍̬͐̈́͛M̴͌̑͘ͅ ̷͙̱̒̓S̶̛̥̟Ò̷̢̰͖Ŕ̷̬̰R̴̍͠ͅY̴͇̊.̷͚̑̏͠ (I AM SORRY.)

[That was as much as he could say, at least without overloading his voice box. He was in no condition to care for her. What a sorry excuse for a Fazbear.]

[Regardless, she continued, informing Freddy of the details surrounding Gregory's situation; apparently, he had been caught beneath Roxy Raceway. Something had "grabbed him," and refused to let him go. Perhaps Freddy was being overly skeptical, but that did not sound like a trustworthy account of events...if the animatronics here were being hostile, and he doubted that, then they would have hurt or killed him by now. He would be in no condition to communicate. There was also little chance that he had been kidnapped, as the animatronics would never keep a child from their parent or guardian. It might be that Gregory had gotten himself stuck in part of the sinkhole, but still...Freddy was wary of this explanation.]

[The girl also had an explanation for how Gregory had eluded Freddy's proximity sensors; he was apparently very sneaky, and was experienced with evading the animatronics. Freddy could believe this -- as effective as his sensors were, they were not foolproof. If something was far enough away, then he would not register it as an obstacle or a disturbance. Still...this "Gregory" character, at least the one Cassie was describing, struck him as odd.]

[Was he overthinking things?]

[Freddy didn't have the opportunity to voice his doubts -- besides, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to. Before he could say anything, the girl had an abrupt realization about the loss of her flashlight; his sensors indicated that she was again hovering over the edge of the platform. Had she dropped it? That was a simple enough fix. Freddy should be able to head down there, no problem...though he needed a roundabout route. He could not make that jump, either.]

I̸͓̞̅̊ ̷̙̋̉͝Ẇ̷̭I̵̩̓L̶̥̦̘͘L̸̢͚̈̉ ̵̝̌͗̂B̶̻͊̓̒É̵͍̝̹͌̐ ̴̢̮̈̑B̵͇̠̟͆͐Ḁ̷̳̙͋̒C̸̺̈̉͝Ḱ̶̛͚̇.̶̱̋ (I WILL BE BACK.)

[Hopefully, that was understandable enough to reassure her. Freddy walked away from the platform, guiding himself through the debris until he was on the opposite side -- the same one as her flashlight. He felt around for it on the ground, picked it up, and handed it back over the edge to her.]

D̷̝̬̎ͅO̶̢̖̗̓̍ ̴̗͖͂̿Y̷͍̫̍Õ̶̳͎̃̅Ŭ̵̹ ̵̭̹͝N̸̡̞͗͝ͅÈ̷̺̾̕E̶̗̩̿͜Ḑ̵̲̰̔ ̶͉̎H̶̛̛̹̉Ẻ̴̯̝̉Ḷ̵̨̢̊P̷͇̻͍̍ ̵̃̏͜Ĝ̵̟͋̓͜E̷̝͔̫͘Ṭ̸̓T̷̟̩͍̿I̵̪͛͠N̵͖̜̋͋Ġ̷̹ ̷̫̪͍͛̐̾D̴͈̤͇̒͗͝Ó̶̝̓W̵̖̊̈́N̸̥̊͑?̴̛̦͔̜̊ (DO YOU NEED HELP GETTING DOWN?)

[ontgerunway]

Toji died in 2006 summer. (May-September in Japan)

Megumi was born 22nd December 2002

He was 3+, not even 4 when Toji died. So Toji's flashback of Megumi being so young makes sense and Megumi not remembering him also makes sense.

When Gojo went to meet Megumi, he was 5-6 years old. So he didn't immediately go back to Megumi after Toji's death. So Megumi's "I haven't seen him (Toji) for years makes sense as his father literally been dead for years.

As for why Gojo didn't immediately go back? I have a theory that Toji's second wife was alive at that time or around them. She's also probably the one who told them Toji ran away not knowing her husband actually died.

And Gojo only stepped in when she ran away herself and probably waited a few days to see whether she returned or confirmed her death (idk she's dead but I'm giving her the benefit of doubt).

So the criticism of Toji not seeing Megumi for years is bs as he himself took care of Megumi as a child and when he realized he couldn't be good father to Megumi he decided to marry Tsumiki's mom and I do think she's a decent mom as Toji is good at judging characters (i.e. he was right about Gojo). This is why I think she also died, or was murdered.

