#an older more responsible font

[jonathanbyersphd]

Chat, I think I found it. Behold a 1980 Volvo 262C bertone

No because really, what in the world is Jonathan driving as his next car?

[astermath]

second chance ₓₒ⋆:

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: steve decides to ask out the girl who he keeps seeing around hawkins with her nose in a book. he’s a little surprised when he gets brutally rejected, only to find out his “king steve” era is haunting him more than he expected. he attempts to make it up to you and show you he’s changed, even if it takes him a couple of tries.

word count: 4.8K (oops)

warnings: cursing, no use of y/n, bullying, regular size font below!

notes: first time writing for steve YES I HAVE FALLEN IN LOVE WITH HIM! YES IT IS THE FAULT OF ALL THE GOOD FIC WRITERS ON HERE! and thus,, I had to participate,, I hope I got his character down, I might write more for him so let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for further steve harrington related content!

tagging some writers who have absolutely inspired me to write this with their own incredible fics, be sure to check them out <3 @hungharrington @sunshinesteviee @ghostlyfleur @lilacletter​ @stevenose​ 

As a teenager, you’d grown to hate Hawkins. It was a mundane, small town with boring people, not much to do, not to mention the weird supernatural rumors you’d hear about every other week. 

But nothing was worse than your high school, Hawkins High. There was a strong social hierarchy, with you firmly placed at the bottom. You were a class A nerd, getting good grades, and always reading to distract yourself from your lack of a social life. So naturally, you got picked on a lot. At first it was just some girls in your class, laughing at your big glasses and the way you dressed. But as you got older, you’d caught the eye of so called “king Steve” and his goons.

You’d heard plenty about him by junior year; how rich his parents were, how he was the best at sports, how every girl practically dropped to their knees when he entered a room. He’d started noticing you when his friend Carol pointed you out, sitting alone on a bench outside school, waiting for your dad to pick you up. His finger had pushed your book down so he could look at your face, and you were soon met with his all too cocky grin. 

“Watcha readin’, four eyes?” The ego was nearly dripping off his words, making your stomach turn.

“None of your business.” you pulled your book away, keeping a finger between the pages you were on. “Doubt it’s near your reading level anyways, Harrington.” You may have been nerdy, but you were no pushover. If they wanted to be condescending, then you’d play their game right back at them.

“That’s no way to treat your king, is it?” Tommy chimed in, like a parrot on his shoulder. You were sure that guy would be nowhere without his friend’s reputation, considering he had the personality of a wet sock.

“My king?” You repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Can’t you just leave me alone?” You tried putting your book away, but Carol had snatched it from your hands just before you could reach your bag.

“Oooh, is this your diary or somethin’?” she flipped it open, shit eating grin plastered over her face as she ran her nail over your name written on the opening page. 

“Do you mind? Give it back!” you’d reached out to grab it from her, but she’d already tossed it back to Steve, who was now holding it high above his head. 

“Come and get it sweetheart,” He smirked. “Might have to get real close for it though.” Tommy laughed like a hyena at his taunting, and you swore you would have punted him if they didn’t outnumber you. 

You scowled, ready to just grab your bag and make a swing for it. “Over my dead body, Steve.” You spat his name, and he grinned at your response. 

“Ahh, shouldn’t have said that.” He dropped the book down into the muddy puddle in front of you, stepping on it to make matters worse. 

You watched, mouth slightly agape as tears welled up in your eyes. Carol cackled while you stood frozen, clutching your bag as you watched the pages soak up the filthy water under his foot. You had every reason not to like Steve, he was like every movie’s description of a high school bully. But he’d destroyed something personal of yours. So now you had every reason to hate Steve.

And the bullying never stopped there. He’d laugh when Carol put her gum in your hair, when Tommy would bump into you extra hard in the hallway, when you’d turn around every time you saw him.

So when graduation came, you couldn’t be happier to get out of there and go to college.

Except your dad got fired from his job. And so, after just a year of college, you’d abandoned your dream of majoring in English literature and returned to the sad, miserable old town you grew up in. 

So you’d taken on a job in your local bookstore, hoping to make enough money to rent an apartment anywhere else soon. You spent the rest of your time reading and writing, usually outside to get some inspiration. You weren’t surprised to see a lot of familiar faces, though you’d never actually spoken to most of them. College was expensive, and a lot of people from Hawkins were just going straight into working than bothering to study. Or maybe some were in the same unfortunate position as you, tragically locked to your hometown.

You were sat outside the backside of the mall, listening to people’s conversations around you. Though you were never much of a socialite, you were very interested in the way people interacted with one another, especially if they were from completely different backgrounds than you.

Two books sat besides you, knees brought up close to your chest as your papers leaned against your legs. You messily wrote down strings of sentences and words of inspiration, a description of what you were seeing too, every now and then. You were an aspiring writer, hoping your literary skills would one day break you out of your current situation, but with the current state of the world, that’s all you could really be. Hopeful.

You were daydreaming about the life you’d build for yourself, finger running over the tip of your pen. You were so involved in your own train of thoughts, you almost hadn’t noticed the sudden new presence besides you. 

“Watcha writin’, pretty girl?” 

The voice sounded familiar. A little too familiar for your liking, actually. You kept your eyes on the page, hoping you conveying your disinterest was working in driving the guy away. You sighed, clicking the pen a few times. “Do you really care, or do you just wanna bother me?”

You could hear a faint chuckle, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t sound nice. Still, you were working, and you preferred not to be disturbed when you were.

“You got me there,” the guy spoke, and you could tell he’d moved a little closer, because you could now smell a sliver of his cologne. “Was never one for books, but I’ve been wanting to read more. What is this, Pride and Prejudice?” He picked up one of the books, and you turned, about to take it from when your eyes landed on his face, freezing midway when you finally realized why he sounded so familiar.

Steve motherfucking Harrington.

Same cocky smile, same brown eyes, same somehow always perfectly styled hair, and probably same asshole altogether.

You squinted slightly, not sure if you were hallucinating or not. “... Steve Harrington?” You question, and you could tell he doesn’t quite know how to react at first.

Truth be told, Steve had changed. A lot. All the things he’d gone through, the connections he’d made, the ego checks he got, it made him a new man. Or so he definitely liked to believe. But he was also painfully aware of his reputation, his old persona still haunting him sometimes. Still, he’d never seen you before, so he hoped it was a relatively positive image you had of him.

“I guess my reputation precedes me,” he smiled, and you think it’s the first time you’d ever seen him genuinely smile. Not the smile he gave you when his friends were teasing you, no, this one was much softer. “Or maybe... We’ve met before?”

And then it clicked.

Steve had no clue who you were.

Sure, you’d developed a better sense of style over the years. You no longer needed braces, you had grown into your body better, and your glasses fit your face a lot more. But you didn’t think you changed that much. Besides, your personality had remained the same. You were still the sharp tongued, book loving, nerdy girl he’d bullied back then.

It was true, he didn’t recognize you. He was almost certain you were new in town, telling his best friend Robin that if he knew you, he’d definitely recognize a face that pretty. She had no clue who he was talking about, this mysterious girl he’d seen reading and writing all over Hawkins, so she just told him to make a move. So he did.

“So uh,” He leaned his arm over the backside of the bench, facing you. “I was wondering if you’d maybe like to go out sometime. Y’know, catch a movie, go to the arcade, whatever you’d like to do for fun, uh...” he flipped the book open on the first page, reading your name aloud. And then it clicked for him too. You weren’t new here, and you most certainly knew him. He looked back up at you, already getting ready to apologize when you snatched the book from his hands and got up. 

“Go fuck yourself, ‘king Steve’.” You scowled, shoving your stuff in your bag and angrily walking off.

He had to admit, that stung, hearing you use his old nickname like that, and then watching you storm off. He was starting to realize that there were more consequences to his high school endeavors than he’d initially imagined, that he couldn’t just move on and pretend that he was a new person now. He had to make things right. Starting with you, the pretty girl with the glasses. 

“And-- and then, wait for it-- I look into the book, right?” Steve stands behind the counter of Family Video, hands motioning vividly as he tells his friend about what had happened the day before.

Robin nods, mumbling some kind of “uhuh” as she continues to organize the shelves.

“And it’s her! It’s four eyes!” He exclaims, looking expectantly at his colleague, hoping for a big reaction.

“I’m sorry, who?” Robin’s face contorts in confusion, turning to face him with a hand on her hip.

“Shit, uh, she was like always reading and stuff, and she had these-- these glasses, they were way too big for her face, and--”

His sentence was cut short by the jingle of the door opening, and the two of them looked to see you there, who was clearly not expecting a welcome committee. Your gaze crossed Steve’s, and for a moment he felt like you were about to kill him with just your stare. You rolled your eyes, scoffing audibly and started looking through the shelves.

Robin looked at Steve, mouthing a “is that her”, to which he nodded stealthily. She replied by smiling approvingly, as if she now understood exactly why he wanted to make things right. You were really pretty, she could definitely see that.

You damn near slammed down the tape you wanted to rent for the day on the counter, avoiding eye contact as you looked through your bag for your wallet.

“Are you already registered at Family Video or—“

“No.” You cut him off, head snapping up.

“Alright,” Steve nodded, slightly intimidated. “I’ll just need your name and phone number for the registry.”

You stared at him for a few moments, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. Did he really think you were that stupid?

“Are you fucking—“ You looked over at his colleague. “Is he fucking with me?”

Robin shook her head slowly, slightly intimidated. Though she could see why he had to work his way up to talking to you, she had to admit, it was quite funny seeing Steve actually struggle talking to a girl like this.

“We need it in case you don’t return the tape.” He gave you a thin lipped, awkward smile as he got the keyboard out to type it in.

“Fine,” You huffed, “but if I get a personal call from you, I’m changing numbers.” You started to list your phone number and complete your registration. You just wanted to watch the Breakfast Club for christ’s sakes, this was taking ages…

“That’ll be 10 dollars,” he put on a sweet, almost customer service-y smile, “please.”

“Yeah, fine, just—“ You rummaged through your bag, brows furrowing when you still couldn’t manage to find your wallet. You were certain you had it, although you did grab your stuff in a bit of a rush that morning. “I swear it’s here, it’s just under all this other stuff…”

You were about to dump the contents of your bag onto the counter when Steve held up his hand, pulling out his own wallet. “It’s fine, I got it.” He deposited 10 dollars of his own into the cash register, sliding the tape back over to you along with a receipt. “Courtesy of Steve Harrington.”

You looked down at the tape, and something in you wanted to smile. You were still getting used to this, guys doing nice things for you because you were pretty, but it was different from Steve. You were mad at him, and rightfully so. Te, measly dollars wasn’t going to cut it.

You muttered a “thanks”, stuffing the tape in your bag and waving Robin a quick goodbye before speed walking back outside. Your cheeks burned hot, and you hated to admit it, but it was a really cute gesture from Steve.

“She seems nice.” Robin said, watching Steve’s expression falter with a bit of an amused grin.

Steve leaned his face into his hands, watching you leave through the window. “The nicest.” He sighed, lowering his head to rub his hands over his face. “I’m gonna have to give that another try though.”

Robin chuckled, going back to the task at hand. “Good luck with that, casa nova.”

And so he did. He kept trying. It wasn’t just because he wanted to prove something to himself, he was genuinely intrigued by you. Even back in high school, he wondered what was going on in that head of yours when you’d daydream in class, or when you were writing during breaks. But he knew he’d never hear the end of it from Tommy if he talked to you, so he chose the easy way out. Coping by making fun of you. At least that way, he never had to prove to anyone if he liked you or not.

But it wasn’t fair, not towards you, of course. He never should have treated you that way, and this was his chance of making things right. And maybe finally finding out what was always happening in that pretty mind of yours.

You were stacking books on the shelves at your job, humming a tune to yourself. You liked your job, you always got to buy books at discounted prices and read whenever it was quiet. It was a nice step-up to what would hopefully become a real writing job one day, having your own books sold in a place like this.

“Excuse me,” a voice stirred you from your daydreaming, “I’m looking for something new to read.”

You turned, and as soon as you once again caught sight of Steve, your customer service smile faded into a scowl. “You stalking me now, Harrington?”

