#and a great example why his petulant ''but you liked this other thing i did so you can't criticize anything i do'' shtick is so annoying
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softgrungeprophet · 2 years ago
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skimming some asm (650-651, 658 etc) as reference for a suit
and god
there's a reason dan slott is one of my least favorite marvel writers lmfao
650-651 were okay.
658 is not even okay. It just sucks. And it's a great precursor example of the exact same shit that plagued his Fantastic Four run. Just, completely unfunny, uncaring, and shallow. Reading this, how can I be surprised he whiffed Johnny so badly in vol. 6? The night and day difference between these, and his Spider-Man/Human Torch comic, is baffling to behold. ASM 658 is dogshit by comparison lmao (and most of Johnny's treatment in Slott's F4 run is just as bad.)
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dballzposting · 11 months ago
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It's just that well simply put Gohan didnt have any time to himself ever. There was always bullshit happening. Then Goku died and Goten was born and Gohan had to keep his mother from falling apart and his baby brother healthy and happy. And it's rewarding work. But yknow
When he wasn't tending to the baby or helping with other domestic chores, he was in his room studying. It's nice to learn about the world he fought so hard to save. It's also nice to not have to have a relationship with his body (as with fighting) so that it's easier to dissociate from all the bullshit. Academia was a lifeline out. It was also a definitive "good" thing to be doing. It was also an escape. And also a source of the stress that he's so accustomed to. And yknow. Maybe the letters started to dance on the page after a while. A life unlived will find life in other places. Maybe the historical figures were his friends. Maybe he memorized chemicals like one would memorize constellations. Maybe different mathematical functions began to represent and facilitate different experiences of emotion. You know how it is
I mean maybe not. Maybe he got out enough and was present enough to not dip into that. If his time alone was really that needed, then I imagine that he would get angry if interrupted; but I don't imagine that he snapped often when his mother called him to attention or when his brother needed something from him. I think that he finds fulfillment and peace in his family and he wants to be there with them. But I think that he also finds habits of repression or self-denial.
I'm not saying that he represses all of his anger, because he doesn't. What he does repress is infinite amounts of survival rage. What he doesn't repress - and what seems like he's not even aware of when he expresses it - is sharp annoyance. A mild example would be when he snapped at Goten for bothering him during his training, which was super funny. A more poignant example is Every Time Somebody Insults his Great Saiyaman Persona somehow. First he was interjecting into his classmates' (strangers!) conversation to correct their misnaming of the new hero, and he didn't seem to notice how rude his tone was or how surprised his classmates were. Then later he stopped two reckless drivers, and they made fun of his goofy persona, and Gohan (without resistance) just threw a petulant fit - and he did not seem to notice how he was Destroying The Road by stamping his foot.
My favorite example was when Krillin told him he looked dumb. I should probably get screenshots. Gohan's Eyebrows Twitched and Reared like Rattlesnakes. And his passive aggression was enough to constituent manslaughter. Masked behind saccharine positivity. It was a vile display. What do YOU know about Fashion, Quiverin..! (<- What we sometimes call Krillin in my house becasue he's always cringing and quivering and being fearful lol.)
OK I didn't get screenshots but I have this timestamped video from the youtube.
youtube
And it makes sense that Gohan is super defensive about The Great Saiyaman. It's the first thing that he's gotten to do/be that was up to him.
I understand that Bulma designed the original get-up, but it was still collaborative; it's not like when Chichi dresses him in what she can afford to buy or make, or when Piccolo dresses him in what he himself likes to wear. And Gohan picked the name. He picked the poses. He picked the voice. He picked the personality. He picked the role.
You know that Oscar Wilde quote that goes something like "give a man a mask and he will tell you the truth"? Yeah. There's madness behind that mask.
It's also a very significant time for him because he's for the first time having the opportunity to associate with peers in a consistent way. And he wants so bad to be "normal" and that's also why the mask is so integral and alluring. And he wants to be a normal bloke and make normal friends, but at the same time, he's out of practice without really realizing it; he hasn't come to terms with how in order to make friends, you have to put yourself out there. He thinks that he can simply make friends while hiding himself and lying about everything. And when Videl starts trying to figure out who he is and pry the mask off, it's a horrifying inconvenience. And Gohan just isn't in the habit of receiving well others' companionship, having lived isolated for so long; when Videl makes him teach her how to fly, he's nice to her, but you can tell that he just wants her to leave.
Her insistence on drilling into him is why they become friends and eventually marry, though.
He seems like an optimistic fellow, and his appreciate for life must be sincere, as his history necessitates it - if life sucked, all of that would have been for nought. But remember, for a good seven years it was just him, his mother, and the new baby. No drama or adventure to bring him out into the world. No friends his age that he could connect and evolve with. Just him up there on Mt Paozu stagnating.
There was definitely a lot of goodness and happiness and stargazing and lovely dinners and hanging out with dinosaurs. But there was also a lot of boredom and avoidance and why-is-the-baby-crying and mom-please-put-the-wooden-spoon-down and mom-please-stop-crying and can-i-have-the-time-to-study-unbothered-please and an undercurrent of feeling bogged down that really isn't apparent until you get out and get moving.
Gohan never says this outloud or thinks this definitively, but it's a natural truth, like the wood that a house is made of - he is going to do everything he can to be a good brother and to protect his baby brother. And it's a given, too, that he'll do everything it takes to keep his mother sane and happy, because everybody else shies away from her, and it's SORT OF Gohan's fault that Goku had died, and he very much wants to give back for all of the nurturing that his mother has given him.
And when you want to be a force of Good that badly, it completely turns you away from the parts of you that may be Bad, and encourages you to be afraid of certain feelings or needs.
When Gohan snaps at people out of irritability or defensiveness, it really seems like he doesn't know that he's doing it, and it comes out in the way that a hurt child may just act out. Everything else that is ugly about him just gets buried deep. And that makes him a weirdo. That's what it seems like anyway
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daynascullys · 9 months ago
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the tortured poets department
i have thoughts!! surprising, right?? this is for anyone who cares to read them ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Before you read, note that this is going to be critical of things, so let me just start by saying I have loved and listened to Taylor since I was 8, so none of it is said lightly or without careful thought (in fact, this took me absurdly long to write). Most of the issues I have are very near to my heart, actually, so I've spent a lot of time thinking about it. If you don't want to read criticism, then just don't read more. DISCLAIMER that I did my best, but not even this fully captures the nuance I feel able my own opinions lol I recognize the other sides and points, I really do. I hold many conflicting opinions.
The short version is I will always love her music and her voice and she is capable of writing absolutely gorgeous lyrics (dare I say poetry?). I don't tend to think too much about the sound of it because if I like the sound, it's all I really care about—maybe it sounds the same as other stuff, but if I like that other stuff, I don't really care about whether she branches out or not. I think it's great and interesting when she (or anyone) does, but I also don't like change so it doesn't matter to me the way I know it matters to some people. That's just me!
What gets more complicated for me is the narrative, themes, and general trends that have been more prominent the last year or so, and that's what the rest of my thoughts are. It's me enjoying the music while also being acutely aware of all the grief tangled up in it because of how much less connected I feel in many ways.
Side note: this got soooo much longer than even I expected and it still just scratches the surface! so if you decide to read, 1. thank you, and 2. I'd love to keep talking to you. 🤍
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I am an overthinker (shocking!) and will for sure be annoyed that I can't think of each and every thing I think about this album, but this is what comes to mind right now. Some things that have stood out to me more and more with each release:
a tendency to write self-aware lyrics that, in trying to be self-aware, betray somewhat of a lack of self-awareness
a frustration with never growing up that she expresses while also not realizing the way she is complicit in that and her own refusal to grow up
considering herself the victim, particularly after "overcoming" the accusations that she always plays the victim
venturing more boldly into the territory of serious mental illness/suicidal ideation/mental health treatment despite demonstrating a fair amount of ignorance regarding those things in the past
fame going to her head (in the sense of her becoming further and further out of touch) and the entitlement in a lot of the more immature attitudes that come across in these songs
self-awareness: for me, the first example that comes to mind is Anti-Hero: "it's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me." It's a claim at self-awareness because she's poking fun at the fact that she knows people always say "maybe she's the problem." The reason why it feels to me like it exposes a lack of self-awareness is because she explores it mostly as a criticism to overcome and not a valid point of self-reflection. @jakeperalta's tags on her post explain it better than I do. Yes, there's an issue when you reduce every feeling to "well maybe she's the problem," but part of growth is admitting that maybe you are part of the problem and coming to terms with the fact that there is often some inevitable truth to that statement—and being willing to work on it. This example is from Midnights, but I think it ties into the next point.
immaturity/never growing up: I actually think these first two sections are just two parts of one section, but it's easier to read this way anyway. There are lots of references to not growing up on this album, the first that come to mind being "So High School" and "teenage petulance." Maybe it's just me, but as a 34-year-old woman, I wouldn't want to be feeling "so high school." I mean, as a 25-year-old, when I talk about feeling like my high school self, it's usually because I'm recognizing how limited my judgment and self-awareness was in high school (despite all the therapy and my efforts to be self-aware in high school). And I am aware of my own bias here—I absolutely hate the football game days because I didn't even like watching people act like that in high school, but at least they were high schoolers—but I do think part of what we've seen is Travis allowing her to be more immature and take less responsibility because that's also where he is at. Obviously I don’t speak to it with any authority since I don't know what happened in the relationship, but based on her behaviors and what I know about Joe (which is VERY little), I kind of get the feeling that part of what she didn't like about being with Joe is that he pushed her to grow. "Your integrity makes me seem small," etc. etc., but not in an “I want to grow” way, but not liking that feeling because she shouldn't have to feel small just because she wants to be able to only do what makes her happy. Just looking at the difference in her behavior and the fact that it seems like she's stopped trying to learn (Miss Americana-ish), it seems like she very much resents the responsibility that comes with being such a famous person and mainly considers herself a victim of her fame.
victimhood: to an extent, yes, she is a victim of her fame. No one should have that much fame and power, and of course she didn't sign up for it in this way. But wanting to have the kind of influence and reach that most artists desire is intertwined with fame. There isn't a way to separate it (in an ideal world, maybe, but that isn't what we're dealing with) and it's something that, to some degree, artists do sign up for. And I think she resents that she's expected to take any sort of responsibility for anything that she doesn't want to do, in a very, "but that's not fair!," teenage petulance kind of way. She even says in Sweet Nothing that "I'm just too soft for all of it." We're all too soft for all of it, but that doesn't mean we get to ignore it. It bothers me that she doesn't seem to feel any sort of responsibility to use this giant platform to do better. Everyone is aware of her influence, including her. I think that's part of the grief. No, it is not her job to use her platform for good, but I thought that it was something she valued and something she wanted. The other line that really stuck out to me was from Cassandra: "They say what doesn't kill you makes you aware, what happens if it becomes who you are?" You may be a victim of what doesn't kill you, but if it becomes who you are, that's not their fault. It reminds me a bit of the exhaustion of living with mental illness. For me in particular, it affects my relationships in a very fundamental way, and there are days that I sob because I am exhausted of things that are so normal being so, so difficult for me... but even though I didn't ask for it and it's not fair that this happened to me, it's still my responsibility to understand how my issues affect how I show up in relationships. It's still my problem, even though it isn't my fault that it's my problem. And if you're lucky, you find really beautiful people who are willing to help you and see that it's not their responsibility, but they want to make it easier for you—I recognize how lucky I am to have some people like that, but it never makes it anyone else's problem. If they decide one day it's not their problem, the truth is that it isn't (and then there's a more complex conversation about what you want to do to preserve a relationship). This is also very connected to something about Kate Beckett/why I identify with that character, and I can touch on that if anyone wants to know, but I don't really have cohesive thoughts about that prepared (it makes more sense if you already know the character). This also goes to other things, like her being upset that people always focus on who songs are about while ignoring the part she played in feeding that culture (like with secret messages).
mental health: this goes to a bigger discussion of how we turn to celebrities who are HIGHLY unqualified to have opinions on things for guidance (the nuance of the above discussion about using your platform), but the more she ventures into the discussion of mental illness, the more upset I get by some remarks she has made in the past. And yes, people grow, she may not feel this way anymore, but nothing in her behavior gives me any reason to believe that she doesn't still have this attitude. This is one that I know I have to be careful of because of how personal it is for me (I've been placed on a 5150 "danger to self" hold and I am a therapist), but one interview that has always made me so upset is that one where she talks about how she's never been to therapy, then ends it by saying "I feel like we just had a therapy session." She has said multiple times how she has never wanted to go to therapy when she has her mom, who already knows everything about her. And that is highly irritating to me because 1. that's why she's your MOM, not your THERAPIST, and 2. there's already so much stigma and apprehension around therapy and many people feel this way, so to have someone like Taylor Swift validate all the people who say "I'd rather talk to someone who already knows me" or "so and so is my therapist" is unbelievably frustrating. There's a reason it's unethical to treat people you know—that isn't therapy. And I think I wouldn't be so bothered by it if she didn't speak about it with such authority, like she knows what she's talking about when what she's saying shows that she doesn't (edit: this is specifically in regard to therapy, not mental illness. I am highly aware that anyone can be mentally ill). The other thing about this album is that it does seem to be an album about loving people with mental illness, and I've already seen a lot of interpretations that simply feed the narrative that people with mental illness are unlovable and mental illness is the reason people mistreat you (particularly the discussion about her lovers being blue all the time). And the issue with that is it's already a common misconception among people with mental illness, that their mental illness is an excuse or reason why they don't treat people right. It's disrespectful to the people who recognize that they have a mental illness that affects how they interact with others and choose to try to overcome it. I'm all for honest discussions about mental illness, but it's so disheartening when it happens on such a large scale and some of the loudest voices are people who don't know enough to know how to (at least try to) do no harm.
fame: I'm not really going to go into it because this has already turned out way longer than I meant for it to, but also because I feel like it's already been touched on. For me, it's the conversation about her feeling she should be able to just do what she wants. I think we all feel that way, but because of her fame and the fact that she's just about untouchable (as shown in how she came back from being cancelled), she can just tune everyone out. But one example was how uneasy I felt about this album being announced at the grammys. For one thing, it's not a fan-voted award, so even if it should, it doesn't feel the same. And regardless of your take on award shows, I do think it showed a level of insensitivity to the other artists who haven't won a bunch of grammys to decide that she would announce a new album at the grammys. Because even if she had a backup plan and said she didn't plan on it, the truth is that, to decide to have a backup plan, you did have to count on it happening, at least to an extent. You had to feel it was likely enough that you wanted to have a back up plan just in case, but it probably would go the way you wanted. To me, it just felt so... disrespectful. Because for many other artists, it doesn't happen more than once. (not to mention the many other things happening that got completely overshadowed, like Annie Lennox calling for a ceasefire)
So if you read all that... I don't even know what the point is at this point. These are just thoughts that, to me, don't feel right to simply ignore. I know there's an argument that you can enjoy music without enjoying where it came from, and it's true to an extent, but I also think part of the music is where it comes from. So... I don't know. Do with that what you will. And if you are reading this, I love you (I can't believe you're reading this).
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fanficapologist · 10 months ago
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I’ve recently wondered this, but how come Alys needed Aemond’s seed for her spell or magic to work? Is it similar to the concept of equivalent exchange in Alchemy? If you want to gain something you have to give up something.
I’m about to nerd out in anime so please bear with me 😬 But are you familiar with Fullmetal Alchemist?
It is said alchemists can’t just whip stuff up out of thin air - you have to provide something. For example, an episode depicted one of the protagonists (Al) fixing a broken radio using alchemy. At first glance, the radio looks good as new, not repaired - as in no nail mark, solder, etc. However, in reality, Al only ��stretched” out the radio’s material to fix it.
I’m not sure if my analogy makes sense. But I think it’s similar to if you were spreading butter or jam and you missed a side/corner of the bread. Instead of getting more butter, you just “extended” spreading the butter better by taking some from spots where you initially spread it thicker to ensure all sides of the bread were coated. So you ended up with your bread all buttered but the butter layer is thinner.
I hope I made sense. But anyway, in ODAM, I think the same principle applies to Alys too. She can’t just create a spell willy nilly, it has to cost something - for some witches, casting spells took its toll on their appearance like those in Stardust, or when the mages used their magic, it taxes their energy like in The Witcher. The point is, you can’t just do magic and expect nothing will be taken from you. I expected blood like Cersei did with Maggy the Frog but is Aemond’s wish/desire too great that it required his seed? Also why should he have to lay with Alys?
Hope I don’t come across as petulant Haha I find myself thinking of possible angles so here I am 🤔
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Hello my love! Look at you being all analytical, you clever thing 😏
I’ve haven’t watched anime in so long oh my god they would cause me such emotional damage 😭 (angel beats and clannad, I’m looking at you) but I haven’t seen fullmetal alchemist!
So let’s get down to answers. I’d say my reasoning comes from more of a physics route; energy cannot be created or destroyed, only changed. Something cannot come from nothing, as you’ve said (points!), but the bigger the request, the more you’ve gotta give.
A bit of Aemond’s blood to prove Maera’s virtue isn’t a huge cost as it’s only finding out information. HOWEVER, a good amount of Maera’s family members needed to be wiped out for her to have no other contenders for inheritance of Morne (more to be revealed in an Aemond POV chapter later).
What has the power to do Aemond more harm, is of greater value to him and has the ability to create life, despite him wanting to take it away? Seed 👀 I can guarantee Alys did not need to lie with him to get this spell to work (again, to be explored later) however I think Alys probably knew once she’d done her bit, it was very likely she would be cast aside. She needed some insurance for herself, and a way to get her vision to come to life.
But then again, are her visions going to be right (going back to Alice Cullen)? Watch this space 🖤
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ogsherlockholmes · 2 years ago
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29th October
I have been so excited to write about Culverton Smith because he is so different from all the other antagonists, and so is the story, The Dying Detective. 
The story begins with Sherlock being close to dying from a tropical disease and he orders Watson to get Dr Culverton Smith, who apparently is an expert. Smith is not happy to see Watson. 