And the criticism of Gojo not going back to Megumi immediately is also bs. Megumi and Tsumiki were not left alone for years. Megumi and Tsumiki were going to school, his step mom must have admitted them there before getting erased out of existence. Why would Gojo interfere when one guardian is still there?

The kids could not get admission in school without a guardian and that's why I think his step mom was alive and around them that time.

After her disappearance, Megumi thought she ran away with Toji. And that makes me question if her disappearance had anything to do with Toji's death. Maybe she heard something about Toji after all these years and wanted to find out and get herself killed in the process, which is a good probability as Toji had lots of enemies due to his profession.

I'd say their marriage was fairly recent as Shio himself didn't know about it. He was very much involved when Megumi was a baby and thought Toji was still a single dad when he met him in 2006 and Megumi was still a toddler.

Anyways, I just wanted to put it out there to people who say Toji left Megumi alone for years or Gojo left Megumi alone for years.

Neither of them makes sense and total BS

[artigas]

I’m really happy that Black Sails is experiencing a bit of a renaissance, but (predictably) some of the takes I’m seeing online are so busted. It’s wild to me that anyone would complain about the fact that Anne Bonny kisses Jack after she’s developed this life-changing relationship with Max. It’s absolutely wild to see anyone roll their eyes or feel uncomfortable about the fact that Flint has sex with Miranda when he returns to her in season one or that Max is most likely a lesbian but actively has sex with men for pay and knows how to make that pleasurable. It’s crazy to me that some of the very audiences who claim to want queer representation feel so discomforted when they actually see the mess and seeming inconsistencies of queerness that they asked for.

The reality is that there are lesbians who have had (and will have!) meaningful, mutually-gratifying, and deeply sexual relationships with men. There are gay men who’ve enjoyed having sex with women, who are gay as the day is long and nevertheless feel sexually attracted to a woman or two and are nevertheless gay men, full stop. There are gay cis men who are happily married to trans women. There are femme dom tops and butch bottoms and there are mascs afab people who like femme boys. There are non-binary people and trans men who actively identify as lesbians. There are ace and aro people who enjoy thinking about and engaging with sex — sometimes in fiction and sometimes in real life. Queerness, in fiction and in reality, defies neat categorization. That is the beauty, power, and (perceived) unorthodoxy of queerness.

Now, I’ll say this — do I think the straight men behind Black Sails were actively thinking deeply and insightfully about the paradoxes and fuckery of queer identity when they wrote Black Sails? No! By their own admission, Steinberg and Levine have owned up to the fact that some of the writing of the show was really hinged on their own blind spots as people who are not (to my knowledge) members of the queer community. If I want to be generous, I think that the beautiful mess of Black Sails is that, in not feeling like experts enough to designate specific identity labels to any of their characters, the writers stumbled their way into more authentic representation of lived queer experience, which is to say that the notion that James Flint was actively thinking of himself as a gay man was anachronistic. As many lesbian archivists and theories have noted, the notion of a queer identity — as in, queerness is who you are, not what you do — was patently unthinkable for most cultures in the past. In other words, the idea that Anne Bonny operates in the eighteenth century as a lesbian and thus would not willingly engage in relationships with men is not only untrue of the series, but untrue of most recorded lesbian experiences in the real world. The notion that a lesbian would operate her entire life without engaging sexually or romantically with men, for instance, is a very new privilege that some of us are very lucky to enjoy, but it is not true for the vast majority of human history — hell, it’s not even true of our present world.

This is all to say that think that there’s something really funny about how we want queer characters to fit into neatly organized boxes. This isn’t a new problem, either. When the show was still airing, the BS fandom would get itself into tizzies about wether or not Flint is gay or bisexual, wether or not Anne Bonny is a lesbian, wether or not Silver is queer when his only canonical relationship is with Madi, etc etc. We’ve been having these discourses for years and I don’t know. I get that much of it is fueled by how badly some people want to see themselves represented in media, but . . . well. The siloing of queer characters and queer narratives into neat little boxes has never felt very authentic to me and nine times out of ten, it’s also just so damn boring.

