#also me misreading a post really badly. somehow

[destructo-range]

she ceaseless on my watcher til i wretched thing

[randomstarmuffin]

Hm. What’s this? I seem to— drop something— oh! It’s the number 6. On a rug. Arug. Interesting :39

Spotify wrapped inbox prompt! Accepting (...but if anyone else is interested please do not expect it to be quite this long it very well could be but I am not capable of making length promises you really cannot trust me)

6. “Adhd” by Truslow (39. “Tonight You’re Perfect” by New Politics)

aw, geez, not on the-- i just had that steamed... now look what you’ve done, there’s a big ol 6 on the carpet. are you happy??? (actually though, i’m going to need to know how you somehow wrote 2 numbers -- I am counting the number you hid secretly in the emoticon -- of songs which are NOT on my arug playlist, but which DO completely fit. howd you do that huh??)

Sorry, there’s a clear reason I don’t post fics to tumblr usually lol. Behold, something that FAR exceeds drabble territory:

    “Stop!”

Doug drops back on his heels, instantly obeying. He already felt a bit winded, but now his lungs constrict in a terrible little squeeze that has nothing to do with running up a staircase and hiding in a tiny alcove under the hush of night sky where only the full moon can see them.

Maybe he’s stupid, especially compared to Arthur, but he’s pretty sure even he couldn’t have misread such an obvious sign. An obvious, bright and shining KISS ME, STUPID sign in the, like, atmosphere or whatever: the way Arthur had been looking at him, in how close together they’d been, in the way the conversation had naturally petered out and Arthur had glanced at his lips and leant in and closed his fucking eyes and–

And put up his hands to push Doug away by the shoulders not half a second later.

Which, fine. Doug can roll with it, and it’s not like it would really bother him if Arthur had actually changed his mind or just realized he wasn’t into it or wasn’t as comfortable as he’d thought at first or whatever.

But.

But.

The way he won’t meet Doug’s gaze anymore, and the way his posture straightened up—not just to stop bending down toward Doug, but also in that stupid way he gets when he’s feeling awkward or like he has something to prove. The way his expression is stabilizing into that level, flat, stupid mask he tries so hard to keep up all the time, and for what? His real smile—a little lopsided, a little crinkly in the nose in a way that makes his glasses ride up ever so slightly, if you’re watching for it—is a much nicer, more welcoming thing. It’s gone now, though, as surely fallen away and lost as tree leaves in winter.

The problem isn’t that Arthur’s drawing a line about the attempted kiss. The problem is that Doug can see in his eyes that he doesn’t feel differently; he’s feeling what Doug’s feeling, and he wants it as badly, and he fucking won’t go through with it.

That’s what hits Doug like a punch to the gut. He’s not worth trying.

Arthur’s arms drop back to his side, and then seemingly feeling that wasn’t enough to dispel the awkward tension (it wasn’t), he clasps them behind his back, too, for good measure. What, was he worried Doug would try to hold his hands?

“We… We can’t– We shouldn’t be doing this. I should…” he makes an aborted gesture indicating he means I should be going.

And, man. Fuck this.

Doug laughs humorlessly. “Why? I’m not on your list of pre-approved suitors, or whatever you do in your fancy ass castle? Can’t be seen ‘consorting’ with the hired help?”

Arthur flinches a little. Good.

“Doug–”

“No, Arthur, you listen up,” Doug interrupts, crowding into Arthur’s space despite his half-baked attempts to back away. He jabs a finger into his royal highness’s chest, hard enough that with any luck he’ll be feeling it far longer than only while it rests there. “Save that shit for your subjects, or whatever the hell. Don’t fucking tell me what I should or shouldn’t be doing. You don’t get to decide that for me. Sorry if that’s not what you’re accustomed to.”

“I’m not–” Arthur grits his teeth, just slightly, barely visible in the pale moonlight, a tick of irritation even he can’t mask completely. He takes an ever-so-slightly shaky breath. “I fail to see,” he amends carefully, sounding no more put off than he is delivering the upcoming week’s weather forecast (and all the more out of place because of it), “the need for you to– to be– like…this.”

He steps back again, and this time pushes Doug’s hand away as well. In its absence, he pointedly does not rub at the spot Doug’s finger had been, despite the fact that Doug’s 90% sure he accomplished his goal of making it bruise.

“Like what, Arthur?”

“Like– Just– Agh.” The little noise of aggravation he lets loose would be more gratifying if he weren’t literally turning away at the same time. “I should hardly think I’d need to tell you that.”

Doug crosses his arms and follows right along, keeping the same amount of distance between them. There isn’t much room up here on the observatory’s top deck for him to really go anywhere, after all.

“Oh? Don’t underestimate how stupid I can be. Try me.”

“You’re not–” Arthur takes a breath. “Do not put words into my mouth.”

“Ha!” Doug crows, triumphant. “So don’t put them in mine either, asshole.”

“I– Hff.” Arthur runs a hand up the bridge of his nose, under his glasses, knocking them askew. “Just– Forget it, okay. I… Please, Doug. Just forget about me, we can– We can just act like nothing ever happened.”

“Like nothing ever happened,” Doug repeats. Slowly.

“Yeah—Yes. I will just… We can avoid… That is, if I leave first, you can just wait here for a few minutes before following so Volcanon doesn–”

“Fucking hell, Arthur. Seriously?! First of all, you do realize that pretending we don’t fucking know each other is ten thousand fucking percent more suspicious in a town with a fucking population of twenty fucking people! Which we showed up to together, at the same fucking time? What do you want me to say, I tripped and fell over and—oopsie!—lost my memory, too? Fuck.”

Arthur frowns at him, and for as happy as Doug is to get some kind of reaction, a silent little frown is not going to cut it.

“Is that it, then?” Doug demands. “Or what, are you firing me? How much do you want me to pretend I have no godsdamned clue who you are, exactly? Should I re-introduce myself? My oh my, would you look at that, a real bona fide prince, how very exciting!”

Arthur’s frown pinches in the corner. “Do you want to be fired?” he asks, seeming to surprise even himself a little with the question. Doug would actually have really gotten a kick out of it, if only he’d asked several minutes ago when they were still laughing and the mood hadn’t gone to shit.

“Don’t change the fucking subject.”

“No,” Arthur says. “No, I want to know this. You keep bringing it up. If that’s what you want, I won’t stop you–”

“Do you remember that thing we just talked about, where you keep putting damn words in my mouth?”

“–as after all, it’s not like you really…” Arthur blinks at him, trailing off.

Doug rolls his eyes. “So that’s a no, you don’t.”

“I simply,” Arthur says, grimace very briefly twitching across his cheek, “do not see the point in keeping up the—let’s face it—ruse, if you will, when that is clearly not what you want.”

“Oh? Then, tell me. What is it I do want, huh?” Besides a single measly kiss.

(Which he’s clearly not going to get. And it’s so stupid, so stupid, because it’s not like he was even planning to act any differently, after. Nothing had to change—nothing would have changed—if Arthur had just let it happen to begin with. A kiss isn’t really a big deal, even if Doug’s skin is still crawling with the retracted potential of one. But now, well…)

“I believe I was recently informed how distasteful it is to speculate on behalf of other people,” Arthur replies, snippy and over-enunciated. Good. Doug wants snippy.

(It definitely doesn’t tickle that missed-potential itch.)

“Yeah? Well surely they also ‘informed’ you that it’s different when you have permission, right? Go on, lay it on me. Tell me how it is, oh imperial scholar, oh ye of infinite wisdom who always knows best. Hit me.”

It’s gratifying that Arthur, of all people, looks for half a moment as though he might have been considering taking him up on it, literally. Of course, he would never, but it’s the thought that counts. Especially with Arthur.

“Mmn. If I had to speculate. I would say what you want, what you have been expressly complaining about in no uncertain terms since we left the capital, no less, is for me to ‘get out of your hair,’ as I believe you once put it. I fail to see the problem with fulfilling those wishes now, is all.”

“Hah. Do you.”

As though that weren’t ages ago. As though everything hasn’t changed since then.

As though Arthur doesn’t know exactly how little Doug had been hoping Arthur would ‘get out of his hair’ moments ago, huddled in that alcove. As though he doesn’t have eyes and can’t see how little Doug wants that now, either, despite Arthur’s best efforts.

And, really. It’s insulting and he knows better. He’ll have to try much harder than this.

“I merely wish to be conscientious.”

Doug snorts. “Sure. Call it what you need, buddy.”

Arthur opens his mouth, but falters at the last second before he can say anything more.

And Doug could almost scream, because he realizes a half second before it happens that he’s lost. That he’s lost Arthur, lost him to himself, to his thoughts and worries about every godsdamned thing except the one thing he ought to be looking out for: himself.

And not what he thinks that should mean, not how people see him and what they think of him and how his actions will reflect. Him.

Doug watches Arthur slam the door on himself, not for the first time, and, for the first time, wonders if Arthur even knows what that means. If he even knows what he’s doing to himself.

Doug’s been playing this part for a while now, pretending to be the sort of stalwart companion they both know he obviously isn’t. He would even say he’s been doing a good job of it, that it’s worked out well for the both of them, all things considered. And, fine, he can admit it—he was trying. He didn’t have to put as much effort into it, not when they’d already left the capital and there wasn’t anyone else around who could have filled the role even if Arthur had wanted them to.

But Doug had tried. And that’s not easy to admit because it is quite clearly contrary to his cause, but– How could he help himself when he’d caught a glimpse of what he could find behind the façade?

And where exactly had that gotten him?

Whether Arthur can see Doug’s turmoil, he can’t be sure, but either way he is unmoved to change his mind and continue talking. He takes a breath and with naught more than a prim nod turns gracefully on his heel and resumes his approach of the exit, neither too hurried as to betray frustration or anger nor too slowly as to betray hesitance or remorse.

Unbidden and despite the fact he’d known to expect this as soon as he saw the shift in Arthur’s expression, Doug scoffs, a sound of disgust and scorn and deeply unpleasant surprise.

And maybe some unpleasant surprise at the unpleasant surprise, too. Like… It’s not really that important. Doug doesn’t care that much about this. About Arthur.

And really, even though he does, what had he been expecting all this time? Why let it get this far? He knows what has to happen. He’s always known! He’s worse than Arthur’s being right now, if he really deluded himself into thinking he could have this and achieve his goal at the same time and everything would stay all hunky-dory. If he thought he could get this close and expect there to be no consequences.

Because now, as Doug watches Arthur rebuild his walls twice as high and twice as thick, he realizes he can’t do this.

Sure, he shouldn’t do this, he’s always known that, deep down. He let himself do this for far too long, it’s true. But all this time, it’s been because he could do it, because there wasn’t anything to stop him, because he could keep idly poking and prodding and being rewarded with more pieces of the puzzle.

But he can’t. Not anymore.

It’s not that he thinks those walls are insurmountable. Frankly, given enough time just standing here staring him down, Doug thinks it would be pretty easy to bring them crumbling to dust again. Not like it’d be the first time, after all.

And it’s certainly not that he’s seen a side of Arthur he finds repelling—if anything, he’s seen more evidence tonight that Arthur is capable of fighting for himself than not, which is… Well, not worth examining further, right now, however it might make Doug feel about him.

He can’t do this because Arthur is capable of being this person Doug can see, so clearly, who has so obviously been dying to get free, all this time, but he keeps choosing not to be.

And Doug is too in l–

He. Is too…involved to keep watching him do it.

If Arthur wants to keep doing this to himself, then, hey, that’s great. It’s not like it has ever once been Doug’s place to tell him what to do with himself. (Not like he’d ever listen even if he tried.)

But it is Doug’s place to choose what he does, and he can’t let his choice be to watch someone take everything they have to offer and smother it, over and over and over and over.

He’s lost too much. He can’t keep losing Arthur, again and again.

(If his revenge consists of getting rid of the people responsible for his losses, paying them back, giving them as good as what was got, how could that possibly figure in this? Who is he supposed to be mad at, if it’s all one and the same? What is he supposed to do about it?)

Much better to just be done with it than stand around and let it happen.

So, Doug watches Arthur retreat, chin high and immoveable and untouchable, as he’s done several times before. And he knows it’s not enough. There’s no finality in it, there’s only Arthur’s expectation—whether Arthur is aware of it or not—that eventually Doug will, once again, follow his lead, no matter how plentiful or loud his grumblings about it will be. He’ll still be there anyways.

And for just one second, Doug allows himself to imagine that things are different. That he can and will do just that.

Maybe it wouldn’t have to be just a daydream, hidden in a secluded area under the moonlight.

Maybe it’d be something they could figure out in concert, in harmony, more than the first draft of a melody only they can hear, something real and open and true.

Maybe it’s something they could learn to do together.

“Maybe it’s time to just admit it,” Doug says coldly, freezing Arthur’s retreating back in place on the stairs. Like this, they’re about the same height, and Doug appreciates how it makes boring holes into the back of that stupid, entitled, idiotic blonde head easier.

“…Admit what?” Arthur asks slowly when Doug doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t turn around.

“Admit that we’ve done all we can do for each other. We made it to Selphia, like you wanted—woulda been nice to have a head’s up there, by the way! And you already know I’m not really here because I cared about…attending to you, or honor, or whatever. So we’re good,” Doug replies dismissively.

Arthur still does not turn. “…We did achieve the first aim I intended to pursue, yes. And as I said, I will not stop you if you do not wish to retain your position. However, if you are under the impression I have accomplished everything I set out to do, you are mistaken.”

“No, you’re right,” Doug agrees.

Arthur is playing the specifics close to his chest, so Doug may not know everything, but he knows Arthur is clearly up to something when late into the night most nights, he can still be found pouring over records and receipts and maps and recovered journal entries by candlelight. Doug doesn’t really get where all of the documents even come from, but he knows there’s a kind of rhyme and reason to the haphazard way they end up in towering stacks on one side of Arthur’s desk, same as the so-called organization of his extensive collection of glasses.

What exactly Arthur’s secret agenda is isn’t important, though. The problem is and always has been Doug’s agenda. Selfishly, he hopes Arthur is clever enough to figure that out himself.

“But,” Doug continues, biting out the words, “as far as what you wanted—why bother pretending that it’s—that we’re—nothing when, clearly, it really was nothing. So. Later. It’s been real.”

Arthur turns around then, stricken. Doug has never seen such an expression on his face. Maybe he shouldn’t like the heady curl of pleasure he takes in having caused it, considering the circumstances, but oh, does he.

Maybe it’s not fair, when he’s decided to be this way not because he doesn’t care, but rather because he has all at once discovered he cares entirely too much. But that angry part of him—the part that wants to just grab Arthur by the scruff and wring him around until he realizes how stupid he’s being, the part that hates being so entirely consumed by something ultimately futile, the part that just wants to take all the things burning him up inside out on everyone, someone, anyone, around him if only so he isn’t the only one in flames—that part of him wants Arthur to hurt, too. Even if it isn’t fair. Even if he doesn’t figure as much to Arthur as Arthur does to him. (Even if, improbably, heinously, unforgivably—he does.) He should still have to feel something at Doug’s absence.

“No, no,” Doug says, deciding to screw it, to let that part of him take over, “Go on, now. Please, don’t stop on my behalf.”

Yet.

It’s petty, and it’s desperate.

But the other part of Doug?

It really, really hopes he does. Please.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arthur can’t stop.

Arthur would do a lot of things, ones he’d never really thought he’d have reason to, much less want to, on Doug’s behalf.

Just, not stop.

If he stops, he may never start again. If he stops, and admits that he—enjoys? Covets? Anticipates?

Desires, ardently?

—the time that he spends in Doug’s company, that he wants nothing more than to go back to that quiet, shining moment in the alcove across the observatory deck and freeze it and trap it in a jar and hold it close so he can live in it forevermore? If he admits that, he has to admit that there’s no purpose to what he’s seeking out, that finding it—finding her—won’t give him what he wants. That he’s spent all this time searching for something in the entirely wrong places.

That the thing he wishes for above all else wasn’t really anything special, that there wasn’t a deeper meaning behind it, that there wasn’t a reason he can point to. That it’s something one can just happen upon by accident. That there’s nothing to earn, nothing to prove, no epic quest required to win the right to glittering riches unimaginable.

That it’s incidental, and small, and plentiful, and common, and he’s spent so long chasing a dead end lead with such single-minded focus that he’d missed it every time it’s been right in front of him. Or if not it, then—the truth of it, which is something of equal, or perhaps even greater, import to him.

He can’t admit that. He knows it can’t be true. He has evidence, eyewitness testimony. It’s a pledge and it’s a duty and it’s a struggle and it cannot be easy or else how much time will he have wasted?

It’s difficult. Everyone says so. He knows it to be so.