He put up his hands in a defensive position. “Woah, jump to conclusions much?” He chuckled nervously. “No, I uh... Robin told me you worked here. So I decided to drop by.” He followed closely behind you as you walked to the back to start stacking the shelves there.

“So what are you really doing here, besides bothering me?” You turned, a book clutched to your chest. It reminded him of how you used to walk the halls, always with a book held over your heart. It was almost poetic, now that he thought about it. He knew books were your comfort, so it only made sense you’d always keep one near.

“Like I told you,” he leaned against one of the shelves, hand slipping down just a tad which almost made him lose composure, “I’m looking for somethin’ new to read.”

You raised an eyebrow, and you had to admit, he had your attention. “You?” You scoffed, followed by an almost mocking chuckle. “Shit, I didn’t even know you could read.”

He pretended to be hurt, hand over his heart as he said your name in an offended tone. “I’m wounded! I’m trying to explore more literature and here I am getting judged!” 

You couldn’t help but giggle, blood rushing to your cheeks from embarrassment. You were supposed to be mad, not humor his flirting, no matter how cute he was. “I uh... Well, I read this book not too long ago. It’s about two lovers who travel the world playing the music together, and one of them dies, so the other has to like, find their own sound...” You realized you were rambling a little, wide eyes looking up at him. “Or... Something like that.”

“Yeah! Yeah, that-- that sounds great. Cool. Totally.” He tried his best to brush off how your eyes were making him feel. So pretty, even when behind your glasses, he could tell how much emotion they held.

“Cool, cool,” now you were the one trying to play it cool, fingers fidgeting with the hardcover you were holding. “I’ll, uhm-- go check our stock really quick.” 

He let you do your thing as he looked around the store, flipping through the pages of random books he found. Truth be told, Steve hadn’t read a single book ever since he stopped being forced to because of high school. Not because he hated reading, he just... Wasn’t very good at it. He’d often mouth along with the words, sentence by sentence, sometimes even whispering them to himself.

You returned not long after, strangely enough, with nothing in hand. “So, I think we ran out, but uh...” You adjusted your glasses. “I can lend you my copy.” You caught your bottom lip between your teeth, nibbling nervously. “If you want.”

Steve was quite surprised by your proposal. He knew how precious your books were to you, but giving one to him? The guy who’d stomped on your own personal property not even that long ago? Damn. Maybe you were just that nice. Which made him feel even worse for treating you like shit.

“Totally! Yeah, uhm, I’ll take good care of it. Like, seriously, I’ll protect it with my life.” He grinned, and you hated how infectious his smile was. 

“Good,” you handed him your copy, and he could tell it was well loved. “I better not find any mud on this one.” He nodded at your comment, swallowing down his guilt at the memory. There was a bookmark at the front, and he could tell by the dozens of sticky tabs sticking out that you were serious about your reading. So he decided to be serious about it too.

“You can give it back whenever you’re done.” You smiled awkwardly, subtly letting him know he could read it at his own pace. “Just come drop it off when you’re ready.” He was about to thank you, when you raised a finger to interrupt him. “In the exact same condition, Harrington.” Though your gesture was sweet, he could tell you still weren’t fully on good terms with him. That was fine by him, he was glad he was making any progress at all, really. 

“Yeah-- yeah, for sure, no problem.” He stood there for a few seconds, book held under his arm as his other hand busied itself running through his hair. “I’ll uh... I’ll see you around.”

You smiled at how nervous he seemed. “Yeah, totally, see you around Steve.” You gave him a quick wave and went back to stocking the shelves.

Steve heart swelled with a familiar feeling as he walked out. He knew you were pretty, gorgeous even, but seeing you smile, and say his name like that... Man, he felt like an even bigger idiot for being such a douche to you back in the day. You were being so nice, and you had absolutely no reason to. He stood outside, thinking of your sweet voice and cute glasses, and clutched the book to his chest.

Huh. That did actually feel kinda nice.

And so he walked home like that, the entire way, with a tight hold on the book. He’d rather die than let it get damaged now.

One of the first things he did when he got home was go to his room, sit down on his bed and open the book. On the first page, you had your name written, and it brought him right back to when he first saw you again. Something inside him feels superficial and shallow for only talking to you now that you look different, but all the circumstances were different too. You’d both grown, matured, he just wished you’d give him more of a chance to show it.

But in a way, he supposed this was the first step to earning your trust.

He’d spent almost the entire night reading, smiling and even chuckling at some of your annotations. He was glad there was a key at the start, so he knew which color meant what. He’d even grabbed a dictionary from downstairs because he didn’t understand some words, but was eager to learn more. Reading your comments made it feel like you were right there with him. They were funny, making him crack a grin at how outraged you could be at some of the characters’ decisions.

He imagined your face when one of your comments mentioned you’d cried, and his heart twisted at the thought. Because he knew what you looked like when you cried, thick tears running over soft cheeks, lashes wet. He’d be lying if he said you didn’t still look pretty, but man, he was now more insistent on proving he’d changed than ever. Maybe his budding crush was helping that a little too.

A little more than a week later, he’d returned to the store you worked to return the book. Frankly speaking you weren’t sure if was actually going to bring it back, let alone in the exact same condition you’d given it to him in.

“So, what did you think?” Your face beamed a sort of excitement you’d only see when your interests were being discussed, and this was definitely one of them. Besides your boss, you never really had anyone to talk to about books. Though Steve was more of an unconventional choice, you enjoyed the conversation nonetheless.

What surprised you even more was that he’d actually read it. Like really, really read it, including your annotations and comments. It warmed your heart to know he had put actual time and effort into enjoying the whole thing, and he looked pretty cute talking about it too.

“But the ending broke my heart, seriously—“

“I know, right? How could she not have forgiven him for not leaving behind the music sheets? It was clearly to help her move on!”

“Ugh, I know! Man, you get it.” He laughed softly, fingers running through his chocolate colored hair.

“Yeah, I guess I do.” You laughed along, the noise in your throat slowly dying out as you got a bit too caught up in the sight of him. Steve Harrington was a handsome young man, that was common knowledge. There was a reason all those girls were always swooning over him, and you hated to admit that you could see where they were coming from. But you didn’t like the overly cocky, flirty side of him you knew in high school. You like this side, the soft, considerate, attentive Steve you’d been getting to know a little better.

Yeah, you were growing fond of him. 

Which is exactly why you’d said yes to hanging out with him at the park the day after. Just “hanging out”, in his own words. He’d been careful not to make the same mistake he did the first time he talked to you, rather easing you into spending time with him one on one. He’d hate to break your trust now that you were finally able to look at him with something other than anger in your eyes.

It was already quite late when the two of you met up. You’d been busy with work, and him with helping out Dustin, so once the two you arrived at the park, it was already dark. You didn’t mind, though. Less chance of other people bothering you. 

You settled on a more secluded area, Steve had even been nice enough to bring a blanket to sit on. You were initially just going to discuss the contents of the latest book he’d borrowed from you, but you had a feeling something else was left to be said.

And he was well aware of this too.

So when you were staring up at the sky, moonlight illuminating your features in a way he’d only seen described in the books he had read, he figured he couldn’t keep talking to you without clearing the air. You deserved that much.

“You know,” he cleared his throat, “I thought about what happened a lot.”

You bring your gaze over to him, tilting your head slightly. “My my, whatever could you mean?” You said, teasingly so. He knew you wanted him to just say it. And who was he to deny you of a justified apology.

He took a deep breath, fingers running through his locks. It had become almost a nervous tic to him.

“I’m really sorry about everything I did.” He said, in the most genuine tone he could muster. “Seriously, I-- I’m just kind of... ashamed, really.” 

You could tell he was struggling to look at you, and you wondered how much thought he’d given this already.

“You never really realize how stupid and insignificant high school shit seems until you get out in the real world, you know? Like-- none of it matters, none of that popularity, shit, and-- and I wish I’d just realized that sooner because now--” He caught sight of your eyes and for a second, completely lost his train of thoughts. He realized he wasn’t getting to the point, suddenly understanding Robin’s need to nervously ramble entirely.

“Point is, I’m really, really sorry for the way I treated you.” His hand inched closer to yours, itching to grab it to emphasize his point. “I’ve changed a lot, and I hope that’s become at least slightly believable.” He smiled nervously, all kinds of possible responses you could give running through his mind.

They all came to a halt when he saw you smile.

That sweet, kind smile he’d seen back in high school and avoided because of how it made him feel.

The same smile that was currently reducing him to a nervous teenage boy with a crush.

“It’s okay, Steve.” You spoke softly, and the words came as a mercy to his overbearing thoughts. Your hand moved over his, and you ran a thumb over his knuckles. His hand was soft, warm, and a little clammy from what you could only assume to be the nerves.

“I’m not gonna make you beg for my forgiveness, don’t worry.” You chuckled, and his heart damn near melted at the sound. He secretly wished they could bottle whatever feeling your laugh gave him, so he could keep it with him in times of need.

“Really?” He tilted his head, brown locks falling in different ways around his face. “Because, like-- I’ll do it. Wait--” He got up on his knees and reached besides the blanket, plucking a stray flower from the grass and kneeling in front of you. He cleared his throat in an exaggerated way, before addressing you with your name. “My dearest, will you please forgive me for being a top shelf douchebag to you before?” 

You couldn’t contain your laugh, feeling your face heat up at the sight of him kneeling in front of you. “Steeeeve!” You exclaimed, hands coming up to cover your face. “Okay, okay, I forgive you!”

He chuckled along with you, reaching out and gently tucking the flower behind your ear. “Alright, well--” he sat down again, now significantly closer than before, turned towards you. “would you perhaps do me the honor of going out with you then?”

You bit your lip, pretending to think about your answer as he looked at you in anticipation. Instead of answering, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his plush lips. It was better than you’d imagined, his hand finding its way on your cheek as he melted into it. He made a soft, almost pleading noise, once you pulled away, and you swore he’d never looked prettier. 

“Sure, I’ll go out with you.” You brushed a lock of hair out of his face. “But only because you asked so nicely.”

He grinned. “I’d hope so, after a kiss like that.”

“Shut up.” You muttered, before connecting your lips again.

He would have done so either way. Because you’d officially rendered Steve Harrington speechless. And painfully in love. 

[arcanarix]

made suguru a dull boy…

synopsis. with more and more responsibilities stacked like a tower of pancakes on geto’s plate, you and the twins feel like suguru’s forgotten how to have real fun! so you take him on a trip back down memory lane… (hopefully in a more positive light)

tw. implied kidnapping, yandere geto, the twins are the only thing keeping you sane, established dynamic captor/captive, reader is a non sorcerer, cult leader!geto, piv sex, oral (f! and m! receiving), reader has kind of mellowed out since you’ve been captive for more than a year or two by now. geto is actually kind of nicer to you.

WC: 3.1K

“Do you really think this is going to work?” you ask Nanako in a hushed tone, glancing at the stacks of metal bins containing a lot of Geto’s collectibles that he’d forgotten since he took on this new role. They’re all just sitting here collecting dust rather than being displayed and admired by a once bright eyed, unassuming, impressionistic fanboy. It’s hard to think about the fact that at one point, Geto was just a normal teenager who grew into whatever he was now.

Does he remember anything about having a bright childhood or has it been all doom and gloom from the start for someone like him? You can’t help but spiral into the possibilities. Does he remember playing ball and wondering how high up he can throw it and catch it? Does he remember his first balloon animal at someone’s birthday party? Does he remember the first video game he’s ever fallen in love with, or his first board or card game? 

Does he even have fond memories to look back on? Why does he work so hard to erase what he was before?

You still don’t have an appropriate label for someone like him, someone so otherworldly. ‘Monster’ is too on the nose and doesn’t capture all of those nuances about the guy. 

But does he even deserve to be deemed complex? Or should you just call him some guy? Some guy who has plucked you off the streets because you had some curse he was after. Some guy who has decided to keep you around because he has some kind of lust or obsession with you. 

