#I should I think I might post it here just to feel something

[captainclickycat]

Yeah I mean.

So personally I don't have kids or want kids or live/work with kids in any capacity, so I'm not going to launch into childcare advice like I'm any kind of authority. (I did once see another post thread where someone suggested being specific about how long a trip will take, i.e. "we need to visit four more aisles and then we'll go home", so maybe that could be useful. But again, pinch of salt.)

That being said, though, sometimes people do kinda just have to take their kids to the shops (single parents exist, people living in remote areas exist, sometimes one person's at work and you need something crucial, there are a lot of factors at play here) and I think this ties into a wider discussion about the balance between "not pushing people (including children) into stressful situations they can't handle" and "stress and discomfort are inevitable parts of life sometimes and we all need to find a way of dealing with that".

I do think that, as a society, we do need to get better at acknowledging people's limitations and how disability/neurodivergence might affect that (including both children and adults). People need to stop assuming "I can't" means "nah, I don't feel like it."

That being said, though, the idea that "disabled/neurodivergent = should never ever have to be in any situation that causes stress or is outside your comfort zone" isn't a healthy or realistic one either. You can't expect your (or your child's) comfort and security to be the priority at all times, even at the expense of other people. It's a complicated topic, and it's not always clear where the line is, and it gets further complicated when a kid is involved and the adult is the one making the judgement call. I agree fully that children's stress should be acknowledged and approached with compassion instead of being treated like an annoying inconvenience that they're doing to spite you. But it's not as simple as "just don't take your kid to the shops, silly!" either.

last time my mom visited I was talking to her about parenting and how I appreciated a lot of the choices she and my father had made about raising me and my brother and she agreed that just listening to the child and taking them seriously was the One Weird Trick to cutting out like 60% of conflicts between parents and children. and she said one time I was about three or four years old and we were all going to the grocery store, and at the threshold of the store I just had a meltdown. i was overwhelmed, I was crying, I was just at the end of my rope like kids get sometimes. and instead of dragging me through the store my mom and dad stopped what we were doing and just asked me what the problem was. and I was able to say I didn't want to be there, I couldn't do it, I wanted to go home. and she says she and my father just looked at each other and back at me and said "okay" and we all went home that day instead of forcing the grocery store trip. and I had so few public meltdowns as a kid despite being pretty autistic because, I think, I knew that if I ever really needed to leave, my parents would understand and back me up. and that was the case throughout my childhood. which paradoxically (one might think) resulted in me having fewer incidents of being overwhelmed in the first place, which then made me better able to handle increasing amounts of stress and so on. it also taught me that expressing feelings and communicating them to my caretakers wasn't going to be punished or ignored or called weird, so unlike many other autistic kids who get judged or rebuked for expressing sensitivity or opposition, I didn't need to constantly blockade everyone and internalize everything all the time.

it's a pretty simple concept whether your kids are autistic or not, but most parents don't seem to get it. their parents taught them to just force everything and let the child deal with it alone so they just repeat the cycle even though they know how it feels.

[ptergwen]

hiii

so this might me dirty but hear me out

It has gotten to me that mans come can meddle w the woman’s dna

so with this as an inspiration, and I know it’s kinda cliche but

stark!reader suddenly having spider senses or smh (not pregnancy)

oh and it’s for Tom Holland spider man

have an amazing dayy

a parker thing

ask box  |  taglist  |  blurb masterlist  |  main masterlist

w/c: ?

warnings: smut (p in v unprotected, lowkey dom!peter and reader), swearing

a/n: jump scare if you didn't see my post lmao i'm back y'all! i missed u guys and missed writing lots so i’ll be here from time to time again :) i had so much fun with this req thank you for the idea! much love to u all <3

you catch yourself dozing off and jerk your head up instinctively. one short, loud snore passes your lips as you do so, eyes opening wide. you blink your tired eyes a few times as you readjust to the harsh lighting.

ugh, you fell asleep in the lab, something you always chastise peter and your dad for doing. they're notorious for their long hours spent messing around with stark tech. you've lost count of how many times you've woken up to an empty spot in bed where your boyfriend should be, instead finding him fast asleep surrounded by cups of coffee and a delirious tony still on the grind.

tonight, you're the stark who's in the lab past their bedtime. you had the day to yourself and decided to use your free time to upgrade your suit. it had had a few hiccups during the team's last mission, so you wanted to work on it before the next one. what was supposed to be a few minor tweaks turned into a whole day of tweaking.

you scoff at yourself and wipe some drool that crusted onto your chin. oddly enough, you almost instantly refocus on the screen in front of you. it's been like this for most of the day. you're way more concentrated than usual for some reason, more aware. you figure it's because peter has been out on patrol and couldn't distract you.

"are you finished for the night, boss? you aren't usually here this late."

"i know, but i’m gonna stay a little longer. i’ll be done soon...i think."

friday dims the lights directly overhead so they aren't as harsh. you smile.

"thanks, fri."

you sit up in your seat, scooting in closer to the screen displaying your suit. you carefully look over the prototype and pick up a pen to write yourself some notes. when you go to put down the pen, it sticks to your palm. you shake your hand to try to get it off. it stays stuck.

"huh."

you use your other hand to pry the pen off of you.

"weird."

first you have heightened senses, now you're sticky. if you didn't have ordinary stark dna, you'd think you were part arachnid like peter.

you're not sure why, but you suddenly stand up and turn towards the main doors to the lab. they slide open a few seconds later. peter walks inside, spider suit on and mask off. he pads over to you with a soft smile.

"there you are. friday said i could find you down here."

peter pecks your lips and envelopes you in a hug. you sign contentedly, face nuzzled into his neck and arms winding around him.

"yeah, she's probably sick of me. i've been down here all day."

"you're really locked in, huh? how's the suit coming along?"

peter's fingers rub up and down your back ever so lightly. just the small touch practically sends shivers down your spine.

"good. fixed everything and double checked, then triple checked. started adding some new stuff, too."

"new features? like what?"

"you know the one i was telling you about..."

you trail off as peter's hands slide down to your ass. he pulls you in closer to himself, letting his hands rest there. you peek up at him, heart speeding up.

"go on, i’m listening."

peter gives your ass a gentle squeeze. it's an innocent gesture, really, but your senses are going crazy right now and you can't help but to get turned on. you always tease peter about how easily he's turned on. if this is what it feels like for him, now you understand.

"hm, i'm bored of talking about the suit. tell me about patrol."

"it was good! got a lot of action today. i mean, i guess that's not good 'cause that means there's more crime and stuff, but y'know. anyway..."

you stare at peter's lips, but don't listen to a word he's saying. it's the first time today you can't focus. he's pressed right up against you in his damned tight spider suit, and his hands are still on your ass, and you're so hypersensitive and hyper aware. all you can think about is how bad you need him.

"y/n? you okay?"

peter must have noticed you spacing out.

your gaze flicks between his eyes and lips before your own lips wordlessly capture his in a searing kiss. peter lets out a breathy chuckle, caught a bit off guard by your abruptness. he deepens the kiss for a moment, then pulls back with a look of amusement. you bite back a cheeky smile.

"horny."

peter's features form a smirk.

"i got you, baby."

he kisses you again. his tongue tangles with yours, a sigh passing your lips. peter lifts you up, grip becoming firmer on your ass. you wrap your legs around his waist. he kisses down your neck until he finds a spot he wants to mark. you tilt your head to the side so he has more access. peter's lips suck roughly on your skin, teeth nipping at it playfully. you let out a shaky breath.

peter presses one last kiss to what's sure to become a hickey to soothe it. you tilt his chin up towards you again, lips smashing into his, holding him in place by the back of his head. he carries you to the nearest table while your intertwined lips move desperately against each other's. you sneak a hand down to the bulge in his suit, earning a groan.

"one sec, lemme get this off."

peter sets you down on the table and quickly strips off his spider suit. you take your own clothes off and toss them aside, left only in your bra and panties. peter comes to stand between your legs. he slips your panties to the side, middle finger collecting your wetness as he kisses you again. his finger slides into you with ease and begins to pump. you moan into the kiss, tugging at his hair.

"already so wet, baby. don't even have to get you warmed up."

peter's finger curls inside you, cockiness evident in his tone and on his features. you tug on some hair at the nape of his neck.

"stop teasing, parker."

"can't take it when the roles are reversed, stark?"

something takes over you in that moment, the same something that's been coursing through your veins all day. you grab both of peter's hands and hold them in place above his head. your grip is tight around his wrists, too tight for him to break free of it. a noise almost like a growl escapes you.

"shut up and fuck me, or i’ll fuck you."

peter meets your wild eyes, his pupils equally as dilated.

"do it."

you promptly pull peter up to the table with you. you push him back so he lies down, pinning his arms down at his sides. his chest rises and falls, breathless.

"woah, what's gotten into you today? not that i’m complaining, but, woah."

"i know, right? i thought you were supposed to have super strength."

peter grabs you by your hips and sits up, seating you in his lap. you wiggle your hips in his grasp, but he digs his fingers into your sides so you can't move. peter's voice drops low.

"what was that?"

you breathe out a low laugh.

"nothing."

you dip your head down to press your forehead to peter's. he smiles, satisfied with your answer. you wrap your hand around his hard cock and stroke him. peter's lips ghost over yours, his breathing heavy.

"wanna feel you, y/n/n."

peter slides his hands up to your waist so you can move again. you smile knowingly. you slip off your panties before you reposition yourself, your legs on either side of him. you line up peter's cock with your entrance.

"wanna feel you too, pete."

you lower yourself down onto peter. you both let out little sighs and moans as he fills you up.

he always feels so good inside you, but this time is even better, even more intense.

you arch your back to find the right angle, shifting backwards a bit. once you're both comfortable, you begin to roll your hips. peter exhales a breath he was holding, lifting his hips up to help you out. your movements are slow, fluid. peter supports you by the small of your back, eyes hooded and lips parted for air.

"fuck, i'm not gonna last long."

"me neither."

he kisses you, softly but with so much passion. you let your eyes flutter closed and kiss back. you place your feet flat on the table for more stability and straighten your back, starting to bounce on his cock.

"y/n..."

peter's voice comes out almost like a whine. you chuckle at that.

"i know."

you grab onto peter's shoulders for more support as you move, up and down, back and forth. peter leaves sloppy kisses along the side of your neck. the once quiet lab is now filled with both of your moans and the sounds of your wetness every time his cock thrusts into you. you're both so close, and you can hardly hold out any longer.

peter grabs your hips to stop your movements. he takes over, thrusting up into you at the same delicious pace, only he's the one in control. you let out a series of short, high pitched moans, head thrown back as peter's cock hits the right spot in you over and over again.

"that's it, y/n/n. sound so pretty, baby."

peter half speaks and half groans. you reply with your own noise of content, squeezing yourself around his cock as you reach your high. peter is close to his.

"god, fuck."

he's panting. his thrusts speed up a bit until his hips stop moving altogether. he pushes deeper into you with one final moan, his cum filling you up, making you feel warm inside. you both recently agreed he could finish in you; it's a new level of intimacy.

"fuck, baby. woah."

you bury your face in peter's neck in response. you try to catch your breath, falling forward into his arms.

"oh my god, pete. that was..."

"yeah."

peter hugs your waist. he slowly pulls out of you, making you wince at the new emptiness.

"sorry."

he peppers tender kisses to the side of your head. you remove your face from his neck.

"it's okay."

you ruffle peter's hair with a tired smile. he kisses your cheek, smiling back. you give him another peck on his lips. you yawn, today's and tonight's activities catching up with you once again.

"aw, you tired?"

"mhm. you must be, too, spidey."

"exhausted. let's get cleaned up, then we'll go to bed?"

"sounds perfect."

peter helps you down from the table. you quickly step into your panties in case any cum leaks out of you. he picks his suit up off the floor.

"okay, that was insanely good. i mean, it always is, but something was different. i wonder what it was."

peter shimmies into his suit so his lower half is covered. you're putting on the rest of your clothes.

"i don't know, i’ve just been super on my shit today. really focused and stuff."

"explains why you were so locked in on your suit."

"that might just be a stark thing. actually, it's a parker thing too."

you poke peter's chest playfully. you collect some of your things from your work area, some miscellaneous supplies sticking to your palms as you do.

"why does this keep happening?"

peter watches curiously as you huff and shake paper clips off your palms.

"funny, that reminds me of when i first got my powers. took me a while to figure out how to control it, being sticky."

"uh huh. did you spill web fluid last time you were down here or something?"

"i don't think so, but it would have dissolved by now if i did. i haven't been in the lab for a couple days."

"oh. maybe it was someone else."

peter quirks a brow.

"i don't see any web fluid over there, y/n/n."

you turn to face peter.

"so why am i sticky?"

between this, your strength, and your heightened senses, peter puts it together. you have powers.

his spider powers.

"that might also be a parker thing. more specifically, a spider-man thing."

"you don't mean... no."

if peter is saying what you think he's saying, that confirms what you had thought earlier.

"uh, yeah."

peter crosses over to you. your eyebrows knit together.

"we must share some dna."

"but how? that wouldn't be possible unless we were, like, related... ew! please don't tell me we're fucking related!"

"baby, baby." peter laughs softly, taking one of your hands in his. "stop freaking out."

"you should be freaking out too! you were just inside me, peter, fucking me raw! you came in me!"

"exactly."

peter's voice is way too calm for your liking.

"exactly? what do you mean 'exactly'?"

"think about it. sperm is made up of dna."

"so what?"