But, says the errant little voice in his head, did you ever think to ask in which ways it should be?

Arthur can’t stop, and there’s a reason he’d had to beg Doug to do it earlier, to stop, instead of pulling away from that almost-kiss on his own.

Kiss. Had they really almost…?

Not that it means anything, necessarily. There are plenty of reasons to do something like that. Plenty of reasons that aren’t the only one Arthur can seem to conjure up, which is really more of a laughable non-reason than anything concrete or real.

He had simply wanted to.

They had been so close, and Doug had been right there, and that had been the only thing he could think—not even really think, truly. More like, he hadn’t been thinking, or couldn’t think, and had only possessed an impulse to do it, and… Well, and nothing else. Scarily, he doesn’t think he has a better justification to point to.

So, it’s– It’s good Doug had listened to him, that they’d avoided it. How unnecessarily complicated; how improperly had Arthur been willing to take advantage of someone he held a position of power over.

(…Technically. Sort of. Not that it means anything in practice. He thinks, if the mood were different, Doug would laugh himself to tears if he suggested this aloud, and say something about how Arthur wishes that were the case.)

Arthur doesn’t suggest it aloud. Instead, he meets Doug’s eyes, belatedly realizing they’re at height with his own, owing to his being on the steps. They catch on the moonlight and flash that fascinating striking silver; there’s steel in them, too, now, but also something else, molten and alive and demanding, all at once anvil and ingot and hammer alike.

If only Arthur could figure out which shape they’re being stricken into.

Something is different about this, as compared to every other time Doug has complained and threatened to leave Arthur’s “sorry ass” behind to be torn apart and eaten by palm cats on his own, that he has better things to do than babysit a “grown-ass” man all day.

(Are all of Doug’s insults ass-related, now that Arthur thinks about it? It’s not something to ponder on right now, but it’s hard not to consider all the same.)

Arthur really must be out of it, but either Doug doesn’t realize or doesn’t care that that’s the case, because he seems to take Arthur’s continued silence to be its own kind of answer. Something changes, a shift in his weight or a twitch in his expression, something Arthur can’t quite put his finger on but can’t help noticing all the same.

Doug blows an angry huff of air, and Arthur can tell he’s hesitated too long. He’d thought they could salvage this and just go back to how things had been, but he misstepped somewhere, and he just can’t figure out where.

He doesn’t exactly get a chance to mull it over, though.

Under his breath, almost like he doesn’t mean to say it out loud, but also sort of like part of him absolutely does, he says, “Figures you’d leave too. I guess that’s all you ever learned to do, huh?”

Arthur nearly doesn’t recognize the nasty voice lowly gutting him in an afterthought, pulling apart every single piece of his insides, sizzling as it cuts through him, but he doesn’t have time to dwell about the tone or the speaker when the words have seized him to the point of gasping for air.

It’s a swift, violent thing. For the way it dismantles every conscious thought and sensation in his body, if he had the slightest bit left of his propriety he’d almost say it was a mercy, such an expedient—such an accurate, precise—execution.

But he can’t breathe, doesn’t remember how, isn’t sure if he wants to, so how can he possibly be expected to respond?

But an assassin’s job isn’t to torture, is it? Get in, finish it, get out. Arthur still doesn’t know the whole story, but it may as well be the truth, too, for everything he does know about why Doug dropped himself onto his doorstep in the first place.

Regardless of how well-trained for it he is, Doug wraps this hit up quietly, short and to the point. And Arthur almost wants to thank him for it.

“Don’t worry,” Doug says, voice so close to Arthur’s ear and so very, very far away. “I’ll save you the trouble.”

And he shoulders past Arthur and just.

Leaves.

Arthur isn’t sure how long he stands there, feet on stairs at different heights, nearly-but-not-quite-by-a-step-or-two on the observation deck all alone, growing cold in night air. There’s a chill in it, absent of a breeze but rather of the type that merely sinks directly into your bones without any motion, the kind your body involuntary soaks up like a sponge. He doesn’t remember how Doug left, exactly, though he supposes, with no shortage of hysteria, that he must have used the stairs to do it.

(With no shortage of hysteria, he’s very briefly struck by the thought that he wouldn’t, technically, have had to do so, necessarily, but he shuts that off before he can picture how such an improvised exit would end. He can’t even think it.)

(Besides, how could he have done that when Arthur knows Doug had pushed past him on his way out?)

(He had. Surely, he had. Arthur can feel the phantom burn of his touch blistering his side. He hadn’t imagined that.)

(Right?)

Arthur is on the floor of the observatory deck, the Selphian observatory deck, and he isn’t quite sure how he got there, but all he can think is that this is what he wanted, this is what he asked for.

He’d been begging for this, to be alone, to have his legs collapsed out from under him (somehow, miracle of miracles, not on the stairs but on flat, solid deck, though he’s not sure when that happened, either). His knees, he realizes, sting from the impact of falling on them. He wanted… He wants–

He needs help.

It’s so simple. How he hadn’t realized before is impossible to know. He can’t do what he came here to do on his own.

But things had changed, hadn’t they. Without his noticing, without his permission, without his appreciation, Arthur had gained something he’d never once in all his 19 years had, and he hadn’t even realized it until it was gone. Someone who truly listened, and cared, and not because they were on a payroll, and not in spite of it. Someone who stuck around despite all-too-oft expressing frustrations about situations he’d put them in. Someone who hadn’t known him all his life, and hadn’t asked to hear about it, but had remembered anyway. A confidant.

A friend.

And maybe…

If Arthur hadn’t been so stupid, and blind, and senseless, maybe tonight he could have even been more. Maybe he already had been, and Arthur simply and foolishly had insisted he wasn’t. Hadn’t let him be.

Maybe, despite everything Arthur’s ever known telling him otherwise, maybe that fleeting moment, that moment-before-a-first-kiss, in which everything had felt perfect–

Maybe it really had been?

He struggles with it, but at least the air comes easier to breathe, now. Nothing that feels perfect ever really is. Arthur knows this. He’s always known.

Focusing on the basics always helps. Perfect is imaginary. It’s not real. By definition, it is untouchable and unquestionably impossible.

But.

But the stars shining in Doug’s silver eyes, iridescent in the moonlight. But the lingering echo of his muffled laughter, like a barrier holding out the rest of the world aside from just them two. But the gentle weight of his touch, branding Arthur’s forearm where he holds it.

Perfect is a fabrication, it is a standard to be upheld, it is expected.

Perfect is not something that knocks you so hard off your feet that you tear through the knees of your trousers, that catches you so unaware that you haven’t even realized you’ve fallen until you hit the floor.

Arthur knows this. He knows many things, and he knows this.

But.

Oh, but.

But he believes, for the first time in a long, long time—a startlingly, shockingly, quakingly long time—he believes tonight. He believes tonight had felt perfect.

Being nearly caught by Volkanon after assuming the head butler would have already been asleep, immediately after they’d stolen out of the castle with an assortment of documents even a visiting prince really shouldn’t have been privy to, which they’d filched from the castle basement and which had still been very much on Arthur’s person. Doug snatching his arm when he’d frozen stiff, quickly but discreetly dragging him away in the opposite direction. A near miss with Forte coming around the corner on patrol, Doug yanking Arthur back into the observatory stairwell just before the Dragon Knight could spot them.

Of course, it’s not like they’re fugitives. There would have been no reason for Forte to think anything amiss even if she had seen them, and as Doug himself has pointed out, it’s more suspicious to draw attention to the issue by pretending something obviously untrue. If they had just kept walking, no one would have stopped them from a pleasant if somewhat late night out strolling Selphia’s streets. Even Volkanon would have likely only had an exuberant greeting for them and asked how their night was going, none the wiser about what Arthur was concealing in his coat.

But had that mattered? Had it mattered that it had been unnecessary when Doug, face flushed with adrenaline, had started wheezing quiet giggles about the overreaction, had turned to Arthur, eyes bright, and said, “Race you to the top,” and taken off up the stairs before Arthur could stop him.

Had it mattered that they could have kept walking, when Arthur finally made it to the top (a bit more out of breath than he’d like to admit) and realized he couldn’t see Doug, and he’d wandered onto the deck apprehensively, halfway through quietly calling his name a second time when he’d been bodily tugged into an alcove he’d never once even noticed before. When he’d stumbled into Doug, who had been been right up against him, laugher still singing in his eyes and the crinkles in his face, and Arthur hadn’t been able to help himself from laughing too.

It hadn’t mattered. It hadn’t been anything noteworthy at all, in fact, not any part of the whole thing.

And it had been—wonderful. Exciting. Thrilling for no reason in particular, not due to any real danger, not for any reason Arthur could think to give. It had just been…unreal. Perfect.

And Doug—Doug had been perfect.

No, not just that—Doug had made Arthur feel perfect, too. And that’s nothing anyone’s done in… Since…

Has anyone ever?

Has he ever felt such a perfect, whole sense of belonging, such a perfect reason to just be, to screw all the other noise and nonsense and not worry about everything else around him and just be, there, in the moment, with someone else by his side? The way Doug, without even trying, had done tonight?

At least, before Arthur went and ruined it.

Ah.

Right.

What does it matter, what does it matter, for Arthur to realize any of this now? Doug already left. He isn’t there to help Arthur back on his feet. He isn’t there to tell Arthur if he should keep running, or if he should stand and fight, or anything else.

How unbearable, to only realize how far and fast and deep he’d fallen after he’d already absolutely screwed up his best chance to do something about it, tonight.

Arthur rearranges himself carefully, mindful of his scraped knees. Out of habit, he pats the pocket of his coat containing the documents that had gotten him into this situation in the first place. They’re still there, safe and sound. He sits leaning back against the observatory railing and tips his head to gaze at the stars above him.

Arthur sighs. What Doug had said—that last part, at least—that had hurt. And the irony of saying it and then leaving himself? With a clearer head, Arthur can now say that was far worse.

And isn’t that just something. People say these sorts of things about him, have said them since he was a child, and he’s never paid them much mind. Sometimes they sting a little, he can’t help that, but never any worse than a prick of the finger. But tonight? But when Doug was the one saying it?

The worst part is, Arthur isn’t sure if he was wrong—about any of it. About Arthur running away, about them having already done all they could do for each other? About Arthur putting words in his mouth and expecting things from him that he’d never promised?

And had he truly meant it, that there was nothing between them? It hadn’t felt that way. The fire in Doug’s eyes hadn’t made it seem so. But how can it possibly be, that someone as direct and shameless at Doug would lie so unflinchingly, now, after all this time?

Unless…all of it had been a lie?

Arthur knows that could be true. Hell, maybe it’s even likely, given what little he knows about Doug and how very much he doesn’t.

He just…doesn’t believe it.

The stars twinkle on, laughing at him, and the moon watches, still and silent and calm. The clear, cloudless sky itself offers no great insights—though it does remind him that there is supposed to be a storm blowing in sometime in the next few days.

Calm before the storm, indeed.

It’s a little silly, but Arthur doesn’t have any energy left to combat silly, so he mutters, “If you were going to send a sign, wish you would’ve been a little more clear about that,” at the sky.

Predictably, he does not receive an answer.

[woopboopboop]

heaven is a place on earth; hell is too

a/n: i just like the idea behind the prompt so i thought i’d write it. and to @harrysgloves​, thank you for the encouragement sent early this year! happy reading everyone! :)

content warnings: strong language, graphic depictions of violence, mentions of drug.

[usually, in the story, the gang leader will kidnap a person, right? this time, it’s the other way around]

“Are you a demon?”

She stops twirling the handcuffs in her hand and put it on the wooden drawer next to the bedroom doorway. For a beat, she doesn’t quiet know what to say because it is not the common “where am I?” or “who are you?” or even him trying to escape. But, only for a beat. Then, she straightens from where she is leaning at the door.

When he asks the next question, she pretends to not hear and calls for Ezra. If it is not for the real intention behind this, she probably would entertain his question and tell him if there is any angel in the room, if she is one, it would be an incarnation of Lucifer.

The younger boy comes as quick as she calls him and stands beside her at the doorway, waiting for whatever she has to say.

“He’s still in the cloud,” she says, eyes still assessing Harry who is lying on his back on the bed before turning her attention to the raven haired boy next to her. “How many did you use?”

“Just like you wrote in the note,” Ezra answers. 

She hums and returns to look at Harry who is now looking at his hands, inspecting for who knows what and mumbling something. Well, she did want the drug to make him forget a little bit. But not to the point where he is delirious. In this condition, there is no way he can give her what she is looking for.

“Are you sure?” Her eyes return to Ezra’s confused ones. There must be something wrong somewhere. He did what she told him to. Maybe not in a way she had instructed it. “You do know there’s a point before the number five, right?”

When she said that the confusion in his eyes shifts to realisation and it dawns on him. That would explain it. He did not forget, obviously. He misread it. He should’ve given Harry a half of the vial, not the whole thing.

She let out a sigh, thinking how there is no undoing this now. She can only hope the effect of the drug will wear off soon. Besides her, Ezra looks like he is trying to say something but the words don’t come out. He gives up then, head drooping slightly, the tips of his ears are red. 

“It’s okay, Ezra.” She gives him a small smile, trying to ease his silent guilt as he knows this plan is important to her. The smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes but he doesn’t want to say anything, afraid that it will make the situation worst. Instead, he says his apology before leaving quietly and quickly after she dismisses him.

“Am I… on a boat?” Harry slurs.

At first, she answers him by shaking her head, hand grabbing the abandoned cuffs on the drawer while she strides over to him. The colour is muted in the room and she figures he can’t see much but the faint cold blue of the evening that is falling like a dusky curtain of the room. So when she stops a reasonable distance away from him, she answers him curtly, “No. Not anymore.”

The sight is a great pity. It is almost like seeing someone on the edge of falling off the pedestal. Who would’ve thought that there will be time when she can see a person who is deemed organised and calculated, feared in the underworld, be so weak. Unguarded. His once pressed, white dress shirt stained with dirt and blood.

Seeing how vulnerable he is in that moment; she can just end him then and there. That was the job after all. And she did pull the trigger that had sent brain pieces to fly everywhere before Harry landed face down on the flour sacks stacked on the boat with a thud, leaving white powder dancing in the air. Not really a way to go for a notorious gang leader if you ask her but the woman and the two men on the other side of the canal seemed content which made it another job well done.

Except that the brain blown was not Harry���s. And as far as the world, especially the Abramo who had delivered their order to end Harry’s life and insisted on witnessing it, is concerned, he is a dead man.

“Am I in hell?” His voice snaps her from her trance. She thought he slips out of his consciousness again when he went silence seconds ago.

This sod. She tilts her head, looking at him and shrugs. “Depends.”

There is something in his eyes and she knows he is trying to make sense of it all because she feels his resistance when she tugs his wrist closer to the bed post above his head. A part of him resurfacing, despising to be in such position. But his brain might still be too hazy to think through so he just let her cuffs him without much struggle.

“Oh! Kinky,” he teases, neck straining to look where his cuffed wrist is at which makes her scoffs. He then looks at her like he is taking note of her face, eyes narrowed.

Maybe he is remembering how she looks like so it’s easy for him to instruct his men to hunt her down once he gets out of there. If he is able to walk out there alive that is. 

If he wants to. 

If she lets him. 

Because, even though as organised and calculated of a man Harry is, this time, she has the few steps ahead.

///

“Now, really,” Harry starts. Sitting up becomes more of a task when one of his hands is cuffed and his brain feels like it is rattling against his skull with every move he makes. “If you wanted to see me so badly, we could have just meet up.”

When he woke up minutes ago, he thought he was in his bed until his senses kicked in and it hurt almost as his throbbing head. Since then, he has been trying to get out of the restrain that tied him to the bed post on top his head and figures out what is happening, where is he. Out the window, it is pitch-black.

He probably is in hell; his brain had decided to land him there.

In retrospect, it is as surprising as it is expected. To be in hell, that is. After all of the deals making, bloods spilling, life taking, fists colliding, he knows there is a place for him here. Only that he expects that it would be overwhelmingly hot and full of screaming human, or what’s left of them. Where he is now is opposite of that. The cold nips his skin and the silence is unnerving. Maybe hell is not all fire and brimstones.

“I tried,” the woman says. Her voice is smooth.

That smooth voice is a good sign. It shows that this person is still able to tolerate whatever deal that he can make out of this. But it is not necessarily safe.

“You are a busy man.”

In between the lack of conversation, he tries to place her somewhere and everywhere but he has never seen her before. Moving up to find a more comfortable position, the movement has caused a dull throb behind his head that makes him wince. Somehow, it also unlocks a sound of gunshot and his gaze flicks to her. At the foot of the bed, she is unfazed.

“You shot me.” His voice rumbles lowly; somewhere between amusement and danger.