That’s definitely a discussion for another time… 

“It might help him remember he’s a person too,” Nanako suggests with a shrug. “You know, smoke and mirrors aside, he’s just a person. Even if that ego of his doesn’t like to admit it…” 

“So what’s in all of these?” you prod as you pluck one of the tins from the top of one stack, waving off the dust that gathers around your face and blowing more of it off of the cool surface. You squint your eyes. So much of the paint has chipped off but you recognize the font of a popular franchise. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding,” you nearly scoff but try to refrain unless you want your head chopped clean off. “Are these fucking Yugioh cards?” 

The shock in your tone even catches Mimiko and Nanako off guard for a few moments, but they bounce back quickly. Nanako glances at Mimiko, and the older twin doesn’t know how to approach the topic at first but seems to come up with an explanation out of thin air like she always does.

“That Satoru Gojo guy Mr. Geto keeps talking about liked Digimon,” Mimiko explains, as her eyes scan the rows upon rows of countless trinkets and gizmos Geto claims he’d much rather leave behind, forgotten. “And Geto always rambled on about how much cooler Yugioh was from all those stories he’d tell us. They were best friends or something, but they got into a huge fight and that’s why they still aren’t talking now.” 

“You know they can still be friends if they just talked things out,” Nanako remarks, curiosity in her tone. “I mean, clearly Gojo still cares enough about Mr. Geto if he hasn’t killed him yet, right?” 

Mimiko nods. “Yeah.”

You ignore their conversation because you don’t really care to know much about that stuff, since it’s out of your realm of understanding anyway. Sorcerer politics that shouldn’t concern a non sorcerer monkey like you.

“Wow, I can’t relate,” you admit, finding yourself chuckling in spite of yourself. It’s not from amusement, still just disbelief that Geto was a person before all of this. Before what he is now. You almost are curious to know a little more, just to see if it’s worth peeling back all of those layers. “I was always a Pokemon girl.” 

“So is Mr. Geto!” Nanako chirps, beaming to where you can see her eyes twinkle in spite of the low ambient lightning of the attic. “Maybe you can like him more if you bond with him like this.” 

“It’s a thoughtful idea, but he’d probably say anything made by monkeys are only for monkeys.” With you being his sole exception or something of the kind, just a pretty appendage for a ruthless cult leader and scam artist. Something to tell his new world order that beneath all of that male bravado is a blatant hypocrite. “Isn’t that why he’s forgone his old personality?” 

“We just want Mr. Geto to have room to be a person, not just a dad or a leader, so can you please do this for us?” Nanako asks with a little pout. You fret as you assess the situation, glancing at the box in your hands, and then at the numerous stacks before you. 

How can you even say no to that face? Even if she’s completely complacent in all of this, you can’t completely fault these two girls for clinging onto the man who saved them from certain death for dear life. 

You have learned more about Geto than you have ever cared to in these few moments alone.

“Fine,” you decide, with a sigh in defeat as you toss some of your hair away from your face. You have taken countless losses here, so what’s another? “I’ll try to get your dad to lighten up, if it’ll make you both happy.”

“Thank you!” Nanako and Mimiko reply in unison with wide grins, before exchanging a look with each other. 

The stroll back to the second floor of the temple is a silent one as your mind is still muddled with thoughts about Geto’s not terribly distant past. From what you remember the twins telling you, Geto found them when he was no older than 16 or 17 and then he takes over this organization without so much as breaking a sweat. Given his status as some big shot sorcerer who doesn’t agree with the conservative ways of their society, you suppose that’s not entirely farfetched but you also aren’t aware of just what any of this means for someone like him or them. 

It’s just very hard to believe that beyond all of this, is a boy whose youth had been stripped from him. And misery loves company, so that’s why he decides to take you in maybe. You still don’t know his reason behind why he chose you or why he kept you—all you can do is infer. And perhaps every single possibility you have ever come up with is entirely off the mark but you don’t really care either way.

It doesn’t matter anymore. This is your life and you have to accept it. No one is going to save you, and no one can save you from forces they cannot see or fight.

You slip into the bedroom, eyes flitting to Geto who is seated like an emperor on your shared bed, one leg extended and one tucked in to support a book he’s reading in his lap. He’s let his hair fall down his back and frame the sharp features of his face. He doesn’t seem too reactive as he glances up from the page he’s about to flip through and actually smiles these days upon seeing your face. He has become soft with you, as far as softness goes for someone like him. He sets his book aside and strides toward you, looming over you like the giant he is compared to you and really compared to most people.

“Where have you been off to for so long?” Geto greets you with a light kiss on the crown of your head. He gestures to the box in your hand, and as a chain reaction you grip tighter onto it. “And what’s this?” 

Time to play up that act. Like you’re completely complacent, completely submissive to him and that you’re totally alright with anything that happens from here.

Because you have no power anymore, right? You may as well wear your mask well. And you seem to, these days. You seem to please Geto more and more with each passing month you’ve been here. At some point, you don’t even bother keeping track of how long it’s been since you’ve been in his care. Has it been a decade at this point or just a few months? It’s all a blur now.

None of it matters, anyway.

“Forgive me, the twins dragged me through one of their little adventures,” you reply with a small smile as you hand him the metal tin box. “This belonged to you. We—I thought you might want it.” 

Furrowing his brows at that, he slides off the lid, violet eyes widening upon the stacks of collectible cards. You catch something amiss in his stare. Something flashing in his eyes. 

Nostalgia? 

“I thought I burned these,” he mutters, more to himself, picking up one of the cards. You do recognize that one from your childhood. The Dark Magician. And is that another smile on his face? Another real, genuine smile? Are you dreaming? You must be! “Did they take you to the attic?” 

You feel your heart drop. Like old times. You nod. “They wanted to play hide and seek, but we found these instead.” 

He inspects the card with a quizzical expression. 

“Is there a purpose for this?” he prods with a hum.

“W-we just thought it’d be nice if you relaxed every once in a while,” you squeak, averting your gaze from his eyes to your feet. His expression contorts into something close to shock or impressed. 

But he just laughs.

“How do you mean?” he replies. He seems amused rather than angry or defensive and you aren’t sure if you’re terrified or not. “I’m plenty relaxed.” 

“We mean you just don’t have room to be you. You’re not just a leader,” you tell him. Rather bold words out of you that under past circumstances, you might have been punished for challenging him at all. But that’s not what you’re doing here. “You are your own person beyond those titles. We just—well I—!” 

“—shush, my dear. It’s endearing, truly,” he replies, placing the card back into the box and setting it onto the foot of the bed. “But I haven’t forgotten anything about who I once was. It’s my primary driving force in doing what I do.” 

“Then why throw yourself into all of these things? It just seems like… you’re fighting for your life all the time, and it doesn’t always have to be like that,” Who are we really talking about here? Him or you? “You need time to be with family too. You need to be, well, yourself too and—!” 

—you’re interrupted with his lips plunging onto yours. But it isn’t hungry or demanding. Rather longing, gentle, coaxing. He pulls away for a moment so you can catch your breath as his intense violet gaze meets yours. 

In moments like these he’s like a majestic dragon. Mighty. Domineering. Ethereal. 

Hypnotic. Entrancing. 

Beautiful. Breathtakingly so. Even in spite of everything, in spite of all of these horrors he’s put you through that feel so small and trivial in these fleeting moments where you can almost believe he feels something for you as beyond a pretty pet. 

A slender finger traces the edge of your cheek and you find yourself leaning into his touch. 

“Since when has this concerned you so much?” he purrs, his hands snaking down to the dip of your waist, securing you in place. Your eyes glimmer, with an edge of fear but more wonder of what’s spiraling in a mind like his. Dark, ruthless. Calculating. 

“Because…” you swallow thickly, the palms of your hands resting on his pecs, drawing your lips closer to his as your eyes begin to flutter shut. “Because you deserve to breathe, Geto. To have fun. To live a life, an actual life. Like anyone else.” 

Even if you are excluded from this equation. He has taken you from your life. But you can make the most of what you have here, perhaps. 

“Let me assure you, my dear, I can still have plenty of fun,” he growls seductively into your ear as he grabs you by your bottom and rests you on your back on the mattress, planting heated, open mouthed kisses on your neck. You don’t have a reason to argue or protest, as he slips your silk robe off of your body, revealing your bare body as you’ve forgone wearing undergarments in this temple. At any point he may want access to you and you have accepted that part of your life just as you have everything else about this arrangement.

But that doesn’t mean you’re completely content with it. No, it just means you know when it is best to surrender.

A breathy gasp escapes your lips when his mouth lands on your folds, tongue rolling between them and circling your clit until it stiffens. 

You can distract yourself in these moments because now you have new thoughts that haunt your mind—does he remember the first time he’s ever had a candy he loved? What about going to carnivals and trying a funnel cake? What has made his eyes light up in childlike wonder in his youth before his role in the world stripped that away from him until there was nothing left behind than the evil possessing him? 

He calls your name and commands you to watch.

And you do, no more hesitations like before, when you would cower at the idea of even so much as glancing in his general direction. You boldly find his face, half of it lightly coated in your juices, some of it sliding off of his sharp chin as his dragon-like gaze bores into yours. 

“You taste divine as always,” he purrs as he closes his mouth over your hole, sucking hard. Not much longer until he coaxes the first orgasm of the night out of you, but he never stops at just one. Whether he admits it to himself or not, he does enjoy thoroughly spoiling you but not without something in return. “There’s nothing else I’d rather feast on, except, perhaps…”

His tongue laves your perineum before rimming your back hole, making your hands fly up to clamp your mouth shut in a poor effort to muffle your pitiful moan. 

“Such a dirty girl,” he teases with an audible kiss to your anus. “You like this hole being teased more, don’t you?” 

He snakes the tip of his tongue around the rim of your back hole again, before dipping it inside. You gasp again, arching your back off of the feathery bed. 

“This is the most exciting part of my day,” he continues to ramble on as he feasts on your asshole while two fingers rub your folds and clit to work another orgasm out of you. “Watching you come undone beneath me. This is what I find fun. Learning what can make you scream for me.”

He slurps against your back hole, fucking his tongue into the tight ring of muscle and he chuckles as you try to find some grounding. 

“This relaxes me,” he goes on, “Making you feel like this.”

Once he coaxes another orgasm out of you, he pulls back, allowing you to catch your breath as you come down from that mind numbing high. But then you glance at him and he’s inching toward you, guiding your head toward the tip of his cock, hard, veiny and leaking. 

He pats your cheek, beckoning you. 

“Open up,” he demands in a singsong tone and you obey, wordlessly, jaw hanging open as he pushes his tip past your lips and teeth. He growls at the sensation, the flat of your tongue gliding along his shaft as he inches just enough of his size. He tosses his head back, eyes rolling back into his skull as he bucks himself into your mouth, fucking your throat and thankfully you have trained yourself and don’t gag anymore when taking his size like you once did. His size doesn’t intimidate you like it once did.

Many things about Geto don’t intimidate you like they once did, the more you think about it. In a way, it is actually reassuring to know that he’s still just some person and you can still find power over that somewhere. 

Maybe you can’t figure out what to do with this information now… 

But it does remind you that you can still be a person beyond whatever Geto’s made you into for him too. 

You want to remember the girl you were. The girl whose eyes lit up at the sight of cute animals in videos or on the street. The girl who’s had her own hopes and dreams that still can be reached if she just fought hard enough.  The girl who had likes and dislikes and an identity. 

All outside whatever this is. 

He can’t take that away. He may have taken many things, but you have realized you have something to hold onto that he chose to throw away about himself.

You nearly choke a bit as Geto forces you to take his entire length as stringy shots of cum flood the back of your throat. He slips his cock out, still hard and needing to be inside you and your position shifts. He has you seated on his lap as he guides the tip of his cock to your entrance and pushes inside while a hand wraps around your neck. 

“Swallow,” he demands in a harsh whisper, more from arousal and you listen, you obey, because you haven’t a choice in this case. You still grimace from the zingy salty taste of him and it’s something you likely aren’t ever going to get used to, but you have come to be able to accommodate his size when he fucks you like this now. Long, deep, harsh. Each jerk of his hips shakes the bed. Now your body is in a coat of sweat and sometimes he likes to observe himself disappear into you while he murmurs into your ear about how well you take him. 

“You’re so perfect,” he praises, nipping your ear. “So good for me. Fuck, you feel like the perfect sleeve for my cock. You’re made for it.”