[qqueenofhades]

what's been particularly vile to me is this group of white online leftists who insist that anyone who cares about more than this one issue for the election is a bad person, like, as if us black and brown people are making up reasons to be afraid and not.....believing the gop when they say they are coming for us. believing trump who has said previously that he does not bluff, that he will do the things he's said he will do (i hate what social media has gone to the word gaslighting but it feels like gaslighting. we lived through four years of trump. we saw the damage. stop treating us like we're being dramatic). it must be great to not have to worry about that i guess? "life won't change under trump" is such a telling admission because maybe theirs won't but mine will. and so many others' will.

and it is often again these (white) online leftists that love to call anyone who disagrees with them a white liberal (derogatory) because they know it would be racist (bad) to be this shitty and condescending to poc but they don't want to actually listen to anything black and brown voters are saying. it's easier to just call us white liberals and throw our opinions out, to ignore the work of black people for decades to gain the right to vote, to disregard the weight of telling them to not do that. it's genuinely appalling. they care so much about racism until it's time to engage with poc who have different opinions than their online echo chambers, then we're just stupid liberals with terrible opinions like..... wanting to live. not wanting four more years of trump. so sorry for that.

sorry for this vent in your inbox, i'm just so fucking tired of white people trying to rewrite history as if trump wasn't that bad. he was for my family and countless others and i am terrified for what's to come if he wins.

The thing about (the often-white) Online Leftists is that they have become just as much as a radicalized death cult as the diehard Trumpists. If you don't want to die for The Revolution and/or sacrifice your life, friends, family, the rest of the country, etc., then you're Insufficiently Pure and must be Purged. (Which I think is just complete BS, as none of them could actually handle sacrificing anything, but it's increasingly the only kind of performative rhetoric that is acceptable in leftist-identified discourse spaces.) This is functionally identical to "if you aren't willing to lay down your life for our Lord and Savior Donald Trump and the Great White Christian Nationalist Dictatorship, you're a liberal cuck," but with the names and justification changed. It doesn't change the underlying radicalization, nihilism, and insanity of the premise.

Another thing the Trumpists and the Online Leftists have in common is that they are busily rewriting just how bad Trump was in order to serve their Ideology. Ever since January 6, 2021, the Republicans have thrown everything they have at revising and whitewashing any suggestion that it was an "insurrection," and the Online Leftists have done the same, in an attempt to "prove" their insane point that Trump "would be better" than Biden. This is embodied in the recent ultimate-brainworm-nonsense maximalist-online take that "Biden has to lose so the rest of the world will see that the US rejects genocide!!!" That's right, the message that the rest of the world would take from Biden losing to Trump is that the US rejects genocide. Never mind if Trump literally wants to commit all the genocide possible and to install himself as a fascist theocratic dictator. In the deeply twisted minds of the Online Leftists, this is the only possible interpretation of Biden's loss, so they'll push for it as hard as they can! The Trumpists and the Online Leftists, at this point, are working pretty much in concert to damage Biden for similar insane reasons and get Trump elected. Etc etc., one Nazi and ten people at the same table is eleven Nazis.

Like. Sure. Four years ago, when Trump was president and people were dying by the thousands because he didn't want to wear a mask because it smeared his bronzer, just to name literally one of the terrible things he did every single day (and not even mentioning how much worse a second term would be) we were absolutely better off. Super-duper great. (Sarcasm.) Either that or "there is suffering and evil in the world and the only solution is to drastically increase the suffering and evil for everyone and to destroy what progress we have managed to make because It Does Not Fix Everything Now" is an absolute moral imperative, and either way, yeah. I'm calling bullshit.

[cupcraft]

Tubbo: Why are you criticizing tommy for things he didnt do

Dream: ?

Tubbo: *repeats*

Dream: Well its not actually bc he did it its because im uno reversing critiquing him how hes treating me (ie petty bs) (paraphrased/translation)

So yeah little admissions of his manipulation

[chaifootsteps]

there are so many little hints that support Blitzfizz and feel like foreshadowing