“That what was asked for.” It is stated oh-so-matter-of-factly and he accepts it.

He is in no place to make a fuss about it since enemies, like friends or business partners, are made along the way. If anything, he is a little bit bewildered at the attempt of keeping him alive and he doesn’t like not knowing what brought him here. Well, aside from someone ordering this woman here to kill him, but he is not dead though, which makes the motive behind whatever this is, is more questionable.

“Am I dead? I am in hell?”

The questions are supposed to be echoed in his brain but his slightly hazy state betrays him which caused the words to left his mouth unfiltered. The words then hang in the air and it makes him internally cringe. Her unamused face certainly doesn’t help with the situation. “What?”

“I never really thought people like you believe in afterlife.” To be fair, he never really thought about it himself. He is too busy living his life here. Not the one after. “And that is the second time you ask me that question,” she continues.

“So, I am alive.” He swears his mouth is really trying to destroy all the reputation he has been building all these years of being a gang leader. Fearless, self-assured and all that but he conceals the uncertainty in his voice with a smirk. “Why? They didn’t pay you enough for you to complete your job? Maybe you are afraid my men would take revenge on my death?”

She raises one eyebrow, shifting her weight from one leg to the other and he takes that as a sign to probe further, “Sentiment, perhaps?”

“They paid enough. A vendetta is the least of my concern. And no, it’s not sentiment.” With every answer to his question, she takes a step closer until she stops at his side.

“Then you’re holding me for ransom? It would be a huge amount of money, although, I don’t think my accountant would be so happy with that much money flowing out –”

“I have more important purpose for you than death or money.”

If it’s not him or his money, so it might be for her own benefit. The thing about Harry or he would like to think so in this way about himself is that his concern when it comes to being in a situation or making a deal is he will be leaning unto anything that benefits him the most. He tolerates as long as he is presented with a mutually beneficial outcome. In this situation, it is no difference. She wants something from him and he wants her to let him go.

“Interesting.” A smirk on his lips is now blooming into a full smile as he tilts his head. “Maybe you can uncuff me first and then we can carry on with our business?”

If she hears him, she is purposely ignoring his question and diverts her attention to reaching whatever it is in her trouser pocket. When she pulls something out of it, she holds a picture of a man at an arm length. Its creased lines showed that it has been folded and unfolded multiple times.

He is about to take it from her hand to inspect something scribbled at the corner of the picture but she retreats her arm half way, still holding it between her thumb and forefinger. “Do you know him?”

“You know, we could’ve discussed about this over a meet up or dinner. The cuff is really unnessa –”

“Just answer me.”

If she has been quiet this whole time, passive, this is the first time he sees her reacting. The smoothness in her voice now has an edge to it, her eyes are hard and piercing; a presage of storm. He presses his lips together and answers with a nod.

“I need you to talk to him,” she says. The picture is folded and put in her pocket again.

He cocks one eyebrow towards her. “Why don’t you do it yourself?”

“I know only you can reach him.”

That is true, to a certain extent. The last question he has now is that will doing what she wants him to do benefits him too, so he asks in the way that he usually does. “What if I won’t?”

Like a fired bullet, her fist catches tight in the front of his clothes and then her hand finds his throat, knocking his head hard against the headboard. He juts his chin up almost defiantly and grabs her wrist with his free hand.

He pushes her wrist away but it is a futile effort as he can feel how her fingers reach near the particular throbbing part at the nape of his neck, digging in. 

“Fir – first the cuff. Now, you are tr – trying to choke me? Take me, fuck, take me on a dinner first, at least.” He grins despite his choked words and his ragged breath.

“You fucker,” she spats, eyes darken, “this is all a game for you, isn’t it?”

The storm he predicts reaches him and he is trapped in it as she pushes him impossibly further into the headboard, her fingers tightening around his neck while his loosens up around her wrist. He is whirling little by little, the full smile reduced to a tug at the corner of his lips.

“The Abramo was right when they come to us, to me, to launch their vendetta. You are a cocky piece of shit and the only place you deserve to be at is at the bottom of the cold, murky canal with a big gap behind your head!”

“Do you regret… no – not killing me?” He chuckles but it sounds strangled.

“You are making it really easy right now,” she snarls.

Maybe it is the restriction of breath or the warmth of her breath fanning out over his face against the coldness of the room but there is a glint in her eyes. He had been in near-death’s hold before but this feels like he is being thrusted into one without warning as he witnesses a sinister gleam in her face. She has been waiting for this moment. However, before she can end it or start it, she let go of him and strengthens herself up.

“Although,” she sighs, backing away. “I believe your mum and sister won’t find it that easy.”

It takes him minutes to be able to focus on her again, blinking and gasping a little. Her eyes are still boring into him. In between relief and dismal and the ringing in his ears, he notices her settling into the unfazed demeanour she was in before until –

“Dotty and Dusty will probably going to miss you too when you’re gone.”

His stills.

Nobody. Nobody knows about the cats. 

Rivals targeting his family is a part of his work hazard and he always makes sure they are under his protection. It is such trivial matter. It is only cats’ names. But to know it specifically holds a certain power against him because it either means that she had been in his house before or it means that she has been in close proximity with either his mum or his sister to know about that much information.

And at that moment, whatever security he puts his family under, it is not safe anymore. His stomach bottoms out and she is delighted to see him in that way to say the least.

“What do you want?” He grits his teeth, moving forward to fight and the cuff clinks against the headboard because of the sudden jerk.

“There’s only one thing that I want.” Her voice is smooth. She is back at the feet of the bed again, now, with a faint smile on her lips. “But I need you to be able to hold up a proper conversation first before we continue with the business.”

It is not much of a mock or provocation but he still feels a squeezing of terror and of anger. His jaw clenches. “I am talking to you now, don’t I?”

She is already walking towards the door, leaving him struggling to stand up behind her. The bed legs scrap against the wooden floor as he pulls the bed along with him when he tries to grab her arm or shoulder or hair but she is already far away from his reach.

“Not enough,” she says while sparing him a look over the shoulder.

When he realises he is not going to go anywhere, not when he is still restrained to the bed, especially, not when the wood under his feet begins to warp, he fell back on the bed, eyes squeezed tight to block the sharp pain of his head. Defeated.

“Get a good rest. I need you fresh first thing in the morning,” she says before the door shuts. 

Wherever he is, be it in the real world or the after, this is hell.

[bondsmagii]

(cw: I'm about to get real crass about CSA because it makes me real mad and that's how I cope)

the cultural reaction to cuties is infuriating to me, especially how even defenders feel the need to criticise the hypersexualised camera shots for ""normalising sexualistion of children in film"". Like, this is a thing that is happening in real life, right now, folks! Real Life Kids commonly do dances like these, in clothes like these, in an attempt to copy adult women being framed in shots like that! That's basically a good fifth of Tik Tok! The shots being of kids instead of adults is intentionally horrific, because it's trying to highlight that that kind of societal gaze is what pressured them to do the dances and wear the clothes and everything else; to take a thing that we've all come to accept as normal (8 year olds online twerking to songs explicitly about sex) and make us see how horrific it is, so people might give a shit for once. (A real shit, not that Pizzagate-adjacent thing where people only bring it up in service of criticising something/someone they already didn't like, and never exploring why it's so prevalent to begin with). You know, the filmic opposite of normalisation?? It's incredibly disappointing that people's takeaway appears to be: "ew gross, look at how horny this camera is for literal children. Glad this absolutely isn't a thing that happens in real life that I will go straight back to ignoring while patting myself on the back for identifying this media as Problematic

And the idea that "a pedophile could get off to this" makes any sense as criticism! I guess pedophiles only get off to children in revealing clothing, huh? So all children need to do to avoid pedophiles is, uh... *checks notes* "dress less slutty". I *wish* I lived in a world where pedophiles were genuinely waiting on feature films to deliver them a few shots of children in revealing clothing, instead of trading real CP that has caused untold suffering. Sometimes it really feels like people are more invested in weaponising the idea of suffering children in rhetoric, rather than the welfare of real children. It's the same disconnect that makes it impossible to bring up things like early intervention programs for pedophiles without being called a pedophile yourself (a rich thing to call someone who was on the receiving end, and takes about a year off my lifespan every time).

Every time someone brings this movie up, I feel like I'm losing my marbles. Otherwise smart and insightful people seem completely willing to misread it in the most infuriating way possible. It's like it's the Asch conformity test, and I'm the rube in the last chair wondering whether I even watched the same movie as them. It's comforting to see at least one other person on this godforsaken planet comprehending that The Sexualised Children Shots Are Horrific On Purpose in this movie trying to push people out of complacency

honestly go off like I could not have said this better myself. this is exactly what's been pissing me off about the response to this movie and my post about it in general.

the cultural reaction to cuties is infuriating to me, especially how even defenders feel the need to criticise the hypersexualised camera shots for ""normalising sexualistion of children in film"". Like, this is a thing that is happening in real life, right now, folks! Real Life Kids commonly do dances like these, in clothes like these, in an attempt to copy adult women being framed in shots like that! That's basically a good fifth of Tik Tok!

this is what I cannot get my head around. like, people are freaking out over how this movie normalises the sexualisation of young children, but somehow miss the point that it's already been normalised. the movie would not be necessary if this hadn't already become a completely normal part of society. even walking around the shops in town I see children maybe 10 or 11 years old dressed like Instagram models, faces full of makeup, revealing clothing... it's honestly disturbing. these kids think that's acceptable, they think that's what they need to do in order to have worth, and it's terrifying. if I had my own children, I would be terrified for them. the movie is not the problem. why people can't direct this anger and outrage to websites like TikTok instead, I have no idea. probably because that would require actual work, and we all know these people are addicted to outrage and self-righteousness and absolutely allergic to any kind of effort to create real change.

It's incredibly disappointing that people's takeaway appears to be: "ew gross, look at how horny this camera is for literal children. Glad this absolutely isn't a thing that happens in real life that I will go straight back to ignoring while patting myself on the back for identifying this media as Problematic"

people get so offended when they're made to feel uncomfortable. I have no idea why. I'm trying to work out this thought process but it's simply beyond me. it baffles me that people can see something that's actually happening in the world, and instead of getting angry about the actual issue, they decide to attack the female director of the movie about said issue, who is writing from her own experience. like, how in god's name these people managed to miss the point so badly, I do not know. the manoeuvres they had to do to miss a point that big and obvious should make them all automatic gold medal winners in Olympic gymnastics.

(I do think that a lot of people yelling the loudest about Cuties have probably only seen the Netflix promotional poster and then devoured a bunch of Twitter threads highlighting the apparent problems and possibly a view video essays on YouTube showing the most dramatic and out of context shots of the girls, however.)

And the idea that "a pedophile could get off to this" makes any sense as criticism! I guess pedophiles only get off to children in revealing clothing, huh? So all children need to do to avoid pedophiles is, uh... *checks notes* "dress less slutty". I *wish* I lived in a world where pedophiles were genuinely waiting on feature films to deliver them a few shots of children in revealing clothing, instead of trading real CP that has caused untold suffering.

right? like. this point is so fucking useless. by this logic, we should ban everything with photos of children in it. if a paedophile is going to waste time going to see a full feature movie just to see some young girls twerking-- I mean, why would they in the first place? why would a paedophile do that when they can just sign on to TikTok and see thousands of hours of footage of young girls twerking? and if "revealing clothing" is all it takes, what's stopping this paedophile from going to the local pool and watching the kids in swimwear? what's stopping this paedophile from going and picking up a clothing catalogue and flipping to the pictures of little girls in dresses? the fact that people can compare the content of a feature-length film to actual CP fucking baffles me. like. it's actually insulting to compare things like that -- and by extension, any child on the street in a t-shirt or a dress or a skirt or a swimsuit -- to actual CP. like, who looks at a kid and thinks like that? if you want to stop paedophiles being creeps, you'd have to lock kids up in the house until they're 18 and ban all depictions of kids forever. paedophiles are gonna be creeps no matter what, and they're not going to bother with a full film when they can log onto TikTok and comment something creepy on footage of a real life child who might even message back and enter into communication with them. like, damn. why aren't more people getting mad and outraged about that?

Sometimes it really feels like people are more invested in weaponising the idea of suffering children in rhetoric, rather than the welfare of real children.

they are. "somebody please think of the children" is now the rallying cry of the right (all leading Democrats are secret paedophiles, the LGBT agenda is making Our Innocent Christian Children into perverts) and the left (problematic media is Harming Our Innocent Children, everything needs to be censored and squeaky clean so the Metaphorical Children don't stumble across it and think it's acceptable). it's the quickest way to get people outraged and it works like a charm. as soon as somebody starts rallying under the flag of protecting kids, it gives them a fast pass to power and influence. who wants to be seen to not care about kids? who wants to risk being called a paedophile or a child abuser? unfortunately their eagerness to declare everybody such has resulted in it losing its meaning. now when I see someone accused of paedophilia I no longer feel the usual revulsion but instead a tired suspicion followed by hours of research to determine if they are actually abusing children, or if they ship the wrong thing. to put the numbers into perspective, the one and only time I found out somebody was actually abusing minors, I was genuinely shocked because I had never found a true accusation before in oh, six years? which is unsurprising, seems I have been called a paedophile and told I shouldn't be around children because I like a villain from a YA series. as for real children, none of these people give a shit.

It's comforting to see at least one other person on this godforsaken planet comprehending that The Sexualised Children Shots Are Horrific On Purpose in this movie trying to push people out of complacency

that's exactly it right there -- it's horrific on purpose, but these people can't understand that. to them, literature and art and film is supposed to always make you feel good, and if it doesn't it's mean and abusive and you should have warned for it and also you're an asshole for making it in the first place. for people who only consume media to feel good, and only create it to feel progressive and wholesome, it's inconceivable why people would create something depressing or disturbing. because they're consuming media of only things they like, they assume everyone else is. ergo, if you make something nasty, it's because you're into something nasty. if you write about a murderous villain, it's because you want to be a murderous villain. if you direct a movie about children being sexually exploited, you must want to sexually exploit children.

these people cannot understand that art is supposed to teach and inform as well as comfort and coddle. some art is there to make you feel good, and other art is there to make you take notice of injustice and suffering and make you angry and upset enough to want to do something about it. these people do not understand that at all, and with this kind of logic they would try to ban Holocaust survivors from speaking at schools because it's too upsetting to think about, rather than paying attention to the message that such things get across. we cannot change society without empathy, and to experience empathy for something outside our own understanding and experience, we need to come into contact with people who have lived through it. we need to see it depicted. that's how we learn to feel for others. it puts a face to the suffering and makes it easier to stay motivated and stay mad.

but no. these people just want to be nice and fuzzy and safe. that's all that matters to them, and anyone who thinks they're wrong for doing it must be a paedophile or something. right. gotcha.

[readyplayerhobi]

Flower | 02

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Fluff, angst, future smut

; Word Count: 1.9k

; Warnings: Talk of anxiety, depression, self-hatred

; Synopsis: You finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the Flower dating app. One of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh…incredibly handsome. What happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?

; A/N: Yes this is posted fast but it’s obviously not long. As said, this is a drabble series so it may be posted fast, it may be posted slow. It’s purely when I feel inspired by it. Thank you for the love I’ve had on the first part! I never expected people to like it so much. Please note that this is a slice of life fic that will deal with the MC having a lot of issues around herself including anxiety, depression, lack of self-confidence and more. I’ll put relevant warnings, but this fic is basically me helping myself by writing out some of my feelings. If you enjoy reading it, please reblog and comment to let me know! Again, I haven’t proof read lol

Flower Masterpost

-

Your phone screen is mocking you, you swear it is. The brightly lit screen clearly shows the Flower app message box, which clearly shows the series of messages that you’d exchanged with one seriously, outrageously attractive Jung Hoseok.

And it made you cringe, shrinking further down your seat as you pushed your face into the impossibly soft material of the cat plush you kept on your couch. As if somehow, that might make all your embarrassment disappear.

Because you have never regretted your social anxiety and inability to make small talk more than you do right now. You found it impossible to talk to people normally if you didn’t have a common interest, the conversation often dying down quickly as you struggled to maintain it but that was heightened with text messages.

Your own friends were well aware of this, which meant that no one ever bothered to call or text you to talk. Instead, they simply texted to ask when you were free and then came over or invited you out. You were very much one of those people who just operated best when you were comfortable with the person and could maintain a face-to-face connection.

Which was why you were now seriously regretting setting up this app. Groaning, you let your head fall back onto the couch and restrain the urge to have a childish hissy fit. Because it would be childish. Relieving, but childish.

“Why did I think this would be a good idea? You know you don’t like talking on the phone or by message, you idiot.” You hiss to yourself, grabbing the phone from the arm of the sofa and unlocking it once more.