His other hand moves to fondle your breasts as he fucks into you, biting down on your shoulder as he comes inside, pumping you so full of his seed that some of it trickles out of your hole while he’s still inside of you, warming himself up. 

“This is plenty fun for me,” he assures you with a kiss to the shoulder he just bit. “Trust me, love, I haven’t grown dull.”

[candy-fae]

Not to rant on a side blog but I just found out in mufasa they retconned scar and mufasa to NOT be brothers and like. That was my first hyperfixation so I am upset about this for a few reasons!!! Incoming rant.

I'm gonna call it the princess Luna effect. Scar is getting princess Luna'd and let me explain how.

Disney would never make a villain kill someone now. Maybe in the background have it be implied. Maybe IMPLY some degree of violence. But they would never put on a production of hamlet in a different font, because killing people is bad, and Disney doesn't WANT parents to be mad and not give them money. We already know this, and yes, it severely limits them giving their villains credible weight, thus struggling to make us engage in a conflict that isn't environmental. But aside from the fact that this is an OBVIOUS crab for cash and their copywrite, they've managed to try and make scar more palatable.

Hmm. Let's see. I want to be a king. I was born the spare, to my stronger, prouder older brother. I now have to wait for him to die to rule. But I can't fight him. He's too good. Oh! He has a son. GREAT. now I'll never be king. Unless the little hairball dies. Hmm. And he'd do anything for his son. I know! I'm going to kill my son by putting my nephew in danger, then when he's dead, just for SHITS AND GIGGLES- I'm gonna tell him it was his fault. I plan to kill him anyway. But I'm just such a devious asshole and don't wanna get my hands dirty, it would be easier to send him the wrong way, then send my guys on him.

And so he does. And was it jealousy, horrible and churning an corrupting that did it? Absolutely. And is it mufasas fault? Not at all. People hate you because you are loved by others and that a shitty of them. Scar is a murderer, and responsible for one of the greatest betrayals of animation.

What I'm having the issue with is- there's old canon that I'm pretty positive straight up gives them canon parents. They are blood related and surprise!! Siblings look different sometimes. Hamlet was a stage play and animation is like a mask. They drew the fucker like a snake because he is one.

And secondly- I get the feeling they did it so we could empathize with him. But he doesn't need empathizing!!! He has one purpose in the story and that IS to be horrific!! It's FUN to think about "what if the bad guy...... WASN'T the bad guy!!!"

But he is. And attempting to add more depth by retconning and making it so mufasa STOLE the throne in someway- just weakens his original betrayal. We are suppose to be horrified. We are suppose to cry when mufasa dies. I saw some people saying it's to set up love and Kiara but- kovu is stated in the lion King 2 to NOT be scars son. So the only thing I can think here is "oh. They want to make scar palatable. That's stupid."

What do you think?

"You are my blood brother I've known since I was born. But I will kill you and my nephew if it means I get what you have."

Or

"This thing was SUPPOSE to be mine and you STOLE it from me. I'm taking it back!"

Scar is no suppose to be justified. He's just suppose to be cruel. Let your bad guys be bad. I'm so sick of watering down evil. Makes the story much less about overcoming it.

[midnightsslut]

thinking about how the desperate attempt to cling to her childhood with speak now elicited mixed responses (scott telling her she couldn’t have a fairytale-inspired title like enchanted, romantic relationships with older men who took advantage of her inexperience vs the need to be america’s sweetheart), which led to a pivot to try to slowly grow up (hence a noticeable aesthetic change, more mature themes and sounds in her music, etc), only for that to be confronted with even more criticism (sit-downs over leaving the cursive fonts of her early albums behind, constraints to her sonic experimentation, scott generally doubling down on his control of her music because, in her own words, her success in pop with IKYWT/WANEGBT made him see her as a woman which felt threatening, a global slut-shaming campaign, the paula of it all). no wonder it led to the feeling that she had to double down on her maturation arc with 1989 to truly feel in control for the first time, which, in turn, tainted her memory of her previous two albums because they both felt constraining and slightly embarrassing compared to her newfound sense of liberation.

[lovelyatomicpeace]

Betond the masks, chapter three

Knights and princesses

Here is chapter three! It took me a long time to write it I know 😅but I was looking for a suitable way to tell the story of Steve and y/n best way (that's why I published it an hour after the scheduled one I rewrote parts). Who knows what happened between them, why they fought and most importantly who is the culprit...if you want to know stay tuned for part 4… enjoy it!

Fonts: 20.556

Type: friends to enemies to friends to lovers

You continued to pedal relentlessly in the rain the previous evening: after finding that little girl, the 3 were incalmable. But then again, how could you blame them?

Where she came from you didn't know...for Lucas had escaped from the Penhrust asylum, me it was impossible. On her arm she had a tattoo, in serial number we could call it

011

Eleven so the boys had promptly renamed it.

Who was she really? You couldn't tell, she didn't utter a word....

It was all so strange, to the point that you came to think it was all a figment of your imagination: you had slept very little lately and especially badly, but you knew of course that it wasn't so ... it was all real

That little girl was real

But why find her in the woods? And just when Will disappeared?

The clatter of voices and the sight of the school shattered your thoughts. Mechanically you put down your bicycle and entered the school and headed inside to your locker, strangely not late as usual. You were walking briskly and looking focused, when you suddenly stopped: Jonathan was posting a flyer for his brother at the common bulletin board

"HAVE YOU SEEN ME?" the headline read; beneath the picture of Will smiling just as you had left him the night before the disappearance, you clutched your chest. God how you missed that little face... Instinctively you turned back to approach his brother; you had never exchanged more than a few chats those times you found each other at the Wheeler house: he always gave you the impression that he was a closed, shy, but good-hearted guy, and you didn't mind his company...

"Hey..." you approached him without knowing what to say to him precisely and speaking almost in a whisper "I wanted to, um... I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry about Will really... I don't..." you began, but froze at the expression on his face, a mixture of sorrow and suspicion that sent a shiver running down your spine: but surely he thought you were somehow responsible for his brother's disappearance.

Great, We're going well...

He was about to leave, and you wouldn't have tried to hold him back, but from not too far away the voices of Steve's group could be heard,

from better and better...

You turned around at the same time to see Tommy backing up Carol who was loudly and annoyingly chewing that bubble gum of his, you wondered if in the course of the day he ever stopped doing that; just behind them were Barbara and Nancy who with pitying eyes were watching Jonathan and next to her Steve...he had his hands on his hips as he used to do, for as long as you could remember, when he wanted to do something; he was wearing a green sweater and had his eyes on you...again

"Jesus is so depressing," Steve said, earning giggles from his companions.

And after him Tommy, with his usual dick-face shouted "how much you want to bet he's the one who killed him..." so that everyone could watch him now with a menacing look.

You had turned away from the older Bayers, turning to see his face after Tommy's sentence: you continued silently walking, ignoring their presence when the younger man's voice echoed in the hallway, "You know Steve, I think it was her instead...they say she was the last one to see him or isn't that y/s," a cold shiver ran through your body. You tried to keep calm, not to let fear and humiliation overwhelm you, her words capturing everyone's attention, turning your weakness into a public stage.

"And tell us, what did you do with the body? Do you keep it at home for your collection?" spat Tommy, you felt your face ignite with embarrassment: as tough as you liked to show yourself you were never prone to brawling nor were you ever inclined to respond to accusations,

And one among them knew it well...

"Y/s the sadist," cried Carol.

Choked with that gum

3 against 1 was not a good prospect....

The tension in the air was palpable, and Tommy's every word felt like a direct blow to your heart. His arrogant face, accompanied by the laughter of his friends, made you feel increasingly vulnerable.

"Don't you have anything to say, Y/S? Or are you too busy thinking about how to justify yourself?" he continued, with a mocking grimace plastered on his face. "Maybe you even have a secret diary in which you write about all your crimes, huh?" anger and embarrassment mingled in a whirlwind of emotions. You felt trapped, an easy target for their cruel amusement.

Frustration invaded you. Your voice rose, surprising yourself.

"Oh, sure, Tommy. Why don't you write about it in the papers huh? 'Y/S: the girl who makes her friends disappear.' It might be trending,and you'll make more money than is already coming out of your asshole?" you replied sarcastically, trying to maintain control as your heart pounded.

Steve, who had earlier taken part in the game, remained silent, his gaze fixed on you. His expression was inscrutable, a mixture of surprise and--something akin to concern?

"Tommy, stop it. This isn't funny."

His voice was firm, a tone you never thought you'd hear him use with that group: the air grew heavier. Tommy, for a moment, was speechless. He wasn't used to being berated by Steve, much less to defend...you; leaving everyone surprised

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" hissed Tommy, but his voice lacked his usual tone.

"Leave her alone," Steve repeated, in a tone that left no room for doubt. The expression on his face, for a moment, turned hostile, something you never thought you'd see.

Nancy, approached Jonathan, while Carol and Tommy hesitated.

It was as if something had changed...

You still felt Steve's eyes on your skin, and a small hint of a shy smile appeared on his face, then, with a quick glance, he turned and walked away, joining his steps with those of Nancy and the others.

You were left alone, your heart still in your throat, watching their departure. His unexpected defense, his sudden protection, left you confused and incredibly disoriented, worse than the night before, and as you walked away, you wondered what had prompted Steve to intervene. Had he realized he had gone too far? Or was there something deeper going on? The answers, for now, remained unknown, but in that moment, the weight on your conscience eased a little.

Classes passed quickly that day, not that you paid much attention to them.

Why everything now you wondered?...

At the sound of the bell you quickly gathered your things, you had to catch up with the kids outside school because they had said they urgently needed to talk to you...you took the bike parked outside without even bothering to put the books in your backpack that were now clutched in your hand: the biting cold froze your bare hands resting on the handlebars, you didn't pedal much because the school was close and you managed to get there in no time seeing them waiting for you

"Y/n" shrill voices reached you.

"Hey guys" you greeted them with a lopsided grin as you approached them "so what do we have to do today?...are you waiting for Mike?" you exclaimed noticing the absence of one of the usual delke heads

"He stayed home with El," Lucas said.

"And that's where we have to go... "said Dustin.

"Oh...okay" came out of you....

You thought this day would never end....

With backpacks still heavy on our shoulders, we hopped on our bikes headed for the Wheeler house. Upon arriving we were greeted by the warm light of the living room and the established familiarity of the place empty of people; it seemed as if time had stood still here, and the eerie feeling could not be ignored.

"Is Eleven still in her hiding place?" You asked, receiving an assenting yes, and indeed you reached Mike's basement door; something dark hovered in the air: Lucas preceded the group "Eleven!" he called. "Are you here?"

From inside, no sound was heard but on the sheets spread on the floor Eleven's silhouette was unmistakable: sitting, her shoulders hunched, her eyes closed, her face pale, and next to her Mike

"Guys you can't understand ... she knows ... she" he blurted incomprehensibly reaching for you

"Hey, hey, calm down," you said as you approached little Wheeler.

"What does she know ?" Spat Lucas not quite convinced yet by the weirdo.

"He knows about Will," blurted Mike.

"What?" Shouted you Lucas and Dustin.

"He's in danger..."

"Will?" asked Lucas, a growing frustration in his tone. "We can't leave him there alone!"

But suddenly, the girl stiffened and in an authoritative voice said, "No!" Her gaze grew intense, almost as if she were trying to wrestle with something invisible. "It's not safe...I can't..."

Lucas approached her. "So this is all a game? Mrs. Wheeler needs to know what's going on! We can't stay here and waste time!"

his footsteps were suddenly interrupted: the room's previously strong, low lights began to flicker slowly more and more as if they were going to burst, leaving us enveloped in beams of light and shadow that intermittently lined the room.

The dull sound of a slamming door reached your ears.

"What's going on?" asked Dustin, looking at the door, Eleven rose to her feet, her eyelids lowered, a trickle of blood wrung from her nose, "We can't go," she said, "they see us..." Her voice broke again, and a tremor ran through her body.

She had done it...

Silence reigned in the room.

El had her arm outstretched toward you menacingly....

wait wait so you're telling me that little squirt in front of you has the gift of telekinesis? There and she has powers!!!? That's crazy, just...