‘My humble name and title did not appear to impress Mr. Culverton Smith. Through the half-open door I heard a high, petulant, penetrating voice. “Who is this person? What does he want? Dear me, Staples, how often have I said that I am not to be disturbed in my hours of study?... Well, I won’t see him, Staples. I can’t have my work interrupted like this. I am not at home. Say so. Tell him to come in the morning if he really must see me...Well, well, give him that message. He can come in the morning, or he can stay away. My work must not be hindered.”
Diva doctor much. Quite similar to modern day British healthcare really. 
And when Watson enters, he’s even worse. 
‘With a shrill cry of anger a man rose from a reclining chair beside the fire. I saw a great yellow face, coarse-grained and greasy, with heavy, doublechin, and two sullen, menacing gray eyes which glared at me from under tufted and sandy brows. A high bald head had a small velvet smoking-cap poised coquettishly upon one side of its pink curve. The skull was of enormous capacity, and yet as I looked down I saw to my amazement that the figure of the man was small and frail, twisted in the shoulders and back like one who has suffered from rickets in his childhood. “What’s this?” he cried in a high, screaming voice. “What is the meaning of this intrusion? Didn’t I send you word that I would see you tomorrow morning?”’
However, this changes when Watson mentions Sherlock, and Smith decides he’s okay with his ‘studies’ being disturbed. But, he’s not upset to hear that Sherlock’s ill, and puts on an act. 
‘I [Watson] caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror over the mantelpiece. I could have sworn that it was set in a malicious and abominable smile. Yet... he turned to me an instant later with genuine concern upon his features. “I am sorry to hear this,” said he. “I only know Mr. Holmes through some business dealings which we have had, but I have every respect for his talents and his character. He is an amateur of crime, as I am of disease. For him the villain, for me the microbe. There are my prisons,” he continued, pointing to a row of bottles and jars which stood upon a side table. ”Among those gelatine cultivations some of the very worst offenders in the world are now doing time.”’
It’s not suspicious at all to be an ‘expert of diseases’ and have a collection of poison in your house. 
Smith visits Sherlock whilst Watson is hiding in the closet (pun intended). He shakes Sherlock awake, an example of excellent bedside manner, and discusses how Sherlock’s disease killed his nephew. But, Sherlock knows Smith killed his nephew, and Smith doesn’t even try to defend himself.
“Well, you [Sherlock] couldn’t prove it, anyhow. But what do you think of yourself spreading reports about me [Smith] like that, and then crawling to me for help the moment you are in trouble? What sort of a game is that—eh?...You’re precious near your end, my friend, but I don’t want you to go till I have had a word with you. That’s why I give you water. There, don’t slop it about! That’s right. Can you understand what I say?”
This is followed by some very creepy dialogue of Smith admitting to giving Sherlock the disease through the post (death next day delivery I suppose). 
“You are proud of your brains, Holmes, are you not? Think yourself smart, don’t you? You came across someone who was smarter this time. Now cast your mind back, Holmes. Can you think of no other way you could have got this thing [diseease]?” “I can’t think. My mind is gone. For heaven’s sake help me!” “Yes, I will help you. I’ll help you to understand just where you are and how you got there. I’d like you to know before you die...Painful, is it?...Well, you can hear what I say, anyhow. Listen now! Can you remember any unusual incident in your life just about the time your symptoms began?” “No, no; nothing.” “Think again.” “I’m too ill to think.” “Well, then, I’ll help you. Did anything come by post?” “By post?” “A box by chance?...You must hear me. You shall hear me. Do you remember a box—an ivory box? It came on Wednesday. You opened it—do you remember?” “Yes, yes, I opened it. There was a sharp spring inside it. Some joke—” “It was no joke, as you will find to your cost. You fool, you would have it and you have got it. Who asked you to cross my path? If you had left me alone I would not have hurt you...But you have the truth now, Holmes, and you can die with the knowledge that I killed you. You knew too much of the fate of Victor Savage, so I have sent you to share it. You are very near your end, Holmes. I will sit here and I will watch you die.”
Fortunately, Sherlock doesn’t die just yet, and he asks Smith to turn the gas lamp on and to give him a cigarette. Sherlock recovers, since he was never ill in the first place, and Smith just gave the signal for the police to come in when he turned the gas lamp on. Smith still refuses to back down. 
‘“A nice trap!” cried the high, snarling voice. “It will bring you into the dock, Holmes, not me. He asked me to come here to cure him. I was sorry for him and I came. Now he will pretend, no doubt, that I have said anything which he may invent which will corroborate his insane suspicions. You can lie as you like, Holmes. My word is always as good as yours.”’ 
Remember Watson in the closet? He comes out -pun also intended- and saves the day since he heard the entire conversation. 
Too bad Culverton Smith. 
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itsclydebitches · 3 years ago
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Hey there! Admittedly I'm a little bit nervous since this is my first ask, but I'll try to not be too rambly.
So, recently the main subreddit, r/RWBY, made a ban on active users of the r/RWBYcritics subreddit. As a result there's been discussion around bad-faith criticism in the latter subreddit. What are your takes on bad-faith criticism?
For me personally, I think a bunch of people are misusing the term "bad-faith" and using it as a way to shut down criticism, but I'm curious to hear your thoughts on it.
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Hey there, everyone! We woke up to some drama this morning, huh? And hello to you too, Tortoise! I'm so glad you decided to send in an ask, even if it's following some pretty tumultuous events...
Right, I'd like to start with a story. The story of how I personally don't spend time on Reddit, but I have plenty of friends who will occasionally cross-post something for me to see. Yesterday (or the day before? Idk time is meaningless) a friend told me about a post — which, significantly, I'm now having trouble finding — that covers RWBY's inconsistent writing and the fandom's tendency to try and explain away those missteps. They'd thought I'd be interested because I'd just had a conversation here on tumblr where I made that exact point to someone who, also significantly, vehemently disagreed with me, but in a very civil fashion. Given everything going on, I feel like this side point needs emphasis: we debated, we did so in a sometimes heated, but nevertheless respectful manner, it was clear neither of us was going to sway the other, and the conversation ended. The two "sides" of the community interacted without Armageddon coming about.
But back to the purpose of this tale. I went to take a look at this point and found that it no longer exists. There's just some vague message about it not obeying the subreddit's rules. "What happened?" I asked. "Why'd they take the post down?" "People were getting too heated in the comments," my friend replies. So, given that the comments were still visible, I proceeded to read through them, expecting personal attacks, slurs, harassment, etc. Any number of things that would justify deleting the post itself to put an end to such behavior. Instead, I found a thread of people having a conversation. Was the conversation heated at times? Sure. Did one or two individual posters edge into the realm of petulant, "No. You're wrong and stupid" responses? Yes. Was any of this remotely what I was expecting given the post's removal? NOPE.
"This isn't allowed?" I said. "Well then what is? People were being civil! Or at least as civil as hundreds of strangers ever get when discussing a series they're passionate about online."
Then, this morning, I hear that the entire critic subreddit has been banned.
So to answer your question, Tortoise, I don't actually think that "good faith" criticism exists. Meaning, it's not just that fans are misusing the term "bad faith criticism," but rather that there is no unified, agreed up method of writing criticism that will meet their standards. It's not possible and we know it's not possible because fans have been trying to meet those elusive standards for years:
A fan posts nothing but praise for RWBY until changes make them criticize the show as it is now. Their entire body of work is dismissed as the product of a "hater," despite the overwhelming gap between positive and negative reviews.
A fan posts a review that's a pretty balanced mix between praise and criticism. They're dismissed because it's still too much criticism.
A fan posts a review that's 99% praise with 1% criticism. That's still too much, with fans focusing on the single problem they had with the work and using it as an excuse to dismiss the entire review out of hand.
(As an aside, the argument that critics are "obsessed" with only saying negative things and that the only problem here is that they're "too" negative ignores the argument that... RWBY has a lot of flaws nowadays. Few are willing to acknowledge the possibility that it's not fans insisting on making things up to be mad about/ignoring the good parts of the show, it's the that show is, as of now, legitimately more of a mess than it is a praise-worthy product. If I'd been writing recaps in the Volumes 1-4 days, my work would have been skewed far more towards the positive. The critics' stance is that RWBY has gotten worse, which yes, results a higher volume of critical posts. To say nothing of how criticism takes far longer to explain, likewise resulting in posts focused primarily on that side of the divide. I really enjoyed the image of a crying Jaune reflected in his sword. I did not enjoy that moment's context. Saying that you liked an animation choice is a one sentence thing. Explaining the complexities of Jaune securing emotional moments, the problems with Penny's second death, the hurt many fans experienced watching an assisted suicide, etc. takes a whooole lot longer. Hence, you get massive, multiple posts about these nuanced topics and fewer, smaller posts about the details that are working well.)
A fan talks about a topic that has been metaphorically banned by the fandom as a whole. They have something good to say about Ironwood. They dislike something about Blake/Yang. They enjoyed Adam as a character. They have a problem with Ruby's leadership, etc. There's a whole list of topics nowadays that will result in an automatic dismissal, regardless of the point the fan is trying to make or how well they make it.
A fan talks about the minority representation of RWBY — its black characters, its queer characters, its disabled characters, etc. — and as a result has something to say about the biases and missteps of those writing these characters. This is considered an attack on the writers and, therefore, automatically bad.
A fan talks about how they enjoyed RWBY as it was years ago and is having trouble reconciling the dark, complicated story with the simple, hopeful one we started out with. This is seen as an attack on Monty's vision and an unwillingness to accept that "everything is planned."
A fan does as asked and ensures that their post is meeting all the requirements of "real" criticism. They have an argument to make. They have a point. They provide evidence. They recommend a solution. They keep their tone respectful. They don't attack the creators. They provide disclaimers in every single paragraph about how they do not hate RWBY. It doesn't matter. They're considered too negative.
I have, quite literally, seen every one of the above examples on multiple occasions. I have had many of the above accusations leveled at my own work. When fans say that they're fine with criticism provided it's not "bad faith" criticism, they don't actually have a specific post-type in mind; a checklist of behaviors another fan can emulate and, provided they do that, no hate will come their way. Or, if an individual fan does actually go, "Yeah. That criticism I'm fine with" that response is in no way universal. One person's "They make a good, civil point" is another person's, "Omg stop bashing the show!" Because "bashing" has come to mean everything from curse-laden insults towards everything RWBY has ever done, to posts that just happen to say something other fans don't agree with.
It's a rigged game. There is no way to post criticism about RWBY in an agreed-upon, appropriate manner. This recent ban is proof of that. I think it's incredibly telling that almost immediately after I was going, "Wow. A pretty calm debate about the flaws of RWBY in the main sub. That's great to see," all posters from the criticism subreddit were banned. The main sub literally just had the sort of criticism that they claim to accept — people respectfully posting analysis-based arguments resulting in calm debate — and yet they implemented the ban anyway. I'm not going to pretend that I've never gotten too heated on my own posts, never made snarky comments when I'm frustrated, never used exaggerated reaction GIFs that can come across as insulting... but I'd say on the whole my RWBY work is precisely the sort of "good faith" criticism that other fans are supposedly looking for. I never make an argument I don't think I can back up with evidence. I try to allow for the nuance and differing opinions of complicated topics. I try — even if I don't always succeed — to write in a clear, respectful manner. Yet none of that work has stopped people from telling me I'm a "bitter... raging asshole," a "deranged, delusional psychopath," telling me to set myself on fire, threatening to smash my head in, or just messages to straight up kill myself. If someone like me who legitimately works hard to create fair, defendable criticism and who only ever posts on a personal blog that people can easily block, who never engages in debate until someone else starts it first, never seeks out other fans I disagree with to harass them about what they like... if someone like me is still a "bad faith" critic who "deserves" that kind of hate mail... then what kind of criticism do people want?
Nothing. That's the answer. No criticism whatsoever, of any kind, no matter if it's delivered respectfully, is making a good point, whatever. That's why "RWDE" was created. That's why the critic subreddit was created. The community at large has demanded a complete separation between Praise and Anything That's Not 100% Praise, which has now resulted in this ban. Any other explanations we see are excuses, which becomes glaringly obvious when you look at the mods' supposed reasons for implementing the ban:
"Constant arguments with r/RWBY users" - As opposed to the arguments surrounding things like shipping that never, ever happen?
"Vote manipulation and comment brigades" - The subreddit with 3,000 participants, with around 200 on at a time, is manipulating the votes of a subreddit with 155,000 participants, with over 1,000 on at a time? Those numbers just do not check out. If a positive post is downvoted, or a critical post upvoted, maybe that's because large swaths of the community actually agree/disagree with that assessment, not because the incredibly smaller group is somehow manipulating things.
"Attacking and harassing those they disagree with" — Again, as opposed to those non-critics that never, ever harass people? This is an individual problem, not a community problem. Both critics and non-critics have their sub-groups acting in ways they shouldn't. If anything, the main sub will have more individuals harassing other fans, simply by virtue of being so much larger. As the above examples attest, it's not other critics who have told me to light myself on fire and, just to be clear, the asks I've responded to are a miniscule number compared to the amount I've received. I delete the lion's share for my own sanity and to save my followers from reading the really graphic threats.
"Months-long NSFL spam brigades" — I am, admittedly, not sure what this is referring to. Spamming of NSFW content? If so, that's also an individual problem.
"Homophobic, transphobic, and racist attacks towards our users" — See the above points. Again. If someone is being homophobic, transphobic, or racist, then yes please, ban them. Don't ban an entire community for the actions of a few. It's like walking into a store and banning a customer for causing a scene... but then also banning everyone else who happened to be shopping at the same time. It's guilt by association.
The silver lining to all this? The community as a whole isn't pleased. At least according to the main subreddit comments and a few individual voices like MurderofBirds. Despite the increase (from my perspective anyway) of critical voices post-Volume 8, criticism of RWBY is still very much seen as taboo. As this ban showcases. But it's really reassuring to see so many fans, critics and non-critics alike, going, "This was a mistake." A community is meant to include all aspects of engagement: praise, criticism, and the gray area between. If anything, fans like the mods of the main subreddit should be creating a separate subreddit that is specifically for praise. In the same way that there should have been a tag for RWBY praise, rather than trying to eliminate any and all criticism from the main "RWBY" tag. The majority of fans, even those who claim to hate critics and all they (presumably) stand for, recognize that a blanket ban of all criticism is not the way to go, especially when "criticism" has come to have such a staggeringly broad definition. If you want your RWBY experience to be nothing but sunshine and roses (ha), then cultivate your own internet experience to reflect that. Create your own pockets with rules about how this is the space for praise and if you're not up for praising RWBY right now, don't interact with us in this particular space. Don't try to make the entire community — the main tools used to discuss the show online — conform to your preferences. As established, there is no "good" criticism that everyone in the fandom will accept, which just leaves a fandom with no criticism at all. I'm glad to see I'm far from the only one who, when presented with that extreme, is going, "Nope. No thank you."
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dreamsapphire28 · 4 years ago
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This is based on @yasuyorimarriedsamo reincarnation au I really liked it back then but you know inspiration is a fickle thing and it has struck now months later.
So in this au the Mc is the reincarnation of one of the exiles, in this version I'll be using my favorite exile Eurynome and my Mc1 Akemi.
The birth of a world, the touch of his beloved, ruling over his creation, a fight over who was the one to give origin to their world with the one he loved the most then making up accepting that the birth of their world was only possible due to their joined effort and love for each other, being betrayed by his loving sister, sinking alone into Oceanus and later being kept company by the sweet child who was also casted away only to leave that child behind when he passed from the world.
A name, his former, Eurynome.
Those memories and many others from the creator of Olympus were in his mind when Akemi was summoned to Tokyo that fateful night, they felt both vivid and distant like he was there living them but at the same time as if he lived them through someone else, Akemi could not remember his own life before coming to Tokyo all he had were the memories of Eurynome, Akemi was sure that at some point in the past he had been her, still he also was certain that he is his own person with his own life, he is more than just the continuation of someone else's existence, Akemi reassured himself.
Being able to recall Eurynome's life so vividly and having no knowledge of his own sometimes made it difficult for Akemi to try and differentiate himself from her, specially when he was overcome with emotions he couldn't fully understand, the ocean would be a great example of this just the sight of it filled him with such a bittersweet feeling, he knew it was because of that child, Hephaestus, that he had.... that Eurynome had taken care of the one she had to leave behind, but Akemi was a different person, so why did he feel that way? the memories he had of that time were both beautiful and sorrowful they could bring a tear to the eye of an outside observer, to Akemi however they felt close, personal, to the point where he wonders what became of Hephaestus even thinking about what things in Tokyo he could enjoy. Akemi had already accepted that he had once been Eurynome, but the he that existed right now is a different person, Akemi hopes beyond hope.
Being such a sensible subject to him Akemi never revealed the fact that he could remember his past life to none of his new friends in Tokyo, he did a pretty good job at hiding it too, most of the time, there where moments where people would think that Akemi seemed wise beyond his years or were surprised of his deep understanding of the concept of a world system as if he had been closely involved with one. Then of course there was his guardian Kyouma Mononobe, Akemi could not for the life of him tell if his teacher was aware of Akemi having these memories or if he just happened to say things that reassured him when he wrestled with the thought of just being an extension of someone else's life.
In the beginning Akemi wanted to hate Eurynome but hating her felt like hating himself, the interactions and connections Akemi had made during his time in Tokyo how he helped others in turn helped him with his insecurity about his own identity, now he didn't hate her, Akemi still knew that a lot of his feelings towards various things were influenced by Eurynome's memories but he could live with that, he had made peace with it and now in some way felt proud that he was carrying her legacy he could do that while still being someone else other than her.
Until the battle at Aoyama cemetery when a certain golden dragon had made a brief appearance in that place. Akemi knew who the dragon was the second he laid eyes on him the dragon had changed, yes, but Akemi could never mistake him. Not once before had Akemi felt so conflicted about if he truly was just an extension of Eurynome, he was overwhelmed with so many feelings that he could not begin to comprehend, joy, love, relief, longing, sorrow, regret, grief, just looking at Ophion stirred so many things from the depths of his soul that it rendered Akemi completely paralyzed, Ophion had to leave before his friends could shake Akemi out of his stupor. Luckily Ophion hadn't stayed for too long, but the impression he left on Akemi was not small, ever since encountering him Akemi could not get Ophion out of his mind not even during his infiltration of the Tokyo casino or while running around Shinjuku avoiding the ongoing debacle caused by the Roppongi Tycoons. Akemi knew for a fact that he was more than likely to meet someone from Euryonome's past sooner or later, even so he did not expect to be so shaken by it.