Re-reading the messages just makes you want to shrink even more. It’s been an hour since Hoseok had first responded to you, and the messages were painful. In fact, it made you want to cry reading them over and how bad you were at conversing. You were trying so hard but you just didn’t know what to say or do.

You: Oh, thanks for responding! I’m okay, how are you?

Jung Hoseok: I’m good, just got in from a gig. You done anything interesting?

You: No, I worked and then just came home

Jung Hoseok: Okay...what did you do when you came home?

You: Watched Netflix

Jung Hoseok: ...what did you watch? Anything cool?

You: Not really

You: I’m watching this Korean drama, The K2

Jung Hoseok: Cool

The conversation died for ten minutes after that and as usual, you’d stressed over what you’d messaged him. It read so stilted and awkward, leading to you grasping at a topic to further talk with him. How did these things normally work? Was he expecting sex if you’d messaged him? Or did he want something more? Was it okay to ask him?

You’d struggled for a few minutes more before you’d finally sent something else to him, resulting in another series of lame messages that had you resenting yourself while also being thankful that he didn’t just give up on you entirely.

You: Who did you go see? Anyone I might know?

Jung Hoseok: Mmm, maybe? Do you know Disturbed?

You: ...no?

Jung Hoseok: Do you listen to any metal?

You: also no :(

Jung Hoseok: Ahhh...you wouldn’t know them then

You: Did you enjoy it though?

Jung Hoseok: Yeah! They’re great live. You should maybe try it, you might like them…

And that was where the conversation had stunted itself, leading to you simply staring at your phone and wishing that you were someone else. Someone who was great at talking and would be able to keep the flow going between him and you. Because he was evidently nice, willing to keep talking even though you were proving to have the socialisation skills of a baby.

Staring at your phone, you bit your lip and rested your head in the palm of your hand, elbow resting on your thigh as tears warmed your eyes. You wished that you could be someone better, someone who didn’t have to psychoanalyse everything that you’d said and every response that you’d been given. Thousands, probably millions of people across the world did this online dating thing every day.

Why was it so hard for you? And on the first guy!

Wiping the tears away with your hand as you sniffled, you grasped your phone and looked down at the messages once more with a frown. This guy, Jung Hoseok, was way too good for you. There was no way that someone this outgoing was going to be interested in you, not when he had to work this hard to maintain a conversation.

Here he was, going to concerts on a work night while you felt insufferable anxiety at the prospect of not being in bed by 9pm. There was no way you could work out, and maybe it would be better to just cut him loose now so that he didn’t have to bother trying anymore with you. You could always give someone a little more...boring a chance. 

Wincing, you mentally withdrew that adjective. People weren’t boring, they just had different interests. You had no doubt that by your own standards, Hoseok would probably consider you boring.

Sighing, you began to type out your message to him, this once longer than anything else you’d typed.

You: I’m sorry. I don’t know how this online dating stuff works. I don’t even really know how real dating works. I’m really bad at talking, through text and phone. I don’t really know how to do small talk with you and you kind of intimidate me. I’m sorry for bothering you, I don’t think we’d work out and I don’t want to take up any more of your time.

You: Sorry :(

Sending those messages was hard, and you wipe once more at the tears that slowly trail down your face as you try to soothe your anxiety over what you’d sent him. And then you have to try and soothe down your worry that flares up over not being good enough for anyone. 

As much as you wanted to listen to Soyeon and Chungha, and as much as you wanted a relationship, you were terrified at the same time. Because you kept yourself so closed off from people, only letting in the few individuals that your mind deemed worth the time and effort and whom you were positive wouldn’t hurt you too badly.

But a relationship meant letting someone in to a place that friends didn’t go. It meant giving the other person access to your most intimate areas; physically and mentally. Letting them know your dreams, know your fears, letting them into your heart and mind. And it terrified you. Because those people were the most dangerous to you.

With a mind that actively seemed to work against you sometimes, sabotaging yourself and your hopes with crippling anxiety and depression, the idea of letting someone that close to cause even more damage was fear inducing. It was giving someone the power to affirm all the negative thoughts you have about yourself, letting them wriggle their way into your life and your heart in a way that would make it feel like an explosion had happened if they decided you weren’t worth it in the future.

You knew that your fears were silly, that people entered and left relationships frequently and that not every relationship ended badly. Not every relationship ended.

But you were petrified of being the one left, of being the one who finally let down her walls and let someone in deeper than anyone had ever been before and having those fragile, vulnerable places deep within you blown wide open. And yet you still craved the love and affection that you watched your friends go through.

You’d tried to get it in college, dating guys and girls in such a casual way that you weren’t even sure it could be called dating. It was more like friends with benefits half the time, and you had so many fears about yourself that there wasn’t even a whole lot of sex. Nor had it been good, because it was hard to get out of your own head sometimes.

Someone like Jung Hoseok terrified you then, because he looked to be everything that you shied away from normally. Outgoing, attractive, outspoken and experienced judging from what you’d read of his profile. Someone who would probably laugh at the idea of a wallflower like you wanting to be with him.

You’re pulled out of the whirlpool of negativity and self-hatred that your thoughts had quickly veered into by the sound of your phone once more, the noise loud in the quiet of the room since you’d turned off your television. Swallowing, you blink hard and take in a deep and steadying breath before looking down at the message.

Jung Hoseok: Oh that’s fine! Don’t feel pressured or anything. I’m useless at talking on the phone too. Would you rather we meet up instead? Casually or as a date, whichever you prefer. I’m sorry I intimidate you, I don’t mean to :( 

Jung Hoseok: I know I have tattoos and stuff, but I’m not mean! I swear. I think I’m nice...

Jung Hoseok: And we’ll never know if we could work out unless we actually try…

Jung Hoseok: :)

For a few seconds...there’s nothing in your mind as you stare down at your phone in disbelief. Surely you’d misread that? Suddenly lost the ability to read and your mind had made up what you’d rather it said instead. But when you blink hard, rubbing your eyes to clear them until the words are in focus again, you’re met with exactly the same thing that you’d just read.

He...hadn’t been offended by what you’d said. Nor had he laughed at you cutting him off so quickly? In fact...he seemed to be...understanding?

Your mouth feels dry suddenly and you grab a deep gulp of water, cheeks feeling warm as your stomach swirls with confusion, nerves and tentative excitement. He wasn’t annoyed by you. He wasn’t angry with you. He’d accepted what you’d said.

He’d even...asked you on a date? 

And then you realise that he thought that you were intimidated by him purely because he had tattoos and piercings and stuff. Which out of all the things you’d stressed and worried over...that hadn’t even been a top 5 consideration. If anything, those things were just exceptional window dressing on an already outstanding visage.

His words seem to have a strangely soothing effect on your frayed nerves, a balm to your upset and confused mind. Maybe...maybe you could just meet up. You were a lot better in person than you were via text or phone. Your friends liked to say you were funny and sweet, which he might like.

Maybe he was right.

You felt an extreme whiplash that left you feeling a little tired from everything you’d experienced in the last few hours; from the trepidation of signing up to the surge of confidence at messaging Hoseok to the crushing negativity of your flatlining esteem to the small flicker of hope that was now surfacing.

Which is why you feel strangely calm when you message him back, watching your fingers type without really being aware of what you were doing. Completely unaware of the monumental impact your decision was about to have on your future and life.

You: Really? I’d like to meet up...if you want to

Jung Hoseok: I’d love to

[raichijin]

 ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ukiyo; the floating world.  chapter 2. 

━━━━━ 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐁 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓.

preface; took me exactly a week to write. possibly the most uneventful, but important in setting up the rest of the story. enjoy ! (also, my first writing post on this account ! awesome.)

word count; 1.6k .

pretty. a pretty boy; with eyes the color of almonds and hair the same shade of rich oaky brown as a morning cup of coffee.

his smile is sweet like creamer, & the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he closes them is cute, too.

a new relationship, perhaps?

you’re so in awe that when you notice his face fall and he’s pulling his hand away, you realize it’s been 15 seconds and you’ve been standing for approximately 30, just staring.

wow, that’s awkward.

“... are you okay?” he asks you again, slower this time.

“i — yeah! totally. i just— i guess i’m just lost?” you look around for anything that could trigger a memory, or even something that looks remotely familiar.

 there’s nothing. “yeah, that must be it...ʲᵘˢᵗ ˡᵒˢᵗ.” he tilts his head at you, then smiles a little thinner, with only his lips and no teeth before gesturing towards the classroom door, other hand digging into his pants pocket.

“then i can show you around!” he hastily offers, giving you his arm before you even know his name, and the scary possibility that the ‘you’ in this world might’ve had a more notable presence starts sounding like a reality when your name falls effortlessly from his bubblegum pink lips, a cutesy ‘chan’ accompanying it.

“ah, you know me?” 

& while his nose crinkles in a way that’s not cute nor pretty, his smile remains steadfast until he turns away. “well, who doesn’t? our school doesn’t get exchange students too often. especially not ones as handsome as yourself~.” there’s that lilt again. as if he’s trying to make you fall in love with his voice alone, and you might’ve (you are).

“oh! uh, thank you, but-” you both step into the hallway, and the image of a highschool is imprinting itself in your brain. the uniform, the students, teachers, each class room and their individual signs, the kanji that somehow makes sense, and the sudden realization that everything around you is being spoken in spitfire japanese.

you’re speaking it, too.

“i don’t think i know you. what’s your name?”

the cute guy blanches, and suddenly everything seems more interesting to him.

his fingernails, a sudden itch on his nose, and random (read: fawning) passerby.

“um — i’m oikawa! the captain of the volleyball team?” oikawa phrases it like a question, as if you know him; and if he was expecting that flexing that kind of achievement would give him some kind of leeway, he couldn’t be more mistaken.

but for politeness sake, you can pretend to be interested, especially if it means he’d divulge more information about the school.

‘seijoh’ was the name, right? you could probably search it up later. you pat your pockets for the outline of a cell phone, and then realize it might still be in your bag — 

fuck, you still haven’t responded. you need to get better with your reaction time.

“oh! that’s cool.” said in a way that does a decent enough job of feigning interest, because his lips quirk back up. “class ended, right? are you gonna go to practice right now?”

“well...” he pretends to ponder the question. “that’s the plan! we should get going, before iwa-chan gets mad at me.”

iwa-chan? 

we?

“i — i mean, i would, but i don’t wanna be a bother —” but he’s already taking your hand and pulling you down the hall and out a door, quickly explaining some things you see that catch your eye along the way. before you know it, he’s guiding you towards a different building entirely, where the entrance is crowded by … students? some boys, some girls, some not even wearing the school’s uniform.

and they’re definitely not in any volleyball uniforms, or in anything in relation to sports. so what could they possibly be here for?

a high pitched squeal very quickly answers your question.

“look! he’s here!” the gaggle of students nearly trample you with how fast they surround oikawa, too busy ogling the captain to pay you much mind. you would’ve gotten swept away in the commotion if not for oikawa’s tightened grip around your wrist.

he tries (and fails) to calm down the small crowd huddled around him, but it makes enough noise that it starts to attract the attention from the players inside the gym. some look jealous, unsurprised, and one, standing out amongst the rest. with his lips pulled back into a sneer, sweat dripping down the side of his face, and —

“SHITTYKAWA!” the noise outside quiets down to a few whispers and just as quickly the crowd came in, they clear out, as the nameless begins to approach.

he carries himself high and fast and even if he comes up to a little under oikawa height wise, whoever he is, he clearly has mr. volleyball captain at least bashful.

… didn’t he mention someone who’d get pissy if he was late to practice?

“is that —” 

“iwa-chaaaaaan!” oikawa waves his hands absently as a means to placate his friend's temper, and he lets go of you in the process, providing you an ample opportunity to slip back into school, but your feet feel stuck to the floor and you can’t bring yourself to look away from the scene unfolding. this iwa-chan talks to oikawa like he’s his mother. stern with sharp features and a look that could actually kill.

oikawa really fucked up, huh? well, he might’ve not even gotten told if you didn’t pop out of the damn closet though. but it’s too late to apologize, because oikawa’s pointing at you, says something about you being the reason he got held up, and iwa-chan is directing that hard stare at you.

you could melt. if oikawa was pretty, then iwa-chan was handsome. a new love interest perhaps? he seemed hot enough to be one. where oikawa’s smile felt accommodating, iwa-chan’s sneer morphing into an expression of indifference and then slight charm feels more real, and is, in turn, more endearing.

“and you’re the new student? you’re the reason why he’s late?” you nod sharply, and explain how you fell out of the closet… and how oikawa helped you up. he flicks oikawa’s forehead just then, and you laugh, worsened by the kicked puppy expression scribbled all over the captain’s face.

“you’re laughing at this? iwa-chan! cut it out — you’re already rubbing off on them!”

“trashykawa! what the hell were you trying to do with the transfer?” he tugs on his ear like a disappointed parent, but shoots you an apologetic smile.

“i’m sorry you had to deal with him.” oh, you beautiful human, you do not have to be sorry for anything — “i can take him from here — just tell me if this dumbass bothers you again.”

“i wasn’t bothering them i —” iwa-chan glares daggers into him and he concedes, letting himself get dragged into the gym building, his teammates laughing at him, and leaving you behind. they all trail inside before the gym doors close, and suddenly, this area feels pointless.

was this the end of the day? 

you go back into the school, backpack slung anxiously over your shoulder. how were you supposed to find the bedroom to save your game if you didn’t even know where your house was? did you miss a cutscene? did you do something wrong?

a distinct buzzing from your backpack halts your train of thought.

you dig through your pack to find your phone, a rectangular brick with a few stickers on it, opening to your fingerprint and showing you text message notifications from one ushiwaka-san.

the third named character you’ve met in a day. 

ushiwaka-san: have you reached home yet?

huh. is he your parent? guardian? you don’t know any kid who’d put their fathers name so informally.

you: uh, not quite, no 

you: how do i get back? i kind of like

you: forgot

you: my bad dad

ushiwaka-san is … typing !

ushiwaka-san: dad?

ushiwaka-san: what do you mean?

ushiwaka-san is … typing !

ushiwaka-san: whatever.

ushiwaka-san: give me a moment.

you cringe at how badly you misread that, but he eventually sends you the address and instructions on how to get to, where you hope is, home, and with a few pointers from some straggler students, you’re off.

the sun is kissing the hills by the time you’ve reached your destination. your legs are burning from the walk, and you feel like you could collapse on the doorstep if you didn’t know your bed was behind it, decidedly more comfortable than the concrete. 

you find some keys in the side pocket of your bag and unlock the door to the house. it looks pretty enough on the inside, but you’re too tired to appreciate the graphics. you just want to save the game and be done with this.

forty dollars for a walking simulator? no wonder your friend didn’t like it. you have to duck into a few rooms before one reminds you of the one they showed you when the game booted up originally. you flop on the bed before you get the sudden urge to look at your phone again.

a notes app has popped up.

you can write your discoveries after a scenario here. useful for remembering important things, like dates, likes and dislikes, etc.

you can access this when not in a scene, occasionally in-between or during class, or when you’re in your room for the night.

it feels like someones projecting their thoughts into your brain, and it kind of hurts, but you keep it in mind for the next time. you can’t even bother to get out of your uniform before it’s like your eyes are shutting themselves, no matter how much you try to force them back open.

the day is ending, and it’s time to save your progress.

you black out.

the void cradles you. a feeling akin to falling asleep yet wide awake, you settle here until the confirmation of a saved game rings vaguely through your head.

then, just as suddenly,

you’re up.

passing the baton to you kat! @letshaikyuu.

𝔱 𝔞 𝔤 𝔩 𝔦 𝔰 𝔱 ;  @kingkageyamathegreat, @sayakaaaaaa, @tobubekida-yo @chigigami, @sugacookiies, @macaronnv, @cadekagi

[liskantope]

Hopefully this will be my last-ever post complaining about what someone said on social media, because current events are simmering down and once they’ve reached a moderate enough hum I’m going to redouble my previous efforts to stay away from it. But the particular interaction I’m going to describe seems to have furthered my progress slightly in understanding why so many people shout their views in the way that they do and how I should learn to better accept it.

One of my “closest” Facebook friends for over a decade, whose life’s passion nowadays revolves around anti-racist work (mainly in childhood education; she is white) posted a few hours after Biden’s victory was officially called last Saturday to preach that white Biden-voters shouldn’t claim any of the credit for his victory because it was BIPOC and particularly black women who carried this election (her justification for why they “carried us” was that as a demographic group most of them voted for Biden while as a demographic group a majority of white people voted for Trump), and that nothing will be better now except for who is in the White House because “whiteness and white supremacy have not disappeared” and that “your” responsibility is not diminished and “you” are not absolved as a good white person. She ended with an exhortation to bow down and “bend your knees” to BIPOC for “saving our asses”.