"well, i wasn't born with this dna. it got mutated by the spider bite. so no, we're definitely not related."

you tentatively soften your gaze, allowing peter to lace his fingers through yours.

"since i got my powers from the mutation, i guess you got them too when i started finishing in you."

you gasp, a playful smile pulling at your lips.

"you mean you mutated my dna? you have radioactive cum?"

"something like that. you're not mad?"

you toy with peter's fingers, looping an arm around his neck.

"nah, it's kind of cool now that i know what it is. you're gonna have to teach me how to use the powers, though."

"of course." peter returns your smile. "now that you've got new powers, you gotta rebrand. maybe you could call yourself spider-woman."

"you'd like that, wouldn't you? come up with something more original."

peter's arms wrap around your middle, smile growing into a toothy grin.

"you could also use mrs. parker. it's gonna be your name someday, anyways."

you put your other arm around peter's neck with a laugh.

"mrs. parker, i like that."

(too lazy to use tags lmao)

[scoutofmymind]

Saw that someone said Luigi’s Reddit had a post where he eluded to a pretty heavy drinking habit in college, which then makes me think about drunk ex!luigi. I’m sorry, but you write angst too well

Unlearn Me — { Luigi x Reader}

Content: SFW, angst, yearning, slight pining, mentions of canon back pain, ex’s reminiscing, heartbreak all over again.

W.c: 4,336 (holy shit)

Notes; Two semesters of carefully crafted distance crumbles at 3AM in the computer lab when your final project implodes hours before the deadline, leaving you with no choice but to seek help from the one person you've been avoiding since the breakup.

Before we continue, I cannot ignore that wildfires continue to ravage Los Angeles, countless families have lost their homes and livelihoods. I urge you to consider supporting those affected through any of these donation links, additionally, Roadogs on Instagram is looking for fosters for mass evacuations of shelter dogs in California.

Foster or donate if you can. xo.

Now, let’s go.

"Mother fucker," you curse, attacking your keyboard with increasingly desperate keystrokes.

Each combination might be the one to salvage this disaster, but deep down you know it's hopeless — your software has corrupted itself into oblivion, taking six months of work with it.

"You can ask for an extension," Emma suggests, her voice carrying the weight of exhaustion that matches your own. Your roommate had burst into the media center still wearing her pink silk pajamas, immediately launching into a nervous tirade about after-hours permissions and potential expulsion risks.

Her constant hovering and worrying grates on your last nerve, and you tell her to leave.

Predictably, she refuses.

"Listen, I'm not just gonna leave you here on your own." She leans across your workspace, her body pressing against your laptop screen until it tilts halfway closed. You freeze, fingers suspended above the keys, terrified of losing what little progress you've made in this digital archaeology expedition. "There's - like - a murderer on campus."

"One girl said she was followed home," you gently remind. Under normal circumstances, Emma's mother-hen routine would be endearing — charming, even. But right now, with your project in shambles and deadline looming, her protective hovering feels suffocating. "Not murdered, Em."

"May as well have been." Emma fixes you with that look — the one that screams why am I the only rational person here? While her nails tap nervously against your desk. "Probably hasn't left her room since. And you know what? Smart girl.”

You scrub your hands over your face, your eyes fixed on the projector's word vomit — an endless stream of error messages and unintelligible code painting the drywall from a tired projector like some twisted modern art piece.

Not exactly what you were going for.

Emma stands mesmerized, "How did you even do this?" She watches the cryptic display crawl across the wall, her eyes tracking each line as if she could decode it. "This reminds me of-" she catches herself, the name hanging unspoken between you. She's learned that lesson the hard way. "This is wild.”

You can't help but notice.

Notice how she almost speaks his name, how these meaningless strings of letters and numbers somehow bridge the gap to memories you've tried so hard to bury — promises whispered under star-sprinkled skies, fingers intertwined beneath the cosmic glow.

Moments that felt eternal then, ephemeral now.

Your gaze drifts to your phone, lying face-down like a surrender.

You blink several times, trying to clear the ghosts from your vision before speaking, your voice emerging barely above a whisper, as if the words themselves might shatter something in the air, "Should I text him?" You ask, offering the idea as if it was something too controversial to be spoken aloud.

Emma shifts her weight, both from exhaustion and the sudden weight of responsibility.

Your night's trajectory now rests in her hands — she who has witnessed every shade of you, from triumph to devastation. Her own memories of him surface: the way he'd raid her ice cream stash only to replace it with a premium pint the next day, how he'd tackle the dish mountain without prompting, those small gestures that made him feel like family.

"He was my favorite boyfriend of yours," she'd told you once, in a moment of wine-honest conversation. "He was a good boy."

A good boy who made a couple mistakes.

But those mistakes had compounded like interest on a debt you never agreed to pay, until the rift between you and Luigi widened into an ocean.

Everything good had been pulled out with the tide — your trust, your shared future — swept away to depths where no light could reach.

"I-" Emma's hand finds the back of her neck, her expression cycling through a slideshow of conflicted emotions. You can see her internal struggle; the desire to crawl into her bed warring with her loyalty to you. And she knows you well enough to realize you'd stay here until sunrise if necessary. "I mean — babe, I love you, but you can't fix this." The admission seems to pain her, as if acknowledging your limitations feels like betrayal. "We aren't techies."

You stare helplessly at your gutted gallery, stripped bare by your own accidental digital vandalism. Your artwork, your portfolio, your future — all reduced to incomprehensible strings of code projected onto an indifferent wall.

"Do you think he'd come?" The question escapes before you can stop it, your eyes magnetized to your phone as if your stare alone could resurrect that old text thread, buried beneath months of careful silence.

"Of course he would."

A soft, defeated whine escapes you as you turn back to glare at your corrupted work, as if you could intimidate it into fixing itself through sheer force of will.

Emma's voice softens, "Hey, he's mature enough to understand you've exhausted your options."

A violent shudder runs through you at the thought of Luigi being your last resort.

You'd managed to exile the visceral memories — the heated arguments that left you gasping for air, the promises that turned to vapor in the morning light.

"Which are?"

Emma looks down at her Pokemon-clad self, then back at you. "Me." She gestures vaguely in your direction, "and you."

The campus sleeps around you, everyone else lost to their dreams or late-night calls home. Just the two of you remain, trapped in this dimly-lit purgatory on a Wednesday night, while error messages mock your existence with their endless scroll.

"Slim pickin's," you mutter as your fingers betray you, finding Luigi's contact with muscle memory that refuses to die.

How many times had you pressed these same digits before?

But this is different.

Different because you haven't spoken since that night in your kitchen, when you stood with your back to him, voice steady despite the trembling in your hands, "So, we aren't going to try to figure this out?" You asked, and he’d responded with some pretentious comparison about your relationship being like corrupted code, fundamentally flawed, destined to fail its own quality test.

The irony isn't lost on you — the very metaphor he used to end things is now the thread that might pull you back into his orbit. Your only connection besides the elaborate dance of avoidance across campus, treating each other's paths like holy ground neither dares to tread.

Opening the thread, you're greeted by your last exchange — your final words to him blazing across the screen in angry blue bubbles: "I want my fucking shit back or I'll make your life a living hell." Such poetry. Your new message hovers in the text box, simpler, desperate in its brevity.

Hey need help with somethin. U up??

You thrust your phone at Emma like it's burning your fingers, watching her eyes widen as they catch on those months-old texts — digital artifacts of your rage that should have been scrubbed before tonight's desperate plea. "Jesus," she whispers, amusement dancing in her expression. "I'd still be licking my wounds if I were hi-"

The familiar buzz cuts through the air, a notification chime that once made your heart leap but now makes it sink.

"What'd he say?" You mumble, gaze fixed on the mocking projection that bathes the room in its sickly digital glow, code continuing its relentless march across the wall.

Emma settles into a chair, hunching over your laptop's makeshift altar. "Said he's at Ruddy's." She squints at a fresh message. "He said 'what do you want?'" She deepens her voice into a cartoonish baritone, making him sound like a caveman discovering text messaging for the first time.

You can't blame him for the cold response — you’d scorched that earth thoroughly.

But a selfish part of you wants to delete the whole exchange, pretend this moment of weakness never happened, go back to the careful choreography of avoiding each other's existence.

But you can't.

The corrupted gallery looming on the wall is a stark reminder that pride is a luxury you can't afford right now.

His icy reception is the natural consequence of your scorched-earth campaign, those venom-laced messages sent in the throes of heartbreak and confusion.

You'd played the role of the woman scorned perfectly, even though you'd written your own tragic script.

"Just send him a picture." You wave listlessly at the wall, where your work continues its digital decomposition, folding in on itself like a dying star. The error messages stretch into an endless serpent of nonsense, each iteration making less sense than the last.

The artificial shutter sound of Emma's photo breaks the silence, followed by the soft swoosh of sending. The wait feels eternal until-

Ding

Emma's attention snaps to your phone resting on her thigh, her eyes widening. "He's typing like he-"

Sorry;m,, I’m fucked uo

Up

I am

fucked up

Emma clicks her tongue and rises, crossing the room to lob your phone into your lap, screen up. "Guess some things don't change." You manage a weak half-grin, memories flooding back unbidden — Luigi stumbling into your dorm in the small hours, wrapped in whiskeys warmth, all soft edges and desperate hands.

"Well, make up your mind." Emma's yawn threatens to unhinge her jaw, arms wrapping around herself like armor. "Are we done here, or are you gonna have him come take a look?"

I’n be there son

I’ll be rherw soo

I’ll be there soon

You stand to wrap your arms around Emma’s shoulders who reluctantly curves her arms upward to squeeze your shoulders. “Go home.” She seems reluctant to listen, staring at your phone screen as if it would take her home itself. “I promise, I’ll be just fine.”

The space between you pulses with that unique warmth reserved for someone who shares your roof, your darkest secrets, and the monthly struggle with Con Edison. "Just don't make any brash decisions."

"Oh, Em." You press a kiss to her forehead. "You think I'm so much cooler than I am."

Emma's laugh follows her as she spins toward the door, collecting pieces of herself like breadcrumbs — the scarf draped over a chair, the coat hung forgotten, the backpack abandoned when the day still held promise.

Each item a marker of how long this digital nightmare has stretched, from sunshine to moonlight.

And as if summoned by cosmic irony, the lab door swings open to reveal Luigi. "Oh - hey, E." The surprise flickers across his face before he schools his features back to neutral.

"Hey, Lu." Her greeting carries the easy familiarity of their old routine, like NPCs in a cozy game exchanging preset dialogue, their paths crossing exactly as programmed.

"You g'na help me with this?"

Emma shakes her head, patting his shoulder as she passes — a gentle handoff. "I did my time." You want to protest, but words fail as you absorb the sight of him, eight months of careful avoidance crumbling in an instant.

"Ahh-" Luigi waves, feigning disappointment through the druken haze. "Need a walk back home?"

Ever the shepherd, guardian of late-night wanderers.

It didn't matter who you were — friend, stranger, ex-lover’s best friend and roommate — his self-appointed mission to ensure everyone's safe return never wavered.

You'd once wondered if it stemmed from some deeper anxiety, his mind unable to rest until every sheep was accounted for in its fold.

Tonight though, the alcohol has mercifully dulled that protective instinct. Emma's potential disappearance into the night ranks lower on his list of concerns than usual, although Emma herself had been the one earlier to warn you of the murderer on campus.

"You still got my location," Emma reminds him — a callback to conversations past, to the day she'd granted Luigi permanent access to her whereabouts, a level of trust you'd wisely withheld.

"Right."

She presses a kiss to her fingers, flashing you a peace sign with the same hand before it briefly lands on Luigi's shoulder. Then she's gone, disappearing into the snow-globe world he'd just stumbled in from. He stands before you now, arms hanging like dead weight, his eyes somehow both wide and narrow.

"Hey," you whisper.

"Hey."

You gesture weakly at the wall where your work writhes in digital agony. "So, uh — remember that time you salvaged Professor Wren’s entire thesis when her drive crashed?"

Luigi's eyes follow your hand, professional interest temporarily overriding the awkwardness. He steps closer, squinting at the corrupted display, "Jesus," he mutters, "what did you do to it?"

"Would you believe me if I said nothing?" The laugh that escapes is more nervous than you'd like. "It just. - it started disintegrating during final checks."

He's already pulling out his laptop, muscle memory from countless late-night tech rescues. The familiarity of it hits you in the chest — how many times had you watched him do this same thing, hunched over his keyboard, bottom lip caught between his teeth in concentration?

"I can try," he says finally, not quite meeting your eyes. "But no promises. When's this due?"

"Tomorrow at nine."

"Of course it is." He drops into the chair beside you, close enough that your elbows almost touch, but enough of a distance to still feel far away. “Okay, walk me through what it's supposed to look like when it's not — uh - whatever this is."

For a moment, Luigi stares at the corrupted display where red pixels bleed and stutter across the wall. His fingers hover over his keyboard, then pause. "Wait. This is your circulatory modeling project? The one you were-“ He cuts himself off, remembering this was before the eight months of silence.

"Yeah." You swallow. "It was working perfectly until an hour ago. Real-time hemodynamics, pressure differentials, vessel elasticity. Everything." Your voice cracks slightly on the last word, feeling more helpless when you verbalize it.

He nods, already typing with uncanny precision despite the slight sway in his posture. "Show me the base code. Did you save any backups?"

"Three. All corrupted." You lean forward, careful not to crowd him as you pull up the mangled files. "It's like something got into the core simulation and just - I dunno - started rewriting them."

