#WOW what happened here

[faustianbargain]

when glass onion said new money silicon valley-type rich people position themselves as countercultural free thinkers but really they’re just repackaging conservatism for the shiny new technological era of late capitalism and selling it to the working class as if they’re on equal footing with the rest of us

[getousatoruu]

This single panel alone can bring any man down to his knees…

[landoffreaksandfrogs]

emotional disconnect.

[temeyes]

first years

[glouris]

“they are very annoying and irritating” are you familiar with the concept of fun and being entertained by drama

[robiinurheart33]

Haha wouldn’t it be so weird if when soap was taken and brainwashed he was constantly being compared to this soldier named “ghost” haha

Anyways explicit descriptions of psychological torture and violent intrusive thoughts under the cut

He would be beaten and berated constantly. why wasn’t he stronger than ghost, why wasn’t he faster, more skilled, better, stealthier, healthier.

Ghost could’ve done better in worse conditions.

Ghost has done better in worse conditions.

Why was soap not better even after all this?

It drove him up the wall, the way he would wonder who he was, seething and bleeding by the lip. After all that he’s gone though, all that he’s endured, everything.

Why wasn’t be better? Why can he never, ever be better?

They drove his sanity to the ground, spat and kicked at it until there was nothing but a shell of who he once was, and rebuilt it to fit their ideals. Soap couldn’t remember who he was before this, before the experiments. He couldn’t think, do, say anything without being ordered to do so by someone else.

Some days, soap would pull on the thin stripe down his scalp, eager to find some semblance of control over himself, even if it were pain. He would always get punished.

“It was the only thing he can and will recognise him by.”

“Ghost likes that on you.”

It made him hate the Mohawk even more.

He hates Ghost. He was sick of it. He was done waiting. He was done being compared to. He was done with being second to him. He wanted to pull him apart limb from limb, feel the hot blood spill over his teeth and he rips his throat apart, hear the sickening crunch of his neck being twisted, feel the smooth muscle of his skin ripple and tremble in fear of the one that he was supposedly supposed to be stronger than. Soap will never, ever get anything else in his life but the pure, white-hot rage of revenge. He maybe thinks this had lingered on since he was younger, before everything. It felt like an old friend, more so than his other emotions.

His first mission.

He will be better. He will be better. He will be the best. He will be good. This might be his only shot. This is. He will be the best. He will succeed. He will not fail. He will not fail. He will not fail. He will not fail. He will not fail. He will not fail.

He runs into ghost.

At first, he didn’t know who he was. Soap was in a room with a few others, guns up and masks drawn, ready to shoot anyone who tries to come into the room. They had been infiltrated, and soap wasn’t told more than that. He didn’t really need to know more. Shoot the hostiles, keep people safe. Suddenly, bullets start to rain from outside the door, and soon enough, more and more bodies start hitting the floor. Soap does not panic. He hides behind a bookshelf, waiting.

A big ass motherfucker in a skull mask walks into the room and it looks like the shadows are warping to his presence. Soap does not panic. He reaches for the knife strapped to his thigh, flicking it up and holding it ready. He waits patiently until he stalks near the bookshelf, tightening his grip on the knife. They make eye contact, and through the skull mask stained with blood, he can see jet black eyes staring at him in shock. Death incarnate. Soap does not panic.

“Joh-”

Soap quickly slips out of his hiding spot, wrapping a forearm over his neck and attempting to jab the knife right into his socket. He feels a hand grip tightly onto his forearm, and he goes weightless. All the air escapes his lungs as his back slams against the floor, his head spinning. He screams at himself to get up, fight, be better, before he hears the familiar crackle of a radio.

“Ghost, how copy?”

Ghost.

This is Ghost.

Ghost just fucking flipped him.

Soap does not panic. He does not panic but he feels a chill go down his spine as he sees red, scrambling back up onto his feet. The adrenaline starts to kick in now, and he lunges at him, ripping the radio off his vest and slamming it on the floor. He’s not completely sure why he did that, but in all fairness soap feels like he’s losing his goddamn mind, if his captors haven’t done so already. He punches Ghost, wincing slightly as his knuckle hit the cheekbone corner of his stupid skull mask. Soap starts to reach for his gun before Ghost punches back, hitting the mask clean off his face, pushing his back to the floor, one hand on his wrists. Soap starts to get really agitated now. After everything that he’s gone through, he’s still not good enough to beat ghost. He still hasn’t improved. He hasn’t gone anywhere. He makes eye contact with Ghost and is slightly taken aback when he is reflected with an equally crazed stare.