Now Akemi found himself before the one responsible for the current chaos in Shinjuku no other than Ophion, just looking at him Akemi could fell himself freezing up again overwhelmed with emotions. Then Ophion started boasting about how he, the sole creator of Olympus, could not be defeated, Akemi could not catch everything that Ophion said but it was enough to make all his conflicting emotions converge on a single point, fury would not be the proper word it was something a bit more petty, Akemi felt that it was more of an attack to his pride rather than an outright insult, "You deceitful lizard, saying you created the world on your own, as if" Akemi spat fixing Ophion with a sharp glare, Ophion was taken aback such a petulant child to speak like that to him the great Ophion, Akemi continued talking before Ophion could give him a piece of his mind "I thought you had learned your lesson back then, seems I was wrong, maybe I ought to knock off your other tusk to drive in the point" Akemi hissed angrily, Ophion eyes widened as he slowly reached for the place where his missing tusk once was, 'how did this child knew of that?' Ophion thought in surprise.
The battle raged on Ophion had sent his underlings deal with his opponents to little avail, he certainly did not expect having to deal with both Hakumen and Lucifuge, those two would have already dispatched each other if it wasn't for that damn insolent brat, the only person Ophion had not accounted for in his plan was making it all go awry. Believing that unless he disposed of these pest at this very moment his plan would become completely unsalvageable and seeing that regular minions were completely ineffective against the current foes Ophion made a brash decision, he used his sacred artifact to summon a younger version of himself ordering him to dispose of the rabble interfering with his scheme. The younger Ophion's oppressing aura made everyone stare at him cautiously, that was everyone except for Akemi who gave the same sharp glare he gave the older Ophion to the younger one, as if doing so was something that Akemi had done before many times. When young Ophion's gaze found Akemi the younger dragon's face was overcome with surprise "You..." young Ophion muttered quietly as he started walking towards Akemi who didn't so much as flinch when the dragon's intense gaze pinned on him. The younger dragon stopped right in front of Akemi and suddenly it was his turn to be surprised, young Ophion embraced him tightly yet lovingly "So this is where you've been" Ophion whispered, Akemi was speechless for a second, he felt tears prickling the corners of his eyes as his sword slipped from his grasp, Akemi hugged Ophion "Yeah, sorry you had to come all the way here for me" Akemi apologized.
Akemi and young Ophion's embrace was interrupted by the older Ophion "My younger inexperienced self the one you're embracing it's your enemy deal with him at once!" old Ophion snapped furiously. With the older Ophion's attention diverted Toji seized the opportunity to attack the older dragon, to the bewilderment of everyone present the clash of the two rules resulted in the creation of an exception with his rule now overflowing old Ophion entered a rampage bursting through the ceiling of the tower. "How could this happen? my rule and Ophion's don't oppose one another this outcome should not be" Toji muttered in equal parts astonishment and shame "Well yes and no, your attack didn't make a contradiction it's more like a paradox, the sole fact that Ophion could call upon his past self further proves that he didn't create that sacred artifact and by extension Olympus" Akemi explained a twinge of smugness in his tone at that last part as he walked up to Toji "Quite the sharp one are you not and here I thought I'd have to explain that to you" Alice mused "Say you seem to be quite familiar with Ophion's sacred artifact aren't you my dear knight?" She inquired looking intently at Akemi, who averted his gaze "What do you mean by paradox?" Toji asked confused "Under normal circumstances your attack wouldn't have caused an exception but Ophion summoned a younger version of himself, taking that version of himself from the time he existed in the past, your attack meant to destroy the egg made it so that the younger one should cease to exist but the older one still exist in Tokyo even though technically his past self had been exterminated and so the snake endlessly bites it's own tail" Akemi explained "Still the app treats this situation no different than the previous instances where exceptions appeared so we should be able to deal with this one the same way, but first we must deal with Ophion" Alice added.
With the help from both the summoners and Tycoons, Akemi and young Ophion defeated the enraged older Ophion who now layed on the balcony of the tower that served as the Tycoons headquarters, Akemi was kneeling beside him holding his hand as the dragon slowly dissipated into light "So it truly is you my beloved spouse" old Ophion said his tone uncharacteristically soft and peaceful "Not precisely, I bear her soul, I can remember her live, at some point I was her, but not now the person before you is someone else, I'm sorry to get your hopes up Ophion" Akemi apologized while smiling softly at Ophion "That may be but I can still see her same brilliance withing you and now I hold for you the same feelings" Ophion affirmed using his other hand to caress Akemi's face, he closed his eyes leaning into the touch with a relieved expression on his face then the sensation of Ophion's hand on his face faced as Ophion disappeared into the rainbow of transient light, the wind carrying the voice of the old dragon as he made a vow to his beloved. Akemi stood up to face the younger Ophion who was also fading out of the current time "I owe you an apology as well, you heard what I said before I am not Eurynome at least not in the way you thought I was" Akemi confessed avoiding eye contact with the young dragon, Ophion embraced Akemi once again "I am not one to fuss over such minimal details, to me you are and will always be my beloved spouse, no matter who you were or who you become it will not change anything for me" Ophion assured Akemi felt relief once again wash over him as he embraced the golden dragon "Such a cruel world to make us part just when we were reunited" Ophion sighed melancholically "Don't feel pity for me this is nothing that I don't deserve" Akemi interjected "Whatever could you mean?" Ophion questioned "Isn't it obvious? when Eurynome, no not only her I'm just as guilty, when I was exiled from Olympus I leaved you alone, now the world is taking you away from me because I abandoned you" Akemi stated "Such thoughts are not deserving of you my dear" Ophion said, while softly running his fingers through Akemi's hair who looked up at him small traces of tears on his face "For no matter if the world itself wants to do us apart I will cross whatever distance and surmount every obstacle to find you again, this parting is only temporary I will find my way back to you" Ophion declared boldly before disappearing into the rainbow of transient light promising to once again see his spouse. Toji arrived to find Akemi with his back to him looking at the sky "Akemi?" Toji called out softly, Akemi turned around his eyes watery tears threatening to spill at any moment "Is everything alright, do you need a moment?" Toji felt incredibly awkward having no experience in how to comfort someone, Akemi wiped his eyes with his sleeve putting on a smile that could only be described as brave, it was clear that he was hurting but that would have to wait until they could avert the current crisis "It's okay Toji, there's still things we need to resolve, I'll have some time to think about this later" Akemi responded trying to hide his sadness making his way to the exception territory.
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ikleesfiction · 4 years ago
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I'm a fucking alcoholic (with a sweet tooth)
Fandom : Chicago PD TV Word count : 1,623 words Pairing : Jay Halstead x reader Author's note : This is the third one shot of "Will you follow through if I fall for you" fic continuation. It would be better if you read it first. But if you don't, here's the quick summary. Warning : It's fluff. I hope it doesn't end up too cringy?
Disclaimer
◢◤
It is a cold Friday in Chicago. You would say it is super cold since you worked in the warm weather of Los Angeles last week. Jay is coming over to your place after work. Now both of you are snuggling on the couch, watching movies on TV.
"I cannot watch this part," You hide your face in Jay's chest, preparing for the frightening scene. The darkness in the room increases the tension.
"What are you talking about? This is not even a horror movie," Jay looks down at you, bemused.
"Say you! Watching Tom Cruise blowing up a Gallardo distressed me. My soul is crying. It is a nightmare!"
You move out from Jay's embrace to point out the screen where Maggie Q said it is such a nice car. "Yes, it is! Don't do it, Zhen," yell you at the TV.
However, The Lamborghini on screen still went kaboom and was engulfed in fire. "Oh, no!" You put your hand on your heart, feeling devastated.
Jay grins at your silliness, "I'm sorry for your loss," He rubs your back, offering his condolences. However, his smile turns flirty. "If there's anything I can do to ease your pain..."
You play along with his idea. "Hmm, is that so?" Your hands wrap around Jay, pulling him closer. Your nose is tracing his neck, up to his jaw, his cheek. Your lips softly grace his skin, make their way closer to his. Jay wasted no time to kiss you and keep kissing you.
You don't know how long it goes, and you don't care to know. Until Jay moves back abruptly, tilting his head away from you, "Your pho..."
Your lips cut his words as you get on his lap. Jay puts his hands on your waist to stop you, halfheartedly, "Babe, your phone is ringing,"
Your hands curl behind his neck. "Let it ring." You whisper to his ear. Jay shudders when he feels your breath on his neck. Your mouth soon follows to make a mark on the same point. Jay tries to hold himself back from reciprocating the gesture.
Unlike Jay and his work, you got no obligation to pick up your phone. No life or death depends on you tonight. But the phone keeps shrieking. It started to annoy you because Jay stops participating in this make-out session.
"Might be important," This is one of the rare times you want to curse Jay's occupation.
"I assure you it won't be," You try to get Jay back in the game.
"Well, at least you can tell them to call you back later," Jay lands a soft kiss on your forehead. With a loud sigh, you move away from Jay's lap to pick up your phone.
Seeing the caller ID frustrates you even further. "You are interrupting our date night," is the first thing you say to your best friend, Alex, when you receive the call and put it on speaker.
"Hi, Jay!" Alex chirps his greeting, ignoring your complaint.
Jay greets back with a chuckle, "Hey, man. Nice to hear from you," He takes the remote to pause the movie, where Tom Cruise is gunning a Mercedes CLK down the road.
"No, it's not." You grumble under your breath. "What's up? Did you just come up with a song idea that would make Bruno Mars wished he wrote it?"
As a fellow songwriter/producer, you understand that song inspiration could come anytime. But it would still piss you off if Alex insists on working for it tonight.
"Not yet. But we do have a potential project for you,"
"Couldn't it wait until next week?" You moan your refusal. "Jay and I got plans for the weekend,"
"Of course. As long as you promise to pick up your phone when Angelique calls. I know you have been dodging her." Alex chides you.
Huffing your aversion, you lay your head on Jay's lap. In reflex, he plays with your hair. "Who's Angelique? A new talent?" Jay never heard that name before. He is pretty sure that he knows everybody at Pyramid, Alex's record label in Amsterdam where you work for.
Alex starts to explain, "She is a singer. Been around for a while,"
"Country singer, turned bubblegum pop singer, and now I guess she wants to try dance music as well?" You elaborate to Jay and asking Alex at the same time. You have written and produced songs from various genres, but your notable works so far are mostly EDM.
"Maybe," Alex answers casually.
"Angelique..." Jay ponders for a moment before lighting up, "Oh! Is she the one whose songs you keep skipping whenever they pop up, babe?"
Your best friend lets out a big laugh from the other side of the phone. "Angelique wants Y/N to produce her next album, but all of a sudden Y/N here cannot find the receive button on her phone," Alex emphasizes his sarcasm.
"I took yours, didn't I?"
However, Alex begins his interrogation. "Why are you avoiding her calls anyway?"
"I don't wanna work with her," You know you sound petulant.
"Come on, Y/N, it would be great! Angelique's third album sold triple more than her second. Her last single went neck to neck with Taylor Swift's song. Now, she is gonna let you work on her fourth album! Other producers would kill for this opportunity," Alex tries to reason.
Jay whistles, being impressed by the story.
"Well, my boyfriend here is a cop. I don't wanna get involved in any criminal activity," You are intentionally being obtuse. "If it were so great, why don't you do it? You're the one who still works on stage."
"You know people talked about how you could be the next Max Martin, right? Made sense that she asked for you," Alex states. "Angelique doesn't need another artist to perform with her. She needs someone who writes and produces good stuff."
"Every producer could be the next Max Martin if they work hard," You shrug the notion.
Jay looks confused with all these new names. "And Max Martin is...?"
"We are never ever ever getting back together?" Alex starts singing a couple bars to show Jay some examples of Max Martin's works.
"Uh..." Jay doesn't show any recognition.
"ou make me feel like I'm living a teenage dream?" Alex sings another song. Your best friend is nothing but persistent.
"Uhm.." And yet, Jay is still clueless.
"Jay is not keeping up with pop music for the last decade, Lex," You joke to your best friend. "Try some songs from the Backstreet Boys,"
"Hey!" Jay protests. "I know your songs," He smirks at you in full smug. "Especially the ones that were written about me."
You laugh at his adorable and sexy smirk. Sitting up from Jay's lap, you kiss the smug out of him.
"Guys, I'm still here." The flat tone of Alex on the phone stops Jay from taking the kiss further.
You peck a corner of Jay's lips one more time. "Your own fault. Who told you to call during our date night anyway?"
"Since I'm not there to poke and pinch you, I hope Jay could help me convince you to take this project." Your best friend is shameless.
"Is Angelique not a good person or something?" Jay tries to understand the situation. He knows you are a hard worker. It is rare for you to run off from a big project like this. "She ought to be a good singer, right? With all of that achievements,"
You cross your arms and glare at your boyfriend, "It is a prerogative to hate your best friend's exes, no?"
Jay frowns, "Wait, Angelique is Alex's ex?"
"Oh, come on!" groans Alex. "It was years ago!"
"You know how the saying goes. Quote-unquote, "You are my friend. She is your ex. You get to forgive and move on. I get to hold a grudge until I die”
"That was kinda harsh," Jay comments.
"Your best friend still hates me until now, Jay." You roll your eyes at your boyfriend.
"Mouse doesn't hate you. I even haven't got a chance to tell him about you since he's been deployed," Jay raises his eyebrows.
"She meant your work partner," Alex answers Jay for you.
Jay frowns deeper, "Hailey doesn't hate you."
"Wanna bet on that?" You challenge him.
Alex prevents the couple from bickering further, "Guys, listen! Angelique and I broke up amicably. There were no hard feelings between us now,"
"Excuse you!" You exclaim. "I still remember those dark days. You cried over so many Tequila bottles. And those boxes of chocolate!! Why did we have to consume that much chocolate over a breakup?? My waistline did not come back to its original measurement for three months!!"
Jay lets out an amused snort.
"Oh, you don't get to talk, man!" Alex hits the couple back. "Your temporary breakup also forced me to replenish my Jenever stocks! I got bakeries phone numbers on speed dial for chocolate cake emergencies!"
Jay puts his hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay. You guys continue to discuss business," He stands up from the couch. "I'm gonna go warm up some pie," Jay gestures to the kitchen area. "Alex, it's nice to catch up with you. Hope the next time we talk, it would be more social and less about business,"
"And you, love, try to listen to what Alex offers first before you cut him off," Jay bends down to kiss your lips teasingly. "Please don't pull out any bottles with more than 40% alcohol content. I need you sober for our plans tonight." He winks at you before moving to the kitchen, leaving you to deal with your pushy best friend alone.
+x Taglist +x
@lorenakaspersen @life-treatments @itsdesiree86
Foot Note: - Tom Cruise and Maggie Q blew up a Lamborghini Gallardo in Mission: Impossible III (2006). All of the MI movies are classics in my household. - Max Martin is a Swedish record producer, songwriter. You might not know his name, but I'm sure you know his songs. In reference to this fic, he co-wrote and co-produced Taylor Swift's "We are never ever ever getting back together", co-wrote Katy Perry's "Teenage Dream", co-wrote and co-produced some of Backstreet Boys' biggest hits. - "You are my friend. She is your ex. You get to forgive and move on. I get to hold a grudge until I die" line is taken from Henrietta Wilson on 9-1-1 TV Series S02E04 "Stuck". I thought it was hilarious. The line became the reason for this particular fic's existence.
I'm sorry for the long note. Thank you for reading this fic and the note. You are so welcome to reply, ask or tag me. We can talk about music, series or Jesse Lee Soffer's abs. :p
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aliveanddrunkonsunlight · 4 years ago
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food
Jaime x Brienne + alternate love languages
For @naomignome
Author’s Note: The previous ficlets, I was writing from their POV for each love language and how they receive that from the other person. Example: how Brienne hears/receives words of affirmation from Jaime. This is flipped, where I’m writing it from the POV of the person who is communicating the love (if that makes sense.)
*
They are both, somehow, alive. The sun peeks over the distant horizon. Carnage and ashes surround them, the stench of battle filling their noses. 
Her chambers. Armor coming off with shaky hands, dirt and sweat stained bodies sagging as they fall into merciful sleep. 
Jaime wakes, not in cold darkness as he expects, but with the quiet rustle of flames in the hearth. The floor is no longer littered with armor. It sits across the table and chairs, his and hers, polished so carefully, the firelight dancing in its sheen. 
Before his feet hit the floor, he knows where he will find her. She is in the moonlit yard, helping the other men build the pyres. He coaxes her back to bed, somehow, but the next morning, he wakes to find her side of the bed already empty. 
The circles under her eyes darken and grow deeper. The crease in her brow remains constant. It is on the third day when he touches her hand in passing, feels the cold clamminess of it, and worries she is turning into one of the creatures they fought. “Bed. Now.” he orders.
She objects, even as he steers her towards their room. She has to help rebuild. It is not your home, my lady. Unless you plan to stay. She has to protect Sansa. You are not Lady Sansa’s sworn sword. She has her guard. What will Pod think? The boy would not wish to see you ill.  
He brings her broth and the freshest bread (for the latter, he might have bribed the kitchen maid to set it aside for him, but Brienne does not need to know) and she swirls the spoon like a petulant child until he threatens to feed her himself. “You’ll end up with broth slung all over the bed sheets,” he teases her, gesturing with his stump. 
In the evening, Pod arrives with more hearty fare and another man carrying a pile of furs. “Before you object that we are stealing these from some unsuspecting soul who needs them when we have plenty,” he tells her after they leave. “Lady Sansa said she was happy to loan them.” He spends far too long arranging the furs and pillows on the hard stone floor in front of the fireplace before he approaches the bed and takes her hand. From the look on her face, she is too shocked to speak.
He arranges the furs carefully around her, Brienne leaning back against him, and he reclines against the legs of a chair. The somewhat uncomfortable seat is worth it for the little sigh she exhales when he wraps his arms around her and rests his chin on her shoulder, the two of them watching the fire. 
She dozes against him and his heart quickens, listening to her steady breath, noticing the way her fingers curl against his thigh. I love you. 