"Hm." His eyes scan the screen with that laser focus he somehow maintains no matter how much he drinks, that familiar furrow appearing between his brows. "These values are cascading. One corrupted variable triggering a chain reaction through the whole system." He glances at you, slightly overshooting before correcting. "When's the last time it ran correctly?"

You check your phone. "6:43 PM. I have a screen recording from then."

"Good. That's good." He pulls up a second window, his typing still flawless even as he reaches with his free hand to steady himself against the desk. "We can compare the execution logs, maybe isolate where it started going wrong." His fingers fly across the keys with a precision that seems to mock his clearly inebriated state, and for a moment, it feels like those eight months never happened. "I'm going to need coffee for this." He looks up at you from where he sat, “Or more booze.”

You land on coffee, your feet carrying you down the familiar path to the kitchenette.

The fluorescent lights flicker dimly at this hour, casting strange shadows across the linoleum, the lab's overpriced espresso machine hums to life under your touch, its gentle whirring a counterpoint to the distant sound of Luigi's typing.

Suddenly you're back in that first year, both of you hunched over at 3 AM, him teaching you the proper way to pull a shot: “You're murdering it, stop torturing the beans”, your quiet laughter echoing through empty halls.

"Got it.” His voice carries down the corridor, slurred but triumphant, snapping you back to present.

You return to find him illuminated by screen-glow, his tie loosened and dark hair disheveled. The paper cup lands in front of him — double shot, one packet of raw sugar.

He doesn't stir it, never has.

Instead, he tips the cup back, and you hear that familiar crunch of sugar crystals between his teeth, a sound that used to drive you crazy, until somewhere along the way it became endearing.

Still, the jumbled code taunts you from the screen, though its chaos seems less threatening now. Under Luigi's touch — steady despite the alcohol —- your final project is slowly remembering its original shape.

"You should have texted sooner," Luigi murmurs, tilting his head back to collect the last sugar crystals from his cup. The movement exposes his throat, his collar wrinkled where he's been tugging at it all night.

"Well," you say, watching the way his fingers dance across the keys, each stroke precise despite his obvious intoxication, "takes a minute to swallow something as big as my ego."

The corners of his mouth twitch upward, eyes never leaving the screen where broken code is knitting itself back together under his attention.

"Oh," he huffs out a laugh, the sound low and dangerous in the quiet lab, "I've seen you swallow far bigger things before."

It strikes like summer lightning — quick, bright, and leaving the air charged in its wake. The innuendo lands with no real bite, yet you find your jaw slack, a startled laugh shaking loose from your chest.

"Kidding," Luigi says, his eyes flicking from screen to you and back again. There’s a ghost of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, softened by the alcohol but still sharp enough to cut. You wave him back to his work, grateful for the blue glow of monitors that hides your flush. "You kinda set that up perfectly, though."

He squints up at the projection where your broken code still bleeds across the wall, letting out a soft grunt of frustration at some digital roadblock. "Just mean — ya know, you could have caught me two beers deep instead of seven."

You shrug a shoulder, watching as the projection slowly crystallizes into something recognizable. "Seems you work better under such conditions."

The lie tastes metallic.

You both know the truth.

Luigi would have come if he was sober as sunrise or drowning in bourbon. Would have come with broken ribs or pneumonia or his heart barely beating. Would have traced these familiar hallways blind, deaf, or dying — because that's what the two of you do.

Have always done.

You've seen him at rock bottom, curled into himself on cold bathroom tiles at midnight, trembling hands pressed against his mouth as if he could physically hold back the pain that wracked his body. Watched him try to explain to puzzled doctors how someone so young could hurt so constantly, the frustration in his voice when they suggested it was all in his head.

You were there through the trials of medications, the nights when existence itself seemed too heavy to bear.

And you've seen him soar; standing tall in that charcoal suit that made him look older, more polished, shaking hands with tech giants who saw in him what you'd always known was there, his future spreading out before him like a golden road, brilliant and boundless.

Now he sits here, seven drinks deep but coding like he's never been clearer, and you realize that maybe both versions are equally true.

Maybe that's what makes him Luigi — the ability to contain multitudes, to be simultaneously broken and brilliant, wounded and wonderful.

He catches you watching him and raises an eyebrow, the gesture slightly delayed, which means you must have been a bit too obvious. "What?"

"Nothing.”

His fingers pause on the keys, and even through the alcoholic haze, his gaze pins you like a butterfly to cork. "No, really. What?" The words have a slight blur around their edges, but his focus is knife-sharp.

You could deflect again, but there's something about 4 AM and code that glows like dying stars that makes honesty feel less dangerous, perhaps you’re finding comfort in the fact that Luigi is drunk, although you’re stone cold sober.

"Just thinking about that time in the Thompson building bathroom." Your voice comes out softer than intended. "When you couldn't stand up, and I had to convince the janitor you had food poisoning."

He doesn't flinch from the memory like he used to.

Instead, his mouth curves into something caught between a smile and a grimace. "You told him it was from the cafeteria." His fingers resume their dance across the keyboard, but slower now. "Got the whole place investigated by health services."

"Yeah, but got us three days off while they checked fucking everything.” you remind him.

"Got me through that week," he corrects quietly, and for a moment, the mask of that brilliant-drunk-techie slips, showing the man underneath who still remembers what it feels like to be held together by nothing but someone else's faith in you.

Then he blinks, and the vulnerability is gone, replaced by that familiar crooked grin. "Though I maintain the cafeteria deserved the inspection anyway."

The projection flickers, another section of code healing itself under his touch, and you wonder if he knows you'd do it all again.

Every bathroom floor, every late-night crisis, every moment of putting him back together - you'd choose it every time.

"Speaking of which," you venture carefully, watching his hands move across the keyboard. "How's the new treatment working?"

His right shoulder shifts in what might be a shrug, but there's a shadow of a real smile playing at his mouth.

Not the sharp, defensive one he wears like armor, but something softer, more genuine. "Six months post-op and I actually slept through the night last week. First time in -“ he pauses, considering, "Fuck, I don't even remember how long."

The admission hangs in the air between you, weighted with the two years of 2 AM phone calls, of nights spent pacing, of pain medications that never quite touched the core of the problem.

Watching him try to code through hands that wouldn't stop shaking.

"Still hurts sometimes," he adds, almost absently. "But it's different now. More like background noise than a scream." His fingers still on the keyboard, and for a moment he looks almost surprised by his own words. "Guess that's what normal people feel like all the time, huh?"

The question carries an edge of wonder, like someone who's lived in darkness suddenly discovering dawn.

You watch him roll his shoulder — a gesture that used to be followed by a wince but now flows smooth and unconscious — and think about how strange it must be, learning to live without constant pain after it's become part of your identity.

"Though I kind of miss having an excuse to drunk-code at 4 AM" he adds, but you both know it's a lie.

The code blurs on the projection as silence settles between you, charged with something that's been building for ages — through bathroom floors and hospital visits, through triumphs and failures, through pain and healing.

The alcohol has stripped away Luigi’s careful boundaries, leaving raw honesty in their place.

"You know," Luigi says slowly, finally turning from the screen to face you fully, "I never thanked you properly. For all of it."

"You don't need to-"

Your diagram pulses back to life, the holographic heart rotating lazily against the wall.

Its red glow bathes the room in a surreal warmth, catching on the sharp angles of Luigi's face, softening them into something almost dreamlike.

The light flickers across his cheekbones, turns his eyes to amber, makes the whole moment feel suspended between reality and imagination.

"I do." His voice is quiet but firm, steadier than someone seven drinks deep should manage. "Because I've been thinking — now that I can actually think clearly without-“he gestures vaguely at his back, at all the years of pain, "I've been thinking about how you're the only constant. The only person who never-“ He trails off.

You lean a little closer, drawn by the vulnerability in his voice. "Never what?"

"Never saw me as broken." He turns himself toward you, and there's something desperate in his eyes, something the alcohol has finally given him the courage to show. "Never treated me like I needed fixing. Just stayed. Through everything."

Your lips part, but the words catch in your throat. He takes your silence as a sign, turning back to the screen with a sharp exhale that might be resignation or relief — you're not sure which would be worse.

"Lu,” you say softly, and something in your voice makes his fingers still on the keyboard. "Look at me."

He does, slowly, like he's afraid of what he might find.

The neon bathes half his face in crimson, leaving the other half in shadow, and you see the moment his carefully constructed walls start to crumble.

"Time hasn’t changed that much about me.” you say, each word deliberate, heavy with meaning.

His breath catches audibly. You watch the impact of your words ripple across his face — surprise, understanding, and something else, something that makes your heart race against your ribs.

"Hasn’t it?” Luigi is focusing on you now, the reason he really came here now practically completed but pushed aside until further notice. “Eight months is a long time to hold onto -“ he gestures vaguely between you, as if he can’t quite say what it was. Hopeless devotion, the right person, wrong time.

“Not long enough to forget.”

“Forget what?”

“You.”

His breath catches again, a sharp inhale that seems to pull all the oxygen from the room. When he speaks, his voice is rough and ragged, “Maybe that’s the problem.” His gaze drifts down to watch as you lick your lips, and back up again. “Maybe you should have.”

[thewalrusespublicist]

"Tbh I was starting to feel a bit down about my blog and what I was putting out ( the eternal crisis on how to give full answers and opinions without being stupid, boring and annoying lol)"

OMG no way! Your blog is one of the best here! What i love the most is reading the analysis and meta from the users, there's always more information and good takes, and yours are always quite deep and insightful.

I would love if you share your opinions about Stuart as well. I feel like he is obviously more sanctified that he should be since he died young (like that insane quote from his mom saying that Brian told her that Stuart could have been the Beatles' manager, no way lol) and i feel his memory has been used to attack Paul, sometimes in a very unfair way. Like, i don't deny the teenage drama and jealousy that Paul felt about him but he *was* a shitty bass player and the band was Paul's future, he was allowed to criticized him not only for being John's new bestie. I also think John played with them both but i lack of your eloquence so i will love to read your take about it.

Hi anon! And the other anons!

Thank you again and to all the other messages I got, they were extremely sweet and really made my day. :)

From my inbox, it's clear you guys want to know about Stu and his role in the Beatles legacy. Well you asked for it and a novel you shall have. Be warned this might be the longest post I've done so grab like a drink or something.

A few disclaimers: I wish and had intended for this to be more of a deep dive into Stu as a whole person rather than just his relationship with John and Paul. Unfortunately I just didn't have the space to do it. If you want to know more about Stu I would highly recommend @eppysboys' blog which is the source for all things Stu Sutcliffe and where I got a lot of this info. Please check their stuff out. Also, I'm going to be a bit blunter on this than maybe I usually am because this topic has been irritating me for some time. Oh also I’m trying my best to answer a lot of asks in one post so please forgive if I don’t fully answer your specific ask about this!

Stu in a perfect world should be a fandom darling: an exciting cipher, a handsome artistic talent that died way too soon who had a major influence in the early Beatles style. It's like there’s this secret other James Dean looking mf Beatle hidden away to uncover, that's cool and he is cool! The problem is that he’s sort of becomes radioactive to talk about in a normal way due to how he's been portrayed and utilised in some biographies and fandom spaces, particularly those that have been infected by John Lennon aspirational boy bestie syndrome. As those types of spaces cannot seem to exist without tearing down Paul to prop John up as their special lil guy, Stu as John's other best friend has become the ideal heavy object to hit Paul McCartney over the head with. It's like a corrosive element, the minute Stu hits a Beatles bio, the biographer suddenly loses all training in objectivity and source work and starts waxing lyrical about 100 percent reliable never biased or wrong Saint Stu of Hamburg who died for our condom arson sins and that Paul McCartney should feel bad about every day of his life for not worshipping Stu and not accepting his own ‘place’ in life as John's just-some-guy placeholder best friend. I’ve personally seen so many posts and forums where Stu being mentioned leads to a legion of comments about how Paul could never have been Stu (correct both ways) and how John would never have even glanced at Paul for much longer if Stu had been alive. Sidenote: If you seriously think that the musical savant from down the road whom John went on to produce the most prolific song writing partnership in history with couldnt have kept his attention for long then I'm begging you on hands and knees to get your head out of the arse of your John Lennon body pillow and be serious. But anyway…

This boy bestie battle royale approach has in turn lead to a reflex reaction where Stu gets studiously ignored by other sections of the fandom as a precedent has been set that shining a light on him diminishes Paul and John's relationship with Paul. It's frustrating because if people weren't so keen to cut Paul out of his own story then we would get a much better nuanced view of every single person involved.

So let's put aside all of our defenses, cut the John Lennon loved one ranking system bullshit and lets look at the actual question here which is what was John and Stu's relationship really like and what did he mean to John?

John and Stu met at art college a year or so after Paul and John met. Up to that point John and Paul had their fun little codependant thing going on but Stu quickly became a huge fixture in John's life. Stu had things that Paul couldn't really offer at that point in time. John was at his heart a musician who aspired to be seen as an artist (he would later express surprise that he didn't become an artist). Stu was the passionate artist who knew tons about the art of the period that could teach and inspire John. Their creative leanings meant they could work on projects together and share art notebooks and poetry. (Including yes the one with anti-semitic story which I mention again as I believe it's an important thing to remember when it comes to both John and Stu and the culture of the time.) Stuart by the sounds of it was even writing a novel about John at the time of his death. They were fascinated and inspired by each other.