(Just realized looking back at her post to write this one that the phrasing was not “bend the knee” as I repeatedly misread at the time, assuming that it was a direct reference to Game of Thrones of which I know she’s a fan, and having recently listened to this insightful 8-minute Sam Harris podcast episode which used the phrase. This is slightly unfortunate since it was the obnoxiousness of that particular phrasing which tipped me over to acting against my better judgment in not just ignoring this like I have with so many dozens of other statements. I still find it obnoxious, though, and sanctimonious, and terrible messaging, and using poor arguments about causation, and reflecting an insistence on viewing as much as possible in terms of race at all times, and the epitome of identity politics.)

So yeah, after waiting a couple of days, I broke my usual silence and wrote a very polite but argumentative response that turned out to be enough paragraphs to make me feel a little embarrassed that I would take that much of my time on it. I knew there was virtually no chance of convincing her of anything substantial, but I figured just maybe some insight into how foreign and alienating this “you are responsible for what everyone of your color does and are never good enough and have to kneel in deference to those of a color which is” messaging is bound to be to anyone who’s less in an academic bubble than we are (which is, like, most people). I made the point that individual BIPOC didn’t contribute any more than individual white people did to Biden’s victory and that if we’re going to judge blocs of voters according to race we should be blaming Cuban-Americans for Biden’s loss in Florida, and that in fact Trump gained votes from among BIPOC and lost white male votes since four years ago. I wrote that implying that the only salient feature of us individuals is race is exactly what people complain about when they use the term “identity politics” and that the results of this election suggest that maybe we’re doing something wrong with our messaging.

It wasn’t a disaster. I got a very cordial response which completely avoided ad hominem and at least engaged the points I had made while clarifying her views. I didn’t find the supposed rebuttals of my points at all convincing, of course. For instance, my complaint about treating individual voters as merely people of a certain color was met with “It’s important in anti-racist scholarship to be able to analyze demographic trends in terms of race” (I would... never disagree with this?) and that focusing on individuals allows people to only look at their own actions and those of their friends and feel too good about themselves. She also expressed skepticism about my statistics about where Trump gained/lost support, which I was able to back up with a quick Google search which pulled up a Vox article among others (I thought it was only the insufficiently committed white liberals like me who sucked at Googling?). But her own views, while still resting on axioms I fundamentally differ on, just sounded a lot more reasonable when restated? E.g. “Moments like this shouldn’t be centered on whiteness” and “the ‘good white liberals’ should be aware that they aren’t as a big of a demographic in our race as they should be” (I don’t know any white liberal who would disagree or who doesn’t realize that white people vote majority Republican or is okay with that?) and that the bowing and bending the knee was not “a literal statement” but simply meant to convey that we should greatly respect how BIPOC voters contribute. She ended with providing a long list of anti-racist activists (the only one of whom I’m familiar with is Ally Henny, who I mainly remember for statements about how I’m encased in so many layers of racism that I would never be able to peel them off if I spent my whole lifetime doing nothing but trying) as a “starting point” of study.

I replied thanking her for pointing me to sources and agreeing with her implication that I should read more with a mind towards understanding what they’re saying before spouting off any more opinions. (Guess I have to make good on that promise now.) I made clear that I see a difference between her restatements and the way she worded things in her original post and suggested that some of this might even be on me for interpreting these kinds of posts more as logical arguments when they should be understood in a slightly more poetic manner. I gently gestured towards my suspicion that the current scholarship in this area might reflect a university culture (which I am very much a part of) more than the concrete priorities and concerns of the majority of people of color, although I’m in no position to positively claim anything about this. I got no response.

Anyway, in writing my last response, a little more clicked into place for me about a different lens through which I should process all the behavior that drives me nuts in a written context online (I mainly mean social media but am being even broader than that). This is going to sound condescending but ironically it might help me to have a less condescending attitude?

The fact is -- and I just have to accept this -- that making efforts to be nuanced and to “meet people who disagree where they are at” and to aim for the truth but no farther than the truth are simply not highly-valued principles for most people (social media -users and otherwise). They may kinda-sorta agree in the abstract with these principles, but in practice they hold a much lower status than the principles of conveying anger and strong words as a sign of commitment towards Fighting Evil. Some people I know do have an “argumentation value system” closer to mine, and I know who those people are -- it really shows in what they write online. But those people are a fairly small minority.

And this alien “argumentation value system” isn’t something that really shows in casual real-life interactions very plainly at all (which of course is what almost all human interactions were up until 10-15 years ago), while in contrast social media is an environment that augments its effect.

The sooner I accept this, the more moderation I’ll be able to manage in my negative reactions. I can remind myself that there’s less fundamental disagreement on most actual issues between me and the people I know: we instead disagree on a sort of meta-level issue of how one’s views should be presented. And that issue, taken by itself, seems somehow like something more minor. I wrote a few months ago about how knowing what so many people in my life write publicly oftentimes interferes with my capacity to view them as potential intimate friends/partners. Maybe I can be a little more accepting when I recognize that the things they write which turn me off perhaps don’t come from a place of such irrationality as I thought, that the differences in our ways of thinking might not be quite so fundamental (although this differing system of values for argumentation still strikes me as something that could badly affect a marriage, say). And in the practical short term, I can ignore things that bother me more easily in the future -- instead of feeling like I’m on a tilted playing field where everyone else gets to vent without inhibition while I have to carefully monitor and qualify everything I say, I can try to just round a lot of this off in terms of different preferred writing styles and somehow that bothers me less?

A similar underlying principle holds for the things that annoy me on dating profiles, what with the collective obsession with dogs and boasts of being “fluent in sarcasm” and so on. This probably doesn’t reflect much about the way the creators of these profiles actually are as humans in real life. Not that many single women really view their dogs as the most interesting thing that ever was or will be about their lives. They just choose to have a certain style of exposition about themselves because of peculiarities of the environment of online dating sites/apps, where showing enthusiasm and individuality in some way seems to pay and the topic of dogs would seem like a pretty safe place to direct this performed enthusiasm. Doesn’t mean that it doesn’t demonstrate some aspect of incompatibility with me or that I’m not going to be more instantly attracted to those with profiles that have more refreshing things to say than stuff about how amazing dogs are or of those who *gasp* actually prefer cats or *deeper gasp* prefer not to have pets at all. But it means that I can read the dogs-and-sarcasm-enthusiast profiles a little more charitably maybe?

This slightly altered mindset is a far from perfect solution, but I think it helps. A lasting three-quarters-of-the-way disconnect from social media entirely still needs to be a goal at this point.

[bladekindeyewear]

HS^2 bloggin’ upd8 2020-01-17

Alright, morningblogging yesterday’s 2020-01-17 upd8 to Homestuck^2 let’s go!  Spoiler-free again.  I kinda don’t want even the next chapter names image-spoiled above the cut anymore so I’m going to have to figure out WHAT to put above the cut in these liveblog posts for visual reinforcement... a unique silly icon?  Going back once I’m done with the upd8 and posting something non-spoilery but weird-looking out of context?

Eh, can’t be assed.  Just know that after this I’m going to pony up for the Patreon commentary and skim it for anything plot-useful to y’all (in a separate post).  Let’s get started.

Okay, what’s next:  Any bonuses?  Oh, none!  Phew.  Unless those are coming faster too and just staggered differently, which would mean I gotta overcome my irrational pre-Homestuck-reading anxiety even MORE often.  :T

No Homestuck you don’t GET to ask how my-- ah, right.  :P

(FYI, HS^2 has been good to my emotions so far, quite a balm for the epilogues, so once I START reading I’m usually fine; but after being hurt so badly how could I possibly convince my lizard brain to trust it until it’s right in front of me?  Seriously, just hearing that the upd8 has landed messes me up a bit until I come fix it by reading w/ y’all here.)

Okay, so whose feelings?  As much as I’ve been waiting for Jade, I hope this isn’t about Jade.

> ==>

Ah fuck, we’re finally with the Pursuit Crew.  Bracing myself.  That means we get to see probably sleeping Jade ( :C ), full-swing DaveKat (approving nod), the first canon onscreen look at masculine-mode Roxy (<3), a probably pretty pissed off Kanaya (possibly either the feelings target, the one Saying How Are Your Feelings, or both), and uh... did they drag Callie along?  Or leave her back there with her meta freakout?  Probably left her back there, but... hm.

Let me turn up the brightness on this screen to sear these next pages into my retinas.  (Also, it feels odd to still be using a four-person “==>” for these, although if Jade is still asleep the numbers might fit on both ends... :c )

> ==>

I don’t think Dad is in the spacefaring business, so this is probably one of Jake’s shittier spaceship designs.

> ==>

...well that’s a touch disturbing.  Is that a Jade-occupied bed or are those just pillows?

Oh what the fresh fanfic’y heck is this command.

> i enter.

Okay that’s great.  I got a kick out of that.

JADE [in calliope red]: the prince’s power grows.

--but that’s not.  That explains the narrative command text, it’s alt!callie talking through a still conked-out Jade.  Please let her wake up between speak-throughs, please tell me you’ve learned that trick??  I already know you’re gonna pull an “oh she was asleep pretty much all of those THREE YEARS OF TRAVEL” thing on me and that’s hard fucking enough to deal with.

KARKAT: JESUS CHRIST!

He’s actually using the full curse correctly, huh?

...These commands.  Guess part of the puzzle is how much alt!Callie is being typically morbid and how much she might actually be wising up enough to get a kick out of this.

> the knight of blood falls.

DAVE: dude can you chill for like even a single fucking second DAVE: also are you ok

Has CallieJade chilled for even a single second this entire trip??  Is he asking just if Karkat’s okay or Jade too???

--yeah I’m overblowing things out of nervousness.  Just wait and see a bit, boots.

Alt!Callie has at least learned to be more of a smartass:

> karkat is characteristically appreciative of the alarm call.

Shirt trade Karkat, nice.  And uh, Jade’s dress sure is a... dress.  Hm.

(Did alt!Callie alchemize adjustments to did she just luck out to have a red-symbol’d Bec belt and accent leggings?  I’d prefer the former, because as much as it would be acceptable within Homestuck proper, using the transition between the epilogues and this new-author’d work to just HAPPEN to give her a fitting outfit without an excuse via providence is kind of lazy.)

KARKAT: OH, PARDON THE FUCK OUT OF ME FOR OVERREACTING A LITTLE WHEN MY GOOD FRIEND "POSSESSED JADE" BUSTS INTO MY RESPITEBLOCK AT 5 AM! KARKAT: NEXT TIME I’LL JUST PULL THE COVERS BACK AND LET HER CLIMB IN! JADE: i am uninterested in that scenario. KARKAT: GREAT! POSSESSED JADE ISN’T EVEN HORNY! HOW FUCKED UP IS THAT?

...please let that mean he’s not used to her being possessed all the time and she wakes up sometimes.  PLEASE.

DAVE: but im pretty sure i locked that door JADE: i unlocked it with my mind. DAVE: fuck KARKAT: FANTASTIC. JADE: the prince’s powers are growing, but so are mine.

Dave, I’m pretty sure regular-ass no-Green-Sun Space powers can flip a few lock tumblers too.  (--though, I guess from context this was a Jakeship technolock.  Confirmation on the ship’s bad taste in design.  --I think I’m foggily remembering it said in the Epilogues that they took one of Jake’s ships just like Dirk did, too... man, being depressed so much by the Epilogues sure took a lot out of my ability to recall them decently.)

KARKAT: LIKE YOU DON’T FLOAT AROUND LIKE A CREEPY PIECE OF SHIT ALL DAY AS IT IS?

God DAMN IT she’s been asleep and possessed the whole fucking time.

> sleep is abandoned, coffee sought.

More obligatory DaveKat being cute, somehow only emphasized by the embarrassing glowing-with-power observer who doesn’t really get any of it.

Ah, here we go:

> the rogue is also awake.

Oh huh.  Cool!

Hero outfit, understated...  her his choice of heart-shades color-coded to stand out from Dave more to avoid further mistaken identity cases.  Works well!  (Holy shit I only JUST remembered at the end to go back and correctly gender Roxy as him, that was close. I blame the epilogues for a lack of visual reinforcement; I shouldn’t have as much trouble soon enough.  Seriously, I don’t remember ANYTHING without visual reinforcement, I think that’s why I remember so much of Homestuck proper so clearly.)

KARKAT: OH SHIT, THERE SHE IS! I DIDN’T EVEN HEAR HER FOLLOW US! ROXY: sometimes a girls just got to get her drift on i guess ROXY: it be like that

ilu roxy.

I missed Roxy so much, you guys.  I need more of him remarking on all this crazy shit if I’m gonna stay sane though all this.  (And I need more of him and AWAKE JADE kicking ass independently or together if I’m going to continue to believe there’s justice in the world.)

> ==>

We rarely saw Rose drinking anything but the rare coffee in canon, but I think Kanaya would have gotten her plenty into tea, yes.  Or at the very least, wanting the aesthetic of drinking tea with Kanaya would have gotten Rose into tea even if it never crossed Kanaya’s mind to try the stuff.

ROXY: well i mean who knows what she drinks now ROXY: dirk probs tossed the coffee machine out the space window right away ROXY: dude doesnt "believe" in "substances" > the prince is contemplated for a moment in silence.

FUCK, Dirk can see the narrative all the way out here???  No wonder alt!Callie’s forced to have possession turned on 24/7.  That’s fucking disappointing.  How the hell are we going to get any proper Jade time with THAT hanging over our heads?  She’d only be able to do anything when Dirk’s knocked out, and maybe not even THEN!

I was virtually promised more of actual non-asleep Jade getting shit done in HS^2.  Now there’s an even longer wait on it than I expected.  This sucks.

(EDIT: BOY did I misread that link line. Thinking “is contemplated” meant is sitting contemplating, when it meant "is being contemplated by everyone here". That was dumb of me.)

*clicks that next link*

Oh my goodness, Roxy joined the Bird Hair Crew.  It makes him look like a fucking asshole but I kind of love it.

KARKAT: IS THERE MILK?

I can’t believe Karkat is okay with drinking milk.  --yes, culturally Trolls are more comfortable with animal excretions than we are, but you would’ve thought years of railing against Equius would have purged any tolerance the idea of milk from his psyche.

I guess Dave introduced him to cereal, and it was all over from there.

DAVE: this is more like a castle DAVE: a castle of idk DAVE: twenty something ennui

Sounds like a relatable mood.  Especially considering Dirk probably decided to conquer reality out of almost nothing but twenty-something ennui.

Alright.  You aren’t going to turn Kanaya into an alcoholic or anything on us are you?

> the knight of time seeks a sylph...

--this is the shittiest shipboard starship aesthetic.

> ...and finds her, momentarily.

WOW that looks fucking depressed.  :(

> ==>

...okay you know what?  Never mind.  That outfit has wrapped straight back around into Trying Too Hard and is now hilarious.

DAVE: you ever feel like our whole lives are eventually gonna end up like this DAVE: just blasting through space on a sweeps long journey to ""somewhere"" chasing after or running from some vague enemy thats sometimes a god modded pet dog and sometimes your dad DAVE: without the faintest fucking idea of whats going to happen when we get there DAVE: thats a little specific but you know what i mean

Why do you think the epilogues upset us so much?  We thought we’d won free of that bullshit.

> ==>

Oh jesus christ that’s the most depressingly sad I’ve ever seen Kanaya drawn.  :C

--Karkat got you to watch Serendipity?  That’s amazing, Dave.

KANAYA: You Arent Reminding Me Of Her As I Rarely Think Of Anything Else KANAYA: I Close My Eyes And I See Her KANAYA: I Keep Them Open And I See Her

Fuck.

Y’know how little showing these two in love and actually HAPPY together we’ve seen in this entire comic and its subworks?  Despite them having spent at least a few happy years together we only saw in tiny screenclips?  And how Candy alluded super hard that they most likely couldn’t get that in this real timeline where shit’s going down?

Seriously, FUCK.  You could at least pretend to give us some hope, here.

Oh no, don’t ask for the nursery story, Dave.  Unless it turns out to be a funny one or a Rose twist on an old story or something.  Which it probably is, I should stop worrying.

> ==>

KANAYA: Oh Its A Wriggler Story About A Young Prince And The Beloved Flower He Loved And Lost DAVE: flower DAVE: like a plant KANAYA: Its A Fairytale Dave DAVE: right KANAYA: A Singular Wild Rose He Failed To Cherish When He Had Her KANAYA: And His Journey Of Discovering What She Meant To Him All Along KANAYA: Culminating In A New Quest To Find Her And Win Her Back

Dirk you PIECE OF SHIT did you rewrite the narrative of the fucking STORIES SHE TOLD CHILDREN?!??  Does the fact that alt!Callie is only in the present mean he can rewrite ANY past event we didn’t literally SEE???  FUCK you.  Seriously fuck all of this.