Blitzo's love letter to him, the way he still so clearly carries a torch for him and never let it go (and the way they have a bond because these two are actual childhood friends). The way he keeps calling Fizz a sellout to cope with his jealousy but it's also because he thinks Fizz deserves better than Mammon. The way Fizz feels smothered and overprotected by Ozzie. The way they both have relationships with a massive class difference. Even the way they made up ridiculously quickly once they both knew the other wanted to see them the whole time. The shot of Fizz and Ozzie kissing and when they part, Blitzo is between them. The way Fizz's "anyone who judges royals is just as bad" reads a lot better if we assume he's just projecting his own relationship insecurities onto Blitzo. The way Blitzo makes total heart eyes at him when Fizz makes him part of his routine in 'Look at This' and the way he blushes when Fizz is showing him blindfolds in Full Moon (just the general way he looks at Fizz with the most adoration and desire he's shown to anyone in the show - far more than he's ever managed to look at Stolas with)

it wouldn't make up for all of s2's writing problems but it genuinely would be a good plot twist/development if Blitzfizz happened. because the show hasn't really done much of anything to make it convincing why it should be stol1tz instead - Blitz will always hold Fizz in his heart, admires and adores him, but we have no idea what would be missing from his life if Stolas wasn't in it.

If anything it would be a net positive because he wouldn't be expected to clean up Stolas' messes anymore or deal with all his passive-aggressive 'I'm never wrong' BS. The whole redemption through accountability thing works far better with Blitzfizz because Blitzo did hurt him. It was an accident but it still had a major effect on Fizz. meanwhile the only damage Blitzo has done to Stolas is in Stolas' head - by Stolas' own admission Blitzo didn't mean to hurt him and it didn't mean anything; it was just his own delusions about what was happening that resulted in him getting his poor owl fee fees hurt

I think HB holds some kind of record for the amount of things that feel like foreshadowing, only to be discarded immediately, and Blitz and Fizz's relationship is definitely one of them. Everything about it just feels inevitable, but nope, sad crying owl.

[blaisenova]

a little drabble i shat out teehee. super experimental, super angsty, super shorter than usual. i wouldn't have it any other way.

as always, ao3 link is in the reblogs.

no warnings for this one other than the usual messed up relationship bs i don't think, but let me know if i missed anything and i'll tack it on

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A heaving breath disturbs the dust that has gathered on the bright red scarf that hangs on a bent nail sticking out of the wall. Once, perhaps, it would have reminded you of someone else, but all you can see now is a warped version of yourself that clung to both it and all of the memories that it held despite how much it hurt him. 

And, that was the problem, wasn’t it? 

That he was too much like you, only broken in different ways. Like looking in a mirror that had been shattered, seeing a distorted reflection that might have been you if the light had shone at another angle, or if the ones that had broken you both had done so more similarly; if there weren’t parts that had been removed; replaced; rearranged. You were imperfect echoes of one another, simultaneously too alike and too different; warped by the way your sound bounced off of the walls.

In the end, it hadn’t really mattered that you both wanted the same thing; to be seen, and to be loved despite how ugly the view was.

You had always known that you weren’t something worth seeing – weren’t convinced that you could be seen – and he’d been convinced that not seeing every part of him all at once, all the time, meant that you didn’t see him at all. 

You’d feared him just as much as you’d adored him; he’d hated you almost as much as he’d loved you.

And, that was the problem, wasn’t it?

You both had held on to things that would only ever hurt you, and neither of you had known how to let it go until you were already so thoroughly intertwined with one another that you had to rip and tear at the thorns that bound you so that you just might have a chance at escaping. You’d thought, at some point, the bleeding might stop – now that his binds weren’t tearing open your body just to be certain that you’d still bleed at his command – but, even though your soul is no longer connected to his, the thorns remain, and you are an open wound; a bleeding heart; a walking haemorrhage.

Nightmare wouldn’t like that you were staining his carpets so.

You weren’t sure you could bring yourself to care.

Gently, you rub his scarf between your fingers. It’s thin and threadbare, and some part of you finds kinship in that fact. The feeling is rough – unpleasant – but familiar.

Does familiarity have to be a good thing?

“I miss you,” you confess to no one, because something about the admission makes you feel filthy. Thick tar falls from your sockets and stains your cheeks, and terror lances through you as you realise that maybe you never will be anything more than this ever again. 

Your breathing comes quick, and you hold your breath so as to not disturb his dusty remains any further than you already have; and, you wonder why you treat him with a reverence that he would never return.

You wonder if he could ever understand just how terrified he made you – of being nothing more than this; wonder why it matters so much to you that he understands; know he can’t possibly, when he is the one making you so afraid.