He has said it so rarely since they confessed their feelings to each other, afraid saying it too often would lessen its meaning.  
The next morning, when they wake together, he asks her about Tarth. “Do you mean to return?” 
A shadow passes over her face and her eyes shift away from his. “I should go and see my father.” It sounds like duty more than longing, and he is not sure what to make of that, so instead he kisses her and tells he loves her. It earns him a soft smile, and it is all so easy.
*
On the boat to Tarth, she is excited to show him her home. Her face is open and bright as she tucks her long body against his on the deck. They watch the island grow closer, Brienne pointing out things, her voice soft in his ear, making him shiver. 
When they step off the ship, there is a cavalcade of men awaiting them. Brienne embraces one of them before stepping back and taking his arm, introducing Jaime to her cousin Endrew. “Where is my father?” There is the shadow passing over her face again and an inkling of understanding begins to form. 
“He is waiting to greet you at Evenfall,” her cousin replies.  
Except he is not waiting, he is still meeting with whatever Tarth farmer needs counsel rather than his own daughter, returned from war. 
Finally, a man with broad shoulders and a portly belly appears in the doorway. He has the same broad face as Brienne, only his is half covered by a neatly trimmed white beard. He smiles and opens his arms for a hug, his gray eyes shimmering in the bright white marble of the entrance hall. 
Jaime does not expect her father to be thrilled that she has brought the Kingslayer himself home, but there is skepticism and disappointment on Selwyn’s face which he cannot hide. Brienne asks if he wants to accompany them on a walk before the evening meal, but he brushes her aside, saying he has meetings and duties and and. 
Brienne is oddly quiet as she shows him Evenfall. They take their walk through the grounds, just the two of them, but Jaime notices how she walks a few steps ahead of him, lost in her own thoughts. 
Selwyn is polite, but not warm. At dinner, he asks about their journey, fills Brienne in on trivial matters around the island, but after the small talk is dispensed with, he has little else to say. No questions about Brienne’s experiences on the mainland, none about the man she brought with her. 
There is an absence. An absence in him, an absence which echoes in the halls of this castle. Echoes of her brother, her mother, her siblings. How much grief Brienne has known, true grief, not the false feelings he felt at the news that his eldest son was dead, the mask he wore at his father’s vigil. The dutiful son, the dutiful soldier. 
No, Brienne still carried the memories of her loved ones within, a part of her so deep and recessed, even he did not have access. The longer they sit at her father’s table, the more Jaime realizes she never wished him to see it. Brienne did not want him to see how her father’s ignorance, his neglect, cast such a long shadow over his remaining child. But Jaime does see. The steel core of her begins to melt away. He watches those strong shoulders slump under the weight of childhood hurt. All those half-healed scars.
Brienne has never needed him to protect her. Not when they got taken by the Bloody Mummers, not even at the bear pit, not any moment since, but he wants to stretch his good arm down the length of the table, take up the Evenstar by his collar and shake him. Make him listen, tell him all the ways he should be on his knees thanking his daughter.
Jaime’s hand shakes, thinking of all the words he might use to explain what Brienne has done for him, much less half the kingdom. 
She told me to live. 
She allows him to simply be the man he always wished to be, because she knows he is capable. She does not discredit him for his faults, just as he does not discredit her for hers. It sounds emotionally distant to say they love one another justly, but it’s true. It is equanimity. Any space they are together is one where he can breathe, after decades of what felt like drowning.
He loves her more than he thinks he will ever be able to express, but he does not let it stop him from trying. Words and deeds and touch and the very air in his lungs.
I am so, so sorry, my darling, he tells her that night. She likely does not know what he means, it could easily be an apology for his reputation, the deed which cast the die for his life for so long. He means it as an apology, one which she will never get from her father.  
The next morning, Brienne has gone down to breakfast before he wakes. Standing outside the great hall, he hears their voices echoing inside. “Will you live at the Rock then?” 
“I--I always planned to serve in your stead, but I know that is not what you wished of me.” 
“Nonsense, I only wished you to be happy.” 
“I am.” After a moment, so quietly he has to lean towards the door to hear. “We chose each other.” 
Upon hearing that, Jaime walks outside, needing fresh air. She finds him in the gardens, hand clutched around the seat of a stone bench. He tugs her down into his lap. “I am very proud of you.” 
“Proud of me?” Her forehead wrinkles into that familiar frown. “Why?” 
“Do I need a reason?” he asks in the moment before his mouth covers hers.
*
Their wedding party is tiny and Brienne refuses to have the ceremony in the sept, so they wed on the cliffs overlooking the sea. It is near sunset and light spills across the water in an orangey glow, shimmering in the gold trimmings on her wedding cloak. 
At the small feast afterwards, her father reminds him that Brienne once swore she would only ever wed if the man could beat her in the yard. “She has already done that, my lord, I assure you,” Jaime replies in a voice which makes her whole body flush.
“That is when you were in shackles,” Brienne says, once they are alone in her chambers. 
He laughs. “Well, it is too late now, my love. We are wed.” 
Her blue eyes glitter at him from the other side of the room. “You mean you will not spar with me on our wedding night? I never knew you to be so dull.” 
Jaime chases her around the bed, making her shriek with laughter, and when he catches her, they wrestle against each other on the mattress, both of them grinning like fools. “I happen to know you are quite good at the other type of sparring.”
“Jaime,” she chides him, but a soft laugh falls from her lips as she bends down to kiss him. 
It is well past midnight when she drags him out to the yard. “You cannot let me win,” she warns him at one point as their tourney swords clash. 
He chuckles between his gritted teeth until Brienne breaks the hold they are in. “You forget I am much older than you.”
“No excuses, old man,” she winks at him. 
Jaime knows it is worthless to protest about his left hand. They both fought the dead. Only he likes when Brienne--his wife--can easily best him and it is difficult to summon up his usual competitiveness when she executes a particularly thrilling move. 
He ends up in a rather vulnerable position, on his knees in the dirt, her sword pointed at his throat, only to revel in the slow realization dawning in her eyes. She’s won. That is until he bats her wooden tourney sword away with his left hand and tackles her to the ground. “You cheated.” she accuses, once they both get their breath back. 
He smirks at her, slipping his hand underneath her tunic, delicate fingertips against her skin. “We’ll call it even.”
*
When her father passes, Brienne throws herself into all the things which need to be done. He is the one who coaxes her back to bed. She has to allow herself to rest. She has to allow herself to mourn. She’ll do no one any good running herself ragged. 
This time, he does not have to bribe the kitchen maids. They make Brienne’s favorite dishes and willingly wake in the middle of the night to show Jaime how to warm milk for her, served with a dash of honey, to help her go back to sleep. 
“We were very much alike,” she says to him a few days later, when they are walking in the gardens. “Headstrong. That is why we fought so often.” Jaime is tempted to tell her all the ways they were different, but it would not help anything. Right now, the most important thing he can provide is solace, not unwanted advice. “He tried so hard to understand me. He only wanted something to go right. To see me happily wed, except that was something he wanted. It was not what I wanted. So then,” she takes a shaky breath. “He finally let me go, even though I know he was mocked, chastised that he could not control his own daughter.”
“You represented him honorably. No one could accuse you otherwise.” He presses a gentle kiss to her temple. “And if they try, you can face them in the yard.” 
She has not laughed since her father died, but she smiles then and squeezes his hand. “Thank you.” 
*
Their fifth year of marriage, he arranges for their friends to travel to Tarth. It is an unrealistic request for most, he realizes, but everyone comes. Lady Sansa, his brother, Pod and Peck and Gendry, all of the people who know Brienne’s selflessness and his luck. There is cake and fruit and all manner of sweet things Brienne says she does not like, but which he knows she secretly enjoys. Meat pies and cheese and warm, fresh-baked bread. There is laughter and stories spun over a long meal and good wine. In some ways, it is a happier day than their wedding. 
She laces her fingers through his and they lean against each other, listening to the others late into the night. 
*
For her name day, he and the children bake a cake. Alex’s whole outfit is covered with flour and Alys’ hair is dusted with it. They insist on him writing the script in icing, even with his shaky left hand. When they present it to her that evening, she laughs in delight and kisses all of them, tears shimmering in her eyes. She presses an extra kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, darling.” 
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venialsun · 3 years ago
Text
to begin with, take warning (1/3)
[read on ao3]
1 | 2 | 3
Dick watched Damian physically try to not show his nerves on his face for a full ten minutes—with the success of a trained actor and the failure of a nervous fourteen-year-old playing it off to his older brother—when he caved. They had just driven past the Welcome to Gotham! billboard with “u sure?” and “go back to metropolis cuck!!!” graffitied in looping, hot pink script on the side. It’d be another twenty-five minutes of traffic before they made it to central downtown, and Dick could only stand so much of not-twitchy, not-nervous, I’m-above-this Damian before he burst into laughter and caused some problems.
So he said, “It’s okay to be nervous.”
And from the passenger side, feet up on the dash, looking at his phone, Damian snapped, “I’m not nervous! What is there to be nervous about? It’s an American high school. Big deal. Last week, I stopped a planet-wide catastrophe that would have killed billions in another galaxy, and every night, unless you don’t know, we fight actual monsters and supervillains who actively try to kill us. Some have even succeeded. This is nothing.”
“Yeah,” said Dick, “maybe don’t mention all that on the first day.”
“I know that.”
“And I think you mean ‘my friends and I went to space and stopped a war.’ You know you have to give them credit, too.”
“They’re not my friends,” said Damian. “I work with them. Father isn’t friends with every member of the Justice League, yet he’s worked with near every one of them on League missions. They are my colleagues.”
“So what you’re saying is that you are organizing and leading team missions?” Dick could not keep the amusement out of his voice. “What happened to ‘Teams are unnecessary and a waste of time’? What about the Titans? I know they invited you back.”
“Timothy leads the Titans,” said Damian. “And there’s no room for two Robins on the same team.”
“Mm, don’t know about that, but I also know neither of you would play nice long enough to really try. So no team, okay,” Dick agreed, “and you just happen to be having adventures with other underaged heroes of no relation to you on a periodic basis. And they’re not your friends.”
Damian blinked away from his phone—success!—and scowled. “I do not get your obsession with making friends, Richard,” he said.
Dick splayed his hands on the steering wheel. “I’m glad to see you hanging out with kids your own age, is all. It’s good for you.”
Damian snorted and looked out the window. Gotham’s littered streets and the growing mob of early-morning commuters blurred gray in the smog. In tones of great solemnity he said, “That’s what this whole thing is about, isn’t it? I am going to school to learn how to maintain a secret identity and cultivate a normal public persona. I will be surrounded by kids my own age, and I will be sure to make connections that I will treasure for the rest of my life. These next four years will be the happiest of my life, I know it.”
Dick laughed, and Damian smirked.
“Alright, smartass, I get it. You’re Damian Wayne, haver of too many titles and not leader of any teams, and you’re not nervous about going to high school. I believe you.”
They stopped at a light. Gotham Academy was a few blocks ahead. If they walked, they could be there in ten minutes. Driving as they were in the morning congestion, it would take at least fifteen. Dick didn’t mind. He hummed to himself, waiting. Damian went back to his phone. The light turned green. Dick eased his foot off the brake. They advanced slowly and made it to the front of the line of cars, when the light blinked yellow, then red, and they stopped again.
Damian said, “Father says you were a good student. Well-liked. Studious. Only Robin’s duties caused problems.”
“Bruce said that?” Dick rolled his eyes. “Of course, he did. School was fine,” he said, “though I was mostly focused on being Robin and then the Titans at the time. It was nice, I think. It seems so long ago. But it was hard to have a life there when the most important parts of my life were somewhere else.”
“Wait, Grayson,” Damian said, gleefully, “were you unpopular?”
Dick chuckled, and the light turned green again. “I don’t know what you mean, Dames. I didn’t have that much trouble, and I had a good group of friends. But sometimes I thought it was all a waste of time, time I should’ve spent being Robin. It wasn’t easy hiding parts of myself from my classmates. Keeping the secret meant I couldn’t really be myself or talk to anyone about anything other than school.”
“Until the Titans,” said Damian.
“Until the Titans,” agreed Dick. He glanced at Damian, still with his marginally tense shoulders. “If it counts for anything,” he said, “I don’t think it was a waste of time now. I’m glad I went. I think this is a good thing.”
“Tt,” Damian tutted, but his look was speculative.
“I won’t lie to you and say you will love school. But give it a chance. You might end up liking it.”
“Ever the optimist.”
Dick pulled up into the line of cars for day student drop-off. Gotham Academy stretched across the block, its front tower looming darkly over them in the morning fog. Teenagers in uniform and cheery-looking adults were wandering about, huddling in groups or directing the flow of foot traffic to the entrance and around the side of the façade.
“Got your schedule? Know where you’re going?” Dick asked.
Damian glowered at him.
Dick chuckled. “Right, right, ‘course you do. So I’ll pick you up at four o’clock, okay?”
“And not a minute later,” threatened Damian. And then he set his shoulders, got out of the car, slammed the door, and marched away like he was going into battle.
Dick couldn’t help himself. As he pulled away, he rolled down the window and shouted, “Have a great day at school, Damian! Love ya!”
Without turning around, Damian flipped him the bird.
A whistle blew, and in the rear view Dick saw an upset-looking woman, probably an administrator, point at Damian and loudly scold, “Young man!”
Dick winced, sympathetic yet unrepentant, and merged back into traffic.
Whoops.
Yanez knew this would happen, but she had thought it would be at least until midday. Homeroom hadn’t even started. She was busy alternating between threatening her teachers to smile and look happy to be here and smiling half-encouragingly, half-threateningly at students and shepherding them away from their hormonal clusters, when Headmaster Hammer cut a line through the crowd and headed straight to her. A sour-faced Damian Wayne kept pace behind him.
“Good morning,” she greeted, raising an eyebrow, and silently prayed for patience. “Can I help you?”
“Principal Yanez,” said Hammer. He motioned Damian in front of him. “Your student is in need of a reminder of our disciplinary code of conduct.”
Yanez did not miss the emphasis on your. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Hammer was still smarting over his demotion from Grand Headmaster of Gotham Academy, with the full powers that entailed, to “Grand Headmaster” of Gotham Academy, a purely honorary title that delegated tasks to the grammar, middle, and upper level administration that Gotham Academy had been divided into. She ignored him and looked down at the dark-haired boy in front of her. He glared back, defiant.
Ah. One of those.
“Damian Wayne, right?” she asked. “Isn’t it too early to be getting in trouble on the first day of school?”
“That depends on your definition of trouble, I suppose,” Damian said. To her surprise, he had the barest hint of an accent. British, maybe. He stuck out his hand. “You must be Samantha Yanez, the Head Principal for grades nine through twelve.”
Bemused, Yanez shook his hand. “That’s me.”
“I can only hope you are better than your predecessor,” said Damian. He glanced at Hammer and managed to make it seem like he was looking down his nose at him, despite being a full foot shorter. “He left much to be desired.”
“Note that down, Principal. Another perfect example of abhorrent and disrespectful student behavior,” said Hammer.
Yanez frowned. “What happened? Perhaps we should take this in my office.”
Already Yanez could see the curious bubble of students starting to form, talking behind their hands or blatantly recording on their phones.
“Certainly,” said Hammer. “It will help expedite the expulsion process.”
“That remains to be seen, Headmaster,” said Yanez.
She led them back to her office, past the crowds of mingling students and through the arching stone hallway that had been commandeered for the clerical staff. She took a seat behind her desk and indicated for them to sit. She tried not to be too annoyed when Hammer went instead to stand behind her, looming over like a gnarled skeleton.
“Okay,” she said. “Damian. Why don’t you explain to me why Headmaster Hammer has brought you in here? He’s threatening expulsion, but I only reserve that option for the most extreme of cases. Think this merits that?”
“Hardly,” scoffed Damian. “My brother was dropping me off and I flipped him off.”
“You—you flipped him off? You put your middle finger up at him?”
“Yes.”
Yanez barely resisted the urge to laugh and glanced at Hammer. His expression was thunderous. She looked back at Damian and waited, but he did not elaborate. “Why did you flip him off?” she asked.
“He is an embarrassment to me.”
“All brothers are embarrassing to their siblings, especially younger ones. Is there more?”
“No.”
“He has treated every administrator that tried to correct his behavior with rancor and disrespect,” said Hammer.
“Hrm.” Yanez steepled her fingers together. “Headmaster Hammer, could Damian and I have the room? I’ll take care of this. I’m sure you are very busy, and I know Principal Trammer could use the help with the elementary kids.”
Hammer scowled—Yanez knew he hated dealing with the primary school kids—but did not argue and took his leave.
When he was gone, Yanez took a moment to study the young boy in front of her. Petulant and angry, dark-haired, brown-skinned, and light-eyed, something tense and haughty in his shoulders—he looked every bit like any of the troubled kids Yanez had taught over her decades-long career. And yet nothing like them at all. There was something different in the set of his chin, the sharpness of his gaze, his crossed arms, like he was looking for danger and ready to meet it.
“Do you want to be here, Damian?” she asked.
Damian’s mouth twisted. “In this room, wasting my time? Not particularly.”
“Well, we can agree on that,” said Yanez. “But I meant here, Gotham Academy.”
Damian shrugged. “My family insists this will be an enriching opportunity.”
“They’re probably right. But I have looked at your records. You tested out of most of the core subjects, and your home-schooling portfolio is very impressive. Yet you are signed up for the standard ninth-grade honors track. When your Father and I met this summer to discuss the terms of your enrollment, he told me you insisted on it.”
Finally some of the animosity slipped from Damian’s face. He seemed intrigued. “You spoke with my father?”
“Only the once and very briefly,” said Yanez, “but yes. He said re-enrolling at Gotham Academy and coming back to school was your idea.”
Damian scowled.
“So I believe some part of you wants to be here, wants to be a student. Is that accurate?” she asked.
“I already regret it,” Damian muttered.
Yanez smiled. “Not the resounding yes I wanted to hear, but I’ll take it.” She reached into a side drawer and pulled out a quarter-sheet of yellow paper and scrawled down a few details. “If you want to be here, then being a student means abiding by some ground rules. Respect others, respect yourself, respect the school.”