So, creatively they fired each other up but more importantly perhaps, Stu and John were peers. It's funny to think about when you see the Beatles later but at the time Paul and George were the kids in their school uniform coming to see their cool older friend at art school. That's an important divide. When Paul and George's parents insisted their kids do their homework and go to bed, John and Stu could stay up and talk all hours of the night, which they did. They also could rent a place together and spend long hours chatting (despite John moving out later after realising electricity cost money lol.) There's a different dynamic that the age similarity offered as well. Whilst Paul would later somewhat grow into this role, Stu could act as an authority figure to John as well as open up to John in a way you can really only do with your peers. Stu was the person John opened up to throughout Stu's life:

How long can one go on writing and writing like you. I now don’t really know who I’m writing to or why it’s quiet peculiar. I usually write like this and forget about it but if I put it in a little part of my [almost?] secret self in the hands of someone miles away who will wonder what the hell is going on or just pass it off as toilet paper. Anyway I don’t care really what happens because when I think about it, it’s so bloody unimportant – but what is important who has the right to say that this letter is not important and this is a something any way – anyway – anyway – yeah! I wonder what it would be like to be a cretin or something. I bet it’s gear. & how are you keepin Stuart old chap are you as ok – is life as good – bad shite, great – wonderful as it was or is it just a thousand years of nothing and coolness on and on and on. I think this is it Goodbye Stu don’t write out of – er what is it? well not because you think you ought to write when you feel like So goodbye (from John you know the one with glasses) ANYWAY BYE BYE see you soon I don’t know why I said that I remember a time when everyone I loved hated me because I hated them so what so what so fucking what I remember a time when belly buttons were knee high when only shitting was dirty and everything else clean + beautiful I can’t remember anything without a sadness So deep that it hardly becomes known to me so deep that its tears leave me a spectator of my own STUPIDITY + so I go rambling on with a hey nonny nonny nonny no

Extract from a letter to Stuart Sutcliffe from John Lennon, 1961

By lots of accounts Stu was gentle but firm when it came to telling John he'd gone too far. John references this aspect of Stu to Hunter Davies:

"I looked up to Stu. I depended on him to tell me the truth. Stu would tell me if something was good and I'd believe him."

The Beatles: The Authorised Biography (Hunter Davies)

In this way I kind of see Stu as a proto-Yoko. John was so insecure and uncertain about his grip on the world and reality that he relied on Stu to be his point of reference and guide. Paul did this too later and I think in Hunter Davies John mentions this, but not at this time period and not as much due to their competitiveness. This may be why some people saw Stu as the person that really understood John at this time period:

"During the turbulent adolescence that prefaced a turbulent manhood, hardly anyone knew Lennon as intimately as Stuart Sutcliffe. If they weren't exactly David and Jonathan, June Furlong, one of the life models at Liverpool's Regional College of Art, had "never seen two teenagers as close as those two."

The Gospel According To Lennon by Alan Clayson

Now this person likely never met John and Paul together but this is only one of many similar quotes and even Julia captain of John and Paul's friendship boat seems to agree there was a period where Stu dominated and Paul 'kept his distance' from the John-Cyn-Stu 'menage-a-trois'. But the friendship wasn't perfect and his position as John's ultimate best friend was never iron clad. This is best outlined by the shit they pulled when John convinced him to join on Bass for the Beatles.

Despite being John's best friend, Stu was teased and bullied:

"They argued as usual amongst themselves, but most of all they picked on Stu, the newest member of the group. John, George and Paul had been with each other long enough to know that rows and arguments and criticism didn't mean much. If it did, you just argued back. "We were terrible," says John. "We'd tell Stu he couldn't sit with us, or eat with us. We'd tell him to go away, and he did." At one hotel they stayed at, a variety show had just left. There had been a dwarf in the show and they found out which bed he had slept in and said that would have to be Stu's. They certainly weren't going to sleep in it. So Stu had to. "That was how he learned to be with us," says John. "It was all stupid, but that was what we were like."

The Beatles: The Authorised Biography (Hunter Davies)

Why John encouraged this I have no idea, maybe jealousy over Stu's looks and wanting to play people off each other? Things were tense in both Scotland and Hamburg, especially between Stu and Paul. As I said in my last post, the girls were fighting and it was mutual. Paul was mad for both fair and immature teenage-boy reasons. Stu could not be bothered with the bass most of the time and couldn't really play well and was only there as he was '(John's) best friend' (ouch for Paul). Paul conversely had given up higher education to be there and was sending lots of money back home. He also was dating the girl Paul fancied. Stu was popular with the new group and also did mean things like help John steal Paul's money when money was really tight for him. Paul in turn was a passive aggressive, jealous and mean. It all came to ahead in the punch up onstage which according to Spitz came about from Paul wanting money back and saying that Stu could borrow some from Astrid. Stu goes for him and reports vary from full-on bust up to embarrassing scuffle. Stu then goes to where Astrid and Paul's gf Dot are, demands Dot leaves and goes on a rant about Paul. Now all of this must be framed in the context of Stu receiving increasing brain damage from his condition that seemingly lead to mood swings and anger. Nevertheless, the mutual needling and anger, as well as John's refusal to do/say fuck all about it, especially given how protective John was of Stu, suggests that it wasn’t straightforward and/or John may have been playing some games to make both feel threatened. This would also make sense as to why we hear conflicting accounts of John and Stu being the centre of everything and everyone else in orbit AND John and Paul being the centre and everyone else playing catch-up, as well as John giving Paul the lead to take him round the Reeperbahn when John got dressed in the gorilla costume. (I know Paul may have just been the closest there but that always gave off bestie behaviour to me.)

(I did get an ask about how John and Paul's friendship survived it, I think it was damaged by Hamburg. When Paul got back home he got a job at a construction site and there's just a vibe of everything being a bit on tenterhooks. John also acts a bit weird at the period, not talking to anyone for a few weeks then making a lot of weird demands from Paul. I'm really not sure what to make of it.)

Even when he's back in Liverpool, John still writes long letters to Stu and vice-versa. I can't find it at all but I’ve read a really sad interview with John saying he missed his best mate and it's a shame that he's not with them. He had no idea at that point that Stu had already died of a brain hemorrhage at 21.

John is said to have gone into hysterics when he found out Stu had died. A lot of people who've spoken about this time (Aunt Mimi, his sister Julia, the Exsis) concur that at this point Stu was his best friend and the death shattered him. He even told Astrid he wished he could give his life for Stu’s. This is backed up by the fact that John never forgot Stu and his shadow lingered for the rest of John's life:

Stu was recalled in In My Life

Years later, after John composed the first of his truly poignant and heartfelt Beatles songs, "In My Life"—with its lines about "friends I still can recall/some are dead and some are living"—he revealed to me that the two people he had had uppermost in mind were myself and Stuart Sutcliffe. And then he stunned me with a statement that I'd never heard him address to anyone—least of all to another man. "You know, Pete," he said softly, "I do love you. But," he quickly added, "I loved Stuart as well."

Weird that Paul isn't mentioned surely you think that he would be mentioned if Pete was there too okay, okay my tin hat is going away this isn't the time

Pete Shotton, Nicholas Schaffner, John Lennon: In My Life

In 1965 John drew Stu on a postcard

He apparently said this about Stu prior to sending the postcard, prompted by an article about Stuart.

The card had been sent from Genoa mid-way through the Beatles' Italian tour. [...] But the conversation had become maudlin when I reminded him that he was going to talk to me for an article about Stuart. [...] In that sad telephone conversation before they set off for Milan, I asked him if he was happy: 'I'd be a lot happier if Stuart was still part of us,' he said, 'The Beatles would be complete.' And before he rang off he said 'Ill send you something.'

He also appears on the cover of Sgt Pepper

As mentioned, Stu gets mentioned in Hunter Davies in terms of wistfulness and guilt AND he gets a mention in John's insane 'if I were a homosexual' ramblings in early 70s. According to Yoko, John also wanted Yoko to write letters to him and didn't think it would be strange because Stu wrote letters to him.

I have a pet theory that as with a lot of things for John, his unresolved grief over Stu really came to the fore in the late 60s now that he had actually had a chance to sit down and think about things. I believe it was partially why he wanted Yoko to write letters and why he gets mentioned in the early 70s as a collaborator/best friend and not in 1980 where John only gives that credit to Paul and Yoko. I think with the cracks with Paul, John had started to think back on his old friend and guide and what advice he would give.

Stuarts presence is still felt throughout the seventies:

“He told me everything. He loved to talk about Hamburg. There were no secrets. It was the kind of life I never knew…. It meant total freedom. At his side always was Stuart, sweet Stuart. There wasn’t a time in John’s life when he didn’t think about Stuart. He spoke always of his love and respect for Stuart.”

Yoko discussing Stu in When They Were Boys: The True Story of the Beatles’ Rise to the Top by Larry Kane

Coming to grips with his death is also present in Skywriting

SEAN O’HAIRE: What happened to Stuart Cliff? DR. FISCHY: What happened was a full exchange of energy where it was not needed within the expression of your own self or in the energies involved around and about you. We cannot call it a happening. We’ll say it is an awakening, for in that way it has served an expression from the past to the present and to the future to where there shall be more of that incomplete vibration expressed to you in a more fuller understanding.

Skywriting by Word of Mouth, John Lennon

This isn't exhaustive but I think from all this it's pretty clear that John adored Stu, John grieved Stu and kept grieving Stu. Stu had a specific place in his life as a confidant that he tried to recreate with Yoko. At the time of Stu's death, he was John's best friend, probably slightly over Paul. Stuart had been able to be both a friend and paternal presence, a confidant and an artistic collaborator. His presence and loss was one of the foundational points in John's life.

But as we've been asked to play this stupid game and so many bios like to make a hoopla about it, were they at their closest ever as close as John and Paul were at their height?

No.

How do we know? Because John told us so:

" He [Paul] still is the closest friend I've ever had, except for Yoko, so I'm still close to him whatever goes on."

John Lennon to an interviewer, 1971

But Walrus! John just says shit! How do we know he isn't leaving out Stu because the press don't know Stu. Well true John does just say shit but this is at a time where John isn't the most glowing about Paul and he's had no problem mentioning Stu in this time period ('one of my best friends ever' would have made a similar point).

But Walrus again! If John picked Stu over Paul when they were young why wouldn't he be the boy bestie of all time, and why would John say that he was closer to Paul? Well, because of the environment and timings. Stu's death happened near the beginning of John and Paul's major bonding moments. If you look at their personal timeline, Paris, the Nerk twins, and getting signed happened just before Stu died. That's missing the major years of Beatlemania, Key West, LSD, Paul growing more into being John's peer and a load of other huge moments in their lives. It's like how John writes to Cyn in 1962 about wanting the house to themselves and not have Paul around all the time. Would you say because he feels closer to Cyn then that John in his overall lifetime loved Cyn more than Paul? No, because relationships change over time and theirs were no exception. (One thing to consider as well is that we don't yet have many letters between John and Paul during their Beatles years and earlier, probably because they were spending so much time with each other. We know a couple exist that Paul considers too personal for publication but I'm sure there are others. It's easy to understand what John felt for Stu as we have the letters, I think we would also have an easier time understanding what John felt for Paul if we had the equivalent of those.)

At the end of the day Paul was the man he believed he had a psychic bond with, the man he couldn’t shut up about, the man whom he’d conquered the world with with their endless collaboration, the man with a twin personality to him and according to John spent more time with throughout the 60s than he had with Yoko ever. To be frank if Paul had died in 67' I don't think this would have been a conversation.

As mentioned early, in early 1970s John elevates his partnership with Stu to his collaborations with Paul and Yoko but by 1980 he’s pretty clear that Paul and Yoko are their own category.

"I was saying to somebody the other day, “There’s only two artists I’ve ever worked with for more than a one night stand, as it were. That’s Paul McCartney, and Yoko Ono.” And I think that’s a pretty damned good choice!!"

John Lennon interview with DJ Dave Sholin, 1980

There are of course the what ifs. Would Stu still being alive mean that John was not as close with Paul? Maybe, highly doubtful though as the Beatles experience was so intense. If Stu remained a Beatle would John be as close with Paul? If Stu remained a Beatle he wouldn't be Stu so no. At the same time who knows what it would have been like if Paul and John were peers from the off? I said this to @the62ndbugsfan when it comes to Stu vs Paul (hi girl sorry i've made our chat a whole ass post lol) but to go a bit Wuthering Heights, soulmates are made as much from the earth as they are of the stars. What binds us is our experiences just as much as our personalities. There may be a universe where Stu and John took on the art world together or became inseparable bffs again after the Beatles disbanded, but it is not our universe. In this universe Stu tragically died and John and Paul chose to become Lennon/McCartney and artistically unite themselves forever.

Even going back to Stu's lifetime, I've said it before and I'll say it again I find it interesting that not only did John choose to go to Paris with Paul rather than pay to meet up with Stu somewhere but that they arranged to meet up with Juergen and nobody told Stu until they'd already gone. Stu was shocked and didn't know if it meant the end of the Beatles which is a pretty big thing for him not to know about. Why didn't John tell him if they're apparently still writing long letters? Was it because he really wanted to do this with Paul and didn't want to hurt Stu's feelings? And that's really the point I want to make here. Due to his trauma John was preoccupied with reinforcing ranking of relationships within his life. But the thing is friendship rankings are made up guidelines and the reality is far more complicated. You can have a designated best friend but feel closer to another friend at times, you can want to do one thing specifically with one friend and not the other for various reasons. You can (as I do) have more than one equal best friend. Friendship as with most relationships are in a constant state of flux and each friendship you have will give and mean a different thing, even if they are of similar value to you.