Please tell me she was kidding just then, or realizes there’s fucking something wrong with what she’s saying and getting angry or.

(EDIT: shoutyourporpoise replied: "Hey, idk If you picked up on this, but the 'nursery story' Rose told to the wigglers is just The Little Prince, which is maybe a BIT early for them to read, but I don't think that's a case of Dirk changing the narrative; its just Rose being Too Adult as usual." Oh, damn, I didn't even CATCH that it was that story. That makes all of this a lot more forgivable, even if pretty unforgivably leaning into the fiction that Dirk used to brainwash and kidnap her. Maybe that's exactly why it worked -- fiction, a story so blazed into the public consciousness? Hm. Thanks, shoutyourporpoise.)

KANAYA: But In A Way I Feel As If It Is the Greater Universe Trying To Tell Me Something

Mother fuck I’m even going to have to see our protagonists warped by Dirk when they’re ostensibly FULLY SHIELDED aren’t I.  There’s only so much of that I would be able to take, you know.

KANAYA: It May Simply Stem From My Longing To See Her Again And How Much Is Indicative Of Something More Sinister KANAYA: She Is A Goddess Of Light And The Only Of Her Kind We Know Is Alive After All KANAYA: Maybe Shes Wrested Dominion Of The Entire Concept In All Its Appearances Within This Frame Of Reference

Hm.  Well, it being a product of Rose’s ascension instead of Dirk’s is possibly a more charitable take, with Ultimate Rose projecting the delusion enforced on her backward, visible to past Rose’s Sight when she isn’t paying attention and thus paving the way for Dirk to paradoxically exploit that “ideal” as something Lighty and Important and “Perfect”.  I still don’t fucking like it though.

> ==>

DAVE: sorry i know you say you got your badass monster powers but kanaya you look tired as hell DAVE: not that im tryna psyche you or whatever but youre waxing poetic in the dark which i guess is maybe on brand but still

Yyyep.

DAVE: unless terezi is lurking in the vents somewhere and now that i bring that up its actually not out of the question so im kind of gonna be thinking about that one for a while

Pffff.

DAVE: youre the only person i know whos still basically the same as when i met you

--Which is kind of going to have to change, right?  She’s got some other cosmic purpose ready to change her a little more than she changed pre-human-troll-meetup, you’d think.

> ==>

Cute as hell.

> ==>

KANAYA: How Are Your Feelings

There’s the title drop.  I’d think Dave’s doing pretty well, considering?  Still fucked over by Dirk betraying and tricking Rose away who he’s been close with all his life, but.

> ==>

DAVE: except sometimes your best friend disappears and your other best friend goes into a ghost coma and your third best friend fucks off to space with your dad DAVE: the dude youve spent the last 7 years convincing yourself isnt an egomaniacal anime villain DAVE: and who isnt actually lying in wait to completely decimate your life and your emotions and shit

Ah... yeah.  A little worse than my casual list, huh?  Forgot that Jade vanishing into a possession-coma for THREE FUCKING YEARS is going to be hard on people inside the comic too, fuck.

DAVE: maybe it was naive to think that a bunch of twenty something trauma victims could run a society

I was honestly surprised they TRIED to run society at all.  Jasp even just highlighted a big reason why not in the bonuses.

DAVE: cool how earth c existed for centuries then we show up and manage to ruin society in seven fucking years

:(

Well, the trolls got THEIR lesson on why they didn’t deserve to rule over their new universe like gods; I guess some of y’all needed that lesson too?

DAVE: every serious conversation i have inevitably falls apart into riffing on a casual acquaintances ass

True.

Dammit, Dave didn’t feel like he could just be Some Guy even on Earth C.  :(

> ==>

...don’t think I’ve forgotten that nursery story, though.  I don’t want to think that it was something that ACTUALLY past happened, especially not without manipulation.  Like maybe past Rose was foreseeing the false purpose that Dirk wrote for her or the like, a cooperative misunderstanding between the two instead of Dirk or Rose literally reaching back in time.

> meanwhile...

KARKAT: WAIT, WHY THE FUCK AM I EVEN ASKING? HE’S OBVIOUSLY NOT FINE. KARKAT: ARE ANY OF US? ARE YOU? ROXY: not rly KARKAT: EXACTLY.

:(

--Oh right.  I remember that Callie and Roxy were going reasonably steady in Meat even though it was only alluded to, she didn’t freak out and stay awol or what have you.  That’s good to remember.  But it means Roxy deliberately left her behind to go on this dangerous quest, for years.  :C

KARKAT: KANAYA BARELY EVEN TALKS, CALLIOPE WON’T LEAVE THEIR CABIN, JADE JUST FLOATS AROUND LIKE A CREEPY BALLOON THAT’S MOSTLY MADE OF HAIR.

Oh, SHIT.  I should have read one line further.  They DID bring her.  Alt!Callie being here too must really FUCK with her.  ...maybe she can actually learn to accept that alternate way her life might’ve played out, though?

KARKAT: THE REALLY FUCKED UP THING IS I MIGHT BE THE MOST OKAY OUT OF ALL OF US, WHICH IS HOW YOU KNOW SHIT HAS REALLY GONE GLOBES UP.

Quite true.

ROXY: ur kinda an intense dude anybody ever tell u that KARKAT: NO.

Pff.

> ==>

KARKAT: AGAINST PRETTY MUCH ALL ODDS, AND DESPITE ME NOT DESERVING ANY OF IT, I ENDED UP GETTING PRETTY MUCH EVERYTHING I WANTED. KARKAT: OVER AND OVER AGAIN. KARKAT: SOMETIMES IT ALMOST FEELS LIKE WHATEVER SLATHERING MONSTROSITY OF A COSMIC HELLBEAST THAT PUT ALL THIS SHIT INTO MOTION...ACTUALLY LIKES ME?

Well, if you want to blame Lord English for instance... we never saw Caliborn and Karkat interact much, but the parallels between the two were drawn so severely that Caliborn was basically the idealized, multiverse-threatening Ultimate Kismesis that he’d always dreamed of.  And operated against him without him even ever quite realizing it.

If a level of “respect” went from Caliborn to Karkat, too, from his Lord-Englishy vision nigh-omnipresent, then this outcome isn’t very surprising at all.

> ==>

(I don’t quite feel I get why Roxy shifted to this exasperated-Dave expression, but I get logically that he’d been waiting for Karkat to make a breakfast choice... Homestuck proper rarely pulled a “last line said corresponds to next-panel’s expression” without either leaving the conversation blank or having the NEXT lines of the conversation reinforce it, to prevent this inelegant misunderstanding.  Andrew was really damned talented in getting his point across visually, in that regard.  Just like, that careful visual intent delivery.)

Alright, I guess that’s it for this short upd8!  Meeting the pursuit crew was both more and less difficult than I expected.  Hopefully I get desensitized a bit as the characters continue to feel semi-almost-sorta-fine.

I have NO idea how this group is gonna work as a proper crew when we get to whatever weird other-players’ session this shit is going down in, though.

[fierceawakening]

The other thing about the difference between what my research says re narcissism and what people on tumblr seem to be saying is

There a lot of bs and noise out there but from comparing carefully, it seems the consensus of competent clinicians is that all humans have narcissistic traits, and that “a narcissist” is an adult human who possesses considerably more of these traits/expresses them considerably more often than other humans. It’s also said that a higher number/degree of narcissistic traits are normal in a human child, and that for this reason a child cannot be diagnosed with NPD. Which leads to it sometimes being said that a narcissist is in some ways like a child—that they haven’t grown out of the self-prioritizing that a helpless mini human woudl need to sometimes do guven their dependency on adults around them.

All of which doesn’t say “this person is bad” but does seem to lend itself to the idea “this person might do bad things in pursuit of parent like focused attention or in pursuit of selfish aims (“I am the greatest, therefore I should have that thing you have, not you!”) which is the kind of him I was getting at when I asked if NPD, aspd, and other disorders associated with lack of empathy could predispose people to behave badly.

Whereas people like my recent interlocutor seem to say something different. Teh last post seemed to be (and I might have misread, especially given the claim I don’t listen well!) “I’m pretty much just like you in terms of emotions, I’m just lower on the ‘empathy’ one.” Which... well, since I’m not sure whether we mean the exact same thing by “empathy” could mean a big difference, but sounds like a small one. Someone who can’t feel vexation might feel annoyance, for example, and their lived experience might be pretty nigh indistinguishable from someone who feels both. (Where someone who can feel sad but can’t feel happy, for example, would have. A very different experience of life than someone who can feel both. So we still haven’t really established how different these lives are until,we talk about magnitude, but the claim seems to be that the magnitude is small.j

But it’s a very different stress. It”s “this thing you say happens in your brain a lot doesn’t happen much in mine” where there’s.... no corresponding “and that’s why I do this less often than you, or that more often than you.” Which is what gets me confused. It’s a distinction without a difference, as described—but if it’s a minor thing, why identify yourself with it and demand rights and respect based on it? That’s why I feel confused and like people are playing both ends against the middle somehow, or moving goalposts around.

“I want to be respected as different, but understood as the same.”

Which is... well THREATENING is a big scary word, but which unnerves me because I feel like I’m being played with. I feel like I can ask my autistic friends “what is being autistic like” and get answers that make sense to me: they stim more than me, they sometimes have meltdowns, they might use big words or a lot of words, they flap rather than smile or along with it, they don’t like looking at people”s eyes. These are all traits I can evaluate and go “none of those is bad, just different.” And even say, “I do some of those, but not all. I can imagine what that might be like. I’m probably not spot on but yeah.”

Where when I ask “so what’s narcissism like,” or whatever, the answer is very often this sort of “oh, just like you, only without the empathy.” And then I ask “so what’s that like” and they go “it doesn’t affect my actions!” And then I’m like “but what is it LIKE?” and it goes round and round, because I’m not given a thing someone does or thinks other than “not crying at the tv.”

And like if that’s actually all it is, okay, it’s not much of anything!but I have this weird thought that my empathy is something, like, I feel it and then I get angry on my Fruends behalf or my consumer who is being denied housing or food or on George Floyd’s behalf and I want to do things. I might not take actions and I might take bad ones, like wallowing in white guilt, or whatever, but the want is there.

So when people tell me, “the want is there but not the emotions,” I’m just sort of like... I don’t really know how to parse that? I’m not even sure that’s disagreement?

And then I’m confused, because what about all the other traits that people say are worth watching out for? How is it ALL crap? And where did they go? I feel like they vanished in a sleight of hand trick, like someone just said they don’t exist but never proved it? Esp if all humans have them?

and then I just feel... well, honestly, gaslit, and told by my gaslighters that I “just don’t listen enough” and if I “listened better” it would all make sense.

Which leads me to think that yeah, maybe some high ish proportion of narcissists gaslight, whether they mean it cruelly or are just bad at explaining.

[dorigvbcorvis]

THE MILLSTONE

I once heard that there was a cut scene or scripted but not filmed scene in Glee's Goodbye episode (S3E22) that was between Schue and Kurt...I thought anything done would be a retcon because Schue has done a disservice to all choir members not named Rachel or Finn so this little story came to mind. This is not a prequel to my Song to a Siren (AO3) story but has a lot of the same feelings.

Story Summary: The last day of school and Kurt has to unpack years of baggage  before he can literally move on.  Takes place post NYADA rejection letter.

The Millstone

The 2012 school year was over and the last of a programed system of school bells had concluded. Blaine stood in the doorway to the choir room looking at Kurt.  Most days he enjoyed watching Kurt; his boyfriend's slim frame, the stylish clothes Kurt liked to pick out to wear, or how some of those choices showed off his cotch bulge a little too nicely.  Some days it was the way his pale skin seemed to give off its own light...and ah those blue eyes - What Blaine didn't like was finding Kurt like this; frozen in place with a scrolled letter held tightly against his chest.  It was an easy guess to know what the letter said and this wasn't good news. 

Blaine felt he had to say something, he just needed to rustle up the nerve. "Coming?" He asked, finally breaking the silence - his had buried his hands deep inside his pockets for added security: he had no  idea how Kurt would reply or even if he would.

To his surprise Kurt managed to squeak out a mild toned answer. "Yeah, in just a..." Only that this was all that came out - Kurt couldn't finish his sentence and he remained frozen in the same spot where he had been for over an hour.

In Kurt's  mind he imagined that he could take off in any direction and run forever yet he also pictured that he would be only two steps into that run before he would face plant and crumble into pieces - Why couldnt he be more like Finn?  He took not getting into Pace with ease.  Maybe it was Kurt wanted it more.  Maybe it was just that he came to believe it was assured; Madame Tibideaux did like him;  didn't she?

Finn and Rachel had long since left the choir room  - Exactly how long ago Kurt wasn't sure.  He was stuck; as if being in the choir room he would be able to somehow undo the opening of his NYADA letter and maybe then he could go back to feeling how his highly praised audition would be his ticket out of Lima.  But with the rejection letter out of its envelope the apistevist in Kurt could not escape the reality of the facts.  *We regret to inform you* The words were now permanently etched in his mind.  He felt like he did on the morning that Schue & Miss Pillsbury called him out of his French III Class to tell him about his dad.  Yet for all the emotional parallels he now saw - it remained a mystery why the tears had not yet come.  He was stuck; weighted down by everything that had come before.

Kurt wanted to cry - He wanted to scream actually -He wanted to belt it to the school's rafters like one his lung bursting D6s.  This was not how it was supposed to go.   His boyfriend wasn't offering much in the way of concrete help - clearly he must have some idea of what happened or how badly he felt  - Instead he was making some random comment about Breadsticks.

"We should hurry," Blaine said. "They always run out of French-Fried Ice cream if you are not there to order it..."

Blaine immediately thought to walk this all back.  It wasn't that he was an unsympathetic guy - Quite the contrary,  he knew deeply and inexplicably Kurt was his soul mate.  He had simply heard that come rain or shine Breadsticks was where they all would go after they had opened their letters.  Blaine being Blaine this was where his stomach took over.

Now Blaine was a smart guy.  He figured out from Kurt's immobility, ashen face, and his wide eyed stare -  That this was textbook shock.  What he didnt know was what to do about it.  He knew doting on Kurt wasn't an answer - Kurt wasn't a touchy feelie kind of guy.  Likewise  he knew abandoning Kurt was not an option either - It was an impass where it seemed the best plan of action meant waiting for Kurt to make the first move -  but somehow Blaine knew that this couldn't be right. He decided he had to ask

"Kurt, damn, I know it sucks right now - I know it doesn't at all seem fair - what I need to know what I can do to help you."

Kurt answered the question with one of his own   "What didn't I do right?" he said..he needed to know why.

"You said that they only take 20 - maybe you like #21 and only just missed the cut off"

Kurt found this simultaneously the most reassuring thing he could hear and the most upsetting - To be that close.  But this did not explain Rachel.  He could be happy for her if he wasn't so pissed off about it.

"Rachel fucked up and got in - I didn't - Aiso it may cime as a shock but I have done more community theatre than she has." (*Note* It's implied in Mattress/Sectionals and there is also an 'Into the Woods' cast photo on Kurt's season 3 bookshelf)

"Really?" Blaine didn't doubt this but to listen to Rachel it seemed incorrect.

"Yeah, the music director at the playhouse also runs the Sound of Music Sing Along."

"Acting chops," Blaine said with a nod. "explains why you killed it as 'Krupke."

A single tear manage to fall now as Kurt began to recall a memory. "I was a regular until my Freshman year..."

"What happened - If you don't mind me asking?"

"High School jocks happened - They started harassing me first at school - then one day they followed me home.  They put flaming bags of dog shit on my porch hoping that I would stamp out the fire."

Blaine grimaced in full-on disgust. "Eww!"

"After that incident t-they" Kurt started now to whimper.  "tought it would be funny to nailed all our lawn furniture to the roof and then graffitied the garage with slurs.  I really thought they'd quit after the garage but the next day at school they threw pee balloons at me... after that came the dumpsters.  Then I dropped everything that mattered to me...I made a studio out of my basement so I could at least still perform.  I thought I got my confidence back in glee...but this little reminder [Kurt held up his rolled up letter] tells me it was all for naught"

Blaine couldn't hold back not embracing his boyfriend.   He tentatively placed his hands on his boyfriend's shoulders and not meeting any resistance from this he enveloped Kurt holding him up because  in this moment Kurt indeed started to crumble and break away from his mental snair in this moment too came the sobbing. "Breadsticks can wait...I don't think we should go, and I for sure not going to let you torture yourself being anywhere near..." Blaine stopped short of saying Rachel.  "You are the one who is important here - All this time I thought it was only Karoski...it wasnt it was this school."