“Johnny.”

What the fuck?

Soap doesn’t say anything. Ghost’s eyes are brown, not black. Why hasn’t be killed him yet? Why isn’t Soap struggling? Ghost has blonde eyelashes.

“Where have you been?” To soap’s absolute horror, those brown eyes start to become glossy. He flinches back as if he’s been hit, and grits his teeth. No shit, he’s been here the whole time, where else is he supposed to be?

Soap surges forward and headbutts him in hopes of him letting go. He doesn’t, and it makes soap all the more dizzier, more frustrated. Why isn’t he fucking dead already? He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to get his mind right.

“Johnny. Johnny.” Can he just shut the fuck up? It’s getting increasingly hard to concentrate for some reason. Shit. He feels overly exposed without the mask, feeling his body temperature rising steadily.

“Stop calling me that!” he growls out, twisting out of his grip and punching his across the face. The twisted skull mask looks almost comical out of place, but he can still see those eyes. Ghost’s hand comes to cup his cheek, and soap flinches back. His eyes look like Soap just mauled his puppy right in front of him. It makes him freeze in place, head awkwardly hovering between the floor and Ghost.

Images of blood spilling and needles, dirt and coffins fill his head, the sound of a neck snapping, gagging, screams and whimpers. Hands on him, eyes on him, never letting go. Stay. Soap snaps back into place, grabbing the mask and twisting it up, covering Ghost’s eyes. He quickly gets his other hand free and pushes ghost off him, sprinting out of the room.

“Wait-!” Is all he hears before flying down the corridor, back to safety, back to where it’s familiar, where he always is, where he always will be.

Loyalty has always been Soap’s best trait.

[akindplace]

sometimes you just gotta think the universe is chaotic and you can’t make sense of it, but you can’t waste all your energy trying to understand things no one else does. most people are figuring life out as they go, so there is no shame in trying your best while still being a little lost and confused by the way things seem to happen for no good reason

[cluescorner]

I cannot imagine being a Damian stan right now. You've got both Zdarsky's bullshit (where he clearly doesn't give a shit about your boy) and The Boy Wonder (where Juni Ba clearly gives so many shits about your boy) coming out on the same day. The whiplash must be insane. I hope y'all get some nice warm soup for your efforts jfc

[mintjeru]

sometimes i make myself sad thinking about the kvthm fallout text is lyrics from "who knew" by p!nk

open for better quality | no reposts

[spacedlexi]

going through the wiki transcripts and finding out clem and vi support each other even more than i already thought......... god.....

[thermodynamic-comedian]

the thing is that if jonathan sims and sydney sargent met, i do not think they'd get along. it'd be like epic rap battles autism vs. adhd. sydney would take one good look at jon and go "this man has zero sense of whimsy and fun i want him dead" and jon would take one good look at sydney and go "this man is dead. who did this. is he an avatar. i am scared get me out of this fucked up summer camp"

and if jonah magnus and elijah volkov met, it'd be a whole different kind of disaster. it would turn psychosexual before you can say sigmund freud. and they would both be hypocrites about it too just thinking "damn this bitch is crazy. i'm so glad i picked the correct religion, unlike her" about each other the whole time.

but if gertrude robinson and lucille bertuccelli met, it would be the best thing to ever happen to both of them. they would be best friends without ever expressing a single emotion towards each other. if they met, the world might go up in flames, though.

[spacebubblehomebase]

Without colors or context, this simple and stupid comic of mine feels so, so tense; It's ominous. The difference from the tone of my last doodle is low-key hilarious though. But please, *insert ace joke here* cause I swear this is nothing serious. I don't even know why I gave in so much effort or show ya'll my progress before finishing, yet here we are. -Bubbly💙

[youssefguedira]

wrote this instead of doing any of my actual tasks <3 tw for brief mention of animal death (by hunting)

Yusuf has been dreading this since the moment they left for Akkala. He had made as many excuses as he could to stay in Goron City for as long as he could, but every one had run out in the end, and he could no longer put off the inevitable. 

The first time he had walked this road, his father had accompanied him with a platoon of guards, still cautious, still reeling from the attack that had taken Yusuf's mother. The second time there had been fewer, but still many. 