“My respect is earned,” said Damian, “not freely given because of some archaic code of conduct.”
“Then you’re already miles ahead of most of the people in this building,” said Yanez. She handed him the slip of paper. “Respect is earned, yes, but you have to give people the chance to earn it in the first place. That means holding off on rude gestures and comments when it can be helped, which is most times. I am giving you two days of community lunch tutoring for flipping your brother off on school grounds and insulting the administrators.”
“Community lunch tutoring?” Damian echoed, scanning the slip.
“It is similar to detention, but instead you tutor other students and help them with their assignments. Report to the technology atrium during your lunchtime today and tomorrow.”
“Sounds dumb,” said Damian. “Why not just expel me?”
“For expressing your feelings and saying mean things to grown adults?” Yanez chuckled and shook her head. “Damian, this is a high school. If I expelled every bratty kid with no respect for authority and a penchant for dramatics, I would be out of a job. If you want to flip people off and bad-mouth teachers and administrators, that’s your business. It is not in my power to stop you, not fully anyway. You’re a smart kid. If you want to be a delinquent then at least be smart about it. If you get caught or the wrong adult overhears you, then you and I will be meeting more often, the repercussions will not be as merciful, and I will have to do a lot more paperwork. And Damian?”
She waited until she had his full attention, and he looked up, curious.
“I hate paperwork,” she said. “Don't let it come to that.” She waved a hand. “Now get out of my office. You’re late.”
next ->
11 notes · View notes
koushisatori · 4 years ago
Text
Surprise
kuroo x f!reader
genre: birthday fluff
warnings: none
word count: 2.3k
note: I made it !! Happy Birthday to you, Kuroo ! <3 - Also I’ll beta it later when i’m home from university, bc it’s 3 am here, oops x.x
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Kuroo wasn’t jealous, really because logically there was no reason to be
You were his girlfriend and you did not mind sudden Hollywood blockbuster worthy kisses when he got a spurt of…possessiveness towards you
He is in no way overbearing or anything, both of you share the opinion that even though you’re a couple you don’t have to be together all the time, spend afternoons with your friends
Then again, you two spend quite a lot of time together, with you being the  Volleyball Clubs manager, always staying behind with your team when they practiced way past the official clubs' training's hours
But sometimes he woke up and felt the need to have you all to himself
On those days a slightly lingering gaze by other would irk him enough to    permanently glue himself to your side or back
Because of the rareness of that situation, you generally give into that specific mood and take him either with you if you had plans or adapt to whatever your handsome boyfriend seemed fit
(usually, it consists of getting snacks from the store to make watching movies more fun after you both finished your homework. And also cuddles. Lots and lots and lots of cuddling and kisses.)
Anyway, normally he’s a super laid back, relaxed, and ‘’the best boyfriend in the world, right, baby?’’
Kuroo was happy with being ‘’a bit (big times) nerdy’’ as kenma liked to remark, liked that things had their reasons and were logically intelligible
Well…he quickly realized that, while emotions were chemically explainable this also was as far as logic was helpful with them
Sooo…there was no reasonable excuse for him to feel that ugly burning in his chest watching you ruffle through Lev’s hair and giggle so cutely
But it was his birthday, and you should be all over HIM because HE was YOUR boyfriend and in general, maybe he had one of those not so great days bc not only did he get stuck in his bedsheets and face planted to the ground first thing in the morning but his breakfast toast also landed with its face on the kitchen floor just after he put away all the things he used
You were…not avoiding him but kind of distant with your thoughts
At lunch, he was telling you something you’d usually find at least funny if not hilarious because your humor was so fantastically similar to his, but all you did was smile lightly
You even whispered with Yaku instead of talking to him !! how dare you
Rest in peace, Kuroo (you will survive one day with a bit less attention of your s/o)
He wasn’t jealous of Lev or thought that you suddenly developed feelings for the younger boy
He was jealous because that tall child hoarded all of your attention, while you had looked at him maybe twice, three times tops, in the last hour
‘’Kuroo.’’ To the untrained ear the small setters voice as passive as usual. Kuroo though is able to easily distinguish the various different layers of Kozume Kenma’s very real, emotional bandwidth. The captain did hear Kenma and his questioning as well as slightly worried tone, he simply chooses to not react in favor of shooting (barely) decently hidden death glares at the to-tall-for-his-own-good-boy. 
‘’Kuroo.’’ The slight change in his childhood friend's voice was enough for the black-haired player to grudgingly turn away from you and Lev to look at Kenma.
‘’Yes.’’ Tetsurou huffs out, giving his best to not sound like a petulant child. ‘’You’re so dumb.’’ Kenma said dryly, definitely analyzing him. The questioning sound leaving Kuroo was close to embarrassing, a quick cough and back straightening later, he adds ‘’You wound me. Right here.’’ While pressing his hand flat against his chest. ‘’Where’s my understanding childhood friend to put balm on my hurting heart by sharing emotionally charged, empathic words with me?’’
Instead of offering the desired words, the smaller boy rolls his eyes before he averts them to his hand-held gaming console. ’’Can you put that thing away, we’re at practice Kenma.’’ Kuroo all but unintentionally whined. 
Everything was stressing him out today. Usually, his childhood friend at least stuck to the general rule of not using it outside the breaks. But obviously, there was a plot against him going on with the goal to annoy him more than usual because, of course, why not doing it on his damn birthday. Nice friends and their nice presents.
Just like Kuroo did mere minutes before, Kenma decided to simply…ignore his request half voiced as some kind of instruction. Well…things didn’t work like they were supposed to, he didn’t feel like arguing with his friend so he let him be for now. Rather than that, he turned back to you and Lev, who – for once – seemed eager to train his digging and passing game because you threw the volleyball for him to dive after.
‘’Where in freaking hell is Yaku…’’ Kuroo muttered grumpily, before repeating louder ‘’Yaku! Why am I the only third…Noboyuki!’’These definitely aren’t my friends, he thought while finally giving in to his deepest desire of ripping you away from the grey-haired future wannabe ace. 
‘’You truly are dense when it comes to (Y/N),’’ Kenma says, moving away towards the benches, before swerving around them to leave for the clubroom. ‘’The definition of tunnel vision.’’
The thing is, Kuroo heard Kenma say it, but his brain refused to acknowledge them, too focused on finally being in the spotlight of your focus.
 Meanwhile, you were watching your dark-haired boyfriend closer than he realized. You carried the whole plan. Or rather your ability to make him lose focus on anything that isn’t you, with just the right amount of addressing the slight possessive side of his and deprivation of your attention.
Even though all of this was just so the others could fulfill their part of the plan, you hate how it led him to mope around the whole day. It was so hard to not laugh about his stupid science joke at lunch and overall, not tell him all day how glad you were that he was born. This is his special day, why wouldn’t you tell him how much you loved his presence and his annoyingly attractive smirk? If not for the others and them begging and bribing you, you would smooch his kissable cheeks, nose, forehead, and lips all day long to honor this special date.
You are an amazing and emphatic girlfriend, so���of course, you realize that his mood in general is rather on the bad side today. He wants you close and to himself, and you did the complete opposite! Tetsurou would absolutely give you an ear full later when he finally understood the whole plan.
Nonetheless, it is kind of cute how he tried to hide that he was sulking. Your big baby of a boyfriend was currently trying to kill poor Lev with his gaze alone, staring holes into the back of his head all the while directing puppy dog eyes at you to relent and come over.
Usually, your Tetsurou was the perfect team captain. Attentive, clever, strategical, and just the right amount of authoritarian and approachable. But with his mind stuck on questioning why you were being weird to him on his birthday, he had yet to realize that through the whole time of today’s practice all of his teammates inexplicably went missing for about 15 minutes before they either sneaked back in (the first years and some of the second years) or openly announced a little too detailed information on how, for example, the bathroom visit has been absolutely necessary and could not be postponed.
The only problem: Lev wasn’t allowed to know of the plan until a second beforehand to not accidentally spoil the surprise out of pure excitement to surprise his Kuroo-senpai.
When you see your better half starting to approach the two of you, yelling for his vice-captain and the libero simultaneously, you whisper ‘’Lev, when I say now, you have to start running okay and call for Yaku. Ask him to practice your receives as loud as you can, and take off over to the clubroom as fast as possible, alright? Also, please don’t fall, we don’t need a bloody and broken nose, Tetsu is pissed enough already. Please do it for me, okay?’’ It was a bit unfair of you to look at him hopefully like that, but as the team manager, you posessed a certain power none of the other third years had over the younger players.
Just a moment before Kuroo got the chance to grab the clueless middle blockers shirt collar, you voice out a hushed ‘’Now!’’. You immediately look up innocently to your boyfriend and finally put the warm smile on your lips that wanted to sit there since your eyes fell on him the first time this morning. ‘’Tetsu...is everything okay?’’ - ‘’Yaku-senpai, please help me with my receives!’’
‘’Lev never asks for receiving practice...’’ is…not the thing you wanted your boyfriend to say. Panicking that he might find out now, still a bit too early, you do the only thing that you know WILL take his mind off of it. You cup his cheek with your hands and pull him down to press your lips against his. 
His reaction was immediate, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you so close to him that not even a feather would fit between the two of you. Getting into the spontaneous moment, you happily loop your arms around his neck, smiling softly into the kiss. 
Yeah...you definitely had missed that.
When you break apart, he pecks your lips a few additional times for good measure before he bends down even more to bury his face in your neck, enjoying how your fingers softly stroke through and play with his hair, in all the right ways, helping him to relax for the first time in hours. ‘’Baby,…’’ he murmurs against your skin ‘’…no one is training the way they should, let’s just ditch practice. We get a cake from the bakery down the street and eat it in bed, okay?’’
For the second time today, you feel bad. Your boyfriend's voice sounds tired and that was not how a birthday boy was supposed to sound. With his face in your neck, you were able though to watch the entrance. They should come in any second now. You feel tempted to give into Tetsurou’s wishes.
Can they hurry up?! 
The thought desperately shoots through your head, because even though he was currently not paying attention to anything but recharging and breathing you in, Kuroo is way too perceptive to not get behind the ruckus going on in the gym the whole afternoon.
‘’We can cuddle later, Tetsu, I promise my whole afternoon is all for you. If you want I can even sleep over.’’ Your soothing words made his invisible cat ears prick up and listen interested. You knew that, from the moment you both enter the comfort of his home, he would drape himself over you for permanent, never-ending cuddles. The only reason for him to let go of you - unwillingly so - will be you whining about having to use the bathroom. For everything else, you would have to carry a (nearly) dead weight of the size and weight of your boyfriend everywhere.
‘’I haven’t heard Tora for a while now….’’ The raven-haired middle blocker mumbles, and your heart picks up some speed again.
Looking for words you stammer some intangible syllables, which lead Kuroo to look up, suspicion swirling in his hazel eyes. ‘’Baby…what’s wrong?’’ he asks, cocking his head to the side, watching you like a cat its prey. Quickly waving your hands in front of you, you hastily answer a ‘’Nothing.’’ And try to smile away the panic.
Before he got the chance to repeat his question and pry it out of you, the gym darkens, and you breathe out a sigh of relief. Just on time. With the door opening a little source of light illuminates his teammate's faces with his closest friends at the front. Yaku holding a cake stabbed with 18 sparklers, and Nobuyuki holding an unholy amount of the ugliest birthday ballons you had ever seen. All of them together slaughtering the happy birthday song in such a passionate manner, that you could see yourself being able to forgive them the torture they put you through in the near future. 
‘’Come one, birthday boy.’’ You say with a loving smile, and grab his hand to pull him to the rest of the group.
The moment the lights flicker back on and everyone is cheering out loud one last time. You realize belated that Kuroo (intended) and you (unintended) were besieged with confetti and glitter. (You, until this day, suspect Yamamoto who looked a bit too innocent for your taste.)
‘’All of that…for me?’’ Kuroo questions, his gorgeous eyes shining tell telling in the remaining light of the sparkles. Following his words, Kenma takes a small step forward quickly handing over a small book – filled with birthday wishes, pictures that were taken with each and all of them, inside jokes and doodles - just to move out of the spotlight again as quickly as he jumped into it. ‘’Surprise, Tetsu.’’ You say with a sweet smile, that makes him move closer to you to gift himself a taste of your lips.
Before things get to turn mushy and emotional, a chant of Cake! Cake! Cake! – started by Lev and Tora, joined by everyone, disrupts the moment the two of you had.
‘’Okay, okay! I hear the will of the people, I’ll submit to it!’’ Kuroo gives in laughing. ‘’But…’’ a theatrical moment of silence ‘’I want to cut the cake with (Y/N) together!’’ Your boyfriend proudly announces, and, to his delight, you blush furiously. Yakus laughing remark of ‘’Oi, Kuroo, this is not your wedding, you know!’’ was followed by various joking wolf whistles and some hollering. You didn’t know how you ended up being in the center of attention together with him, but when Tetsuro easily replies ’’Well, I need to perfect this skill it for the real ceremony after party one day.’’ You knew that you wouldn’t want to be somewhere else.
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bangtancentricsblog · 4 years ago
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jjk/qw: 2
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❒ pairing: jeon jungkook x reader
❒ genre: angst, idk really
❒ alternative universe: Harry Potter, enemies to lovers
❒ rating: NC 17
❒ word count: 887 words
warnings/disclosures: gryffindor professor jungkook, slythrine professor mc, mentions of character death and war, nothing too bad as always not edited
main ml • AO3
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“It’s biased opinions of a singular party that squeses ones perception of others.” You huff more annoyed at being cornered than over this argument.
“So you mean to tell me that you don’t think that students father was a great man.” Jungkook asks again brow pinched in befuddlement.
“Mr. Kim’s father was a great many things but that doesn’t mean he was solely a great man. Parents are flawed for they are also humans and they make mistakes. Mr Kim’s parents passed leaving him orphaned and has only heard good things of his parents, which is why he’s can only believe his father was a great man.”
“And so you would punish him for that?”
“He wasn’t being punished for that, he was punished because he believes he is destined for greatness, that he, like others, is the chosen one.” Jungkook takes a step back scrubbing a palm across his face in frustration.
“There is the potential of war, and you would condemn him for being a beacon of hope for the other students?”
“Jungkook, I don’t expect you to understand when you came from a happy half blooded family whereas I came from a broken pure blooded one.”
“The school doesn’t tolerate blood discrimination, I would think you’d know better than to bring up my blood status.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, it’s been decades since we’ve established that rule. What I meant was that you believed you were destined for greatness, just like I’m sure many others did at the tender age of 16. But the reality is, it’s our jobs as professors of this school to prepare the students for the possibility of war should it be in the remainder of our lifetime or at any moment in theirs. Rumors or not it’s a truth we must face despite how much the wizarding world has changed since our times.” You sigh resigned at the idea that this scolding he’s trying to impose on you will never end unless you end it.
“I didn’t know you’d felt this way.” He whispers, though you hesitate to meet his gaze because of your pride.
“Mr. Kim is an exceptional student but I wouldn’t have him be a martyr should we face the worst. Perhaps, the next time you should try to scold me you’d come prepared.” He looks sheepish for a second suddenly remembering that you were in fact standing mere inches from one another.
“What happened to you, if I might ask. I don’t remember you being like this when we attended Hogwarts together.”
“One changes with time but the ripple of one's death is the most effective.” You offer him a soft smile, one filled with longing and hurt. He isn’t sure if he’s imagining it or not but he sees a flicker of warmth in your gaze.
“Did you know seokjin?” He finally asks, the lump in his throat forming quickly as he waits for your answer.
“Of course, he was five years our senior. He was handsome, charming, intelligent, he was the total package.”
“I thought you’d dated Yoongi?”
“I did, he was four years our senior.” You sniff turning away from his inquisitive gaze, and squeezing past his body to finish gathering the remainder of your work from the front.
“He’s married now, but not to you and I didn’t see you at the wedding.”
“I’m quite aware, and who would enjoy seeing their best friend marry their first love?” You scoff gritting your teeth to keep from going on.
“His wife is your best friend?!” He sounds appalled, it’s almost laughable.
“Yes, she was at least. The best woman wins, and for a long time I’d thought it was me but she played the game better and I was just too naive to realize it. I don’t speak to either of them so it doesn’t matter, not anymore. I’ve come to accept all that has happened.” Jungkook is stunned, because your voice sounds strong, resolute even as if you really did believe what you’d said but your body screams of the anguish you felt at the betrayal. He wants to hold you close, to reassure you that everything would be okay if only you’d let him in.