What were you, before? What are you, now?

Pieces and parts of yourself: removed, replaced, and rearranged. 

You think of a story you read, once, long ago. The books you managed to get your hands on before were worse for wear – yellowing pages that were putrid and warped from the journey they’d taken when they were discarded and forgotten; nothing like the pristine, well taken care of books that you had access to now, though something about that made them mean less – but you absorbed what they had to offer you with an appreciation you were sure they’d never been granted before. They spoke of gods, and humans, and monsters, and they wondered in ways you’d never wondered before; ways you wonder now.

You think of the story of the Ship of Theseus.

Pieces and parts: removed, replaced, rearranged.

Is it the same ship? Are you the same you? Now that you’ve been rebuilt – removed, replaced, and rearranged – are you still the person you once were? Can you be rebuilt again? Or, are you stuck like this, now that the one that was constructing you is no longer around to restore your weathered parts? Are you trapped, half-finished and without a purpose? A boat built with perforated wood? 

Water rushes in the gaps, and, through the same rifts, your blood pours out. Because, despite being free of his ties – the thorns are gone; you ripped them out; you tore out their roots, so they can’t possibly grow back, right? – you still tear yourself open just to be certain that you can still bleed, should he command it.

He’s not around to command you anymore.

Somehow, you feel you still need to be prepared for it.

“I miss you,” you confess to yourself, and something about the admission makes you feel vile. Thick tar falls from your sockets and drowns you, and you’re horrified because, even now, you’re still exactly how he reconstructed you – removed, replaced, rearranged. You fear you’ll never be anything more than this.

Can you be anything more than this?

You weren’t rebuilt to be a person. You weren’t remade to have desires or needs. You’re not sure he knew how you were meant to function, when his hands were deep within your very mind; your very soul. You’re not sure he knew how thoroughly he was stripping you of the programming that kept you alive. You’re not sure it matters whether he knew, when the result is the same.

His hands left you, coated in oil, or tar, or blood – whatever it was that flowed through you – and he’d wiped sweat from his brow – smeared you across his forehead – after a job well done.

Pieces and parts of you: removed, replaced, rearranged.

Refashioned to please a person that can no longer reap the rewards.

The fabric between your fingers grates on your bone and wears you away. The feeling is rough – unpleasant – but familiar.

You wonder if familiarity is ever a good thing.

“Killer,” a voice calls, and you numbly raise your head to meet a bright cyan eye with your own two empty ones. His sockets are half-lidded, and his expression is tight. When he speaks, his tone is harsh. “You serve no purpose, serving someone that no longer exists. Come back to me. Let him go.”

Again, your gaze falls back down to the red on your hands, and you wither at the sight. You feel light and heavy, all at the same time. “How?”

He sighs, and the sound makes you flinch; apologies taste bitter as you swallow them back down like bile. In a way that is certainly contrary, he kneels before you – pulls your chin up with his hand in a way you know is uncharacteristically gentle – and smiles; wider, when you smile back. His hand outstretches towards you, open and empty. “Let me help you.”

You stare at the offer, gripping your grief in closed fists, and, carefully, you allow your fingers to fall open. Uncertainty shakes you as you reach for his hand, and you’re careful not to make contact when you deposit your soul – heart-shaped; unstable; ugly – within his grasp. Your fingers dart away from the construct before you can change your mind.

“Good,” Nightmare praises, but you wince as he draws your soul up and away, right before his face. His eye watches its shifting form in fascination, and, this time, his smile almost feels real. He looks back at you, and you already feel the oncoming sting. “Don’t worry, love. We’ll fix you.”

“I miss him,” you confess, and the admission makes you mortified. Thick tar falls from your sockets, and you can’t breathe.

“I know,” he says, “but you won’t.”

He brings your soul to his teeth, and a choked sound of agony catches in your throat as he bites down and consumes you. For a moment, panic locks you in place – punctuated by the way your breath stutters with each excruciating soulbeat – but the feeling disappears as quickly as the rest, and you’re left with nothing but the pain that serves as the cost of numbness.

As you barrel towards apathy, laughter pouring from your chest – you’re not sure why you’re laughing. It’s not funny – you think that you can never be more than this.

Pieces and parts of yourself: removed, replaced, rearranged, always in someone else’s name.