Paul may have ended up closer to John than Stu had been, but that doesen't make John's relationship with Stu any less special. Nor does Stu negate the significance of Paul. Whilst both fit into John's pattern of intense relationships and demands related to that, both had unique positions and meaning to him. Considering what I've gone into about John's closeness to Stu, it actually says something deeply, borderline unnervingly, intense about John and Paul that Paul pipped Stu to the post. Maybe it's time Beatles bios accept the fact that John Lennon just wouldn't be into them like that, stop using a tragically prematurely deceased young man as a prop in their jealous psychological warfare against Paul McCartney, stop perpetuating one of the most damaging games that John did to his loved ones and allow both relationships the space to shine and showcase the amazing talent that was the Beatles and those that surrounded them.

[oli-ribbun-ver]

TADC Ep 4 Ramble! (?)

OKAY!! ive been wanting to yap about this for a while so!!

FIRST!! what finally got me to make this post!

the difference between how jax and ragatha worded it when they said something about gangle being happy!!

as you can see here, jax says "I like you better when you're sad."

but why am i thinking about this so much?

jax doesn't really say "i hate when youre happy," or anything of that sort! he just says "i like you better when you're sad." is there really that much of a difference? well, yes!

there's actually a BIG difference!

"I hate when you're happy," would mean that Jax ONLY likes Gangle when she's sad and that he makes her sad BECAUSE she's happy, which isn't the case!

We KNOW that Jax doesn't do it because he dislikes when she's happy (although that MIGHT be the case, he definitely doesnt overall HATE when she's happy) because he says in Ep 1;

"I'm fine with doing whatever, as long as I get to see funny things happen to people."

AND at the beginning of Ep 3, he has absolutely no issue with her being happy in any way. You can even visually see the reason he throws her mask is because he thinks it's funny.

(he literally dgaf)

Hell, you can tell he wasn't even considering throwing her mask until Gangle mentioned the doors and he was like "oh stars yknow what would be funny..."

oh stars wait i didnt know there was a pic limit hokd on

okay had to delete some SORYR wait does fhis mean this has to be a seperate part thing??? how do i even do fhat... oh dear... THATS OKAY ILL FIGURE IT OUT!! anyways

I'm sure you get my point! Yes, in Ep 2, he seems a bit happier with her being sad, he LITERALLY SAYS "Aren't you supposed to be submissive and agreeable?", but also remember he SPECIFICALLY says

"I like you better when you're sad." not that he ONLY likes her when she's sad, which is kinda my point with this.

Now, what makes it so different to Ragatha's comment about her being happy?

"You're kind of annoying when you have your happy mask."

Yeah. Kind of a big difference.

She just straight up says she thinks Gangle is annoying when she has her happy mask.

It can be argued that it's because Ragatha was hit with the good ol' stupid sauce, but if you haven't noticed, it's not that it made her stupid(although it sorta did), it just made her brutally honest with how she felt.

Gangle already knows that Ragatha is a people pleaser. Kind of everyone knows that. But regardless, Gangle considers Ragatha a friend. Sure, she could've expected it from Jax, but from RAGATHA?

Yeah. I wouldn't expect it either.

Because again, unlike Jax, Ragatha says she finds Gangle annoying when she's happy. Jax does not. And we know Jax is typically at least somewhat honest about how he feels. He literally has no reason to lie to Gangle about that, though. Like literally no reason.

"I like you better when you're sad" is a BIG difference than "You're kind of annoying when you have your happy mask."

Before anyone mentions it, although yes Ragatha DOES say happy MASK, Gangle doesn't exactly show she's sad when she has her happy mask on. She seems happier than when she doesn't have it, but we can pretty confidently assume that's not the case. I'll get into her mask later, though.

Regardless, what we know so far is that nobody really knows her happy mask doesn't actually make her happy except (now) Pomni and MAYBE Zooble.

Although I sorta doubt the Zooble thing because Ep 4 allowed us to learn that Gangle has a bigger mood drop the longer she's 'happy' for, since happiness isn't what she truly feels most of the time.

OKAY next post so i can put more images.

[apeninastory]

ivan as a tragic-love character (pt.4c?) (nowhere edition)

Part 2 here. I RE-READ THIS A COUPLE OF TIMES BUT HONESTLY MY BRAIN IS SO FRIED I AM NOT SURE WHAT THIS POST CONTAINS. i may have exagerated and also forgotten something, but there is at least another post abt ivan waiting, soooo...

omg i feel like i could write a whole book abt ivan, i swear. i am finally where i wanted to be - the new song, the one that took over my brain and that i kinda want to listen to in repeat for the rest of my life.

and mind you - this is "Ivan Part 1". PART. 1. WTAF.

9] nowhere.

this is probably the moment nowhere is born. ivan's hypocris and dissonance gave birth to this - which may be why the lore of this CD tells us it was found by chance, stored in Anakt Lost and Found Center and recorded as sold by an unknown donor. that means, he probably composed, wrote and recorded nowhere back in anakt, before graduation - though i like the idea of ivan composing this after it, in the period of time he didn't see till, mizi and sua, a period where memories might have taken over his mind and made him nostalgic, restless.

[who is the unknown donor and why is it ivan himself?]

i feel like it is much more personal and raw than black sorrow, and since i am obsessed with ivan, i can't resists its call - it is now my favourite among all the alnst tracks.

the cover.

this is, like, the first step. where the tears start.

it is not our first time seeing little ivan from the slums-arc, but every time, it feels like a punch on the face. the little snaggletooth is there, he is dirty and wears worn out (lab?) clothes and his eyes are so so empty, i can barely stand looking at him without crying.

another important element: the small feet belonging to one of the kids - toes are missing. did those, dunno, froze and got removed? did adults/aliens remove them to torture the kid/make him incapable of running away/as a punishment of sort? no idea. as i said, i love the idea of ivan being born in an illegal factory for pet humans - it would fit so so well - born as a commodity from the very beginning.

like, how much more miserable do i want my baby to be? yes.

the title.

it's nowhere, but for the cover they went like "no, let's play something" and split it in now here. obvious question: why?

nowhere is undefined - it's a no-place, it means "not in or to any place; not anywhere". it might suggest ivan's lack of a sense of belonging, again, the insecurity that comes with not having a stable life - practically and emotionally.

now here is a bit more defined - here is a place, but where, exactly? and is it only a place or more a situation, a moment, a condition? probably both - like, "now i am here, doing this, being this, within this situation and that's it". the song should tell us more!

the lyrics.

and then the music starts.

In love with you When you were mine In love with you (reverse?) In love Love Love always You In love Love always

wow. just - mindblowing.

this is Ivan's solo, his own song, like hyuna's drunk & party and love & peace. the appearance of the world love is incredibly important, but i don't think it defines the theme of the whole song.

what it does is set the pov - this song is written/composed in a moment where ivan: already knows this word + thinks he knows what it means (and links it to till).

the fact that these verses sound radio-like, distant, as if ivan is listening to them instead of actively singing. it creates a gap between them and the rest of the song. it feels like he is composing the song in a moment when he already knows is love is doomed, so he rewinds back to his own origins and speaks abt himself. the song is written by a Ivan who already knows everything, so we can find traces of "future events" in verses of the song that are supposedly about the past.

these words also sound distorted - love is not sweet sounding and charming and light, like my clematis, nor it is energetic and hopeful like unknown until the end, with till wishing to know more and singing abt his resilience. no. in nowhere, love is raspy and numb and has darker hues - it is obsessive, haunting, just like how these verses resound for the entire song in the background.

they sound like a condemnation and a reminder: ivan loves, can't help but love, has no choice but to love, is condemned to love, chose actively to love. they also sound like he is drilling the word into the listener's head by repeating to it non-stop, in an obsessive cycle.

Nowhere, from beginning to end a stained history It freely chatters away That always happens to me

Key words: history, beginning to end. i already said many times, but ivan is a narrator. this is the starting point of ivan's story, ivan's realities, both the one he begins to write abt himself (or tries to) and the one from where we can glimpes at the real ivan. the lyrics might have started with "once upon a time there was a black-haired boy..." and get the same effect. he recounts a history (his own) that is real to him, that mirrors his life - but we can't totally believe him. let's keep this in mind!

we know this story ends in black, with an empty spot and blood (black soooorroooooow), but how does it start? this song has references to ivan's past and life at anakt, so it was probably written slighlty before graduation (since the CD was found in anakt warehouse and an unregistered track - how ivan recorded it is a mystery, but we know he has knowledge and priviledges other do not have). either that, or after graduation/before alien stage, and he somehow found a way to sneak the CD there.

that is probably why he writes "from beginning to end, a stained history": he remembers the beginning and is in a position where he can already predict the end of the story - stained, never pure, since the very start, as if his life was destined to be like that.

what abt the "freely chatters away" verse? i'm not sure, because how can someone's history chatter away? i think we can see it as "it freely chatters away from my mouth", like this story spills from ivan easily, like he can easily build lies for the sake of keeping this illusion, this mask he has, going. the expression apparently indicates someone speaking fluidly, in a relaxed way, but also rambling for a long time. it may suggest that, while from the outside ivan looks smooth and collected, from his point of view this is all rambling, it's the fictional-ivan he created for the sake of the society he lives in - a ivan he needs and uses and maybe resents.

"that always happens to me" reinforces the "beginning to end" part of the song - he is singing abt a common theme in his life in a dejected tone, resigned, like he knows/feels he can't do anything abt it and is okay with it. the stain is permanent and he is destined to "that".

Nowhere, rose-tinted rigid dream and hope It's stained with blood That's just how it is That always happens to me

this is where it gets super super interesting. if in the previous part ivan was warning us abt this being a story (his story and/or the story he is writing abt himself), we are now within ivan's narration.

ivan is still nowhere, but we have some coordinates: a "rigid dream and hope" dyed in rosy hues. he tells us about the existence of a dream immersed in a light, delicate color - the color of stereotypical love/affection (?), of beautiful things. also, this dream/hope is rigid, which is not very dream-like or hopeful.

contrasting images, how fitting for our living oxymoron!

a dream may be something that is commonly regarded as beautiful and ideal (a dream), but that for ivan is rigid - forced? unnatural? a dream he has to fit in in order to survive/blend in/function in the society he finds himself in, perhaps. i explained how other kids at anakt see him and how he makes himself friendlier and smilier. this may be it.

we could also make it abt romantic love. maybe ivan is trying to fit into a vision of love he can't fully embrace/mirror, so he perceives it as stiff. i hope i'm about to phrase it in the right way, but a nice example might be the contrast between mainstream and/or hetero depiction of love vs lgbt depiction of love. ivan being (canonically?) gay gives this idea even more credit - in a normal world, without aliens, surrounded by ways of loving ivan doesn't identify in, this sentence presents his discomfort abt not fitting in stereotypical love.

of course alnst!ivan doesn't have that benefit, but i think this discourse may work as some sort of parallelism: ivan can't love the way he sees other people love. take mizi and sua, for example. in ivan's eyes, they fit the "rose-tinted dream and hope", it is not "stiff" if he puts them in it, then he thinks about himself, abt how he loves (loves till) and it doesn't work anymore.

[we could associate it to till's depiction of love - the rosy hues of this dream are not to be intended as stereotypical, but as the ideal love till wants (sees in mizi) and ivan can't give - perhaps, but i'd like to focus on ivan]

"it's stained with blood", here we come to the stained history from before - stained with what? eh. ivan's life started with blood and ended with blood (his own), but also the blood of humanity, of the people he meets, also destined to a bloody end because of the world they live in. a rosy dream, a rosy hope, the blabbering wonders of a young mind end in red, in blood, and the contrast is as good as it is painful. what is the point of trying to fit in an illusion like that when he already knows what the end will be? that's why his story was stained from the beginning - the end was clear as day since ivan's first opened his eyes.

yeah. "that's just how it is", after all, from ivan's pov. he is resigned to it, so the illusion gives him no comfort, prevents him from fitting in. and again, it is something that always happens to him. what is it? not belonging. he is nowhere, in a story written by him that is stained since the beginning (his birth) to the end (his death), a story with no hope of redemption or finding better condition - a story where not even a dream can give him hope.

My sky, shaped by the world doesn't even let me stand under it I lay down and look at yesterday's daydream, all torn up

i love this part. okay.

"my sky" - the sky is something everyone has above their head. it's just there, no matter the planet. adding "my" kinda gives it something poetic abt it, as if the narrator is not reffering to the sky, but a particular something/someone that can be equated to the sky. while this is a possible interpretation

[again, the sky and the color teal resonate with each other, it is an interesting way of fitting till here, but it's not only that!]

we need to dig a bit more. how many skies did ivan see? the one in the slums - glimpses between rundown buildings -, the night sky before his auction, the fake baby blue at anakt, the red metor shower sky with till, the (fake?) one above the stage he died on. what do the have in common? all are concessions/creations given to him by others. adding "my" makes it interesting, because the sky is not something that can belong to a person, but we know ivan feels a connection with what the sky holds.

"shaped by the world" - that's why he added this. it is "his" sky in the measure which it was shaped by someone/something else. his birth, aliens, till, these are all entities that influenced the "sky" ivan claims as "his", as if to say "i can't have the whole thing because so many have taken it away from me/have limited the sky i could reach".

"doesn't even let me stand under it" - not only that, not only the slice of sky he can have is limited, his sky (this remaining slice) doesn't even accept him. how heart-breaking is this? because we know the sky isn't guilty - this is how ivan perceives himself. he feels rejected by people and by the world, as if it was saying to him that he shouldn't have been born. after all, if the sky does't let him stand under it, what place does ivan have left?

this speaks to me abt his authentic inability to belong. while i think we can say that it is not true that he is unwanted, it is not true that the world rejects him, i can sure understand why he sees himself like that - abandoned, ill threated, sold off, "unloved", used as a commodity. his view of himself, crooked as it is, is not baseles.

he can't have a physical place - so he creates his own reality.

saying "I lay down and look at yesterday's daydream, all torn up" makes me think abt little ivan, back on the ground, staring up the same way we would lay on grass and watch the clouds move.