“Is there anything else you’d like to poke your nose in? Perhaps the way I was disowned by my family? Professor Jeon, I don’t like you and the way I punish the students, all the students are well within what’s acceptable. I don’t like the way you enjoy barging in here to scold me like a petulant child, especially in my own classroom. So I’d suggest the next time you feel the need to present yourself as the hulking beast of a man you think you are, do so with someone who wants it, take that clumsy history of magic teacher for example. If I recall she is both a gryffindor and absolutely wetting herself for even a sliver of your attention. I neither want or need that from you.” You remind with a hiss sauntering out of the room and although he’s shocked he can’t deny the way his slacks feel a little too tight, nor the way his gaze falls to your ass. You were just so damn mean, but good god if it didn’t make him want you that much more.
tagging @boymeetsweevil it’s a mess but I hope you enjoy also stoner Tae is on the way
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iampikachuhearmeroar · 3 years ago
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so this morning, while scrolling through my fb feed, i came across an nyt opinion/advice piece from a 27yo (ie basically me lmao) who is obviously lucky, in a sense, to finally land their “dream job using my (their) skills” etc. like obvs i can’t read it bc of the stupid “you get one free article a month if you either don’t have an account or subscription” (my one free article was used up reading an article about adult adhd like last week)….. thing that nyt does.
but anyway. back on topic lol. the crux of the article in both the headline and the quote snippet was that the advice asker was really dissatisfied with the 40 hour work week that came with her “dream job”. with how having this 40hr workweek gave her no time to do her busy chores like house cleaning or laundry or didn’t even give her time to let her have her hobbies/creative pursuits (whatever they were/are).
however, in the comments on the article (and apparently from those who read the article on the comments, the advice/opinion column writer) a good bunch of like gen Xer’s and baby boomers (im assuming) were ganging up on the asker like “suck it up princess, it’s what life is!!! i work 70+ hours a week and LOVE IT and have just resigned myself to the fact that i have NO time left over to do my “chores���! learn to O U T S O U R C E these life admin tasks to someone else!!! everyone MUST LEARN this in america!!! it makes life so much easier ☺️” and such.
of course, there were plenty of the same bs comments that you see on anything about careers or home ownership towards millennials/gen Z’ers about “learn to go WITHOUT and save save save and squander your time so that you NEVER live and HAVE FUN or TIME FOR HOBBIES! my bet is that your parents did that and they survived just fine while also raising your ungrateful spiteful ass (not including any type of health issues they might have picked up from such long hours/shitty working conditions) so why can’t you just L E A R N to do the same you precious spoilt brat!!! because the reality of Real Life™️ is that you can’t have it both ways!!! then you’ll have early retirement guaranteed, hopefully!!! and know that hobbies really are time wasters most of the time ☺️ or at least they were for me!!! and your precious so-called “creative pursuits” most definitely are time wasters. no one needs THOSE.” and so on so forth.
they also had jibes for her bc the asker wanted to start a family at some point apparently… and apparently it’s “much worse” once you have kids. like. thanks geraldine and henry. you’ve just told us how much you’ve resented having your kids/family in one fell swoop. your opinion which you’ve framed as unhelpful, condescending advice is now voided.
like. i don’t know how rhonda or paul or deandra or philip could miss the point so fucking entirely. why the fuck should anyone- nay everyone (bc that’s what they make it sound like)- learn to outsource their busy chores like laundry/house cleaning/grocery shopping or god knows what else- to someone else???? why is that apparently a standard expected to be learnt in the US???
like why the fuck are you so desperate for people not to have free time to do these things (unless of course they live in some of those shitty nyc or other big city apartment blocks that don’t come with individual private laundries in the self-contained flats or a communal laundry on like the bottom floor or w/e for example) frank????
deidre why the hell are you so bitterly hankering about “be grateful that you have it easier than most and learn that hobbies mean jackshit and just sell your soul and time to your boss!!! when will the generation stopping being “me me me!!!” and “work life balance!” and think about the company’s bottom line!! learn that “work life balance” is never important! work like a slave for 50 years and see if your valuable experience is needed then! that’s when you’ll learn that those hours where you were never being lazy, instead of just expecting life to be handed to you, will have paid off!” or whatever other ridiculously toxic capitalist bullshit they were spitting out.
obviously there were FAR MORE people actually supporting the question asker and echoing the idea that the 40hr workweek is now redundant. they were also putting down the opinion/advice piece writer’s advice to the asker….. that was apparently similar to the all the bitter people on the comments saying that the 27yo was just “asking for too much” and had to “learn to suck it up instead of being a petulant and overly selfish dick!!” etc etc etc. we all know the spiel as thoroughly as the macarena now.
because whats so fucking wrong with wanting time to yourself and wanting time to do your busy chores??? why the fuck should i be outsourcing these to other people (unless of course you’re still living at home and your parents are still like “hey what clothes do you need washed i’m doing a load rn” or you have a partner that works from home or has some type of parental leave etc)???? i want to do my own laundry. i want to do my own gardening (ok lawn mowing or tree lopping (if needed) i’d actually outsource bc i can’t lift or push lawn mowers bc they’re heavy af for me or and i obvs can’t use a chainsaw)… but i want to do my own grocery shopping. i want to do my own cooking (although i would consider the meal kit services once i had job that allowed me to afford like $50 a month for one of those meal kits sub services) i want to do my own cleaning.
why, if i lived in the US and not australia, am i just expected to learn to outsource all of these tasks even if i don’t have the money for it??? like why the actual fuck are so many of you so fucking weirdly proud of being absolutely worked into the fucking ground for your “great country” (although this is actually bleeding through to australia too and i hate it); working like literally close to 100 hours a week???
because i wasn’t aware you had to be whatever the fuck his name is from 127 hours and cut your fucking limbs off just to fucking survive a job in either corporate america or just let alone any goddamned job in america….. all so they can supposedly “learn to like working for free and devaluing your worth even more to your employer through overworking yourself and always being available!!! mental health is for those who aren’t built for the Real Adult World™️!!! this person is a prime example of the younger generations being weak and dissatisfied with life so often because of their “oh poor little me!!! care for me!!” act. NO ONE CARES FOR YOU today. stop being so over-expectant/demanding and juvenile!!! only YOU care yourself and you should NEVER expect someone else to pick you up from YOUR bootstraps!!! you’re fucking whiny and conceited babies. the lot of you!!!”
because i honestly don’t know who the fuck would enjoy working 70+ hours week with no time to themselves to do what they enjoy doing…. or enjoy having zilch time to catch up on errands and life admin duties or just general house chores; especially if you’ve moved cities or an entire fucking state/s away from your family and support network. let alone doing the same thing on 40 hours a week.
and on top of everything, let’s not even get started on the time spent commuting to and from work or even commuting for life errands/tasks etc etc- especially if you’re like me and you’re nowhere near the capital city’s centre (ie sydney australia for me) for there to be reliable enough public transport and longer commute times to certain places in those cities (that i’ve bitched about plenty before on other posts on here about work/jobs).
get your head out of your asses warren and viola et al and realise that work life balance is literally NOT ASKING FOR MUCH and is asking employers to just have basic respect for their employees time if they work fulltime. it’s literally detrimental to ones health if they have to sacrifice what feels like (or what is literally like) their entire fucking existence to their employer just for meagre pay and just to fucking survive.
because i read a heart-breaking article last night from huffpost (posted by buzzfeed on fb) about a woman in the US who literally hid her having a second baby from her employer for an entire fucking year (literally the entire pregnancy and birth of the baby and the first 6 months post pushing the baby out) during the pandemic all because she was scared she would get demoted or lose her leading of a project and lose her bs “temp” job which had really turned into full time work although the employer never said anything about it being actually full time hours or whatever…. and plus the lady herself was apparently to scared to ask to be put on the books fulltime too for some weird reason.
like honestly. fuck capitalism. fuck thinking that “work life balance is just too hard for employers to add and regulate. it’s an excuse and ploy for workers to be unprofessional, unproductive and lazy!” or whatever the fuck. everyone deserves time to themselves to pursue their interests/hobbies and busy chores/life admin. no one deserves to waste their entire life working 70+ work weeks for those employers who literally have no respect for their employees personal lives and time.
and particularly during the time that is the pandemic as we’ve seen so many companies having to learn to wholeheartedly embrace working from home and more flexible schedules for their workers. worklife balance is absolutely fucking beneficial for everyone involved.
america fix your bullshit work ethic right now lmao.
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lastluvbug · 4 years ago
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Oh my god I read the one about Kalim’s suicide after waking up and got emotional all morning. The angst hurts but I can’t have enough of your writings. Can I have a continuation of it, with Kalim’s friends (the second years, the light music club, even Vil) after the whole thing? Like they try to go on with their life but it’s clear that nothing’s the same anymore and they miss the sunshine boy more than they thought they would? Thank you so much!
Toxins (Part 2)
Here we are, love! Hope you enjoy!
Warnings: Language, referenced suicide
Crying wasn’t like Cater.
But after Kalim’s school-held funeral, that was all anyone could ever see him doing.
Oftentimes, it was silent sobbing into his hands, makeup streaked and runny, hiccups stifled. Comfort did little to provide solace, as he’d simply wipe away the water still leaking from his eyes, smile, and pretend like nothing ever happened. By the outside... it almost appeared as if nothing had ever happened. He was still as camera addicted as usual, still attended class and mingled with his fellow students.
The only difference was perhaps the breaks he had to take between every period, when he’d run to the bathroom to clear his eyes of the built up liquid they’d collected, or maybe it was the way his laughter felt dull, robotic even, or the way he began eating bigger and bigger portions at mealtimes. No one batted an eyelash at Cater when he had to be wrestled out of the mess hall by Trey, who already had himself busy with tending to a Riddle Rosehearts who’d become increasingly strict in upholding the Heartslabyul rules once again.
The serene noiselessness that enveloped the Music Room seemed all but soothing, a vacant memory filled with empty afterthoughts of what it used to be.
Sitting before Kalim’s abandoned drum set, Cater stared at his foggy reflection in the suspended cymbals, inept hands clutching drumsticks that should’ve been used to make a song. Eyes slitted, Cater cried once more, beads of translucent agony dripping onto the forgotten brass.
“...Cater? What are you doing here?”
The ginger looked up stiffly, the lights flicking into action as he made brief visual contact with the last remaining member of his club, Lilia Vanrouge. The shorter tilted his head slightly, standing at the foot of the door, as Cater exhaled a breathy laugh like he’d been so accustomed to doing. “Lilia... I just... needed some time alone, is all. Nothing to worry about.” He grinned, betraying the droplets that formed pretty trails over his visage.
“It’s... It’s about Kalim, isn’t it?” Lilia prodded, voice low as he stepped fully into the room. He didn’t require a reply, as Cater’s sagged shoulders and clutched drumsticks revealed everything he wanted to say. Solemnly hanging his head, Diasomnia’s vice lumbered over to his grieving peer, placing a gloved hand on his shoulder.
“It’s not fair...!” Cater wailed before Lilia had even touched him. “Kalim, he’s—he’s not here anymore, and it seems like I’m the only who cares! He was suffering, so much... and I didn’t... didn’t have the brain to see it!”
Lilia’s wide magenta orbs locked onto the weeping boy, whose blood red diamond had nearly been washed away thanks to the water pouring over it. Kneeling, he gripped his shoulders firmly, forcing Cater to meet his stare. “Cater, you can’t blame yourself for this. You couldn’t have known what he was feeling, none of us could. It’s a tragic thing, to have lost someone full of so much light, but you have to understand that—“
“...You don’t get it either... didn’t he mean anything to you people?!” Lilia froze midsentence, his hands pushed away harshly. “Why? Why am I the only one who cries over him?! I didn’t even know him that well... but I don’t want Kalim to be forgotten! I don’t want to wake up everyday, knowing he’ll never speak to me again! Never make music, with these stupid sticks!” He lamented, tossing said drumsticks away, the carved wood skidding across the hard flooring.
Draping his palms over his face, Cater sniffled, Lilia speechless on his knees. Huffing a petulant sigh, the ages-old student spoke quietly, as if afraid to shatter the glass he knew he treaded upon. “Cater, in all my years... I’ve seen my fair amount of demises.”
“H... Huh?” Cater stopped, makeup-blackened tears ceasing as well.
“I’ve had to watch friends, loved ones, even family, fall. Some by the hands of fate, and some by their very own. And thus, I’ve seen how humans react when it comes to such occurrences. You aren’t the only one who cries over the loss of Kalim, I guarantee it.”
“Th-That’s...” He trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut. “That’s not true! Riddle does nothing but hole himself away in his room and behead people anymore! You can’t call that coping!”
Lilia stared him in the eye, words frank and pithy. “Cater, tell me, what do you think he does behind those closed doors? Why do you think he’s become so sensitive to even the smallest of mistakes?”
“Because...! Because...” Cater caught himself, finding that he had no answer to retort with. “...I don’t... I don’t know.” He responded after a pause, holding his head in his hands.
“This is Riddle’s way of coping. Kalim was a dear classmate to him, and now, there’s no getting him back. He’s gone, we have to live with that truth.”
“Then what about you?! Why aren’t you reacting at all? Wasn’t he a dear clubmate to you?” Cater shot, voice thick with emotion as he felt the weight of Lilia’s authenticity asphyxiate him.
“Simply because I know that wherever Kalim is now, he’s happy,” he smiled softly, folding his hands in his lap, “I didn’t know that Kalim was suffering so, but now he’s cradled by the arms that come past death. He can finally rest easy, the way he was meant to in the first place.”
Cater looked down to Lilia, glassy eyes widening to see the glittery tears that pooled in the corners of the other’s, a soft smile at his lips. For a split moment, Cater could see no one but Kalim as Lilia opened his arms, amaranth streaked hair and magenta eyes shifting into pure white and candy red.
Hiccuping, Cater fell from the seat before the drums and onto his knees, being carefully pulled to Lilia’s smaller, yet wonderfully soft frame. Hit like a bag of bricks to the stomach, misery stole Cater’s oxygen as he sobbed, clinging to Lilia like a petrified animal.
“Don’t worry guys! We’ll do great at the performance tomorrow!”
“Keep it up, Cater! You sound amazing, just one more practice song!”
“Oh, a picture? I want in! Haha, cheese!”
Kalim’s childish voice echoed in the room, the ghost of a caress against his cheeks making the ginger bury himself under his peer’s chin. He felt as if he’d never forgive himself for overlooking Kalim’s pain, every heartfelt compliment or encouragement from him becoming bland and tasteless upon the realization that they were all empty words, meant to fill him up with false courage.
“Cater, he may be gone, but as long as he stays tucked in here,” Lilia tapped on his head, stroking his messy orange hair, “the magic will keep his memory alive. That’s perhaps the best gift we can give him; the guarantee that he won’t be forgotten. Not as long as you, and I, remember him, right?”
Cater inhaled a quivering breath, nodding as he parted from Lilia’s warm arms. “R-Right...” He nodded, using the back of his hands to clear away his streaked makeup, leaving a smudged mess instead.
“Let’s get you back to Heartslabyul. It sounds to me as if you could use a little conversation with your dorm leader.” Lilia prompted, standing and offering his hand, to which Cater accepted.
“If I must... oh! I need to get those first!” He cried, spinning on his heel and traipsing over to the discarded drumsticks. “I’ll keep them safe for him.” He grinned, earning a sly smirk from Lilia, who now stood outside of the club room.
Joining him, Cater sent a glance over the lone drum set, replaying the times from when Kalim would lean over them with a smile, waving as he entered, guitar strapped across his back. It didn’t hurt any less, but it reminded him that somewhere out there, Kalim was waiting for him, for that day when he’d return his drumsticks.
Switching the lights off, Cater shut the door cautiously, heart simultaneously lifted and sinking as he left, those invisible hands drifting away as he strode farther from the Music Room.
<————>
Treading down the busy hallway felt more like wading through swamp water to Silver, each student seeming to obstruct his path in any way they could.
Heading by the open walled courtyard, the grey haired Diasomnia boy’s gaze softened, looking to the vacant blue sky holding the warm sun as it’s only attraction. Running a finger over the rim of his grasped textbook, Silver sighed out of a brew containing both frustration and awe, feet instinctively guiding him about the corridors as his mind wandered elsewhere.
Every single waking day had been the shining example of a picture perfect storytelling, like something that had hopped from the pages of a fairytale since Kalim’s overcrowded funeral. No rain, no clouds, just the pure sky and the giggling sun.
Silver had half of a mind to call it unfair, for a tragedy to be celebrated and honored with such weather. Though, he had to admit he didn’t know Kalim as well as he wished. The boy had waltzed into and out of his life with alarming ease, both of them sharing the same class together and bonding over their blatantly oppositional personalities. If it weren’t for Kalim’s persistence, Silver probably wouldn’t have even remembered his name, let alone dig himself deep enough to call him a friend.
After his passing, Silver’s academic world just went... dull, following the same drearily tedious routine, and beginning to fall behind in even the most basic of lessons, simply because he found it impossible to keep himself awake for more than five minutes at a time.
Kalim had been the one to help him in class, had been the one to discover how to shake him to consciousness, both physically and mentally. Whenever Kalim was around, Silver wanted to skip his unhealthily long naps, painstakingly addicted to the boy’s light that practically radiated from him, filling any room he set foot in with warm magic.
Now that he laid still, taken by the hand of never ending slumber, Silver felt blank, like he was caged in the perpetual state of an emotional reset that declined progression.
So lost sorting through his muddled mind, Silver nearly fell backwards as he slammed headfirst into something firm, making his eyes water as he rubbed the liquid away, a yawn escaping his throat. “Hah? What’s this?” Growled a scratchy voice, making Silver snap to attention. He came face to face with a brawny Savanclaw lackey, a freakish two heads taller than Silver, the student nearly shrinking into a ball at the murderous glare sent down his direction. “Ah, it’s one of those Diasomnia pricks. What, beating us to a pulp in Magift and trampling over our test scores isn’t enough? Now you gotta own the whole damn hallway?”
“H-Hey, I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about... If I could just—“ Silver attempted to reason, trying to get past the wall of muscled students, all bigger and stronger than him.
“You wanna play dumb now?” The other rasped, grabbing Silver by the collar of his uniform and lifting him in the air as he stalked dangerously close. “Listen here, bastard, just because my dorm leader tucks his tail at the sight of you doesn’t mean I’ll do the same! I have no idea who you think you are, but to me, you’re no better than baby cats who yip—“
“Alrighty fellas, that’s quite enough!”
Twisting with what little leeway available to him, Silver found the source of the voice to be Ruggie Bucchi, another member of the beastly dorm. “Ruggie? The hell do you think you’re doing?” The bigger boy barked, tightening his grip on Silver.
Crossing his arms and smiling slyly, Ruggie marched over to him, not an ounce of fear on his baby-face. “Look at him, bud. The poor guy’s practically shaking in his shoes! I think you’ve done enough to scare him, so put him down, you’re tarnishing the Savanaclaw name.”
“Enough? He ran into me! If I don’t threaten him now, then who’s gonna put him in his place later?!”
Ruggie clucked his tongue, floppy ears twitching in annoyance. “Let’s get one thing straight here; you weren’t threatening him, you were aggressively complaining. First, comparing him to a baby cat, which by the way, would be called a kitten, is neither intimidating nor masculine. Second, dangling him in the air like a doll proves nothing more than what you lack in brain, you make up for in brawn, hence why you’re practically a brick wall of muscle. Third, if you’re going to threaten someone, do it properly, you brutish simpleton.” Ruggie smirked, standing on his tip toes as he narrowed his eyes.
“Now, I suggest you tuck tail and scram before you show everyone here that you’re as composed as a bitch in heat.” He threatened, hands on his hips as the animalistic boy’s ears drooped, heeding the maliciously ingenious hyena and dropping Silver, who was close to choking thanks to the constricting pressure on his throat. Legs too weak to stabilize his body, he collapsed in a heap on the ground, textbook flying a few feet away, hacking his lungs out while trying to drink the sweetly refreshing air.