Long time they just stood there in the choir room until only soft sobs remained.  They would have held their embrace longer if they wasn't so coldly interupted.

"Ah guys?" Schue's interruption came like the critical stop of a bird flying into a window. He had entered the choir room from his side office. "What's going on here?" he continued in a tone that was both surprised as it was accusatory  "And do I have to remind you about McKinley PDA Policy?"

"Come on Mr. Schue show some sympathy here." Blaine growled.  He wondered if the end of the school year meant Mr. Schuester somehow reverted back to some other form - One where he was now a jerk who didn't have to pretend to be Mr. Nice Guy - "Look, the policy is wrong, everyone knows it isn't enforced fairly and," Blaine made it a point to stress  "Sometime slack is warranted."

"I did cut you some slack - this was my classroom.  But after tonight this room will be The Adult Literacy Room for the duration of summer - I won't have any control over that.  I am here only looking out for you guys."

"Right and a hug is still just a hug Mr. Schue" Blaine turned to Kurt to reassure him. "Are you alright?  It's Schue"

"I  know," Kurt said, glaring at his teacher. 

Despite the clock on the wall Mr. Schuester looked at his watch for the time: 7 minutes to 5 "What are you doing in here this late anyways?"

"Mr. Schue now is not the time...really it isn't"

Kurt had stopped sobbing but now it was taking all his might not to turn hostile.  He is gritting his teeth and clinching his fists and this like most things he did in the choir room went unnoticed.

"What's really going on here?" Schuester asked rephrasing his question into a demand.

Blaine continued to speak up for Kurt. "Even if I were in a position to say anything, which I am not - you wouldn't understand - it's best that you just stay out of it and we'll be out of your hair soon enough."

Kurt was never more in love with Blaine for stepping in talking to Schue this way   But Kurt also knew Schuester all too well; unless you were kissing his ass or one of his favorites he was never easily won over.

As always Mr. Schuester  misread what he saw in Kurt. "I never took you for the sentlemental Kurt, but good for you -but I still will be wanting to close up.  I am heading to breadsticks with Emma - We just heard the great news Rachel was accepted to NYADA - I actually thought you guys would be there to cheer her on."

"Mr. Scheu!?" Blaine exclaimed. "Are you really this insensitive?!"

Kurt gave Mr. Schue one of his classic demon stares, a look that if looks could kill the choir director would be a pile of ash...Many knew Kurt didn't have much to say to his teacher - But many did not know his reason - It was something Kurt purposely kept it to himself.  Right now, if someone were to ask he gladly open both barrels and without hesitation tell how he had so little respect for his teacher that he regarded Schuester as willfully ignorant, petty, and lacking the credentials that a good teacher should have....and worse; he was a man who played favorites and threw everybody else under a bus.   Kurt pleaded with himself that he would not start back up again with the water-works  - He didn't want that, not in front of Schue.

"Is this something I can help you with?" His teacher asked, still remarkably obvious.

"No, not really" Kurt said as bluntly as he could.

"This really is a job better suited for Miss Pillsbury" Blaine added, he had not fully parted from Kurt - He couldn't do that - "It's better that you just let me handle this."

"Whatever, but at Five I am closing my doors - I need you both gone by then."

Kurt finally felt a need to take on his teacher. "You really don't know when to quit do you?"

"Do you think I owe you something?"

Kurt gave a sad half sarcastic laughed.  "Like I could imagine you'd ever listen."

"I don't understand"

"Of course YOU dont understand.  You've always been Mr. Oblivious...The man who thinks everybody loves him...Want to know why you got teacher of the year?  Everybody so just damn grateful you stopped teaching Spanish and gave Mr. Martinez your job...He would have been handed the award only Mr. Figgens said he hadn't been here long enough."

Blaine bit his tongue to avoid laughing out loud...but it was what they all thought.  "Come on Kurt we should go - before you really say something you'll regret."

"Do 'you mean there's more?"

"Do you honestly want a full rebut?  How for nearly 3 years I have been a team player but now I have nothing to show from it  - My dad ran against Sue to save your job and still I got not a damn thing in return - No Instead I was ostracized - made to listened to the guys in here call me names, and I can't tell how old it gets being throw into a dumpster every single morning.

"The guys from this class did this? 

"Yeah, the name calling, the insults,  And I think the only reason Puck stopped throwing me into the parking lot dumpster is because one time I was in uniform and Coach Sue gave him an earful... but then you knew about the dumpter long before that.  If I had dollar for every time you walked passed pretending like everything was normal"

"Ah..." Mr. Schuester was uncharacteristically speechless.  He had always enjoyed being seen as the cool teacher in front of the Jocks.  He never thought he'd ever be called out by one of their victins.  He had bought into the belief the dweebs had it coming.

"I am not done here because there's the not so small matter of the promise you made but had no qualms about breaking it with me - You told *ALL* of us how we all would have a chance to shine."

"Come on, I let you sing plenty," the choir director was certain.

"Name one venue- I will save you the trouble there hasn't been one.  That's why NYADA rejected me - You never once featured me."

"I see you blame me for your rejection do you?"

"You had a part in it, yes - You made a promise - I was just a fool to believe you make it good. Instead the closest I got was being told the only way I would get a solo is if I shaved my legs, drop 20lbs, and wore a dress...all this while being told how much I was not being a team player for saying no...and by-the-way while we're on this subject what happened to that first solo? Huh? That great idea you had just before I left for Dalton - Or were you just blowing smoke up my ass?"

"No, I really did have an idea - It was a James Bond Medley - I wanted it for sectionals I thought you could sing The Spy Who Love Me - But then you transferred -  In retrospect I think that had we done that for Nationals that year we might have placed higher."

"In retrospect you should have just left me alone at Dalton - I would be going to Columbia but at least it would be going to New York."

"But didnt those guys at Dalton almost blinded Blaine." Schuester looked over at Blaine hoping for an ally but Kurt was quick to rebut.

"...And they would not have tried had we been still there - So your point is what exactly?  You make a good play about how you are all about team work and fairness but the truth is you play favorites - Maybe by that measture I should count myself lucky I wasn't yours."  Kurt turned on his heels and headed for the doorway. 

"Where are you going" Kurt's former teacher asked.

"Not to Breadsticks," Kurt said, he was finally free.

.

[bluefloret]

This Post Got Very Long I recommend hitting J Now

Hey. I wanna talk about That Post.

I totally get what you’re saying! People should absolutely be mindful and conscientious about the content they create, particularly when portraying trauma of any sort. And you have the right to say that, it is a valid statement. But the fact that I had to take a step back, breathe deep, and go looking through your tumble in search of clarification just to understand what you meant really says that your original statement was very, VERY poorly worded. I cannot understate how poorly worded your statement was, no matter how accurate it may be.

In addition, I think you are conflating people writing about trauma with people JOKING about trauma they’ve written about/plan to write about? People write about trauma and put their characters through bad things for many reasons, and I’m sure you know that. But your original post seems to imply that by joking about what people put their characters through, they are somehow disregarding or disrespecting the trauma itself. 

I am sure there are people who put little thought into what they do to their characters, but the vast majority of serious writers think very carefully before doing things like that. Moreover, these things are often either reflections of things that have happened to those writers, or heavily researched because they want to be as accurate in their storytelling as possible even if they’re not worried about being respectful. These characters are our babies, they’re part of us like even children cannot be since they came out of our minds and we shape every part of them- yes, even their trauma. And no one is going to care about them like we do, that’s a fact. And- I’m sorry, I’m actually getting a little upset. Calming down, refocusing. Woo.

Look, you make a very good point, but the way you stated it was incredibly tone-deaf and disrespectful of the content creators. The comics do not show flippancy towards the traumas we write, they show solidarity with other content creators who are also struggling to do their characters justice and approaching the difficulties it poses with humor and community rather than shame. 

Comments like the one you made, however well-meant, are the same sort of hurtful comments many deal with or have dealt with from their abusers and the abusers’ enablers: that these topics are shameful and should not be addressed in polite company, never with humor, and certainly not taken out in a constructive manner in order to work through things and get better, and also do not look for community because what you are doing is trash and anyone who would agree with such comics is also trash and none of these people deserve any support. 

This is probably not what you meant to say or even imply, but that’s what happened anyway, and it also seems like instead of saying “I’m sorry if I hurt anyone’s feelings (you did), I did not mean to, what I meant to say was THIS…”, you’ve sort of gone “well that’s not what I meant and if they thought I meant that they’re just wrong and probably butthurt about nothing.” Like, you seem to have either misread the situation so badly or misspoke so badly that. Honestly I am not sure what words to use here. You really fucked up, I’m sorry. You had a valid opinion and you spoke it in the worst possible way, like it came for people’s souls and it was obviously devised to hurt, even if you ended up hurting people you didn’t mean to.

It reminds me of that comic, where the woman says when was hurt because of what someone said. That person says they didn’t mean to, and she responds that she understands it was unintentional but she was still hurt and deserves an apology, to which the other person only replies again “but I didn’t mean to!”

If you have read to the end of this, I respect your tenacity because I realize I am not at my most eloquent and also not saying the kindest things, so if you got this far, thank you.

Okay so I’m just going to break down my response to this, cause I already know it’s going to get long. But. I’m going to have to disagree on some things here. So I’ll just take it piece by piece. 

I totally get what you’re saying! People should absolutely be mindful and conscientious about the content they create, particularly when portraying trauma of any sort. And you have the right to say that, it is a valid statement.

First of all, thank you for acknowledging this. I appreciate that. 

I cannot understate how poorly worded your statement was, no matter how accurate it may be.

Some people have said this before you. To which I point out that it was a off-the-head post I made early in the morning to an audience that usually gives me an average of 2-6 notes per post. I had no idea the breadth my post would gain in just a few short hours, let alone the days since. My post was never intended for an enormous audience. And if you respond “Well you should make every post with the thought that it might blow up” that’s just… unrealistic? I was mad about a thing, I make a quick text post thinking 2 people will see it. I can’t write a formal essay of points every time i have a minor irritation. That’s all it was meant to be.

But your original post seems to imply that by joking about what people put their characters through, they are somehow disregarding or disrespecting the trauma itself.

Here’s a problem I have with the rest of the argument you outline, and it starts here. People joking about abusing their characters absolutely can disregard the abuse you’re putting them through. Which is what my post was about, people who joke about trauma in a way that is disrespectful and shows a fetishistic nature. People joke about abusing their ocs and writing abuse in a way that implies that they are gaining gratification out of the act of harming their ocs often enough that it’s something that becomes disrespectful to the sensitivity of the topic they’re writing.

You can’t tell me you use the internet and haven’t seen people make the comics like the one I was referring to, use phrases like “I love this character, I can’t wait to beat them up >:3″ or talk about how much they love seeing their favorite characters bruised and broken and crying. People LOVE that stuff and it’s everywhere. Go into any fanfiction tag and you’ll see loads of fiction about tearing characters apart. Now is that instantly bad? No, I’ve already covered in other responses how I don’t believe writing dark fiction or trauma is automatically bad. But, often you will find people really, really enjoying it in a way I find CREEPY and DISTURBING and I will not hesitate to tell you that!

I am sure there are people who put little thought into what they do to their characters, but the vast majority of serious writers think very carefully before doing things like that. 

Where is your proof of this… how can you personally prove to me that a “majority” of “serious writers” (with no quantifications) take trauma seriously and don’t fetishize it. 

In turn, it is only fair that I admit I can’t prove the opposite, but I have existed in this life and on the internet long enough to see plenty of fanart, fanfiction, and canon media and writing that fetishizes abuse. 

Moreover, these things are often either reflections of things that have happened to those writers, or heavily researched because they want to be as accurate in their storytelling as possible even if they’re not worried about being respectful. 

1: Just because you research it doesn’t mean you’re being respectful. 

I don’t give a hot damn if someone puts 100 hours of research into reading about abuse if they STILL are really creepy and disrespectful about it! Why would I want someone writing abuse if they aren’t going to be respectful about it? They’ll just reinforce negative stereotypes or, again, fetishize it or romanticize it. In that case I prefer that they had NEVER WRITTEN IT AT ALL. It’s like a straight person who researches gay people then writes a gay character with a bunch of negative stereotypes and makes them into a walking joke. “But at least they wrote a gay character” is no defense, they’d still have fucked up the writing really bad and I still would’ve prefered they hadn’t done the character in the first place.

2: And this is really going to shock you, but, abuse survivors can write and talk about abuse in a disgusting manner as well. 

Every other damn note in my post is someone going “UMM OP IM TRAUMATIZED SO I CAN DO IT?” and like. If you’re a trauma survivor and you want to project trauma onto your ocs, that’s fine! I never said that was wrong. What I was critiquing was the fetishistic way people talk about abuse, and guess what, abuse survivors can do it too! I’ve had abuse survivors be abusive and talk about abuse in a way that makes me HIGHLY uncomfortable. It sucks and it’s a terrible thing to go through- abuse- but that doesn’t mean you get to talk about abusing your characters IN A PUBLIC SETTING in a way that sounds incredibly creepy! If it’s in pubilc you can be exposing other abuse survivors to your language and actions and it is completely irresponsible to not take responsibility in that case and be extra mindful of how you portray your own ocs that have went through abuse.

(Also not that you would have seen it since my post exploded, but in the very original post I did make a tag specifically calling out non-abuse survivors for this behavior)

Look, you make a very good point, but the way you stated it was incredibly tone-deaf and disrespectful of the content creators. 

1: I am a content creator you ding dong. I write stories and make art too. 

2: Even if I wasn’t? How does that take away my ability to critique content creators portraying a thing badly. Can gay people no longer talk about creators being homophobic? Trans people can’t point out transphobia any more? If you’re going “no, no, that’s not what I meant” then what DID you mean. I have every right to critique how people treat a subject that’s personal to me, especially when they haven’t experienced it.

The comics do not show flippancy towards the traumas we write, they show solidarity with other content creators who are also struggling to do their characters justice and approaching the difficulties it poses with humor and community rather than shame. 

I mean you’re just pulling words out of your ass here. You literally just invented this meaning. “But Saraza, THIS is what those comics mean” you say. Um, okay, but it doesn’t and you don’t get to be the definer of that. Especially using the word ‘solidarity’, if that implies you are on the outside looking in on the topic of abuse (which I have no way of knowing and won’t presume about you).

In fact I am holding this discussion purely on the chance that you might be an abuse survivor and therefore might deserve a response, but I hope you know that if you aren’t an abuse survivor you have literally no place in this discussion. Like, I won’t make assumptions about you, maybe you are and all this was in your place, but if you aren’t, don’t ever bother responding to me again. 

Comments like the one you made, however well-meant, are the same sort of hurtful comments many deal with or have dealt with from their abusers 

I hope you know how literally disgusting it is to compare an abuse survivor to being an abuser just because I asked people not to fetishize abuse. 

Like I entertained the rest of your argument but you have GOT to know this is just a vile, ugly thing to do. 

This is probably not what you meant to say or even imply, but that’s what happened anyway 

WHY ARE YOU BLAMING ME FOR OTHER PEOPLE’S MISINTERPRETATIONS OF MY POST AND NOT ARGUING WITH THE IDIOTS WHO CAN’T READ. 

I can not comprehend how entitled you people are with how you demand that I defend and explain words I NEVER said and arguments I NEVER made. Go argue with the people who can’t fucking read my posts maybe????

It’s neither my onus, duty, or responsibility to explain meanings I never made. I can extrapolate on my original post but if you’re asking me to apologize for arguments OTHER people made on my post, I literally don’t know what to tell you other than. What the hell. 

and it also seems like instead of saying “I’m sorry if I hurt anyone’s feelings (you did), I did not mean to, what I meant to say was THIS…”, you’ve sort of gone “well that’s not what I meant and if they thought I meant that they’re just wrong and probably butthurt about nothing.”

I’m just flat out not going to apologize to people upset about things I didn’t say and didn’t do??? It’s not a case of “I did something wrong unintentionally and therefore I should apologize anyway”, it’s a case of “I did nothing wrong but everyone is taking my words out of context and yelling at me for things I never said”. Which, I don’t feel the need to apologize for, shockingly!

In fact part of the abuse I experienced was being constantly forced to apologize for anything and everything that wasn’t even my fault just to make my abuser happy. So, it’s no surprise that I don’t want to do that here???

If people want me to clarify my wording I’ll do that all damn day but if people are going to be mad about stuff I never said, that’s their dick to jerk. 

Last of all, you’re a markiplier fandom blog literally what do I care what you think

[junker-town]

Klay Thompson is the most accidentally funny player in the NBA

Klay Thompson brings us so much joy, and he doesn’t even need to try.