In the years after that, the number of people sent with him had decreased even further until it was only two or three guards, enough to keep him safe. His father stopped accompanying him on these journeys after he turned fourteen and there had been no sign of their worth. 

Now, only Nicolò. 

He follows, keeping a respectful distance away from Yusuf, but closer than he had walked before they had gone to meet Nile, to ask for her help. He doesn't ever ask to stop, or to slow down, letting Yusuf set the pace. He keeps a hand on the hilt of his sword and does not speak. 

What is there to be said? Nicolò knows what lies at the end of this road, even if he does not know what it will mean for Yusuf. 

Yusuf can feel Nicolò's eyes on his back. It is bad enough that the whole kingdom knows he is a failure: he does not need Nicolò to watch him fail and say nothing. 

The sun is low, casting the landscape in burnt orange. It would be beautiful were it not so horribly familiar. There is a cabin nearby, and not far from it, the Spring. They will stay in the cabin tonight; they will leave for the Spring in the morning and spend three days there, then return to Goron City and after that, the castle. 

Yusuf thinks about returning, about his father's inevitable disappointment, and feels sick. 

“Yusuf,” Nicolò says, sounding uncertain. He is not yet used to calling Yusuf by his name. “We are not far, yes?” 

Yusuf had forgotten that Nicolò does not know every cursed inch of this road the way Yusuf does. “No, not far. In a moment you'll see the cabin.” 

Nicolò says nothing. Yusuf glances back just long enough to meet his eyes before looking away. 

What is Nicolò thinking? Yusuf can never tell. 

Yusuf catches sight of the cabin a moment later. Dread sits like a stone in his stomach. 

When they get closer, Nicolò takes hold of his elbow, gentle. It startles Yusuf all the same - he hadn't realised Nicolò was that close to him. 

“Let me go first,” Nicolò says. “To check. But stay close.” 

Yusuf nods, and lingers barely a handspan from Nicolò's back while he surveys first the outside, then the inside, of the cabin. Once he's satisfied, he gestures for Yusuf to enter. 

“You should rest,” he says, and he is being so gentle with Yusuf it almost hurts. Perhaps Andromache has told him what this will mean for him: she has accompanied him before. 

Yusuf shakes his head, because sleep means dreams, and dreams will be worse. “What are you going to do?” 

“I am going to find something for dinner,” Nicolò says. 

“Let me come with you,” Yusuf says. Anything is better than sitting in this cabin alone with his thoughts.

Nicolò looks at him for a long moment. Perhaps he takes pity on Yusuf, or perhaps he thinks that it will be easier to keep Yusuf safe if he stays with Nicolò. Either way, he nods. “All right.”

----------

Finding something for dinner means that Nicolò leads Yusuf a little way into the woods, far enough that the foliage and the dying sunlight makes it difficult to see, and bids him hide beneath a tree, in a space formed by the roots, while Nicolò crouches beside him with his bow, nocking an arrow in one smooth, seamless motion. From his vantage point, Yusuf can see a small clearing with a few fallen trees.

“Do not move,” Nicolò instructs him in a whisper, “and do not make a sound.”

Yusuf rests his head against the tree and watches the leaves move in the breeze. It is quiet enough that all he can hear is their rustling, the sounds of birds and animals calling to each other, the rushing of the stream nearby. After a moment, and with nothing else to watch, Yusuf begins to watch Nicolò. 

He has gone as still and as quiet as the trees around them, barely breathing, his shoulders rising and falling only slightly, like he has become a part of the forest. Faron Woods is much further south from here, but Yusuf supposes that this forest must be somewhat similar to where Nicolò grew up. He wonders who taught him to hunt; who taught him to be so comfortable in this place. Why he left it behind to travel to the castle and work for the king.

There are a lot of things Yusuf wonders about him. He cannot tell if Nicolò is aware of Yusuf’s watching; he must be. Still, Yusuf cannot help but watch.

It happens faster than Yusuf can track. Nicolò goes entirely still, and draws his bow swiftly, silently. Yusuf holds his breath and so does the forest.

Nicolò lets the arrow fly.

Yusuf doesn’t see whether it finds its mark, but Nicolò looks for a moment and then stands. “Wait here,” he says to Yusuf, and then heads for the clearing. When he returns he’s carrying something behind his back, the arrow in his other hand. Blood drips onto the grass. 