After the roughly uncivilized students scampered off, whispering curses and profanity Ruggie scoffed at, he huffed, bouncing over to Silver and extending a single gloved hand. “Um... you okay? They didn’t hurt you, right?” He asked.
Spluttering into his elbow, Silver took the hand, brushing the dust off of his black school suit and suppressing the yawn that fought to rise in his newly released esophagus. “...I’m fine. Thanks for the save...” He bowed awkwardly, avoiding the shorter’s stare. Without anything left to say, he stood turning away. “See you.” He sluggishly bid, starting to leave.
Ruggie was inches away from letting him go, until he tossed his glance to the floor, noticing the thick book fallen face first a few steps from him. Scooping it up, he flipped through a few of the pages, hoping to find something interestingly personal before returning it to the original owner. What he found was... beyond what he’d imagined.
It was a history textbook, the very first page carrying Silver’s signature, a cursive so intricate, it bordered calligraphy with all of its whorls and intercepting lines. At a glance, it didn’t look anything worthwhile, a few scribbled notes here and there but nothing out of the ordinary. Secrets weren’t revealed until Ruggie flipped to the center of the book, his normally neutral face contorting out of shock and intrigue.
The writing on the edges of the paper, where the fine print of knowledge past left indents and gaps of white space lay, were little notes penned in two vastly different handwritings, one quite obviously belonging to Silver. The other was unrecognizable to Ruggie, but reading the script was what led to him the creator.
“Silver-kun, Silver-kuuuuun! Did you hear what Trein said? I was too busy doodling!!”
“Kalim, you’re going to fail the class if you keep nodding off, y’know.”
“Yeah, I know I know..... but at least I stay awake most of the time!”
“Pssh, so mean, using that against me! Sit with me at lunch today, and maybe I’ll share my notes.”
“Oh! Alright, Silver!”
Ruggie was blown away by the authored conversation he stumbled upon, reminded of the distance growing between owner and eavesdropper as he sent a startled look up from the book. “H-Hey! Silver!” He called, having learned the sleepy Diasomnia student’s name.
The other paused, looking over his shoulder to watch as Ruggie weaved through the river of people, holding out the textbook once he’d managed to stand beside the grey haired. “You dropped this back there... it is yours, isn’t it?” He asked, feigning an ignorance Silver doubted.
“Yes, thank you very much. But... how did you know my name?”
“Eh, you’re from Diasomnia. I bet the whole corridor of people here know your name.” Ruggie waved, almost sweat dropping.
“...If you say so. Thank you for returning my book... I’ll be out of your hair now.” The other sighed, tucking said book under his arm while wearing an expression that simply felt subdued.
“Ah—wait! I’m pretty sure you’re a second year, can I walk you to class? Wouldn’t want to run into someone again, right?” Ruggie wasn’t given a verbal response, only a hitch in Silver’s movements and a mild nod.
With his arms fanned out from his head, Ruggie walked alongside the enigmatic teen, who remained eerily silent, his hazy eyes and apathetic stare giving him the hint that he was lost deep in thought, a thought that must’ve been distasteful. All too altruistically eager to break the silence, Ruggie brought up thr only topic that seemed to occupy anyone’s mind. “So... you were friends with Kalim?”
Silver flinched, directly halting in his tracks, eyes hidden by his overgrown bangs. “W-What... What did you know about him?” He asked, the flow of students never once ceasing around them.
“I... well, other than the fact that he was rich... not much.” Ruggie admitted, fiddling with an ear.
“That’s it? That’s all you knew about him, even as a second year yourself?”
“Wait, how did you—?”
“He talked about you like you were some kind of idol. He talked about everyone that way.” Silver whispered, eyes still hidden. “He was what everyone wanted to be, the only real person here who didn’t carry any ill intentions for anyone. Even that Viper, who used him for what? Years?” He continued, hands clutching the fabric of his shirt.
Ruggie had nothing to say. What could he say? Kalim, to him at least, was a fun acquaintance, a buddy he’d occasionally fall back on for spare change or home cooked meals, of which were made by Jamil Viper, the Viper that Silver was quite obviously placing the entirety of the blame upon.
While drama wasn’t something Ruggie was aiming to stir up, the hyena had to admit... he didn’t find anything Jamil did to be wrong. Kalim had ideas, grand as they may be, but he hadn’t the skill or the focus to execute them, pushing the work onto Jamil and Jamil alone. Ruggie saw no problem with the vice using his talent the way he did.
“I wonder how he feels now... knowing that he’s the one who drove Kalim to such measures. But... I can’t say I’m any better. How could I have been so ignorant...? I may as well have damned him to death too, watching him deteriorate every day. Watching him... fake that cheery smile, and never doing a thing about it.” Silver seemed to be working himself into a craze, hands covering his ears as he squeezed his eyes shut.
“Hey, don’t take this on yourself y’know...”
“Why not? Tell me Ruggie, why. Not? My ignorance is what killed him, and now, I have to sit through class after class after class of reminders. Reminders of how I failed my duty to—“
“Geez, you’re annoying,”
“H... Huh?” Silver froze, finally opening his eyes to meet Ruggie’s cheeky grin.
Ruggie offered no explanation as he grabbed a hand, dragging him off through the hallway. “I may not be the best at comforting, and I’m certainly no Kalim, but... I think it’ll be okay. That’s what he liked to say, right? Yeah, he’s not here anymore, but are you really going to let what he believed in die?”
Struck speechless similarly to his rockstar guardian, Silver gaped like a fish out of water, silently allowing Ruggie to pull him along. “He knew there was good in everyone,” Except himself, Ruggie thought, but had the brain to hold his tongue, “he’d want you to move on, to love in his place. This, what you’re feeling now, is the farthest thing from what he wanted. So... you should smile. You can live without Kalim, you’re stronger than that.”
Ruggie stopped, a few steps away from Silver’s designated classroom, holding his clutched hand up as he spoke, smiling gently, like he actually believed the speech he by chance strung together. Still, any excuse for a better hope was a good one to Silver, so, he ducked his head, forcing out giggles that after a minute, ended up too real. “U-Uh... did I say something funny?” Ruggie stammered, eyes wide in confusion.
“No, it’s just—“ Silver let go of Ruggie, lavender eyes shiny with the aftermath of laughter, “—you remind me of him.”
Ruggie flushed, turning red to his ears as he spun away, covering his mouth and pretending to cough. “Y-Yeah, sure, whatever. Come on, let’s get you to class!”
Chuckling, Silver sped up to close the rapidly growing space between them, running a clammy hand through his argent hair. In complete honesty, he meant what he’d said.
Albeit too assiduous and orderly to be a carbon copy, Ruggie held one same trait that so painfully reminded him of Kalim; his confidence. While Kalim was a leader, Ruggie preferred to follow. While Kalim was extravagantly grandiose, Ruggie was self-effacing and simple. While Kalim had dreams of far off lands and magic carpet rides, Ruggie stayed firmly planted on the ground.
But for certain, the one thing they both shared the same substantial confidence to just... be themselves.
And it was that confidence that made Silver wish to cling to Ruggie, protect the light that he failed to do before.
“Oi! Silver! You coming?” Ruggie called hands on his knees as he waved from further down the hall.
“Hm? Oh, yes, yes I’m coming!” Silver smile back, having realized he stood alone in the middle of the passage. Once again dashing to join the hyena, Silver made a vow, a vow that no one would hear other than himself.
“I promise Kalim, I’m not forgetting you. I’ll never forget you. But this time... this time I want to do things right.”
<————>
The rushing of water from the tap was the sole sound in the Mostro Lounge, accentuated only by the brisk chill that followed the lifeless restaurant-esque space.
It’d been that way since morning, the hollow flooring catching the footsteps that walked over it and tossing the sound against the walls, creating an echo Floyd Leech didn’t think was possible, what with the amount of furniture and decor lined about. Switching off the water, and the only audible commotion in the lounge, he tossed himself onto a stool before the polished bar, setting his hat aside as he laid his head within his large, white gloved hands. A sigh escaped him as he threaded his fingers through his deep teal hair, almost feeling as though he was glued to his seat.
Despite the deafening quiet that would blow any normal person’s eardrums out, Floyd closed his eyes, heavy from premature exhaustion, and heard not the empty silence, but instead voices. More specifically, he heard Kalim’s voice; his cheering, the laughs and giggles that seemed reserved for Floyd and Floyd exclusively, even his sobs after he was thrown across the desert by one of his trusted companions.
Swimming through the sea of his memories made his eyes burn with an indescribable solemnity, his hands tugging rather roughly at his hair as the memories grew into a thousand pictures behind his shut eyelids, each of them painting Kalim an angel in all of his bubbly optimism. And while Floyd was naturally agile in water, even he found himself drowning in the sorrow that replaced a past stemmed from charm and delight.
Broken like a hammer through glass, he was all but ripped from the isolation of his over imaginative brain by the doors of the Lounge being thrown open, the conversation of the two welcoming themselves in drifting over to his sensitive ears. He paid them no heed as he slumped on the bar counter, inexplicably cold while heartache whittled away at his chest.
“Ah, Floyd. Jade and I were just discussing, and there’s been an alarming drop in the amount of customers attending— Floyd?” Azul faltered, cutting his debriefing short as he noticed the state of the lithe eel.
Hunched over, head collected in his hands as he carded his fingers through his hair, Floyd looked the model of a kicked puppy, not a trace of his carefree smile on his lips. Beyond confused, Azul turned to Jade, who simply folded his hands and smiled politely, mincing over to his brother.
Jade didn’t need to do too much investigation to find the source of Floyd’s troubles, already knowing full well that the reverse of his brother’s attitude was a byproduct of Kalim Al-Asim’s death. The funeral was what sealed the transformation, Floyd’s laugh disappearing altogether as he turned away from the outside world, whether he was aware of it or not. Most days, he tucked himself away in the Mostro Lounge, polishing the same glass until in could be used as a mirror, or staring blankly into the distance, becoming especially clingy to both Jade and Azul. Any prodding was met with a lackluster response, any attempts to push him towards re-venturing back into the convoluted world of society with dejected refusals.
Sitting in the stool beside the mourning boy, Jade reached out, settling his hand on Floyd’s back as the other jumped at the touch. “Floyd?” He asked, earning his brother’s familiar glazed attention.
“Jade...? Oh, Azul, too... I’m sorry, did I do something wrong~? You guys look like you’ve seen a ghost...” He laughed unimpressively, placid smile not quite reaching his dual colored eyes.
“Floyd, please explain what is troubling you. I hate seeing my brother this way.” Jade pleaded, leaning on a fist as he expectantly stared at him.
“E-Eh? Where’d you guys get that idea from? Hehe, I’m alright, Azul, Jade.”
“No, Floyd, you’re not. As your colleague and friend, I ask that you indulge us on your turmoil.” Azul chimed in at Floyd’s nonchalant display, years of memorizing his roller coaster-like moods revealing the cracks in his façade.
Drooping defeatedly, his smile vanished as he fell onto the counter, tracing imaginary shapes into the smooth marble. “I... I miss him...” Floyd whispered, only audible because of the noiselessness.
Jade perked up, sharing a pitiful look with Azul before rubbing circles onto Floyd’s back. “You’re referring to Kalim, correct?”
The other nodded, sighing heavily as he hazed blankly at the positively reflective surface below him. “It’s—I just can’t... wrap my head around the fact that he’s gone... Sea Otter is gone, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.” He said quietly, the sting in his eyes returning as he swallowed thickly.
Azul tipped his hat as Jade’s circles ceased. The passing of Kalim hadn’t particularly affected Azul, as ashamed as he was to admit it. It, at the very least, was supposed to attract more customers, in need of a distraction in the form of fine food and drinks. But for Floyd to have lost his spark... the cogs in Azul’s brain couldn’t comprehend how the two had even managed to become close after Jamil’s overblot.
“I remember,” Floyd started, sliding a thin finger over the edge of the counter, “how he used to laugh at everything. Sea Otter was so energetic~! Always bouncing to and fro, like a hyper little siren. When did... when did that all stop? Why did it all stop? Is it a curse from land-dwellers to feel this way...?” Floyd asked his friends, seeking genuine answers to his inquiries.
“Floyd, what you are feeling is grief. You are mourning over the loss of a... a comrade.” Jade hesitated, speech for once unrehearsed.
“But he was more than a comrade to me, Jade! I didn’t feel so... out of place with Kalim. He embraced the world around him, in all of it’s cruelty, with open arms. I don’t get it! He—he... he...!” Floyd wavered, hand reaching up to prod at his gold eye, which now spilled thin water over the rim of his cheekbones.
He was... crying? Why was he crying? Wasn’t that something said to be impossible for merfolk to accomplish?
“Hey, Azul... what’s this?” He asked with a joyless laugh. “Am I melting...?” He smiled bitterly, the current dribbling down in an irritatingly slow pace.
Not half a second was given to Floyd before he was enveloped by two arms, in all of their lissome strength. Azul couldn’t think of another thing to do; he’d never seen him genuinely cry before. “No, you’re not melting, Floyd.” The hug was stiff, the tallest eel’s hands on the edge of his seat while water scattered about.
“I’m scared, Azul...” he whined, sniffling. Jade flinched, the downright hopelessness of Floyd’s tone striking a place in his heart that nearly brought him to tears as well. “I can’t—I can’t lose you two. I can’t. Please, promise you won’t leave me, like Sea Otter did?” The very thought of being alone was enough to bring Floyd to trembles, was enough for him to toss away his pride as he looked to his brother, his friend.
Moving as swiftly as the flowing waters of the sea, Jade lifted himself from his seat, twining his arms around both Azul and Floyd, most of the focus turned towards the latter. “Don’t be ridiculous. As your brother, it is my responsibility to always be by your side. Always. The death of a friend doesn’t change that, nor will anything else.” Jade soothed, pressing his forehead to Floyd’s.
“Ah, Jade is right. While I may not share familial ties, I believe it is my duty to stay with you two. After all, who else would have the impertinence to stand up to your spontaneity, Floyd? Certainly no one from around here, I’ll say that much.” Azul added, earning a chuckle from the comforted.
“So... it’s a promise then? You won’t leave me?”
“Never,” Jade and Azul replied confidently, successfully sealing off the last of Floyd’s tears as he used his gloves to soak up the excess.
Finally returning the hug with ten times the force, Floyd sighed out of relief. Though, he still felt the incomparable pang of gloom over the loss of one of his companions, the twang was cushioned by the soft words of his near-family, their eager reminder that even if their world was changing, they’d have one another to rely on.
Nothing could replace a life, Floyd knew that eerily too well, but that doesn’t mean that he couldn’t move on. It might take a week, it might take a year, but as long as he still had them to guide him, then maybe the pain would ebb away in a matter of months.
With their promise written across the slate of his heart, Floyd let his laughter splash across the lounge.
Some part of him felt that if Kalim could see him, hear him right now, he’d been laughing too.
<————>
“Roi de Poison, may I come in?”
“Door’s unlocked, Rook.”
Granted access by the curt invitation, Rook welcomed himself into Vil’s room, having returned from yet another rowdy wrangling session of dealing with Epel. The blonde was expecting to see his dorm leader fussing over his presentation, either in the form of reestablishing his blade sharp cosmetics, or redoing his naturally flawless locks. Instead, he was met with a scene that broke his fully enchanted heart, the magical symphony in his ears screeching to a halt.
Vil sat at his elegantly carved vanity, a thick book with yellowed pages flipped to somewhere close to the center spread before him, twisting an equally as golden bottle in his hand while the other tousled his loose hair, free of it’s usual braided crown. What perhaps made Rook double-take the most was the all natural look Vil wore, the tips of his nose and ears dyed an unhealthy red as not a smear of makeup hid the semi-wet trails reflected in the spotless mirror.
“Vil? Fairest, what ever is the matter?” Rook inquired hastily, skidding over to the beauty’s side and kneeling before him, feathered hat temporarily set on the floor while his head of canary hair still rose beyond the edge of the vanity table. “Vil...?”
“Do you know... what this is, Rook?” Vil asked out of the blue, holding the golden vial to the light.
“...If I had to guess, I’d say that would be an antidote.” Rook responded, having studied nearly as hard as Vil on the subject of poisons and cures.
“Correct. This... This is the antidote that could’ve saved him. I could’ve saved him.” Rook could taste the burn of Vil’s self doubt, the blame he took upon his shoulders as he desperately tried to look into Vil’s lavender irises.
“Non, Vil. It’s been said before, and I’ll not stutter when I say it again. You cannot control anyone but yourself. What Kalim did was of his own volition, you could not have done a thing to prevent it.”
“Do not lie to me, Rook Hunt!” Vil shrieked, rattling the table after he slammed his fist onto it. “If it weren’t for the poison I handcrafted, Kalim would be alive right now! If I would’ve chased after him the minute I realized the bottle was missing, then maybe—no, he would not have had the opportunity to use it! It’s my fault this happened, and now the blood’s on my hands!” Vil shrilled, delicate hands concealing his face.
Struggling to create a refute, Rook placed his hat back onto his head, standing to his full height. Circling behind Vil, he stared into the mirror, at the broken beauty who wallowed in the depths of his own despair before him. He loathed seeing Vil in such a state, poise and elegance replaced with a fiery fury aimed at no one but himself. He couldn’t bear to see him tear himself down.
Exhaling quietly, Rook laid his gloved hands over Vil’s, gently prying them away. Picking up a brush, he let it hover above his mauve-and-platinum hair, only setting it down on his scalp when Vil nodded ever so marginally. “Vil, my king, the fairest of us all, it pains me to no end to see you like this. Do you realize how dishonest it is to harbor this blame?” Rook rhetorically asked, noting the way his green orbs locked with purple for a split moment.
Brushing through the last section of Vil’s thin hair, he set the brush aside, peeling off his gloves to instead grab a comb, folding and looping the strands as he continued to speak. “What Kalim did was out of your jurisdiction. Yes, you may have made the poison, but he was the thief who stole it. Yes, you were too late to have realized it was missing, but had you sent me after him, he would’ve drank it before I could save him.” Rook assured, sealing off the crown and moving onto the next area in need of his expertise.