"They who?" You asked, frustrated and agitated but realized that, despite your growing fear, you had to keep calm for Eleven, who knew more than she had ever revealed and now the mystery seemed darker than ever.

"I cannot...help you..." Eleven repeated, blinking. "They will destroy you. It's my fault..."

Lucas leapt back. "What? You're not serious. We have to help him!"

With an unthinkable effort, Eleven stepped forward, forehead furrowed, nose bleeding. "I can try to explain to you where he is..."

Lucas and Dustin's eyes lit up. "If you try, we might find a solution!" Dustin,

"We need you! Please!" Pleaded Mike tenderly to the girl.

Before you tried to do anything with that little girl the sound of the front door opening reached your ears and with it the sound of Mrs. Wheeler's shrill voice: hurriedly you pushed Undi into the hiding place of sheets sketched out by Mike the previous evening and just in time before Karen entered the basement

"Oh good you are all here, hello y/n"

"Evening Mrs. Wheeler..." you greeted with a show of hands.

"Are you staying for dinner? I bought a lot..."

"YES" you shouted in unison, earning a smile and a surprised look from Mike's mom: now more than ever you couldn't leave the little girl alone not after what she had told you about Will. "Well then it won't take any time at all start getting ready," she shouted to you as she walked away from the room.

Closing the door El came out of the fort and walked over to the table: with both hands she took the large D&D board that the boys used to play on still open and left where it was since the night Will disappeared and flipped it over. We approached her as if to surround her by positioning ourselves on either side of the table staring at the scenario that had presented itself before us, dripping with curiosity.

"Will is stuck," said Eleven, her voice serious.

"What are you talking about?" asked Mike, confused.

Eleven pointed to the board "It's here," laying on it a figurine representing the game creature

"Demogorgon?" whispered Dustin, smiling nervously.

"It's not just a game," retorted Eleven, his gaze intense. "Is... it's real. Will is in danger."

The group remained silent, their faces lit only by the glow of a dirty streetlight. The atmosphere grew heavy, as if the basement had become a place steeped in mystery and frustration.

"All right," you said, breaking the tension. "What do we need to do to help Will?"

"We need a plan," Mike replied, his mind already racing between different strategies to defeat the Demogorgon. "If he's stuck, we need to find a way to free him."

Each of them knew that Will was more than just a character in a game lost in a dark world; he was in a place he knew so well but was simultaneously foreign to us.

Why turn the board over?

Why, because....

Of course...

A world foreign to us...we might as well try things could only get weirder now

You approached the girl by putting yourself at the same height as her...you gently touched her shoulder to reassure her and at that moment you looked into each other's eyes

"Will is ...in a different place from us? They didn't kidnap him here did they?" The girl looked doubtful but at one point her expression softened as she moved her head in assent

Ah! Did you know.

In the room electricity reigned supreme as well as silence:metabolizing that your best friend might be in an alternate dimension to yours is certainly not something that can be digested very easily, you watched each other n the eyes as if to find a sitting soliton that wouldn't jump out of the hat though

"Food is served!" interrupted, again, Mrs. Wheeler, setting a pot of stringy macaroni and cheese on the table. The kitchen exuded a delicious smell, but that scent was not enough to divert the boys' attention from other problems: you hid Undi in the fort again to set out for the kitchen where, seated at the dining table, the boys exchanged glances, silently agreeing to keep their previous conversation hidden by shifting their gaze first to Mike then to the hushed whispers of Lucas and Dustin and finally to you.

The meal proceeded quietly and for you also quickly, none of those present had much desire to talk, you especially, but the quiet was broken when Nancy began to speak "so mom later I was thinking about going out with Barb..."

"No Nance it's dangerous you know what just happened..."

"But mom we, we...have to attend a vigil for Will."

Vigil for Will? That wasn't on your agenda

"For Will? Why didn't you tell me anything and why aren't you attending?" Karen asked, turning to look us in the eye.

"Well because we organized it, for the older ones," said Wheeler saving the conversation

"Bah if that's why go ahead, but be back by 10:00 p.m." "Y/n would you like to accompany her? It's safer with the car" You choked lightly on the soda that had poured into your glass at their mother's words: eyes were on you

The boys wanted you to come back down

Karen wanted an answe

Nancy was pleading with her eyes for you to say yes or else that lie of hers would immediately blow up

With a pleading look you looked at the 3 boys as if to apologize, but reluctantly you had to accept "the invitation," "Huh yes " you replied with your mouth full as you watched the young woman rearrange herself cheerfully and smugly.

Your heart beat frantically as your thoughts crowded in your head: you had taken Barb with Nancy's car ,which you were driving. Your mind was now fixed only on what Undi had told you and on what was going on in the basement without 'the knowledge of the people upstairs: you feared that those 4 might get into trouble again perhaps alone or end up like Will.

The words of the conversation between the two friends sounded to you like something far away, you kept driving but where were you supposed to get to...right, what was the destination?

"Ehhm then where do we have to go?..." you asked as you observed them from the rearview mirror: Barb's silhouette was recognizable by her red hair and eyes turned skyward, evidently opposed to Nancy's ideas who with fluttering eyes watched me her reflection at the makeup mirror.

"Oh right," Nancy exclaimed, remembering your presence.

"At Steve's house."

What!? You would have liked to brake the car immediately and leave the driver's seat for one of them to drive back, better with the children than with him, but you couldn't it would have all seemed too strange: you were gripping the steering wheel so hard from tension that your knuckles turned white and you only noticed when your hand began to hurt.

You hadn't seen or entered that house in...how long? It seemed like centuries...

The drive down the road you reluctantly knew by heart was short-lived, you got out of the vehicle and approached the shiny black door of the Harrington house....

It's funny last time it was a lighter color...this drew a slight smile from you that remained hidden from the other two girls who had swooped in front of you leaving you alone behind them with your hands in your pockets from the cold. Your idea, surely more tempting, was to run away; turn back start the engine and run away home but it would have aroused even more suspicion than the expression on Steve's face once he opened the door.

A short time later you were greeted by the boy you had seen a few hours earlier at school: beaming smile, perfect hair, impeccable appearance, and cigarette on his ear; all fell away when his eyes landed on you.

Your presence there was as unwelcome as it was unexpected.

"I had to take her with me otherwise my mother wouldn't let me out," Nancy justified, earning only a silent smile from the boy as a sign of accepted apology and a lopsided, annoyed look from you

Actually I brought you here...otherwise you couldn't come, you thought.

When you walked in, you felt overwhelmed by a reality that seemed so distant from the one you remembered.You would not have minded moving around that house again but in the living room you saw the silhouettes of Tommy and Carol sitting on the couch, luckily they had not noticed you as you stopped at the threshold of the front door uncertainly. Steve's 'attitude changed the moment the girls reached the pool and his eyes met yours, you warned him.

"S/n," exclaimed the host almost in a whisper so as not to be overheard by the others, with a surprise that betrayed a hint of embarrassment, how long has it been since you heard your name spoken by him

"Hello, Steve," you replied, maintaining a neutral tone as his heart clenched in a vice.

"I wasn't expecting you here," he said with surprise and discomfort.

"Well, it's not like I had much choice," you whispered, trying to maintain an air of indifference.

You paused on opposite sides of the doorframe, each word like a small pebble thrown into a deep well: it was strange and at the same time funny to have him so close, as kids he was just a little shorter than you and now he was hoping for you distinctly "we haven't spoken exactly since..." he resumed

"since you decided I was less important than your popularity?" you replied

"Yes, it's been too long," he replied, his heart pounding, "I just thought it was for the best."

"What do you want me to say, Steve? You left me out while you continued to play king as a child."

An aching silence settled in the space between you, you cast a glance over his shoulder, toward the party: Nancy and Barb were laughing, their faces lit up with joy as it had once happened to you in those very walls; to stay there with Steve would mean another confrontation, another wound between them. It would be pointless and embarrassing.

"Maybe I'd better go," you said, your voice calm but veiled with sadness. Steve remained silent as you opened the front door to walk away into the darkness. Although the noise of the party was audible, a deep silence asserted itself inside him, an unbridgeable emptiness. He had made the mistake of giving it away briefly and now, perhaps, it was too late to make up for it.

Turning away from the house and walking down the familiar street for a moment you had the senation you could still hear, like echoes past, your children's laughter echoing in the garden....

We used to run on the porch, afternoons spent building pillow shelters and imaginary castles.

"You can't like that, Steve. You're the king and I'm your queen," said the little girl who had climbed a low wall as Steve threw dried leaves at her.

"No, T/n, I am your knight! I will save the kingdom and become king!" declared Steve, puffing out his chest with a mischievous grin plastered on his face. Time ceased to exist as they wielded imaginary swords, fighting dragons and monsters that lurked in the shadows of the courtyard.

"You're the worst knight ever, Steve!" you giggled, chasing after him as he clutched in his hands his improvised sword fashioned from a stick. "But what would happen if you were captured by the scary dragon?" You asked sincerely.

He laughed, "I will save you! Always!" The promise echoed in your head and now in your soul with present awareness

as in all fairy tales, the magic is bound to fade: there are boys who move on and others who continue to be children, like your knight and there are princesses, like little you, who are not saved and in order to protect themselves wear the hard armor themselves...

[pneuma-themes]

Theme #06: Afflatus by @pneuma-themes​

I promise to plant kisses like seeds on your body, so in time you can grow to love yourself as I love you.

Live Preview (Temporary) / Static Preview: [Index with header] [Index without header] [Permalink] / Get the code: [pastebin] [github]

This is a revamp of an older design I had over at @kuzuriha​, namely this design. This theme is suitable for all kinds of blog, but can also be customized to be writing-heavy friendly.

Features:

Customizable post width and font size. The live preview uses 650px posts and 13px font size. Enter the size of the post you want on the post size field and the font size on the font size field.

Four custom links.

A full width header which can be disabled or enabled. The image of your header should be the full width of your screen x 400px (w x h). For example, if your screen width is 1900 then your header image should be 1900 x 400px.

A built-in update box which comes in with 4 default rows, though provided you know how to add more rows, it can have unlimited rows. This box can also be used as whatever you want instead. Customization guide is provided below the read more.

Customizable photoset gutter. Enter the size for your photoset gutter on the photoset gutter field.

Built-in lightbox for photoset posts.

Mostly NPF friendly.

An extra quote which will be displayed on the top bar. If you do not wish to enter any quote, you can leave it empty instead.

Notes:

Usual disclaimer and discretion on NPF posts apply.

Credits:

Header: @xathrid​

Icon fonts: boxicons

NPF v3.0 fix, minify spotify player: @glenthemes​

Minified soundcloud player: @shythemes​

Font: Nunito @ Google Fonts

Responsive video script: @nouvae

customAudio.js: @annasthms​

photoset.css with lightbox: @annasthms and @eggdesign​

Please like and reblog if you like this and or are using it!

Customization for the update box is divided into two parts, customizing the icons on the rows and the actual content of the row:

The update row # icon receives the input of your preferred icon names. To find your desired icon, go to https://boxicons.com/ and find whatever icon you want. Once you find them, simply copy the name (circled red on the image below) and add them to the icon field.

The update row # content receives the input of your update content. It can be anything you want.

[dissociation-station123]

LAD FANFIC: SYLUS X READER

CHAPTER ONE: FOREBODING & FORLORN STRANGER

Angst warning: Reader is neurodivergent and has been through a lot.

Sorry if it’s a bit boring! Promise to make future chapters more interesting!

~

After a long exhausting day, at your typical soul crushing office job there is one place you often find yourself. It was a place of convenience and escape. A hole in the wall bar just down the street from your apartment.

You discovered it on your journey to the corner store for a cheap quick meal after working overtime. There were no flashy neon lights, just a generic white sign with black font that said bar above a glass door. Inconspicuous and plain, you felt a strange kinship. So one day you decided to walk in. Months later you became a regular, where no one bothered you but acknowledged you.

That is where you found yourself tonight on a Wednesday, around eight. In the same barstool you always sat. You glance down at the dark wooden counter, worn and stained by time. Used and abused by drunken guests, if you could relate to an inanimate object this is the one you might choose.