“You can wait inside while I prepare it, if you prefer,” Nicolò says haltingly. Yusuf shakes his head, and so he sits on a log outside while Nicolò skins the rabbit, arms wrapped around his knees and chin drawn up to his chest. Nicolò keeps his back to Yusuf, shielding most of it from view. 

Who taught him this? Yusuf wonders. It is a part of Nicolò he has never seen before.

When it is done, he takes it back inside to cook over the fire, and they eat it alongside the bread and cheese they brought from Goron City, across from each other at the cabin’s little table.

“When do you want to leave, tomorrow?” Nicolò asks softly. 

“I don’t,” Yusuf says before he can stop himself, and then adds, “I don’t know. Early, probably.” The thought bursts the little bubble he’s been in since they arrived. He doesn’t want to leave, could stay here for the three days they’ve been allocated and return to his father without even having tried and it would change nothing. 

“Just after sunrise, then,” Nicolò says. “It is not far, you said?”

Yusuf shakes his head. “No,” he says. “Not far.”

----------

The water is freezing.

It has always been freezing. But Yusuf knows well enough that if he stands in it for long enough, it will start to warm. It reaches to around halfway up his thigh; when he was younger, it felt deeper. 

The stone in front of him offers nothing. No sign, no indication that anything is listening to him except for the water and Nicolò, who has been standing at the gate of the Spring for however long he has been in here. Has he been listening? Has he heard Yusuf pleading for something, anything, dreading the moment he returns to the castle and his father looks down at his left hand and sees nothing there? 

What does Nicolò think of him now? If he did not see a failure before, does he see one now? 

His legs may be going numb. They tremble beneath him, struggling to hold his weight. How long has he been standing here? 

“Tell me what I am doing wrong,” he begs the stone. His voice sounds like it’s coming from somewhere else. “I know I am not the one you wanted, but I am trying. I am trying. I have given everything. I do not know how much more I have left.”

The stone says nothing.

Nicolò says, “Yusuf.”

Yusuf hears him without listening, falls to his knees in the water and does not even feel the chill. 

“Please,” he pleads. “I cannot return – I cannot give anymore.”

There is a splash behind him, and then there is Nicolò, pulling him to his feet, pulling him from the water. Yusuf tries to hold fast - he cannot leave now or it will have been three days in the Spring with nothing to show for it. 

“Yusuf,” Nicolò says again. His grip is gentle but unrelenting, and he is warm. Yusuf, shivering as he is, can’t help but lean into it. “You are exhausted. You are going to freeze. Come with me.”

“I can’t,” Yusuf says, even as he lets Nicolò take his weight, lets him guide Yusuf out of the Spring. “I can’t.”

There is a small paved area where their camp is set up. Nicolò has kept the fire going, or restarted it, while Yusuf was in there, and he half-carries Yusuf over to it now. Yusuf’s legs buckle under him the moment Nicolò lets him go, and he sinks onto something soft laid over the paving stones. He blinks, and there is a bowl in his hands, warming even if he does not really taste it. 

“It was never supposed to be me,” Yusuf says without really meaning to. 

From across the fire, Nicolò watches him.

“It was supposed to be my mother,” Yusuf whispers. The only sound between them is the crackling of the fire. Yusuf is so, so tired. He has never said this to anybody else, not even Andromache, but he cannot keep the words from rushing out of him now.

“It came to her when she was nineteen,” he says, “and that’s how they knew it would happen in her lifetime. So she trained, and she mastered it, and we were ready. And then she was killed, and because I was the oldest, it came to me.”

He does not like thinking about this. He has not thought about this in years. They do not speak of it anymore.

Nicolò is still watching him.

“I was asleep when it happened,” Yusuf continues. “I dreamt it as it happened, but I didn’t know until later. The moment she died, I woke up screaming. They told me afterwards that I was– I was glowing, bright enough that nobody could look at me for long or get close enough to see what was happening to me. They just had to wait until I came out of it. It felt like I was burning.” If he closes his eyes, he is there again, twelve years old and terrified.

“That’s how we know it should be me,” he says after a moment. “Who can do it. Because I did, once, but never again, despite all of this.” He waves at the Spring, the water, the stone. 

Exhaustion tugs at him. His eyes will not stay open, but he cannot let himself fall asleep, not yet.