"yesterday" - we can take it literally, so the day prior, of more figuratively, it may refer to the past. the story progresses: there was a time when ivan used to have dreams, maybe rose-tinted, maybe those same dreams he can't fit in now, and he regards them now as something from the past, from which he now distance himself

"daydream" - these were not unconscious dreams made at night, but dreams he conjured willingly, his own narrative, the story of the ivan he wanted to be all tangled in this song.

"all torn up" - like he knows better, now, than to abandon himself to them. they are all torn up, probably by the awareness that they are dreams, and that ivan can't fit in.

ivan is talking abt the attempt at dreaming he made when he was young, and abt his discovery/awareness that it doesn't work for him. let's think of the meteor shower event with till. by escaping with him, ivan tried to fit into till's dream (freedom), but failed. so he stares at this, at his "yesterday's daydreams", and replays them in his mind.

does this mean he stops dreaming? honestly, i don't think so. ivan is a hopeless romantic (not strictly related to love, but "of, characterized by, or suggestive of an idealized view of reality"), a drama queen, a narrator. part of the frustration this song suggest may be related to the fact that despite knowing it is useless, he can't help but doing it.

welcome to humanity, baby! human beings and their souls crave for art.

Fly far, far away Never, never again Come back to me Because it's easier to forget It's so typical Typical to me

although not explicitly said, it appears that here ivan is not talking to himself, seems to be referring to a "you". he doesn't have problems with mentioning himself in the lyrics (happens to me, my sky, I lay down), so it must mean something!

i am a bit torn, here, because it could still mean that he (present ivan) is speaking to little ivan. like he wants to chase away his vulnerable and inexperienced past self, so distant from the ivan he became and needs to be in order to live in relative peace until the end. "fly away from my mind, don't let me reminesh, don't let me remember, forgetting is easier, safer, as i am used to force myself to live survive in ignorance". he could also be asking him(self) to escape, at least within the dream - to go far, far away, in a safe place, so not to experience what he had.

but. in love with you, when you were mine. daydreams and hope and blood stains, a sky that doesn't want him... it feels like ivan isn't only at war with himself, but with a different stain, a different imprint, a different someone. the robotic voice is still there, in the background, like a reminder that this is not only about the ivan-self.

ivan is trying to get rid of something.

he is inviting that something to go away, or maybe chasing it away from him, to safety. imagine that something is a someone. imagine that someone is till. now take these words and make them abt till: "fly away from my mind, don't let me reminesh, don't let me remember, forgetting is easier, safer, as i am used to force myself to live survive in ignorance". what if he is telling till to go away becausse he doesn't want to hurt him with his words and behaviour anymore? what if he also doing it for himself? because if ivan doesn't think abt till, if he doesn't think abt the meteor shower, if he doesn't think about alien stage being the place where one of them will probably have to die, he can put all his efforts into his performance and win. we know he can - r3 ended with him making 90 points. till is good, but r6, absent-minded till? ivan could win. it's just that in the end, he can't.

i like both interpretation, because they both force ivan to face parts of himself he probably doesn't like or can't accept or even better, can't understand.

Wake up, wake up In my overwhelming daily life Is it for real? An existence like dust I can't stand to look at it Close my eyes And my mind

"wake up" - he is talking to himself now. as i said, i don't think adult ivan stops dreaming just because he can't abandon himself to his daydreams the way others do. the point his, waking up is like a slap in the face for him - his daily life is overwhelming: medical experimentations, lessons, alien stage awaiting him, songs to record, death, and what remains of him? "an existence like dust"

he can't stand the idea of keeping his eyes on it. he can't find refuge in the dream (so he turns off his mind), he can't find solace in reality (so he closes his eyes). are you starting to get why the song is called nowhere?

Worse and worse This painful wound I become more and more numb In the dark City lights I Can't find anyone Anyone Anyone

the "painful wound" can be a a trauma (his past, threatment at anakt, meteor shower) or simply a mix of everything - it can be his whole life, perceived as a festering wound he can't heal from, that makes him number and number to everything, both dream and reality. the darkness has lights, but no one in sight.

Nowhere, from beginning to end a stained history With that revolting tooth That always happens to me

the chorus repeats, but with a variant - "With that revolting tooth", the saggletooth we and the alien public all love.

hatred toward himself - ivan is incredibly critical of himself, but not in a neautral, objective way. he finds this detail of him "revolting", which is too strong a word and confirms that he cannot be objective when it comes to himself. baby, you are beautiful???? NOTHING is revolting abt you. what the hell.

it may be a reminder of something that happened to him in the slums, though. a trauma, a critica, tortures? i wish i knew!

Nowhere, seeped in purple rigid dream and hope It's stained with blood That's just how it is That always happens to me

his dream and hope take a different hue - purple. it is getting darker, if we think they were initially tinted in a rose-colour. it feels like his daydream is maturing, that there is a temporal shift, so while his first daydreams were rosy, growing up they became purplish. heading toward black?

That's just the kind of kid he is, so laugh Laugh, because he can't do anything No one cares about someone like him There's nowhere in the world for him to rest That's just how he is

another super interesting part. look at the change in subject: he.

i wrote abt ivan's dissonance, his splitting in two, the frustration he feels with himself. i also said he is trying to get rid of something, and it makes a lot of sense that that something is the side of himself he resents/can't understand/can't reason with.

notice how the way he sings this and the next part gets quicker, more raspy, less elegant. it feels like a punch in the face with how intense it is. ivan sounds resentful. not angry, maybe - his voice is soft, haunting, resigned for most of the song, but here? he is letting it all go. he is venting, releasing. "there is nothing to do, kid, things are bound to stay the way they were, the way they are, so just laugh and keep smiling because no one will ever care about you. don't even try, don't look for a place to be, this is how things are and no amount of dreams/efforts will change things up."

so. he is talking to himself. nowhere is a letter to his past self - little ivan, lost between the slums, his daydreams and the hope to be loved. his tone grows louder, more livelier for a moment, because he is feeling it all.

He's smooth, flexible, quite easy Just go past it like it doesn't bother you It's nothing, shake it off and stand tall Again, it's nothing, shake it off and stand tall Like nothing happened

and after talking to himself, he mentions till. i can't fit the English sentence here as something ivan tells himself/kid ivan, it is far from how he perceives himself. the sentence is also in English, so it's like he is highlighting the change in subject.

that's why he reminds himself "don't bother, don't think, ignore it all, forget that it all happened". what? the meteor shower. it comes back to that as a moment where not only till, the whole dream of ivan being able to fit in splits and falls apart - the starting point of the dissonance that will lead ivan to composing this song.

Wake up, wake up In my beautiful life Is it for real? An existence like dust I can't stand to look at it Close my eyes And my mind

the dream has collapsed, so back to reality - the reality he built for himself, where he can control things. this life is beautiful, but it is obviously a lie, because his existence is still like dust, and he still needs to keep eyes and mind closed.

the wound keeps festering - the reality he builds for himself is to have the illusion of a place to stay, but not a mind-numbing one. he knows he doesn't belong, doesn't pretend to find a place for himself, that's why the rest of the verses are the same. it's still him and he is still aware, but there is a disillusioned acceptance to his role.

Nowhere, from beginning to end A festering histerie With these cruel lips That always happens to me

this is also where the anger and loathing he feels toward himself most emerge, i think.

"festering" reminds us of the wound ivan lives with, the one that keeps hurting and keeps him numbed to the pain, but here it is linked to hysteria ("exaggerated or uncontrollable emotion or excitement"). so it really is something ivan feels he can't keep under control. perhaps, the process of putting all this darkness in a song was meant to be cathartic.

"with those cruel lips" makes me wanna scream. because even though i logically link this to ivan and to what he said abt himself in this comic, the song keeps presenting us with instances where we can link some verses to till instead - ivan has been cruel to him, from ivan's pov, but maybe, a part of ivan also blames till for cruelly ignoring him and his sorrow.

Nowhere, seeped in black rigid dream and hope It's stained with blood That's just how it is That always happens to me That always happens to me That always happens to me

"seeped in black"!!!!! darkness fell, ivan's heart is still once more, he is once again in control - resigned to his fate, or better, the fate he assigned himself.

"black" winks at black sorrow - and perhaps this is the moment ivan began to plan his willing demise.

this may also be why the cover says "now here": ivan is here, in pre-alien stage, with this song in his hands, with these memories freshly extracted from his mind, freshly recollected. he disposes of it all and goes back to the short life that remains him, the chaos in his head appeased, the confusion numbed, ready to head toward the black end.

° * °

ivan is presented with all these contrasts and complications and differences between what he would have wanted to be (his dream) and what his reality has to offer (till loving mizi, ivan loveless and unlovable, a death game with an inevitable ending).

i thought nothing hurt more than black sorrow, but this song is painfully ivan. it couldn't have gotten more personal than this, and it makes my heart ache so much.

this is the song the pictures ivan most perfectly. this is also the song ivan never wanted us, everyone, to find. the dissonance and hypocrisis in himself grew to a point that he probably needed to let it out - and what's the best way to do it for someone like ivan who seldom even feels like needing to let it all out? music. he has been studying it profoundly, knows it can be cathartic - has seen his friends, especially till, use music as a medium for emotions, both controlled and bottled up.

he composes and writes this to be abt himself - maybe abt his friends, maybe against the system -, but he does and narrates himself the way he sees himself, the ivan that he thinks he is. we know he is an unreliable narrator, and the song tells us exactly that: this is ivan, someone who can't be trusted when describing himself, so in a way, the unreliability is ivan's most accurate portrait.

he probably felt naked after recording this, so i have a strong feeling ivan himself disposed of it - that is why it was "found" in a warehouse - as the song is ivan's story, but also a cry against the system for making him like this and a love/hate letter, to till and to himself. he couldn't let anyone find it before his death, now, could he?

PART 4 coming soon?

[puffin-smoke]

puffin saw something that pissed them off, and started thinking. we've had things that have been outright stated not to be canon, things that wouldn't "make sense" in the universe or things that Erik has told us can't happen. But me, I think that's bullshit. So here's-

How a Ghost might Work in the Redactedverse!

But Puffin, I hear you ask, how would that make sense? Wouldn't that defeat the purpose of the river? And what about those 1500 dead by the Inversion, where are their ghosts? Where is Gabe's ghost and can I fuck him? All this and more will (probably) be answered on this post.

Imagine me this, an illusory. Bright-eyed, bushy tailed, and hanging out with their friend at the E&E Games. They love their friend, more than anything, they'd gotten through the worst times in their life with their friend at their side. Through thick and thin. They'd do anything for them.

Imagine the illusory and their friend as the shades come pouring into the stadium. Running for their lives, only to be trapped by the wards. The two get separated, lost in the crowd surge. And the Illusory, trying to find a way back to them, encounters a swarm of shades. They try to fight them off, but can't. They fall, and as they feel claws and shadow sink into them, as the light fades from their eyes, they think of their friend.

They needed to protect their friend.

But they couldn't. Their body went limp, their eyes dull. They were dead.

Halfway across the stadium, sits their friend. Huddled in a corner, trying to hide from the shades. They can hear more coming, the shrieking getting closer and closer. Their terrified, they need to run, but where to? Nowhere was safe.

Then they see something. The flash of a smile, the frayed sleeve of a well-loved hoodie. Their illusory stands before them, extending a hand. The friend grins and goes to take it- but it's like trying to grab air. They're not there.

But they can still help. The illusory guides their friend away, to a place less populated by shades, somewhere safe. And after the Inversion, they stay. They appear in the friend's apartment, following them around and giving them little tidbits of advice. Small things, like where to go get coffee or not to get lost, to big things. To big things. To not go down that alleyway, to run when that knife came down on them. To get out of bed, to get moving, to stay alive. Their very own guardian angel. A ghost of their best friend, with unfinished business.

Its not a ghost, its moreso a projection. One last illusion, conjured by their friend, with one final goal. Complete with their memories.

So, it's easy. To get a ghost you need unfinished business, and a way they can interact with the living world. This can work with almost any magic type, if you're creative enough.

Give me someone who feels a wall of heat appear whenever they're about to do something stupid.

How about someone who hears a constant wailing, that seems to follow them from building to building.

An abandoned restaurant where dishes go flying off of shelves, anyone entering is bullied out by gusts of wind.

A murderer who gets caught in a storm, who could almost swear they could see a wraith forming of rain and mist.

People's last wishes are given a chance to come to pass. Help the people they love, take revenge on those who wronged them. They can only be created through sheer force of will, explaining why there aren't very many of them, why they've been confined to folktale and the like.

All this to say, I don't know. This is mostly just me dumping random thoughts into a post that may never leave my drafts. The point is, canon is what you make of it. And I should go to sleep. Gnight.

[omegastation]

I made a post this morning and I deleted it because I feared I wasn’t as eloquent or as kind as I could be. Let me try this again. I do want to be kind, and explain myself well. And it’s not about creating drama, it’s about something I truly care about, and that is worth the post here. (tw grief, fandom talk)

Since I’ve came back, I’ve seen a lot of posts about grief, especially about Shepard’s death, and a lot of comparing squadmates, how they grieve, with the ultimate (weird to me) goal of proving “who grieved the most”. I worry about the way it might impact some of us in fandom who have grieved/are grieving. Because it is very harsh to present one way of grieving as the right way or the most showing of love.