You lift up the glass and take a sip of your usual, a bourbon with a drop of coke. This has become a routine, it is both comforting and suffocating. Yet after each sip the stress of the day melts away with the smooth burn of the liquor.

You turn around and survey the scene. The space is mostly empty. The same regulars sit in their self designated spots. A group of college kids chat excitedly in a corner booth. The older patrons are quiet as they drink, occasionally looking up at the one television. The younger group is boisterous and loud. You hear one student complain about the sticky table and smell. While the other rebuttals that the drinks are cheap and strong.

You felt as if you were somewhere in the middle of this demographic, not a bright-eyed youth but also not old enough to be receiving AARP brochures in the mail any time soon. You exhale feeling a big weight on your chest. You gulp down the rest of your drink and signal the bartender for another. She smiles and nods to let you know she will prepare it. You are not drunk enough to wave away the thoughts about life that begin invading your mind.

The years are going by way too fast. Along with it you lose friends and family for varying reasons. At a young age you refused to follow a path common for people of your age, sticking to your principals loyally. Your ideals deter you from having children. No white picket fence, mini van, or golden retriever. So now you sit on the aged barstool alone, no true responsibilities waiting for you at home.

There was one concept you fell victim to, marriage. It was a toxic steel crate of misery. A life of walking on eggshells and mentally checking out. You do wonder if it was mostly your fault because you felt so numb. The idea of love and happiness twisted and gnarled. You felt so much relief when it ended. When you escaped.

As your brain takes you on a nightmare of reminiscing, you feel a strange stillness around you. Slowly you blink and come back to the present. The eerie silence makes goosebumps form on your skin. You look around to find an exit or the reason; that is when your gaze falls upon a tall stranger. His reddish eyes are full of confidence and mischief. You sensed under the surface something more sinister.

The man walks slowly to the bar to sit a few stools down from you. “The strongest drink you have.” His voice is deep and authoritative, but also melancholy. The bartender's eyes widen in curiosity and fear, as she smiles and acknowledges his request. She is just now finishing your drink, so she sauntered over to you.

”Holy fuck he is hot.” She whispers as she sets down your glass, you laugh and shrug. You live in your head most days so you rarely notice others. Yet you could not deny how attractive he was. He wore what you assumed to be a designer sweater that clung to his well defined body. A thin silver chain hangs from his neck. He wore those dress pants very nicely. It is hard not to stare.

You take a sip of your glass and sneak a peek at his face. He stares at his hands lost in his own thoughts. He has sharp chiseled features and his white hair is both strange and striking. He is a walking statue, truly breathtaking.

Since you grew up in a volatile home, you acquired a unique skill. You were able to pick up on the mood of those around you based on certain factors; posture, expression, tiny sighs, or gestures.

As you study this stranger you notice he is slouching his large frame, eyebrows scrunched together and there is a pout on his lips. Also the fact he walked into a bar like this during a weeknight. Something must have happened to him.

“Hey! His drinks are on me.” You call out to the bartender. She grins at you sheepishly. A face that hints that you might have an ulterior motive. Your eyes widen as you shake your head. You regret your statement but it was too late to withdraw.

“If you are propositioning me I am not interested.” The man says matter of factly, not even looking in your direction. You laugh a bit embarrassed. He then turns to you with a raised brow.

“Me? I mean look at me.” You point to your oversized sweats and t-shirt. He merely lifts a brow, a slight frown on his face. “No, that wasn’t my intention! I swear!” You mumble throwing up your hands and he smirks, your heart leaps to life. You take a breath and collect yourself. “You just seem upset. It’s a token of kindness from one damaged soul to another.” You grab your drink taking a large awkward gulp.

“How presumptuous of you, sweetie.” The man chuckles but remains stoic. “But I appreciate it.” He lifts his glass in your direction and you do the same. Both of you leaning the glasses back and finish the contents in one chug. He smiles at you, impressed and you melt. You curse yourself and his good looks.

~

After the stack of empty glasses one would assume that you would be deep in conversation with the stranger. You could usually get people to tell you their life story without even asking. Merely your presence alone makes most people comfortable, even sober.

But this beautiful man simply basks in the silence. Not that you minded. Quiet often brought you solace. In a way just sitting and drinking with another being made your night a bit more tolerable.

“Closing up soon.” The bartender announced to you both. You look around and see only a small number of regulars remain. She places one more glass in front of you both and begins cleaning for the night.

“Cheers!” You say and he nods, lifting up the glass. You let out a sigh after finishing the contents and stretch like a pleased cat. You feel his reddish eyes studying you but you ignore him.

Gathering your bag you ask to close your tab. You choke a bit when you see the total. But recover quickly, proclaiming that you must treat yourself occasionally and it wouldn’t break you completely. Just a few additional replacements of instant dinners and you would recover.

You stumble a bit when you stand but a large hand steadies you. You look up giggling and nod in thanks. You give him a thumbs up that you got this and he releases you.

Without words you both express your goodbye. You don’t look back as you exit. You laugh to yourself amused that this encounter was the most excitement you had experienced in a while.

The chilly air makes you shiver and slightly sober up on your walk home. The moonlight guided you peacefully to your front door. You clumsily fumble with your keys but eventually make it inside.

Pitch black and no sound but the steady hum of the AC greets you. You try not to feel saddened by the atmosphere as you turn on the hallway lights. You make it to the kitchen and tiredly search for a cold bottle of water from the fridge, thankful to find one behind the bottle of chilled wine.

You pull a large bottle of Advil from your bag and take out a few. You swallow them with the water. The frigid liquid feels soothing as you consume it greedily.

Tossing the empty plastic into the recycle you shout, “Three pointer from half court!” As it successfully swishes in, you place your hands together, setting them to the side of your face to reenact the famous NBA shooter’s goodnight emote.

You put away your bag and hang up your keys, proud you didn’t just toss them somewhere for your sober self to search for in the morning. You eye the shower in contemplation but your exhausted body pushes you towards your bedroom instead.

Haphazardly you toss your sweats and t-shirt on the ground. You audibly sigh in relief as you remove your bra adding it to the pile. “That’s the stuff.” You tiredly mumble and collapse into bed.

Sleep takes you swiftly as you starfish across the mattress taking up as much space as possible. Your last thought giving praise to alcohol for existing to wash away any form of loneliness that might linger.

~

The blinding rays of sun hit you making you groan. Morning has come too soon and your alarm startles you a few moments later as you struggle to go back to sleep.

The splitting headache makes you whine in protest as you fumble to silence the assaulting tone. “Fuck!!” You scream out in frustration but you know you only have yourself to blame.

You slowly and carefully make your way out of bed. Feeling every ache and pain with each movement. Your knees crack and you curse even further. “Coffee! I need you!” You say dramatically as you wobble your way down the hall and into the kitchen.

You groan as you lift the kettle to fill it up with water and then plug it back in pushing the button down. You open your cabinet and grab the instant. You shuffle around adding ice and the rest of your essentials. You tap your foot until the water is finally ready, pouring it into your mug. You relish in the first sip, moaning at the sweet bitter concoction.

The hit of caffeine gives you the much needed endorphins to continue with your morning routine to get ready for the work day. Though you did move a tiny bit slower than usual.

The image of the strange man comes to your mind as you move on autopilot. You wondered what made him come into that bar. You should have tried to speak. You shrug realizing you would most likely not see him again.

After a shower and getting changed you felt a lot better. Stretching, you sigh contently as your joints pop. “Alright let’s get through the rest of the week!” Grabbing your bag you head out to commute to the office, your favorite playlist ready.

~

“Do you mind working some overtime today?” Your coworker asks with a smile. You plaster on a positive expression. You knew the question was a nicety not truly a request but an order. You agree, trying your best to hide your frustration. “You are the best Y/N! My daughter has a soccer game later.”

“Ooo well tell her good luck for me.” You answer and they agree happily as they begin packing their belongings up for the day. Shouting thank yous to you and to have a good weekend. Thankfully it was Friday so you could not be too upset about it. You had nothing going on so in a way you believed you deserved to stay over others.

You kept things in the office at surface level. Casual conversations to appease those around you. You kept your head down and stayed out of the spotlight. Working served one purpose: to pay bills. So you avoided creating a close bond. The work itself came easy to you but maintaining the social mask was exhausting.

“I really appreciate you staying. You are vital to us.” Your manager says as she walks towards your cubicle. If anyone but her would have said that you would have called bullshit. You were lucky enough to work for a genuine person.

“It’s fine. Not like I have any exciting plans.” You joke laughing to yourself. She looks a bit disheartened by your words. A small frown on her face.

“You're such a sweetheart. Y/N let me set you up with…” you hold up your hand and shake your head. She sighs as you cut her off.

“I appreciate it, I do, but I’m fine.” You say hoping to quickly end whatever plans she was thinking of. She looks at you suspiciously and you laugh. “I promise!”

She glares at you, “You truly promise?” Her voice was laced with concern. Her hands placed on her hips in defiance.

“I promise!!” You respond again and she finally smiles brightly at you. “Thanks for worrying about me though. It’s nice.” You feel a somber emotion and try your best to ignore it. She suddenly pats your shoulder, you could tell she wanted to hug you but she respected and understood your boundaries.

“Alright. Well don’t stay too late. Thanks again.” She watches you closely as you nod. “I bought some of those chips you like! Feel free to take some.” You weren’t sure why you were blessed with such a caring human for a boss but you were thankful.

As she leaves you take a sip of your afternoon coffee and turn towards your monitor. The clack of the keys were soothing as you finished up the last spreadsheet. You decide to stop by the small store for dinner since it would be late.

~

The chime of the bell above the convenience store alerts the regular late night cashier you have walked in. “Hey you!” The man smiles, always welcoming and you mimic his wave.

Even after visiting the same store throughout the years neither one of you bothered to truly introduce yourself. But you both were always kind. It was a mutual respect.

“Let me fry you up some fresh wings and wedges.” He proclaims excitedly and you were thankful.

“If it’s too much trouble…” you begin but he shakes his head to dismiss your pleasantries. “Are you sure?” You say for good measure and he laughs.

“It’s no trouble I promise. For my favorite customer it’s nothing.” He says and you feel a bit better as you give in. You nod and he smiles sweetly. He makes his way over to the small freezer and begins preparing your food. “Another late night I see.”

You shrug, “I don’t mind. Seems I’m not the only one.” The man chuckles as he works. You walk towards the refrigerators and pick up a carbonated beverage to go with the chicken.

The small exchange ends as you tell him to have a goodnight. And he responds with ”a see you soon.” The familiarity of both the clerk and store itself made you feel at ease as you made your way home.

~

It was now Sunday and the regime of dreary office banter and spreadsheets awaited you tomorrow. You stare at the bathroom mirror wiping the fog from the glass. Your reflection startled you, dark circles under your eyes and a sullen expression.

The quiet that surrounded you was tangible; thick and suffocating. You needed to get out even if it was only for a few hours. You quickly threw on clothes and made your way out the door.

Your feet carried you as you walked. Your mind is filled with a dark stream of consciousness. As you look up to see where they took you, a white sign and the same bar. You let out a hum fondness.

You walk in and freeze upon entry. Nestled amongst the handful of exhausted regulars, sitting in the barstool you designated as your own, was the stranger from the other day. Your eyebrows raise as you make your way over. Glancing at the bartender she shrugs as if unsure why he returned as well.

The man looks over at you and nods. You mimic his gesture and take a seat beside him. “I was hoping to run into you again.” You were not sure if you would ever be prepared for his sultry voice.

You point at yourself in a state of confusion and shock. This causes him to smirk slightly. “I don’t like owing anyone.” He signals for a drink and the usual woman smiles in response, already knowing which poison you prefer.

You felt a sense of panic build. If you accept this gesture you would be a bad human. “Ooo no! No need. It was not a big deal.” You stumble over your words. You fidget awkwardly as your drink is set down beside you. “It’s fine. I’ve got this. Thank you though.” You lift up your card to hand over to start a tab. A much larger hand beats you to it, with a shiny black card that leered back at you condescendingly. ~You are poor~

“I do not like when those around me don’t obey my command. You paid me a debt and so I am returning the favor.” His tone was serious. You almost scoff but those red eyes glared into your very soul. You simply pull back and pick up the glass while taking a sip. “Good.”