Klay Thompson’s NBA career has been a blast. We know him for his scoring outbursts that leave us scrambling for NBA Twitter, but also the moments off the court that somehow leave us laughing every time.

Thompson doesn’t try to be a comedian. There are NBA players who want to make us all laugh like Joel Embiid, but Thompson is able to do so just by being his average self. Because of that, we get these unique moments that we can all relish together.

Most recently, Thompson was seen sporting this coat, looking like he was unamused with the reporters around him.

The looks on his face, combined with the saucy fur trim, is priceless, especially after a basketball game.

Postgame Klay pic.twitter.com/8cTsllRqVG

— Logan Murdock (@loganmmurdock) December 18, 2018

The phrase “big mood” is thrown around often, but this one is truly relatable. Personally, that’s my reaction after somebody claims in the year 2018 that the Warriors are ruining basketball. It’s old.

After a win over the Kings, he gave this legendary postgame interview that made zero sense.

At the same time, it made a ton of sense, because only Thompson could deliver such a scene for us to enjoy. He was clearly tongue tied, and couldn’t quite recover.

KLAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY pic.twitter.com/9wAerO4uVP

— CJ Fogler (@cjzero) December 15, 2018

Because Thompson just let it happen, we were treated to a very human moment that we could all appreciate, because most of us would probably be scrambling to find the words, too.

But yeah, he really missed the mark there.

Thompson has also acknowledged a double entendre that you were probably too afraid to admit you laughed at.

Then-Warriors sideline reporter Ros Gold-Onwude asked Thompson, “How much do you feed off of the D?” and the question was too on the nose for him to not giggle at.

To Thompson’s credit, he still managed to do a good job of keeping the interview going like a professional in the moment.

He’s also expanded his interview repertoire by participating in man on the street interviews for local news.

Imagine just turning on your local news, and instead of a random citizen in your area, there’s NBA Champion Klay Thompson talking to a microphone.

So @warriors Klay Thompson @KlayThompson just casually getting interviewed on local NY News @fox5ny talking about building scaffolding... pic.twitter.com/Zhiwrw0in0

— Michael P (@MP_Trey) November 21, 2017

Talking about scaffolding on local news is one of the many Forrest Gump-like qualities that Thompson possesses.

Thompson has his accidentally funny on the court moments too though, like when he raised the roof after an Andre Iguodala dunk.

Raising the roof hasn’t been a thing since ... a long time. But Thompson felt inspired to do the gesture, and it kind of worked?

guys. klay thompson raised the roof after that iggy dunk. im gone. pic.twitter.com/coCo2buvuR

— Whitney Medworth (@its_whitney) April 23, 2017

When you do as much winning as the Warriors do, you can make the most dated references seem trendy. I wouldn’t say that raising the roof is coming back anytime soon, but we’re also not inclined to question it’s legitimacy as much as we would if, let’s say, JaVale McGee did it.

There was also that time he definitely read the box score wrong, acknowledged it, and moved on.

In similar move to his interview, Klay stumbled over his words until he decided he was through.

Klay Thompson badly misreads stat sheet: "Is that right? Nope, nevermind. 15. Way off" pic.twitter.com/TYmP7o0M1a

— Kenny Ducey (@KennyDucey) May 25, 2016

You gotta respect the guy for just keeping things moving, even if they’re embarrassing. That Don’t Give A Shit attitude is even funnier in a setting like a press conference.

Thompson has also given us one of the best spontaneous moments after a game, when he took a swig of a Coors Light.

Drinking a beer seems like a fitting way to celebrate a road win in Toronto, you just wouldn’t expect that to happen during the middle of an interview. But Thompson does not care, which is how I think we all like to envision ourselves as professional athletes.

View this post on Instagram

Talking to Klay after tonight's game and he just took this beer out of nowhere..lol. Pretty sure he got the meaning of Beijing Yemen.#goldenstatewarriors #klaythompson #torontoraptors #coorslight @thedevingray

A post shared by 徐舜之 (@xsz_in_to) on Nov 16, 2016 at 10:02pm PST

The refreshed and unbothered “ahhhh” after he takes a sip makes it a trillion times better.

Thompson also signed a toaster, of all things. But it wasn’t just him signing it that was funny.

His reaction in this photograph couldn’t be more appropriate. Thompson looks equally confused by what has been presented to him, but not so disgusted that he wouldn’t sign it.

The Warriors went 31-2 and won a championship after Thompson signed the toaster. These two things are related.

He had a good time at Steph Curry’s 30th birthday, but it took an unexpected twist.

Thompson’s doing what we’d all do at a setting like this: dancing, enjoying himself, not caring much about what’s going on around him. It’s a very relatable vibe, until he decides that he’s going to throw his shoe:

It's the return of China Klay! Watch 18 minutes of Klay Thompson, Coach Mike Brown and the Warriors dancing at Steph Curry's 30th Birthday party: https://t.co/EnSNTtVepI pic.twitter.com/Sg5Uz88oEW

— Ballislife.com (@Ballislife) March 13, 2018

The floor is probably wet and disgusting, and I’d imagine Thompson is wearing a pair of shoes that aren’t exactly cheap. I guess anything goes though when one is lit.

The ensuing Warriors practice was cancelled after Curry’s birthday, because Steve Kerr is a real one.

But the greatest funny accident of them all has been the birth of the alter ego that is China Klay.

After he signed a shoe deal with Anta in 2017 worth as much as $80 million, Thompson went on tour in China, and he didn’t disappoint.

There was this missed dunk, when he proved even a superstar NBA athlete like himself could look like a total dork:

Klay Thompson went to China to show them what the talents of an NBA player look like in real life pic.twitter.com/DdxZFJ5ZUv

— Ben Baldwin (@benbbaldwin) June 24, 2017

Continuing that trend, he was dancing at an event in China where it became even more evident that he really is just an average guy with a silky smooth jumper:

Here's the version of the latest Klay dancing video from China with sound. Seems he didn't want the segment to end #ChinaKlay #Anta #China pic.twitter.com/IszdO2xMuv

— LetsGoWarriors (@LetsGoWarriors) June 30, 2017

The perfect alter ego that is China Klay reappeared in the summer of 2018, which seems like forever ago right now.

We got Thompson in this costume that I’m not certain how to describe. Just look at this thing:

CHINA KLAY IS ON ANOTHER LEVEL THIS SUMMER pic.twitter.com/fgJ6ZFjXgv

— Whitney Medworth (@its_whitney) June 28, 2018

Again, don’t know the meaning behind it, but I approve.

Thompson also got torched by a kid in pop-a-shot. Though to be fair, I don’t think there are many people on the planet that could possibly beat this child:

#ChinaKlay getting destroyed in pop-a-shot [via @nmwitherill/IG] pic.twitter.com/IzNuVdVXfV

— Warriors on NBCS (@NBCSWarriors) June 26, 2018

The kid being a straight boss at the game makes it good, but Thompson deciding he was going to lose while still making as many shots as he could at a comfortable pace made it great.

Klay also forgot that his coach, Steve Kerr, was one of the best shooters of all time.

Amid a shooting slump, Klay really said he’d only listen to Reggie Miller or Ray Allen’s advice. Then he backtracked to include Larry Bird. Oh yeah! Then he remembered his own head coach.

Klay Thompson: “What is somebody going to tell me about my jump shot that I can’t fix? Unless it’s Reggie Miller or Ray Allen, I don’t know who I’m supposed to listen to. Larry Bird? Steve Kerr. I’ll listen to Steve. Steve shot 45 percent.” pic.twitter.com/GCfSmymz96

— Anthony Slater (@anthonyVslater) December 27, 2018

Not even Klay knows what he said here

This Klay interview still has me in tears. How? pic.twitter.com/9wAerO4uVP

— CJ Fogler (@cjzero) December 15, 2018

He definitely said some words in there.

Klay held a towel up to the camera completely backwards and apologized

MVP-like postgame interview from Klay pic.twitter.com/uasF6eZHMQ

— Warriors on NBCS (@NBCSWarriors) April 21, 2019

This is Peak Awkward Klay.

Klay hit big shots in the Warriors Game 2 win over the Rockets and threw up the Three Goggles

Game 2 recap: us: omg what are the refs gonna do in this game klay: LOL IM JUST GONNA MAKE CLUTCH SHOTS pic.twitter.com/pOBhtFnQ7Z

— SB Nation (@SBNation) May 1, 2019

Klay did the Big Balls Dance in Game 4 of the Finals

KLAY pic.twitter.com/yTfGMlpIvX

— SB Nation (@SBNation) June 8, 2019

The best part about all of Thompson’s small, odd moments is that we can’t predict what the next is going to be.

Every Random Act Of Klay is unique, and just as enjoyable as the last. As long as Klay remains Klay, we’ll never run out of all the joy that he unintentionally produces just by being himself.

[junker-town]

Klay Thompson is the most accidentally funny player in the NBA

Klay Thompson brings us so much joy, and he doesn’t even need to try.

Klay Thompson’s NBA career has been a blast. We know him for his scoring outbursts that leave us scrambling for NBA Twitter, but also the moments off the court that somehow leave us laughing every time.

Thompson doesn’t try to be a comedian. There are NBA players who want to make us all laugh like Joel Embiid, but Thompson is able to do so just by being his average self. Because of that, we get these unique moments that we can all relish together.

Most recently, Thompson was seen sporting this coat, looking like he was unamused with the reporters around him.

The looks on his face, combined with the saucy fur trim, is priceless, especially after a basketball game.

Postgame Klay pic.twitter.com/8cTsllRqVG

— Logan Murdock (@loganmmurdock) December 18, 2018

The phrase “big mood” is thrown around often, but this one is truly relatable. Personally, that’s my reaction after somebody claims in the year 2018 that the Warriors are ruining basketball. It’s old.

After a win over the Kings, he gave this legendary postgame interview that made zero sense.

At the same time, it made a ton of sense, because only Thompson could deliver such a scene for us to enjoy. He was clearly tongue tied, and couldn’t quite recover.

KLAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY pic.twitter.com/9wAerO4uVP

— CJ Fogler (@cjzero) December 15, 2018

Because Thompson just let it happen, we were treated to a very human moment that we could all appreciate, because most of us would probably be scrambling to find the words, too.

But yeah, he really missed the mark there.

Thompson has also acknowledged a double entendre that you were probably too afraid to admit you laughed at.

Then-Warriors sideline reporter Ros Gold-Onwude asked Thompson, “How much do you feed off of the D?” and the question was too on the nose for him to not giggle at.

To Thompson’s credit, he still managed to do a good job of keeping the interview going like a professional in the moment.

He’s also expanded his interview repertoire by participating in man on the street interviews for local news.

Imagine just turning on your local news, and instead of a random citizen in your area, there’s NBA Champion Klay Thompson talking to a microphone.

So @warriors Klay Thompson @KlayThompson just casually getting interviewed on local NY News @fox5ny talking about building scaffolding... pic.twitter.com/Zhiwrw0in0

— Michael P (@MP_Trey) November 21, 2017

Talking about scaffolding on local news is one of the many Forrest Gump-like qualities that Thompson possesses.

Thompson has his accidentally funny on the court moments too though, like when he raised the roof after an Andre Iguodala dunk.

Raising the roof hasn’t been a thing since ... a long time. But Thompson felt inspired to do the gesture, and it kind of worked?

guys. klay thompson raised the roof after that iggy dunk. im gone. pic.twitter.com/coCo2buvuR

— Whitney Medworth (@its_whitney) April 23, 2017

When you do as much winning as the Warriors do, you can make the most dated references seem trendy. I wouldn’t say that raising the roof is coming back anytime soon, but we’re also not inclined to question it’s legitimacy as much as we would if, let’s say, JaVale McGee did it.

There was also that time he definitely read the box score wrong, acknowledged it, and moved on.

In similar move to his interview, Klay stumbled over his words until he decided he was through.

Klay Thompson badly misreads stat sheet: "Is that right? Nope, nevermind. 15. Way off" pic.twitter.com/TYmP7o0M1a

— Kenny Ducey (@KennyDucey) May 25, 2016

You gotta respect the guy for just keeping things moving, even if they’re embarrassing. That Don’t Give A Shit attitude is even funnier in a setting like a press conference.

Thompson has also given us one of the best spontaneous moments after a game, when he took a swig of a Coors Light.

Drinking a beer seems like a fitting way to celebrate a road win in Toronto, you just wouldn’t expect that to happen during the middle of an interview. But Thompson does not care, which is how I think we all like to envision ourselves as professional athletes.

View this post on Instagram

Talking to Klay after tonight's game and he just took this beer out of nowhere..lol. Pretty sure he got the meaning of Beijing Yemen.#goldenstatewarriors #klaythompson #torontoraptors #coorslight @thedevingray

A post shared by 徐舜之 (@xsz_in_to) on Nov 16, 2016 at 10:02pm PST

The refreshed and unbothered “ahhhh” after he takes a sip makes it a trillion times better.

Thompson also signed a toaster, of all things. But it wasn’t just him signing it that was funny.

His reaction in this photograph couldn’t be more appropriate. Thompson looks equally confused by what has been presented to him, but not so disgusted that he wouldn’t sign it.

The Warriors went 31-2 and won a championship after Thompson signed the toaster. These two things are related.

He had a good time at Steph Curry’s 30th birthday, but it took an unexpected twist.

Thompson’s doing what we’d all do at a setting like this: dancing, enjoying himself, not caring much about what’s going on around him. It’s a very relatable vibe, until he decides that he’s going to throw his shoe:

It's the return of China Klay! Watch 18 minutes of Klay Thompson, Coach Mike Brown and the Warriors dancing at Steph Curry's 30th Birthday party: https://t.co/EnSNTtVepI pic.twitter.com/Sg5Uz88oEW

— Ballislife.com (@Ballislife) March 13, 2018

The floor is probably wet and disgusting, and I’d imagine Thompson is wearing a pair of shoes that aren’t exactly cheap. I guess anything goes though when one is lit.

The ensuing Warriors practice was cancelled after Curry’s birthday, because Steve Kerr is a real one.

But the greatest funny accident of them all has been the birth of the alter ego that is China Klay.

After he signed a shoe deal with Anta in 2017 worth as much as $80 million, Thompson went on tour in China, and he didn’t disappoint.

There was this missed dunk, when he proved even a superstar NBA athlete like himself could look like a total dork:

Klay Thompson went to China to show them what the talents of an NBA player look like in real life pic.twitter.com/DdxZFJ5ZUv

— Ben Baldwin (@benbbaldwin) June 24, 2017

Continuing that trend, he was dancing at an event in China where it became even more evident that he really is just an average guy with a silky smooth jumper:

Here's the version of the latest Klay dancing video from China with sound. Seems he didn't want the segment to end #ChinaKlay #Anta #China pic.twitter.com/IszdO2xMuv

— LetsGoWarriors (@LetsGoWarriors) June 30, 2017

The perfect alter ego that is China Klay reappeared in the summer of 2018, which seems like forever ago right now.

We got Thompson in this costume that I’m not certain how to describe. Just look at this thing:

CHINA KLAY IS ON ANOTHER LEVEL THIS SUMMER pic.twitter.com/fgJ6ZFjXgv

— Whitney Medworth (@its_whitney) June 28, 2018

Again, don’t know the meaning behind it, but I approve.

Thompson also got torched by a kid in pop-a-shot. Though to be fair, I don’t think there are many people on the planet that could possibly beat this child:

#ChinaKlay getting destroyed in pop-a-shot [via @nmwitherill/IG] pic.twitter.com/IzNuVdVXfV

— Warriors on NBCS (@NBCSWarriors) June 26, 2018

The kid being a straight boss at the game makes it good, but Thompson deciding he was going to lose while still making as many shots as he could at a comfortable pace made it great.

Klay also forgot that his coach, Steve Kerr, was one of the best shooters of all time.

Amid a shooting slump, Klay really said he’d only listen to Reggie Miller or Ray Allen’s advice. Then he backtracked to include Larry Bird. Oh yeah! Then he remembered his own head coach.

Klay Thompson: “What is somebody going to tell me about my jump shot that I can’t fix? Unless it’s Reggie Miller or Ray Allen, I don’t know who I’m supposed to listen to. Larry Bird? Steve Kerr. I’ll listen to Steve. Steve shot 45 percent.” pic.twitter.com/GCfSmymz96

— Anthony Slater (@anthonyVslater) December 27, 2018

The best part about all of Thompson’s small, odd moments is that we can’t predict what the next is going to be.

Every Random Act Of Klay is unique, and just as enjoyable as the last. As long as Klay remains Klay, we’ll never run out of all the joy that he unintentionally produces just by being himself.