The best way to explain it is by giving an example. In my line of work, I encounter many people who are grieving, and mostly following very difficult circumstances.  One woman I know went back to work the following year after losing her loved one. She was in extreme pain, but she reacted as if nothing had happened. People knew of course, but she kept going on and on, and she had a major job at a major corporation. A leader, one that you see speaking at conferences. She did all that for a year. You couldn’t tell she was grieving by looking at her. Another woman lost her loved one, and had difficulty walking the following months after the death. Her pain was visible, the other wasn’t... But I would never think about comparing their pain, or suggesting one was grieving the most or loved the most. Because grief is like that. It can be silent, or not. People have different ways to cope, to move on or not. And it’s a process, not always linear. 

I saw my friend who grieved on the tramway home and she was smiling for the most part, but at one point she had tears in her eyes.  I don’t need to see the tears to understand that she’s going through something. She can also smile as much as she wants. It doesn’t mean she loved less, cared less or is grieving less than someone else. And so, the way some people are pinpointing one way to grieve as the most showing of love or the realest one is not only inaccurate to me, but also not really considerate of the different ways people might be grieving. Here in this fandom, we also don’t know who is grieving, and how they are coping. And I think many of us see fandom as a fun place, and to keep it as a fun place, we should just respect the different ways we love, care, grieve, etc.  And really, the underlying thing behind all this grief talk is about the one favorite character, ship, li… The one who grieved the most, basically, as the most natural choice, the best, the “canon” one. But not everyone has that one preference (which it is, it’s a preference, not a default pick), and honestly, it’s okay.  We have to accept that people think differently than us in our fandom, because that’s how we let people carve out a place for themselves. It’s not “one way” and that’s it.  And it shouldn’t be like that, because if everyone in fandom thought the same way, it would be boring, and it would be very restricted in a way. 

I hope nothing I said here can be seen as hurtful. Making people feel welcome is important to me here. It’s how I get to talk to so many of you, and have fun, and deal with my own grief.

[changelingsandothernonsense]

Wip Whenever

I think I might sequester wip posts to once a week on a Thursday (coz it's Thursday). I'll post art and maybe a writing snippet if I'm up for it. Just gotta keep wips low-key.

anyway I got tagged by @skyrim-forever @firefly-factory @pocket-vvardvark Tagging @nyarevar and @archangelsunited. No pressure 🫂 The rest of the post is under the cut.

I've been working on the render that I started in December, just have his hair and some extra lighting details left.

And an idea for the next render

And a snippet from You, where Josh gets harassed by Hircine again.

“Fine,” I finally replied, shoving the ring back in my pocket, “What do you want me to do.”

The spectre nodded again, pleased with my answer, “I see you’ve matured since we last met, Blodskaal. I expected to hear protests?”

I sighed, “An what would refusing the Lord of the Hunt do? I’m old Hircine, I’m too fucking tired to argue.”

“You are a strange one, Nerevarine but I will make use of your—” The spectre paused for a moment and blinked its large eyes at me again, “Compliance.”

I grit my teeth as Hircine continued to rattle on, my hand still clasping the ring that I had shoved into my pocket.

“The one who stole my ring has fled to what he believes is his sanctuary,” Hircine continued, “Just as a bear climbs a tree to escape the hunter but only ends up trapping himself. Seek out this rogue shifter who has lost my favour, flay the skin from his body as you once did centuries ago and make it an offering to me.”

I shook my head as I finally let go of the ring in my pocket and folded my arms, “You want me to do what I did to Heart-Fang? Why should I do that? That kid’s done nothing to me.”

“Did Tharsten Heart-Fang do anything to you in the Hunting Grounds, Blodskaal?” Hircine countered, “Or was he acting on his nature?”

I rolled my eyes, “Heart-Fang attacked me in that maze, I don’t much care for his reasoning. That kid back in the gaols did nothing but annoy me a little. It’s not an equivalent.”

“It hasn’t stopped you before, Blodskaal.”

‘He’s right, Sero—'

‘Shut it,’ I mumbled under my breath. The last thing I needed was Nerevar’s input. It’s his bloodthirstiness that got me into that mess out on Solstheim in the first place. I was content pissing my time away watching that mine.

“Not an equivalent,” I spat, replying to the two of them. I’d killed my fair share of people for ridiculous reasons, sure but I didn’t relish in having blood on my hands. Well, not the part of me that I associated with my old self anyway. There was a part of me that relished it but I’d always attributed that to Nerevar’s influence. A partial melding between the two of us that didn’t quite work in his favour.

It's a part of me that does not mix well with who I want to be. It churns about in my gut and merges with my paranoia like a demented slurry. I’d always tried to push that desire out of my mind, but there's always something that grabs me and throws me back into wanton violence. Then I spend all my fucking time justifying to myself why I did it in the first place. If they attacked me, then I have a reason to kill as I wish.

The thought just makes me feel sick.

“There is no retribution in the hunt, Nerevarine. I do not seek vengeance as you do, no. Merely the glory of the hunt,” Hircine’s voice boomed throughout the clearing, and I struggled not to cup my hands around my ears. That kind of vulnerability in the face of the likes of Hircine would be a grave mistake on my behalf. Though it seems that the spectre noticed my discomfort regardless, “Nerevarine, there are countless others that would gladly accept my favour. They will hunt him while you delay. It is your choice.”

“I’m not looking for your favour,” I replied flatly, “If I recall you orchestrated this whole thing to lure me out of hiding. Why the fuck would I seek you out of my own volition?”

“Be careful with your words, Blodskaal,” Hircine threatened, “Do not think you have the upper hand here just because you possess my artifact. You may have once been favoured by Azura but she has long abandoned you. You crave that favour again. That is why you will do as I command, because you are compelled to do so by your very nature—”

I spat on the ground in front of me, the taste of ash burning in my throat as my fury rose. I hated this sort of tactic, insult aspects of myself that I had no fucking control over and attribute everything I do as an inevitability because of that. As if I was never capable of change. That I needed to be treated like shit just to get me to comply. I was no stranger to it, whether it was my bastard of a grandfather, Orvas Dren, Caius Cosades, Nerevar, the Daedric Princes, the fucking Tribunal! Fuck even you at the end reduced me to nothing but the curse that corrupts my flesh!

Everyone who ever believed in me is either dead or too far away to help me right now. All I had at the end of the day was myself and I’d been fighting alone for two human lifetimes at this point. The only person who could stand up for me is myself and I knew there was one thing this fucker was wrong about.

Azura never truly abandoned me, I abandoned her.

“Fuck this,” I growled, turning away from the spectre. I was done parlaying with a fucking Daedra. It’s rid myself of the ring in some cave or a deep hole or something and hope that it doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass again. I heard my guardian move and crackle as Hircine’s voice boomed through the clearing once again.

“You never had a choice.”

And my own voice echoed his words as I hit the forest floor.

[marinettesaltprompts]

Selfish Wishing

TLDR: Canon Divergence; Marinette ends up making the wish. She wakes up in a world where she lives alone in New York, isn't Ladybug, and still isn't dating Adrien!! When she decides to check her phone to see what's going on in Paris, she sees that more changed than she realized. She thought this was her wish, her dream come true, so why did it feel like, besides the whole New York thing, nothing changed??

Marinette knew the dangers of making the wish. That there would be a cost. That Chat Noir trusted her to use his miraculous to end Monarch.

But...she can't help but want to make a wish herself.

Rewrite the universe to be how she wanted.

She'd have loyal friends who backed her up no matter what.

She'd be less clumsy and late to things.

She'd be amongst the youngest fashion designers known.

She'd have everything her way.

No Chloe or Lila in her way.

No Chat Noir to coddle.

No Monarch to fight.

The next moment went by quickly, before she could stop herself, before Plagg and Tikki could talk her out of it, she did it.

She made her wish.

"I wish...I wish to live the life I want!! The life of a normal girl who had her dream come true!!!"

The world goes dark and with it, Marinette collapses.

-----------------

Marinette groans as she wakes up. She can't remember going to sleep.

As she wakes up more, she panics. This isn't her room. Her earrings are gone. She's...not in Paris??

Confused, Marinette grabs her phone.

She spends the next hour scrolling and scrolling as what happened returns to her. She made the wish, but she thought she would be in Paris, with her family and friends and Adrien...

A sigh. More scrolling.

Her parents posted something recently about closing the bakery at a certain date in order to visit Marinette in New York, thanking the Style Queen for helping her reach her dreams.

The Ladyblog isn't around, rather the MiracuLog was being run. And it wasn't being run Alya, but... Adrien and Felix?!

She went to the blog's bio, which simply said: Welcome to the MiracuLog!! We're here to keep you informed on all things MIRACULOUS!! From our heroes, Carmine and Jinx, to our big bad, and self proclaimed king, Emperor!!

This blog is run by me and my older twin brother!! Thank you for supporting us, and we will continue to keep you updated!! - Adrien GdV :3

Marinette blinked and looked through the blog.

She recognized some Akumas, but not all of them. Lady Wifi, Evillustrator, Princess Fragrance, Dark Cupid were amongst the ones she recognized.

But...who was Blood Beetle? Phantom? Miss Anonymous? Porcelain Doll? Puppeteer? Scary Godmother? Lilith?

She didn't recognize any of them, and there were no names attached!! How was she supposed to know who was akumatized if their names aren't there?!

Marinette looked at an earlier Q&A post, which answered her own question.

Hi, Adrien! Hi, Felix! I wanted to know why you don't name people who were akumatized!! Don't you think it'd be better if we knew in case they get akumatized again? Thank you for answering!! -inamedmykittenjinx

Hello!! While, yes, it might be better, I don't believe we should put that onto anyone's shoulders. I want everyone to go by as normally as they can without someone leading them to this blog just to ask them about their akumatization. We all deserve some privacy. - adrien.

What my brother means is, we think it could do more damage if we out akuma victims. I say this as someone who's been akumatized before. I wish for no one to know who I was as an akuma. Remember, anyone can be akumatized. Anyone. Gender, age, citizen or tourist, none of that matters to Emperor. We don't need the reminder that we got taken advantage of by that man. - felix

thank you for answering!! I think I understand. some akumas have seemed to be pretty young, so I can see why you decided to keep Akuma victims anonymous. -inamedmykittenjinx

No problem!! :) Sometimes people will still recognize the akumatized victim and spam our inbox with their name and job or school and other info that we just don't need. It's why we don't accept anonymous questions and submissions anymore. - adrien

PEOPLE ARE DOXXING AKUMA VICTIMS?! -carminered98

Why?? Do people not have anything better to do??? -emperorshouldofusedmonarchtbh

like, I get it if the akuma victim is still an asshole. but the majority of akuma victims are people who lost their jobs, are or were grieving, kids who've been bullied, etc. It makes me so mad!!! -emperorshouldofusedmonarchtbh

Marinette rolled her eyes as she moved past the thread. Back when she was Ladybug, no one cared about privacy. It was stupid of Adrien and Felix to prioritize the akumas anonymity. It would be better to just name them.

She eventually saw a post dedicated to Carmine and Jinx.

She had no idea who they were.

Carmine was the current ladybug. He was a male with deep red, almost black, hair. His outfit reminded her somewhat of Mister Bug's. But that might just because that's the only male ladybug costume she's seen.

Jinx was the current black cat. She was a female. Her hair was long and in a low ponytail. Her costume didn't look like hers when she was Lady Noire or like Kitty Noire's.

She was surprised to read that the two knew each others identity and were still going strong as a team. They were family as well.

Why would they do that?? Did Master Fu know?! So what if they're family!! If she were the Guardian still, she'd take their miraculous.

Frustrated, Marinette kept scrolling.

The temp. heroes caught her eyes.

They were...different. They weren't her friends. Or maybe they were, but she can't tell??

Lupine, Athena, Alopex, who are these people??

She quickly left the blog, not wanting to see anymore.

-----------------

Marinette groaned as more and more of her designs were sent back to her. Audrey was a strict boss. Her notes about Marinette's designs stung.

Especially when she sees the woman expressing her disappointment because Marinette had been so good.

She was trying!! Her designs were liked in her old world. She was MDC!!! But no one cares about MDC here.

Sighing, Marinette pulled her phone out. Maybe something in Paris would inspire her?

She checks her socials. Nothing.

She had sent friend requests to her old friends, but none of them had accepted her yet.

Some, like Luka and Marc, politely asked her to not send a request. They were only accepting friend requests from people they knew in person.

She thought things would be different.

She thought she'd still have her friends.

That she'd be home.

That she'd be Adrien's girlfriend.

She wanted her dream to come true.

She glared at her phone, the MiracuLog open and staring back at her.

What happened?? Was her wish not specific enough???

She asked around, but no one's heard of Gabriel Agreste. When she looked him up, nothing came up. He didn't exist. It would explain why Adrien is a Graham de Vanilly and not an Agreste.

When she stalked looked through Adrien's socials, she saw that he had a hobby in photography, sometimes his posts had two images. One of a photo he took and the other of a sketch made by his girlfriend, Kagami.

It wasn't fair!! In both worlds, Adrien dates Kagami. And unlike the last one, here they're still dating.

She hates that the two look happy and in love. That Kagami is in her rightful spot. She should have been next to him, not her!!

To make things worse, she also checked out Luka's socials, which is where she learned he was dating Felix. Of all people, he chooses Felix?!

What about her??? She was nice when she sent sent a friend request. She'd eventually visit Paris again.