A bit of awkward tension hangs around the both of you. Your mixed up brain is irritated by his sternness yet elated at his praise. You also did not appreciate the display of wealth. You were unsure how to respond. “My name is Sylus.” He says raising his glass.

You hesitate still trying to figure him out. But after a few seconds you do the same. “Y/N.” You mutter observing his mannerisms. He is still slouched a bit but maintains his stoic persona. He was very difficult to read.

“Cheers.” He calls out with a smile that does not reach his eyes. You nod and you both throw back the whiskey. You could tell he was trying to determine what type of person you truly were. Neither one of you willing to start a conversation made this a bit harder.

You were not expecting to ever see him again. You were still reeling from his presence. In your bar, your comfort, a mysterious stranger returns. You weren’t sure if what you felt now was foreboding or excitement.

Chapter Two

[sailorfutaba]

Essay on Char + Garma's friendship

Garma and Char get shipped. A lot. Pretty much for a couple where one party dies halfway through the series. While I also ship it, I think there’s a pretty good canonical basis for there to be some genuine feelings of friendship from Char’s side, given how Sayla shows us that he's capable of human warmth.

Essay below the break.

Part 1: Sayla's relationship with Char.

Let’s start by taking a look at Sayla, the person that Char is shown as caring for the most over the course of the series.

Compared to Char, Sayla is well-adjusted. When they meet during the war in 0079, Char seems to have an image of her as ‘gentle’, which has likely not changed since she was a little girl. Origin does indeed show Sayla working as a nurse and enjoying her cat. A ‘gentle’ child who shows empathy for other living beings is most often one who has been cared for and carefully nurtured. In contrast, Char is ruthless, to the point of sacrificing a neighbour’s son to get where he wants to be, ie taking revenge on the Zabis. 

Both of them have lost their parents early on. Being uprooted from a safe state and having one’s safety removed so permanently at an early age is extremely traumatising, especially if the new caretakers are strangers. They don’t know what afterschool activities the children enjoy, they don’t know how the child likes being comforted. It basically robs the child of it’s identity. 

Further, when siblings lose their parents, it’s common for the older sibling to undergo ‘parentification’, taking over the parents’ role of looking after the younger one(s). This is very stressful for the older siblings, and can contribute to a state of arrested development. Essentially, it’s a sacrifice. Older sibling’s wellbeing is sacrificed, in order to keep the younger one safe and secure.

Since Char is the older brother, it’s plausible to believe that he’s been taking care of Sayla, acting as a stable rock while the two were moved around. Even if she’s shown as having a good relationship with Teabolo, we don’t know what she was like when they were first introduced. 

Once Char sees a way out, he leaves Sayla in a place of safety. He protected his sister for as long as he needed to, and now he can finally rest from this responsibility. It’s not that he doesn’t love his sister - He does. He’s just likely tired out from looking after her, and wants to focus on his own goal for now, now that he knows that she’ll be safe for the foreseeable future.

Since most of his childhood has been spent protecting Sayla, it’s natural to assume that this is the one sort of human bond that he’s most accustomed to having. He knows how to look after, and perhaps comfort someone whom he perceives as weaker than himself.

Fig 2. 'Friendship' with Garma

Enter Garma Zabi. Regardless of whether we take origin’s characterization into account or no, he’s still kind, though sheltered, both qualities that could have endeared him to Char, who just left his one font of human warmth behind. It's not hard to see him looking after Garma in the ways he knows how, after having cared for Sayla.

Hanging out with Garma is advantageous to his cause, he can climb the ranks using Zabi influence. He can also more easily start on his plan of killing the Zabis. If he started by killing their beloved, youngest son, huge grief would likely befall the family. There’s also the option of using this proximity to murder another family member, if Char plays his cards right.

But he doesn’t.

Char now has someone to protect, and he seems to like it that way, judging by the fact that he hasn’t killed Garma or any of the Zabis during his years in the academy. He might have tried several times, ultimately coming up with the excuses, like, ‘it’s not time yet’ ‘I have nothing to win from this yet’ or ‘I still need him alive’, but that’s only speculation on my side. It’s also possible that he decided that a war would be the perfect opportunity, or that he could still use the Zabis in some shape or form.

But even with that said, the fact still stands that Garma’s friendship is a great opportunity, and he never ‘cashed in’ on that. Ultimately, killing one of the Zabis would have caused Garma grief, and potentially set him on the same road as Char. And as much as Char hates the Zabis, he might not have wanted that for Garma.

Once Char is farther away from the academy and no longer seeing Garma regularly, focusing on revenge gets easier. Char now has more chances to identify his weaknesses, one of which is Garma. Just like Sayla was, before he ditched her.

So Garma has to go, because Char is trying to get rid of everything standing in the way of revenge. Including the things that make him feel like a human being. This is supported by the following lines from Zeta Gundam episode 5:

“He felt that expressing his own individual emotions… Was the most important thing to overcome in the situation.” Part 3: The Headshot

Despite having been discounted as a weakness and removed, Garma is still on his mind, 25+ episodes later. After stating outright that he was not interested in revenge on the Zabis, Char kills Kycillia with a headshot and the words ‘One final present to you, Garma. I know you always got along with your sister’, thus showing that his mind is still with Garma, first and foremost. This wouldn't have happened, unless Garma really was important to him in some way.

In the original draft of Gundam, Char was meant to commit suicide after this. If we assume that this was at the front of his mind at this point, that means that this was meant to be his final words. Perhaps he was planning to see Garma gain, who knows.

Conclusion:

Char’s one main bond in life was acting as protector to his sister. There is ample evidence to assume that this carried over to his bond with Garma, influencing him to halt his plans of revenge. This would eventually lead him to kill Garma, in part to attempt to remove everything standing in the way of his grand revenge on the Zabis.

[taylortruther]

I'm a 'TTPD is Red coded' truther, and seeing the "I'm the best thing at this party is based off a real party" discourse is altering my brain chemistry because Red also heavily focused around the detoriation of a relationship through the cycle of parties i.e. The party where he dropped her hand and ignored her infron of his friends (as seen in ATW mv) and then obviously THE bday party. Maybe there was also a real party this time where Joe made her feel insignificant. I mean yb and Jake do strike me as the same pretentious person in different fonts. So yk. Social validation obv means a lot to Taylor and if he was a jerk to her in public or "hid" her from everyone (again very ATW adjacent) then we might be hearing a lot about that.

i love that you pointed out the recurring party metaphor! i agree that there is a lot to be said about taylor wanting validation (who doesn't?) and the parties are certainly real (because we know taylor loves a party, but her life is full of them - from high school to the high school-esque scene of the industry)... the rejection and excitement is certainly real, as well. PLUS, as she's gotten older, taylor herself has recognized her own power to be the party, meaning, "the liquor in our cocktails," the figurative mirrorball, the person scheming to get everyone to have a good time.

tbh whether there was a specific party or just a metaphor is unimportant, imo, because it was always clear to me that taylor felt triggered more than once in this regard. we see this fear throughout her discography, preceding jake and joe. and she previously described it as more her problem to fix: "i should've known," or "you will never learn your lesson"... in lover and tgw, she describes how she would explode, "put you in jail for something you didn't do," and was begging for help through those difficult emotions. she believed "EVERYONE WILL BETRAY YOU" (anti-hero), and acted accordingly: running off to spare herself from hurt, or seeing things that weren't there and picking fights, sometimes to self-sabotage.

what was unclear is whether she was given a real reason to be suspicious. i think on april 19 we will find out, and we will also see taylor being even more honest or clear about what wasn't her fault/her responsibility.

[nonplatonicsubtext]

Estate of the Bay Part 1: Johnny Law

(If you haven't read about @shakertwelve's Estate AU, go check out their victor lavere tag, or this won't make much sense)

Thought we'd put together a quick breakdown of the state of Brockton as of story start, beginning with the heroes. Names in italics are changed from canon

Protectorate Heroes:

Armsmaster (Colin Wallis)

Miss Militia (Hana)

Velocity (Robin Swoyer)

Dauntless (Shawn)

Battery (“Jamie”)

Assault (Ethan)

Redeye (Crystal Pelham)

Wards:

Clockblocker (Dennis)

Aegis (Isabela)

Scribble (Rune)

Vista (Missy Biron)

Kid Win (Chris)

Browbeat (Browbeat)

The Brockton Bay Protectorate core members are mostly unchanged, due to the point of divergence only being about ten years prior. The main differences are the absence of Triumph, who died in a horrible nepotism accident due to a lack of Panacea around for healing, and the addition of Redeye, who graduated from the Wards closer to a year before story start and rebranded from her Laserdream identity, severing the last tie between her and the Brigade, at least in the eyes of the public.

The Wards are a different story. Gallant was put permanently out of action in a horrible fucking rich boy accident, which was what precipitated Crystal being transferred in. Beyond that, Aegis is transgender but that doesn’t really come up except in the Wards interlude pre-Leviathan.

The biggest change to the Wards is the absence of Shadow Stalker - in her place is Scribble, aka Tammi. This is very much the same Rune as in canon, to be clear - no whitewashing here. She just got snapped up by the PRT while doing Plausible Deniability “Vigilantism” kind of like what Purity does and got press-ganged into the Wards. She’s not mask-off all the way about the white supremacy… at least not yet.

More importantly, she takes over Sophia’s Other role in the plot too - the Trio now consists of Emma Barnes, Madison Clements, and Tammi Surname. Always Sunny font Emma Barnes Goes Alt-Right.

Outlaw Inlaws

The Arrows

Spitfire (Emily)

Morrigan (Sophia Hess)

Apsis (Whirligig)

Replacing New Wave as the independent heroes (or ‘heroes’ depending on who you ask) are the Arrows, a recently formed vigilante antifascist group. Spitfire, the leader, has a bit more steel up her spine than in canon (though she still struggles), Sophia’s still an angry loose cannon but just not. you know. in a racist way. She's got a lot of very good reasons to be angry. Whirligig in canon is just a power and a faction so she’s basically an OC - she’s slightly older than the other two, an even mix of the level head and the slacker. Doesn’t seem to quite fit with the vibes of the group.

For the most part, they’re concerned with not bringing the wrath of the Protectorate down on themselves - like in real life, killing Nazis tends to get more of a response than Nazis killing people does. A lot of what they do is lurk nearby during civilian antifascist action, ready to head off the Nazi capes if they try and intercept for their own side. A few months before story start, they killed Alabaster - more specifically, Sophia did, and while it hasnt been conclusively linked to them at story start, they’re keeping their heads down, to Sophia’s chagrin. 

They're still semi-associated with Palanquin, despite Spitfire not being a part of that group - they did approach her, and now they communicate sometimes, as the club with Case 53s is a pretty frequent target for neonazis and other shitheads.

Charlotte knows them by chance encounter, after Sophia saved her from a few skinheads.

Rogue One

Parian is still Parian. She’s aware of the Arrows, but disapproves of their use of violence, cause she’s a bit of a lib. 

[scintillating-scales]

Drafting an intro post...

_____.About me._____

> he/it pronouns.

> 19yo.

> forest dragon. Technically otherkin, but prefer the term nonhuman.

> queer and neurodivergent.

> sideblog. I like and follow from my main, @dragonwysper

> asks and DMs always open.

See under cut for tag list and BYF/DNI.

#scintillations. || Serious posts about my draconity.

_______.Tags._______

Typing this in the regular font because it's easier to read.

#mythos. || Information posts (like this one).

#hoard. || My content (i.e. art, photos, moodboards, etc). Things I've made. Do not use without permission or credit.

#mirth. || Memes and lighthearted posts.

#summons. || My posts looking for community engagement.

#ashes. || Vents.

#dragonfire. || Misc. personal posts.

#talons. || Others' content (non-meme creative media posts).

#tails. || Others' posts (non-meme text posts).

#whispers. || Tag rambles.

_____.BYF & DNI._____

I know these don't really work as deterrents for most users. I treat them more like explanations for why you might be blocked, and demonstrations of stances. Take that as you will. Also typing this in the regular font because it's easier to read.

BYF...