“Don’t let me fall asleep,” he tells Nicolò. “There’s still time.” It cannot be late yet; the sun has gone down, but it is not quite dark. “Don’t let me.”

“You have to rest,” Nicolò says. It is the first thing he has said to Yusuf since he pulled him from the Spring, and Yusuf cannot tell what he is thinking. 

“I can’t fall asleep,” Yusuf insists.

“At least let yourself warm up first,” Nicolò says. There is a pile of dry clothes in his hands - where did he get them?

Nicolò convinces him to change and to sit back down, to rest a little while longer. This time he  steers Yusuf to sit down on his bedroll instead, and Yusuf’s grip on his arm goes tight.

“Don’t let me fall asleep,” he says again. 

“You cannot go on like this,” Nicolò says. “Sleep, and I will wake you in a few hours’ time.”

Yes, a few hours. That, Yusuf can afford. “Promise me,” Yusuf says, but his eyes are already closing unbidden. 

Nicolò says nothing.

----------

When Yusuf wakes, it is still dark outside, and there is a cloak that is not his own draped over him. Nicolò is crouched over the fire only a short distance away. He catches Yusuf’s eye, but doesn’t say a word.

It all comes crashing back at once: the water, the stone, Nicolò. Yusuf sits up.

“You didn’t wake me,” he says.

Nicolò watches him for a long moment. “You needed the rest,” he says finally. 

Suddenly his consideration stings. “That wasn’t your decision to make. What time is it?”

Nicolò glances at the sky. “It will be sunrise soon.”

Yusuf’s heart sinks. Sunrise means return, means return to the castle and his father with nothing. He gets up, pushes Nicolò’s cloak aside. “You should have woken me.”

Unexpectedly, Nicolò pushes back. “You would have only made yourself ill. You were barely conscious. I would not have done it if–” “That was not your decision to make,” Yusuf snaps. “I am not a child, Nicolò. I am capable of handling myself. I have lost hours.”

Nicolò does not say anything. Yusuf almost wishes he would keep pushing, but he does not. He simply folds himself back into the same blank expression he always carries, and again, Yusuf cannot read him.

“If the sun will rise soon, there is not much use in staying here for much longer,” Nicolò says eventually, quiet. He doesn’t meet Yusuf’s eyes. Guilt twists his stomach. 

Did Nicolò know? Did Andromache warn him? Or was he just worried?

Yusuf nods. 

They pack up their camp in silence, side by side. By the time they set off on the road back towards Goron City, the sun has risen, and the early light turns the world around them to gold.

Yusuf walks, and Nicolò follows behind him, as always.

[lesinquietes]

Kinda salivating like a wild animal at the thought of Pirate!Levi, who keeps a tight ship and also has his eyes on your booty 😏

Tw; fluff, misogyny, smut

—

Pirate!Levi has known you for a few years. He first took you in when his crew docked in a harbour town. Like various other residents, you resorted to crime for survival. You reminded him of a younger version of himself, before he found the sea. When you approach him and his crew and they’re about to depart, you implore him to take you along. He’s as shocked as his first mate when he doesn’t hesitate for a second.

“Welcome to the crew, then. Don’t cause any trouble and pull your fucking weight. If you fuck around, I’ll heave you off the ship myself.”

Pirate!Levi thinks it’s asinine how dedicated you are to each and every little detail. You’re clean. You’re proper. And you’re both of those things while simultaneously being a pirate, yourself. Everyone else smells and looks like shit. You care about your appearance. A few mock you for it. He respects your consistency.

Pirate!Levi doesn’t know how to talk to people he likes. He’s unintentionally abrasive. He can’t keep a conversation without long lapses of silence. You probably think he hates you. Unfortunately, he’s especially bad at confrontation. It turns out “what the hell are you so afraid of?” isn’t the correct way to reassure you. Thankfully, his first mate Petra is around to give him advice. You respond much better to, “you’re one of the best bodies I have on this ship.” And yeah, when he says that, maybe he’s talking about your physical figure, too.

Pirate!Levi fucking hates that some of his crew members don’t know how to keep their dicks in their pants. They see you or Petra or Mikasa or Sasha, and all they want to do is get their cock wet for an evening. They won’t appreciate you the way he would — the way he will.