It's not fair!!

-----------------

Marinette didn't know where things went wrong.

Was her wish not specific enough?? Did it not work??

She tried so hard to make things go her way.

Her designs were rejected.

She was kept back in class and berated.

She had no friends in either school or work.

People said she changed but she didn't!!

Why??

Why did the wish give her this??

She just wanted everything she always wanted...

Additional Info:

• Carmine is Luka and Jinx is Juleka. Master Fu definitely knows they know each other. He doesn't mind that much because he knows he chose siblings. Not his intention tbh, but they work well together.

• Lupine is Adrien with the bee, Athena is the name of the horse miraculous user, haven't decided who yet, might go with Sabrina??, and Alopex is the fox miraculous user and I'm leaning towards Nathaniel for that (:

• One of the things that changes in this is Adrien and Felix's relationship. Rather than being cousins, the boys are twins. Still sentimonsters, but Emilie made both of them. To this day, the peacock miraculous and the Grimoire is still in their possession.

• Emperor is Colt Fathom in this world. He wants to use the wish to ensure Amelie marries him because she left him before he could even propose, claiming he was possessive and not the man she wanted to marry.

• Colt got the butterfly miraculous from a vendor who found it. He was going to gift it to Amelie but she ended up leaving him. He was going to chuck the brooch into the Siene when Nooroo was finally released. When he learned about the miraculous, he decided to make his wish come true.

• Emelie and "Gabriel" never met. Emilie spent most of her time caring for her sister or talking with her friends, André and Nathalie.

• As a result of getting the life she wants, Gabriel ends up losing the life he had. Rather than be a rich and famous fashion designer that's secretly a villain, he's still Gabi Grassette. He ends up as a homeless man who lost everything. He's not really relevant here, so....¯\_(ツ)_/¯

• Because part of her dream is to get with Adrien Agreste, the model, and how the wish ended up for Marinette, she doesn't end up with him.

• The MiracuLog is run by Adrien and Felix. Adrien takes photos and captures footage, while Felix writes and edits. The two strive to keep their blog safe for everyone. And unlike the Ladyblog, the MiracuLog focuses on all the miraculous and it's users. They don't chase after Carmine and/or Jinx and demand interviews, nor do they take interviews with anyone unless they specifically think it would be benificial, such as interviewing a therapist for advice on how to handle stress and anxiety, or the mayor about the free therapy for akuma victims where they can come in and talk to someone, with the reassurance they won't be outed.

• Because they got so many messages doxxing people who were Akumatized, the twins changed their system to only accept official accounts on their blog. It doesn't stop it, but it becomes less of a hassle. Accounts that continue doing it get a warning, if they continue they get suspended, and if they still continue their account gets blacklisted and blocked, if it isn't outright deleted.

• A lot of Marinette's views about akumas puts a wall between her and her old "friends." She's used to things being different, so them doing things such as keeping akumas real names private, not wanting to discover who Carmine and Jinx are, raising money in order to help akuma victims, etc., feels wrong. And when she tries to say so, she's told to back off and stay in her lane.

• While she does have a job as an intern for Audrey, she also goes to school in NY, very specifically a fashion school.

• As much as I would have liked a more dramatic take on Marinette's wish ending badly, I like the idea of "everything remained just about the same but here's what's different" just as much.

Marinette becomes a normal girl who got the opportunity she always wanted and is living in NY as the Style Queen's intern.

Audrey noticed her but she never noticed Gabi, so Gabriel Agreste doesn't exist.

Because Gabriel Agreste doesn't exist, Adrien was made alongside Felix by Emilie who is a single mother with Amelie as their aunt and Nathalie as a potential second mom. Had Gabriel Agreste still exhisted, her wish of dating Adrien would have come true.

• I mean, diverging from this prompt, ^ that relationship would have ended quickly. The wish wouldn't make Adrien her boyfriend and have him stay her boyfriend. And her new personality and obsessive behavior would be a sign to end things.

• Marinette, technically, did have friends in NY (such as Jessica and Zoe). But her sudden change in personality pushed them away. She was becoming obsessed with Paris, Adrien and the Parisian heroes, and they wanted their old friend who complained about work, but also gushed about how Audrey was considering helping her debut as a fashion designer, back. This isn't the Marinette they know.

This could have been better, but I had to get the idea out of my head, so if it's confusing, sorry? (^^;

[mylovesstuffs]

Jin version !

Request: May I pls request jealousy headcanons for BTS members? reader (she's not famous and has a normal job) thinks of them as just friends, cause she never thought they would have a crush on her but they do.Then one day they get jealous when she ignores them for her guy best friend (whom she has a crush on) so they force her to leave but can't confess because they know she only likes them as a friend? unfortunately I am not very good with handling angsty stuff 🥹 so it will be great if you could write some fluffier headcanons about my request

A/N: This is the first post of the series, I hope it's not as bad as I say 😭 it's not the best I know but I'll try my best to improve. I don't know why it didn't turn out like I hoped for.

series masterlist

This is my personal opinion and perspective. It may not accurately reflect their real-life personalities or behaviors.

Jin always tries to be the reliable friend—the one who makes you laugh, gives great advice, and checks in after a long day. But lately, he’s felt like second place to your guy best friend.

He notices how you light up when you talk about your best friend. It stings more than he’d like to admit, but Jin tries to brush it off with jokes like, “Oh, should I start taking notes from him?”

You’ve canceled plans with Jin a few times now, always saying, “I promised g/bsf I’d help him with something.” He plays it cool but spends the rest of the day eating snacks in front of the TV, sulking and grumbling under his breath.

Jin’s jealousy doesn’t make him angry—it makes him hurt. He wonders what your best friend has that he doesn’t, or why you’d never think of him as more than a friend. Am I just not boyfriend material? he mumbles to himself. (Jin, my love, you're not boyfriend material unfortunately instead... you're a husband material)

He gets extra clingy the next time you hang out—offering to cook your favorite dish, teasing you more than usual, and even pulling out his dad jokes just to get your attention lmao.

When you’re with your guy best friend in Jin’s presence, he turns into the ultimate performer. Suddenly, he’s louder, funnier, and more dramatic—ANYTHING to distract you from your best friend.

One day, he snaps when you ignore him mid-conversation to reply to your best friend’s text. Jin blurts out, “Do I have to be him to get your attention?” It catches both of you off guard, and he immediately regrets saying it. *insert skeleton emoji here TT*

Feeling cornered by his emotions, Jin suggests leaving early from your next hangout. “I just remembered I have to be at the studio,” he lies, not wanting to see you fawn over someone else anymore.

He tries to convince himself he’s being selfish. She’s happy, he tells himself. That should be enough for me. But it’s not, and the ache in his chest doesn’t go away.

Jin throws himself into his work, making himself busier than usual to avoid thinking about you and your best friend. Other BTS members notice his uncharacteristic silence and try to pry, but he just brushes it off with a laugh.

One day, you sense something’s off. Jin has been distant—short replies, fewer calls, and even declining an invite to hang out. You confront him, worried you might have done something wrong.

Jin doesn’t confess outright but hints at his feelings. “Sometimes, I feel like I’m not important to you,” he says with a sad smile. It’s the first time he’s ever let his guard down like this, and it leaves you speechless. (Obviously)

You spend the next few days reflecting on your friendship with Jin. You start noticing the little things—how he remembers your coffee order, how he texts you to make sure you got home safe, and how he always seems to know when you need cheering up.

The realization hits you like a truck: Jin isn’t just your friend. He’s the constant in your life, the person who makes you feel safe and valued in a way no one else ever has.

The next time you see him, you decide to test the waters by spending the day with just him. Jin is hesitant at first, worried you’re only there out of guilt, but your warmth and attention slowly ease his nerves.

1By the end of the day, you find yourself looking at Jin differently... like your feelings have finally been reciprocated. When he makes a lame joke, you don’t just laugh—you admire the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. When he cooks for you, you realize how much love he’s poured into every detail.

Jin doesn’t push you to admit anything, but the shift between you two is undeniable. It’s in the lingering glances, the subtle touches, and the way he prioritize you in his noised life. Neither of you says it out loud, but for the first time, you feel like you have a chance.

Closure: It ends with hope. Jin doesn’t need grand confessions; your actions are enough to show him you’re starting to see him the way he’s always seen you. And for now, that’s all he needs...

Now that you’ve started seeing him differently, Jin becomes even more attentive. He insists on cooking you meals, saying, A love as great as mine deserves a feast. He also gets flustered when you sneak up behind him in the kitchen, wrapping your arms around him. His ears turn red, but he plays it off with a smug.

Jin loves teasing you about your newfound affection for him. He’ll smirk and you roll your eyes, but your shy smile gives you away every time, and he EATS IT UP.

He’s a natural flirt but doesn’t even realize it half the time 😭 Like when he adjust your necklace, his voice dropping to a low, teasing tone. It leaves you breathless, and he definitely notices.

He runs his fingers through your hair absentmindedly, but the way his touch lingers on your shoulder or arm feels a little more intentional these days.

Jin doesn’t try to be sexy—it just happens. Like when he’s focused while rolling up his sleeves (I'm sorry but I'm drooling) or wiping his hands on a towel, you catch yourself staring. He notices your lingering gaze, smirks, and says, “Like what you see?” (OF COURSE WE DO!!?!?!!!!!!!!!?!!)

Mornings with Jin are pure fluff. He’s sleepy and cuddly, pulling you back into bed if you try to get up too early. He mumbles, “Five more minutes,” but those minutes turn into hours because he’s so warm and inviting you can’t resist.

Now that he knows you like him, Jin is more physically affectionate. He’ll casually rest his hand on your lower back, tug you closer when crossing the street, or kiss your temple as he passes by. It’s subtle but so Jin coded.

Honestly, nowadays his cocky side is very attractive.

Jin in cozy sweaters is a problem. When he’s lounging at home in a soft, oversized knit, you can’t help but want to curl up next to him. He teases you for staring, but secretly, he loves how smitten you are.

He doesn’t openly flaunt it, but there’s something undeniably attractive about the way he carries himself. Whether it’s his low, rumbling laugh or the way he looks at you across the room, there’s a quiet intensity that leaves you flustered.

Kissing Expert™: Once you’re comfortable, Jin’s kisses go from sweet and soft to take-your-breath-away levels of intense. He’s got this way of cupping your face and pulling you in like he’s waited his whole life for this moment.

Jin being Jin, he’ll occasionally get dramatic about how much he loves you. “I’d battle an army of chickens for you,” he declares one day, and while you laugh at his comment, the sincerity in his eyes makes your heart skip a beat.

Even when he’s being playful or teasing, Jin’s actions always make you feel safe and cherished. Like holding your hand in a crowded place or softly humming a song while you’re together, every little thing he does says, “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

[katanaski-main]

Crazy how much betrayal changes your perspective of yourself. I haven’t felt beautiful in so long lol

[thevillainsfangirl]

There are some ships that you just know would be 100% canon if they were an M/F ship, and that's mainly what pisses people off the most in these situations.

It isn't just about the ship; it's also very much about the homophobia (whether the creators know it or not) that is preventing the ship from being canon when they otherwise would be.

(Addition.)

[captainmaxatx]

Omega! Logan who was born in the 1800s when secondary gender roles were very prevalent but it actually really suited him and he wanted to be a home maker and have a bunch of pups but he was always too big and hairy and and not seen as a good Omega. Alphas would sleep with him but never treat him the way they would a “proper” omega and they didn’t ever want anything serious because it’s like almost shameful to have a big hairy omega.

Then times change and Omegas start breaking out of the cookie cutter roles and they go into the work force and what not (feminism but it’s omegas) and Logan is very happy for them he thinks they all deserve the right to choose, but still no one wants him. And everyone expects him being an omega with the way he looks to be at the forefront of the movement to want the change for himself, but he doesn’t.

And over the years he toughened up and stops looking to start a family and put his dreams on the back burner to become what everyone expected of him.

And then everything happens and all the sudden Logan finds himself in a universe without secondary genders, where he isn’t a too big and hairy omega, he’s just some guy.

And unintentionally he finds his way into the role he’s always craved, where he takes care of the home and the dog while Wade makes the money, and it’s the closest he’s ever been to the life he wanted. He mostly retires from fighting and heroing, but now he’s ready for a new challenge. And being near Laura has only served to dig up that old desire and instinct he tried to bury so long ago

And I mean, even if the mutant hate wasn’t as bad as it is in Logan’s old world there was still a time here not to long ago when mutants were ran out and scattered around the world. And now with the people at Xavier’s working on getting the Mutants back into the city trying to re group with their still dwindling numbers. I mean Logan and Wade should help with the mutant re population efforts, who better to do that then two very eager immortals who can heal from anything and with a whole gang of friends around them for free child care.

[meamiki]

5% of a color headcanon.... two versions since b&w emphasizes the dagger more i think but i still like the warm tones ASFSADA

i am not biased towards rainbow daggers whatsoever i promise (lie)

((also friend is streaming now and im there too!! bit more info linked here, its rated mature tho))

[ganondoodle]

(scrapped painting)

its kinda fascinating how you can draw something well and instead of learning from it for the next drawing you repeat the same old mistakes that kept you from improving in the first place

(was supposed to the next scene after the previous good painting lol)

its a rly early sketch (i know it wont work out though, too much wrong) but Zaphira (standing) was winning the fight against the guy that challenged her (he also cheated and attacked her weak leg with a dagger despite it being a fist fight) so he ordered the soldiers he hid in the audience to shoot, Shargon is catching the arrows in the air before they can reach her and she trusts him enough to not even react to it