> this is a sideblog dedicated to my nonhumanity. For other content, follow my main or another one of my sideblogs.

> do not use my art or photos without permission. If you ask, I'm more than likely to allow it, with proper credit.

> do not DM me just to chat if you are under 16. If you do anyway, I will either ignore you, give very minimal responses, or tell you to come back when you're older.

> I am neurodivergent with low empathy and do not always have the spoons to properly mask in my responses (if I give responses at all). This is not a sign of malice or dislike. I try to use tone tags when I'm worried I'm coming off as blunt or unclear, and I am never against messages asking for clarification.

> I do not mind NSFT accounts or paraphiles interacting with me, as long as they aren't pedophiles/MAPs or zoophiles. I will not ERP or discuss NSFT topics on this account, though. For that, if you're an adult (with age in bio), you can DM to ask for my NSFT sideblog or alt.

> please for the love of god do not come to me about sexual topics if you're a minor (under 18). It happens way too often, and it sends me into panic attacks. Please go to someone your age, or your parents / a therapist / a counselor for that.

DNI...

or, why i have you blocked.

> bigots (e.g. racists, sexists, queerphobes of any flavor, abelists, anti-nonhuman, etc).

> those who believe in "narcissistic abuse" or who are otherwise abelist towards people with cluster B PDs.

> pedophiles and zoophiles.

> non-para radqueer identities.

> under 14 (nothing against you. Just uncomfortable talking to minors. I generally ignore unless you interact a lot with my posts or DM me).

I will block anyone who makes me uncomfortable, regardless of if they're on my DNI or not.

This post will be updated as needed.

[atlasdoe]

here to ask about your evan and juliette post, who do you see as their sisters? since you’ve mentioned that you don’t like pandora as a rosier so i’m just curious

HELLO!!!

thank you so much for asking, I'm going to start with Evan as you mentioned that i dislike pandora as a rosier (dislike is too kind a word tbh)

I know that a lot of people hc Felix Rosier to be Evans brother but I hc him to be his cousin

In my headcanons Evan has six older sisters, Eve, Sabrina, Aimee, Grace and Aria.

Their father was desperate for a boy so he forced his wife to keep popping out kids until he got one. He did not care at all for any of his daughters and heavily neglected them the moment he found out they were girls. He didn't even know their names. Melanie (his wife) named all of the girls herself because he walked out of their births. She also raised the girls and had a great relationship with them.

The Rosier sisters got along really well and when Evan was born they tried to also befriend him but he wasn't having it. As a baby they weren't allowed to see him as he would always be with their father and the girls were scared of their father and once Evan got to an age when he could make his own decisions he turned his sisters down. He thought that he was superior to them simply because he was a boy and they were girls

Evans father taught him that it was all of their responsibilities to save the Rosier name and therefore by doing so save the Sacred 28 (as too many families were mingling with muggles and such) and that his sisters failed the moment they were born simply because they were born girls.

I wrote a little more about the Rosier siblings and particularly their relationship with their mother here and here

As for Juliette it's a similar story but in a different font

Like the Rosiers, the Wilkes were hoping for a boy but instead only got girls. In my hcs Juliette is the middle child and has two older sisters, Jasmine and Isabella, and two younger sisters, Rebecca and Victoria.

Because the Wilkes never got a boy, they relied on their daughters marrying rich and pure (especially because they aren't part of the Sacred 28) so the sisters grew up in constant competition with each other

The biggest spat they ever had was over who would marry Regulus Black. Juliette was originally the one promised to Sirius (she's also the girl who was eyeing him hopefully during their OWL and had always claimed to be in love with him) but when Sirius ran away and was disowned the promise fell through and instead Walburga and Orion promised their youngest son to the Wilkes girls instead.

They didn't apricots which sister though, so there became many arguments on who Regulus should marry. Juliette thought it should be her because she was the one originally supposed to marry a Black while Rebecca reckoned it should've been her since she was Regulus' age. Jasmine also got into the fight more often then not, claiming that she was the eldest and should get first pick.

(in fact, one of the only reasons why Juliette agreed to allow Evan to hang out with her and her friends in seventh year was because she didn't want him talking shit about her to Regulus)

(in the end none of them married Regulus cause he drowned)

I do want to go into more detail about them one day especially the reminding sisters after Juliette dies but today is not that day (i'm at work on my break and on a time crunch)

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE ASK!!!!!!

[talenlee]

June 2024 Wrapup!

That’s it, Pride’s over. We’re done with any need to be queer because we obviously defeated the forces of not queer.

Hey how do all those dudes who are convinced they’re straight think their sexuality handles being attracted to nonbinary people? Like, nonbinary people can look like anything, presentation is a performance and everything, but if you believe in inherent qualities of genders, seeing a nonbinary person who’s hot has to be a problem right?

(oh who are we kidding, they pretend nonbinary people don’t exist. But if you do accept nonbinary people exist, you might be less straight than you think.)

Alright, let’s look at what articles came up in the Game Pile this month!

Gay Sauna: The Board Game, where we talked about the acceptable boundaries of genre mechanisms.

Arcade Spirits, where I made a video retelling my experiences of dealing with a game that I shouldn’t call a visual novel, because someone out there will get annoyed at an imperfect cladistic categorisation of game genres

Signalis, a game that oozes style but also told me to stop playing it, so I did

3 Indie TTRPGs, with Feathers, For the Dungeon and We Saved The World Once in a video

If you think the video on Feathers, For The Dungeon and We Saved The World Once was a bit ropy, yep! It got made very quick and close to the deadline because it was very difficult to make. Cooking these games down to entirely positive feedback without talking more about things I find personally interesting was hard enough, which is why the first seven minutes of the video are about problems with how we talk about indie TTRPGs.

Also, a thing I was really delighted by was getting to play Loom with Fox for the first time (part 1, part 2)!

Then there was this month’s Story Pile, about which I was way more enthusiastic!

Nimona, which is a great movie for kids,

Mobile Suit Gundam: The Witch From Mercury, which is a great anime, for slightly older kids!

Magical Revolution of the Reincarnated Princess And The Genius Young Lady, which is a mid anime, for slightly older kids still!

Bound, which is, uh, it’s not for kids

What else happened this month that I’m proud of?

Hm.

Hmmm.

This is a surprising one to say because normally I can think of articles that I want you to read in a sort of ‘well why haven’t you looked at this.’ But I’m in a bad mood right now and it’s colouring things about how I look at my own writing. My article on LIGMA is tainted by knowing how little of the greater context of the area I can communicate. My article about What Disgusts Jod got a response from a Locked Tomb fan that seemed to imply that actually, Jod wasn’t bi or pansexual, because a guy can have a threesome with a man and a woman and people will still try and pretend bisexuality doesn’t exist. My article about Tieflings was probably the thing I’m the most proud of this month, in the idea of the kind of writing I like doing, and I think my article on Faces For Skins is important? At least I avoided another breakdown article about how badly I feel Pride culture connects to or relates to me, though maybe that just shows up in the work in general.

There’s this month’s shirt design:

How hard is the Barbie aesthetic to replicate? With lookalike fonts it’s shockingly easy. I note that this one specifically is a drop shadow and not a 3d semblance, as you can see on the bottoms of the ls. Hey, do you want this on a sticker? Go for it!

In terms of real world events, June is jam packed. It’s the end of the Autumn Semester for me, as a tutor for one. This semester, I took on a lot of marking work, which I like to do, but which also meant that I looked at 118 asignments this month, and 60 of them had a 5 minute audio visual component. That’s five hours of student material to just watch. It ain’t nothing, and it adds up over time.

It’s also a time with four major family birthdays in them, which means I have to find ways and times to attend to physical events. This is not a problem, because I love my family but it sure makes me mindful of just how long it takes me to recover from that to do, y’know, things with myself like write for the blog. Marking periods take time out of the blog work.

The subject matter of the month is also less of a freebie than you might think because I feel like some things are too repetitive – I don’t imagine I’m going to find a third Transformers character to write about next year, for example. There’s also the way that February and June kinda blur together – I’m very fond of talking about queer media in February since that’s one of the most fun kinds of smoochy media I like.

I aim to keep the queued posts for this blog up to 50, so every day if I add a post, it goes to 51 and dips back down to 50. I also try to make sure I’m four weeks ahead on the video channels. This month, as I write this, I am one week ahead on the video, and the queue is down to 45. I am frustrated! But I am doing things to overcome that, and in the coming weeks, I don’t have to grapple with a theme!

I haven’t been getting to bed at good times. This month has featured multiple days where I get to bed at 4 in the morning, one even at 5. This is bad and I hate it. I hate it especially because it takes a long time to recover from it, to get back to sleeping at even the modestly more sensible time of midnight to one AM. I also haven’t been cooking as much as I want to — even modest resistance means that suddenly dinner is some microwaved oats and sultanas, with a splash of milk.

I think I may even be missing one of my June goals for Magic The Gathering: Arena, which isn’t exactly important, but it is a bit of a pisser. The aim was to hit gold tier in limited, which at this point I have… a few hours to do, and I’m still in Silver Tier. That’s not a big deal but it is a bummer.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

[imaginary-regret-608]

Happy (Potentially-Late-But-The-Day-is-Still-Unclear) Make a Terrible Comic Day!

At a similar time to making this comic, I also found a way for me to download 8bit Operator (which was the closest font that I was able to find that was nearly identical to what is used in Undertale/Deltarune), which I'm announcing with this Non-Canon SwilTaett Comic!

(The structure of this is much is definitely not as good as what has been previously made for SwilTaett, but that was because of the deadlines set in order for it to still be considered a 'terrible comic'.)

As for Treget impersonating other Cast Members, the idea initially came from older SwilTaett Concept Art from before Kris and Jack's Redesigns and when it was much more of a Reskin AU then it is today, which looked like this:

I'm not sure whether this is canon to Treget now that he canonically exists in SwilTaett, but it would probably allow his Talksprites to become much more expressive!

(As this is now outdated, everything except Kris' Full Name and me still being responsible for Souvenerd's Voice is Non-Canon Content.)

LINK:

Here's where I downloaded the font from, in case anybody else was also wanting to find a (with the only difference that I've currently found being the lowercase 'r' having a different shape.)

[signal-failure]

Current me, bringing news of the future to myself in say, the mid '90s: I have terrible news for you, When you get older, you’ll lose some detail vision.

Past me, a sweet summer child: Oh no! Am I going to be blind? Am I going to need huge glasses?

Future news: Nah, it's fine, they're making thinner lenses all the time. Plus progressives will come out so by the time you need bifocals, you won't even have a line across your eyes. They can correct almost everything. You'll be able to read just fine, but you won't be able to count the fingers in a group photo.

Past me: That's fine. Why would anyone want--

Future news: As you get older, there will be more and more self-checkouts where you swipe your card yourself to pay.

Past me: That doesn’t sound so bad…

Future news: They’re all just slightly different and they’re always a solid, dark color so none of your tricks will work, and it’ll be hard to see exactly where and which angle to swipe your card, so every time you try to pay, it takes you just a little bit longer than everyone else, and a cashier sighs at you.

Past me: Well, that’s definitely annoying, but I can still see the total and the OK button so I can still pay, right?

Future news: In the future, there’s a default tip for things that don’t require tipping yes, and the OK to leave tip button is in the same color and placement as the OK to charge the card button, and also the default tip is now 20% on a plain coffee you pick up yourself and  pour your own milk into, so you can either pay that, or you can hold everyone up while you look for the tiny No Tip button.

Past me: Getting really annoying…

Future news: Also, lots of restaurant menus are QR codes now but half of them were thrown together in 2020 -- oh yeah, a plague is coming, Past Self, but that's not the bad part here -- and they’re PDFs with weird fonts and color schemes, instead of responsive webpages that keep your default font and contrast options. So you never know when a restaurant is gonna be pinch-zooming dark blue text on medium blue background and waiting for the next page of the menu to load.

Past me: This seems really inconvenient.

Future news: And in the future, AI art exists so whenever you see literally any image, you can never tell if the details are a bit hard to make out, just like the details on literally every thing in the real world,  or if the entire thing's fake. The entire internet is AI fakeout images now, and there's no way to tell. Ever.