Pirate!Levi beats the shit out of Eren Yeager after he sits next to you below deck and tries to get cozy. He doesn’t replicate the punishment for any of the other female crew members. From that point on, everyone is careful around you. Whisperings of “the captain’s girl” meet your ears and brings a flush of heat to your cheeks. Flustered, you elect to ignore them. A man as stoic as Captain Levi — dread pirate of Paradis Island — wouldn’t feel anything at all for the likes of you.

Pirate!Levi meets you on the deck one evening, after the others have gone to bed. It’s chilly. He gives you his large overcoat. Next comes an arm around your shoulder, reeling you in closer to him, as the two of you hang off the side of the ship. Your legs freeze mid-kick when he takes your chin in the careful grasp of his thumb and index finger. His lips hover above yours, and he wonders whether he should kiss you. He’s your captain. You might only consent to his advances because you think he’ll punish you otherwise. Of course, his belief changes when you close the gap between your mouths and seal the deal yourself.

“Shit… I’ve wanted this for months. Let me have you tonight.”

Pirate!Levi makes love to you. He’s not gentle with anything else in life except your body. He hopes you can feel the passion coursing through his palms as he covers every inch of you, exploring your skin. His fingers wisp across your nipples, hardening them into perky peaks for his hungry mouth. He doesn’t stop tending to them until you’re panting and mewling and dripping through your trousers. He wants you to make his pant leg wet by grinding on his thick thigh. He won’t let you up until you follow through. He needs to see how desperate you are for him.

Pirate!Levi watches your pussy engulf his cock as he bounces you on his lap. He murmurs something about how beautiful you are in the candlelight. You can’t reply. All that flies from your lips are moans and gasps. Praise fills your mind. You love this. You’ve wanted this, too. Your fingers stopped being enough weeks prior to this delicious fantasy that’s come to life.

Pirate!Levi decides you’re his when you rouse the next morning and give him more of his fix. He doesn’t make any announcements to the crew. They find out when he has you move into his chamber. Your role goes unspoken. If anyone gives you grief, it’s the plank.

Pirate!Levi isn’t in love with the concept of you want to participate in raids and battles. He understands that you’re also a pirate, and that plundering for riches is part of your duty, but he hates how dangerous it is. Sometimes, the rich that he targets fight back. Someone pulls a gun and it’s curtains; that’s precisely how Farlan and Isabel died. He’s very well aware that, albeit strong, he’s not a god. There will be times where I you’ll have to handle yourself. He just hates how difficult it is to trust that you’ll be fine.

“Listen. If you don’t come back from this raid, I’m going to gut everyone in this fucking town until I find the one who killed you. Don’t use this as an excuse to get careless. Got it?”

Pirate!Levi gives you more passionate hugs and kisses when you return to him. The sex is filled with desperation and fear, as though he’s funnelling all his anxieties into his motions, intent on dispelling them with his ferocity. Your legs are wobbling by the time he finishes with your poor, throbbing clit. The amount of love he pours into pleasing you is unparalleled; he didn’t know he could reach these heights of intimacy with anyone. He needs you forever. He won’t accept anyone else.

Pirate!Levi vows to dock his ship on land one day so he can start a family with you — if that’s what you want, of course. He thinks he’s up for anything with you by his side. He’s lost many things in his life. He thought the one thing he’d always have was the sea; he’s satisfied that you’ve become much larger than that in his heart.

[dve]

i could love ianthe tridentarius i think deeply in my soul the problem is that after all these years it is in my nature to buck against the #intentionallyproblematicwhitegirl in any fandom because their fans are usually. well

[waitineedaname]

I could pick a million different things that make me emotional about the kageyama brothers, but right now I'm thinking about ritsu reflecting on the original ???% incident during the final arc and how part of the reason he was so hurt by it wasn't just the actual physical injury or the trauma of the incident itself, but also the fact that shigeo wouldn't fucking talk to him about what happened. It's extremely likely that ritsu has been lying about what happened that day ever since it happened, like he probably told his parents that same lie about the bullies hurting him and shigeo protecting him, and the only other person who would know the truth is shigeo, but shigeo started shutting him out after that. I get the impression that before, they were the kind of siblings who told each other everything, which is why it hurts so badly that shigeo shut down so much and stopped letting his brother in, especially when ritsu is just a kid dealing with the weight of a lie like that to protect his brother. Idk, it just puts ritsu always being like "you know you can talk to me about anything" in a different light