Lifting Vil’s chin with a curled finger, Rook brought a new besom to his eyes, painting on a deep violet shadow over the lashes, of which he diligently extended with top of the line mascara. Having someone else so casually apply his cosmetics made Vil’s shoulders sag as they released their tension, almost leaning into the affectionate sweeps were it not for his budding insecurity.
“How can you say that when it’s quite obviously my fault?” Vil murmured once his vice paused to reach for a shimmery lipgloss.
“Don’t you see? Kalim would’ve found a way to end his life with, or without your assistance. You were just naive enough to fall for his game, and thus, you now hold within you a guilt that doesn’t belong. Mon ange, let this grief go.” Rook finished, capping the gloss and smiling broadly, waving towards the mirror.
Turning to his reflection, Vil did nothing to hide the satisfied grin that formed, appreciative of the effort the blonde-haired hunter was investing to comfort him. “What if... deep down, I still blame myself, at the end of the day?” He asked, twirling a section of his hair around his painted nail.
“Fret not! I shall sing you lullabies until you can rest soundly at night. This tragedy will be a memory far faded after I’m done!” Rook sang, offering a hand as he bowed.
“Alright, Rook...” Vil chuckled, taking his hand and squaring his shoulders as he stood, balancing on his thin heels. “...I hope you will make use of that promise.”
“Anything for you, Vil. Now let us depart for supper, the dorm was ordered to keep their paws to themselves until you arrived.” Rook urged, spinning over to the door. Swinging it open, he gestured out to the hall, smiling. “Shall we?”
“Indeed. Let’s go.” Vil nodded, clicking out as Rook followed close behind.
Kalim still weighed on his mind, the boy’s peacefully shut eyes as he laid in that glass casket forever an image burned into his brain. He made a dire mistake that day, leaving the poison unguarded in his bathroom, even just creating it in the first place, but Rook helped Vil realize a truth that eased the sting, if only lightly.
He hadn’t known Kalim well, the first full conversation between them only occurring the day of his demise. Part of Vil found solace in the fact that Kalim’s death was quick, a brighter alternative to anything else Kalim would’ve attempted. The other part wept for what his knowledge of poison brought, the pain he’d inflicted on not only Kalim, but the rest of the school in tandem.
Still, holding his head high, Vil wasn’t going to let the suffering crumble him. Antidote clenched in a fist, Vil dropped it in his concealed pocket, the vision of elegance and poise.
Though he may have had a hand in Kalim’s downfall, he wasn’t going to let himself make a foolish mistake like that again.
<————>
Kalim Al-Asim’s death did not come in an ear piercing bang or an uproarious festival. It came not in sweet whispered nothings or love brimmed words. It came not as peaceful or soothing, but by preference spotlighted with nothing except a dark room, a clear night, and the whitest moon the sky had to offer.
Time had been at fowl play, some days passing within the sound snap of a finger, and some lasting for aeons painted in dull colors of anguish and shame. The people were mortified by the discovery, even more so to find that the act hadn’t been committed by the sinful nature of another, but instead the self destructive hatred of himself. Blame had been a projectile, shot into anyone who even held his name inside the confines of their brain, running amongst them like a smooth stone over a pond of ice until there was no one left to terrorize.
The wayward mechanism of coping bore down on everyone, weighing them with ten thousand pounds of a hopelessness they could neither hide nor run from. At their darkest hour, the entire venerated school of Night Raven College was brought to their knees by the passing of optimism personified, their trust a fractured knife used to stab skepticism and condemnation into the hearts of anyone who dared raise their bowed heads.
But even the dark of night must soon come to an end, the sun of a new day bringing a dusk painted in the hues of resumption over a horizon of black. It started with an idea, a finicky thought that grew until it could no longer be held within the sole mind of the creator, escaping from a pair of lips upturned in a rare smile that shortly spread to the listeners.
The idea spread like a contagion, from one to another, dorm to dorm, student to teacher, until every person shared the unison objective, some setting upon a laborious work to meet the desired outcome. Tirelessly, the students used the extents lf the gifts bestowed upon them, whether that be the farthest reaches of magic, or the unique skill to create banquets of delectable food.
It was far from a single day job, many returning to their rooms with sore muscles and blistered hands, the only thing driving them through their hard hours being the vision of the payoff come the conclusion. The prize of their exertion was a spectacle even a stranger would find extraordinarily echanted.
On a pedestal above the normal person’s head, crafted from the best brass up for the taking, stood a perfect recreation of Kalim Al-Asim, each detail scrutinized by the expecting eyes of none other than the mourning Jamil Viper.
Though he took it upon himself to mold the finer minutiae, he accepted every numerous offer of assistance with the bulky creation of the base, sending out handwritten thanks to each participant. Using too many sleepless nights, Jamil poured his strength, his breath, his heart into smoothing out the edges, refining the statue until it looked so real, he wouldn’t have been surprised if it up and moved.
The unveiling had been as palatial as Kalim would’ve wanted it to be; Jamil planning and throwing a celebration that welcomed nearly every resident of the campus, brandishing and explaining the statue in a way that made even Mozus Trein’s heart of steel melt.
Still... standing before it felt surreal, almost sorrowful. Dressed in his dorm garb and clutching his signature staff in his left arm, he waved out to the Scarabia he protected with his free one, a broad smile swelling his cheeks, eyes wide and curious. It had been the students’ choice to place him at the entrance of their dorm, believing Kalim’s face a fitting first sight upon entrance.
Drenched with gold in the early morning light, he smiled angelically as a lone figure knelt before the pedestal, hand tracing over the plaque carved into the stone base.
“I hope... I hope this did you justice. It was all I could give you for now; I know it’s not much, but this way, your legacy will carry on.” Jamil whispered, laying his forehead on the smooth metal.
Though he may not live to see it, Jamil wished with the very power of his soul that Kalim’s statue would last a lifetime, perhaps even longer as he stood and left, the words engraved finally visible:
He who breathed laughter,
He who stood proud,
He who was strong as the current of the ocean.
In fond memory of Kalim Al-Asim, the light in a world of shadow.
May we all discover the same strength he held.
Oki dokes! I didn’t originally plan for a continuation, so it took a little long bit to spark my ideas.
Regardless, I hope you enjoyed, and thanks for reading! Special thanks to @lionheartanotheraccount for the request!!
Stay lovely!
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readyplayerhobi · 5 years ago
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Flower | 12
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; Hoseok x Reader
; Genre: Fluff
; Word Count: 3.4k
; Synopsis: You finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the Flower dating app. One of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh…incredibly handsome. What happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?
; A/N: This one is from our lovely Hobi’s POV! He decided he wanted to take charge for a moment so...I hope you enjoy! :D please comment and send asks so we can taaalk :D
; Flower Masterpost
-
“FOR GODS SAKE GERALT CAN YOU JUST BLO- fuck, shit, cock sucker...ah fuck it all!” You hissed in anger, clenching the Playstation 4 controller in your hands tighter and shaking it wildly as your character, Geralt, died. It turned out that Hoseok had Witcher 3 and after binge-watching all of the Netflix Witcher show, you’d begged him to bring it over so you could play it.
Today he’d finally brought it, the small case catching his eye as he was grabbing his backpack and he’d quickly stuffed it inside. He’d promised to bring it two times already and two times he’d forgotten. Not today though, today he’d been good and remembered it.
That had been four hours ago, and you’d been gripped by the game since. In fact, you’d barely even stopped to take a drink, eyes focused intently on the screen as you fought, magicked and cursed your way free of fights in the virtual world. Needless to say, you were very enthralled by the game which in turn meant you had gotten progressively louder as you’d died from stupid things.
Not that you were dying because of anything you’d been doing of course. No, it was just your character was doing silly things like not blocking or swinging when you told him to. That was it. Hoseok had been assured by you many times at the start when he’d got a little concerned about how into the game you were getting.
That had been at the start though, and you were now so into the game, so unaware of your surroundings, that it was almost like Hoseok wasn’t actually here in the room with you. Your eyes remained glued to the screen the whole time. Which meant that you didn’t see the way he’d been pouting a little, starved of your attention as he played around on his phone aimlessly in an effort to entertain himself.
Hoseok loved watching people play games, he really did, but he was bored today. He wanted your attention; a novel concept to him as he’d never dated anyone who was more into video games than he was. Being on the other side of someone who avidly loved gaming was unusual and though he didn’t hate it...he just a bit like a child.
There was only so much playing with Kasumi he could do. And sure, he could read the book he’d found in your bookcase a few days ago or even play on your Switch while you entertain yourself, but he didn’t want that. He wanted to do something with you. He wanted to talk to you, listen to you talk and laugh with you.
He was being a brat basically, being a child about it. But despite that, he was also fully amused by your reaction to the game. This was the first time he’d ever seen you play a video game like this and the fact you became so fully immersed in it was exceptionally entertaining.
Why he was surprised about that, he didn’t really know. You most definitely had the personality of someone who would commit themselves to something 100% when they found a thing that was truly interesting to them. Just looking at the abundance of Pokémon around your apartment told him that.
But still...he wasn’t sure why he had such a strong desire for your attention. He was never normally like this with relationships, though admittedly he hadn’t had a relationship extend past three months in a while now. Not for lack of trying of course, but he’d just never quite found someone to click with.
And at the risk of sounding like an old man, at the age of 28, he wasn’t really interested in investing his time and effort into someone who he could already tell he didn’t particularly care for. Hoseok felt like there were three types of people by his age; those who had found love and were happy and content in it, those who weren’t interested in dating and were focusing on themselves and those who were in a relationship purely for the sake of it.
The first group had already started marrying and having babies, Namjoon and Jimin for example, while the second group showed no interest in any of that. Which was perfectly fine obviously. Taehyung and Yoongi were prime examples of people who had no interest and didn’t seem to show any indication of wanting to show interest.
But Hoseok didn’t want to be in the third group, dating just for the sake of dating. He’d done that for years now, had one-night-stands throughout his college years, and maybe even a few he definitely regretted in the end stages of high school. So he wanted what some of his friends had found. 
And he’d found that with you, which had been beyond surprising to him. You were most definitely not who he would have picked as his first choice to date, which sounded bad but he was just being honest. He hadn’t thought that he liked girls who liked cute things, nor had he thought he’d had the temperament and patience to put up with your anxieties and stresses.
He had though, finding within himself a deep need to make you happy and experiencing enjoyment at how slow things were progressing. His friends found it wild that everything was moving at a glacial pace and that Jung Hoseok of all people was going along with it and not complaining. But he liked it, he liked discovering your little quirks and traits slowly. 
It was like unwrapping a present, with each new thing he learnt about you being his present. And he loved it so much. Which meant that he enjoyed learning this new thing about you, or rather how intense you got in video games you liked.
But still...he wanted your attention.
He was like a child; a whiny and petulant toddler. He knew this, but he couldn’t stop. Almost didn’t want to.
Which is why he was slowly inching his way over to you on the couch, hoping that his slow movements would catch your attention. It was only when he was almost on top of you that he realised it wasn’t working, causing him to sigh deeply and flop back against the couch in what could politely be called a mantrum.
“Do you want me to order food? Or make food? I can make it...can’t guarantee it tastes great but I can make it.” Hoseok asked, his voice light as he questions you. And it’s like he never spoke with the quiet ‘hmm’ you give back to him. 
His bottom lip pushes out once more as he opens up his takeout app, inputting your address and ordering pizza for you both. There was no need to ask what you wanted, he knew what you liked by now. 
A sudden outburst of unintelligible noises from you causes him to look up with an amused quirk of his brow, watching as your face scrunched in annoyance as you shake your controller at the screen again, teeth gritted together. And suddenly, he’s not bothered that you’re not paying attention to him anymore. Not when you look that cute.
Slowly, he’s not entirely sure why he’s doing it quietly as well when you’re paying zero attention to him, he opens the camera on his phone and angles it towards you with a smile. He takes a few careful seconds to get the best angle before pressing the button, the shutter noise unnoticed by him as he checks on the photo.
Tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth slightly, he hums to himself as he opens up the photo editing app he has on his phone and begins to edit it. Shifting the exposure, contrast and more, he turns what could’ve been a boring photo into something befitting you.
“Did you just take a photo of me?” You ask suddenly, causing him to look up with wide eyes. For a moment, he’s too startled to speak before he gives a playful scowl, poking your side with a finger.
“Oh, so now you listen to me? Huh?” He teases, sticking his tongue out at you. Your eyes drop to it slightly before skittering away quickly, causing him to smile internally. Hoseok was not as immune to your glances and movements as you thought he was. He just chose not to do anything about them because he didn’t want to push you.
“I was listening...you just weren’t saying anything interesting…” The words trail off halfway through you saying them, as if you realise how offensive they could come off. Immediately your eyes widen, mouth opening in what he’s positive is an apology. He’d normally let you, knowing it would soothe your anxieties to know that you’d said sorry to him but he doesn’t care today. It didn’t bother him.
“I’m not gonna argue with you. But yeah, I took a picture. You looked cute, all focused. I never realised you become dead to the world basically when playing a game. I’ve been lonely.” Hoseok makes his eyes go big, an earnest look being matched with slightly pouting lips to give you a face of pure innocence.
It doesn’t work evidently, given the way you roll your eyes at him. But it gets a smile out of you so he considers that a win.
“Hoseok...I don’t really like my photo being taken…” You whine quietly, fingers playing with the controller nervously. Over the last four months, Hoseok had learnt to analyse your body's movements carefully. They spoke your inner thoughts more than your mouth did and he could tell that you were feeling anxious.
“Hey, hey...come here. Look at it...see I edited it! You’re gorgeous!” He turns his phone to let you see, smiling brightly at you as your eyes glance over it. Lower lip being chewed slowly, your shoulders deflate as you push it back.
“No I’m not, I look fat and ugly. I don’t have a good side.” Silence falls after that statement, Hoseok’s mind frozen in sheer disbelief at your words. He wants to sigh heavily, shout at you that you’re wrong. Every part of him wants to shake you and make you see that you’re beautiful, flaws and all. 
But he doesn't because he knows you wouldn’t like it. So instead he purses his lips, smacking them and making a noise as he tries to figure out a way to tell you that actually, you’re an idiot. He doesn’t want to hurt you though, so he knows that he has to tread a fine line.
Shuffling close, he presses himself to your side and holds up the phone to you, showing the photo once more. “I want to argue you with so bad right now, but all I’ll say is...you’re wrong. I think you’re pretty, cute even. Look at that scowl, it’s adorable. And look, you’ve seen the double chin I get when I’m laid down.”
“Oh please, as if that makes you look bad. You know you’re gorgeous, look at you.” You gesture at all of him, and he sighs, wrapping his arms around you tightly and kissing you all over your face until you’re no longer whining but giggling loudly. He doesn’t stop though, making the most over exaggerated noises as he does so.
“Oh no, oh no, the travesty of having to kiss this beautiful face. Oh please, I can’t handle it. It’s such a trial for me, to have to do this. Why couldn’t they give me someone less pretty? But it’s only fair that someone with my looks gets to kiss someone like you.” He gets the words out loudly between kisses, half laughing as he does it and fully enjoying the way that you practically shriek with laughter beneath him, body shaking.
Stopping, he just watches you for a moment with a soft smile, enjoying the brightness in your eyes that has replaced the fear and self-loathing. He really wishes that he could show you how he sees you compared to how you see yourself, but he supposes he’ll just settle for showering you with affection.
“Look...seriously...I like this.” He says quietly, resting his head on your shoulder as he shows you the photo once more. You don’t say anything this time, just look at the screen quietly with your head resting against his own. “Do you want me to delete it though? I will if you want.”
“No...if you like it...I just...I don’t have pictures taken often of me. I don’t really like it because I never really think I look good. It takes at least fifteen tries to get one I find acceptable for Instagram.” Chewing his lip, he sighs as he wavers on what to do. He doesn’t want to do something that will make you unhappy, but at the same time...he loves photography. And he wants to photograph you so badly. 
Proper photographs too, with his DSLR that he’ll edit with Photoshop on his laptop. He just knows that he can take photos that even you will love and he truly thinks they’ll be some of his best work yet. There’s no way he can go wrong when he has such a beautiful muse here.
“Seriously Hoseok, it’s okay. You can keep it. You have nice editing skills.” Smiling, he clicks through the menu options on his phone before he’s moving the photo slightly, setting it at the right size and centralizing it before saving it as his home screen. It’s only then that you realise what he’s done, eyes widening.
“Did you just make that your home screen?” You ask incredulously and he snorts, nodding with a grin as he shows you with pride. Carefully, he moves his app icons around until you’re no longer covered by them, letting him see you perfectly every time he unlocks his phone. He loves it.
“Yes I did, and it’s perfect. I’ve been wanting a photo of you for a while,” Glancing over at you, he smirks ever so slightly. “I know you’ve got a picture of me as your home screen. The one of me at Namjoon’s barbeque last year where I’m looking away. Jungkook took it and I had it for my Facebook profile for a while.”
The squirm you do let’s him know that you’re probably dying inside but he’s far too amused and pleased with himself over this. Honestly his chest had probably swollen three sizes in pride and ego when he’d glimpsed it the other day. There was something oddly satisfying at knowing you had him on your phone.
And now he had you.
Eyes widening suddenly, he shifts upwards to give you with a shocked look. “I just realised...we’ve never taken a selfie together! If you’re okay with that.”
“I don’t really take them often...you’ve seen my Instagram.” Snorting, he rolls his eyes and moves until he’s sitting up against you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and hugging you to him. You don’t push him away though, nor do you tell him not to take one.
“That’s a fucking travesty. You should bless the world with your face more. And you spend all that time doing that makeup!” Now it’s your turn to roll your own eyes, pushing at him lightly.
“I do that because I like it, not because I want to show off.” He opens up the camera app once more, shifting the camera to be front facing and watching as his screen fills up with your faces.
“Well you should show off. You’re really talented with it and I’m sure there’s loads of people that would like to see more of it. There’s like...a whole section of Instagram dedicated to it. I know, cos I looked after I saw your pictures. You could be like...the next NikkieTutorials or Tati Westbrook!” It’s only because of the camera facing you both that he sees your incredulous expression, brows furrowing in surprise before they morph into amusement.
“Have you been watching beauty YouTubers?” Glancing at you, he shrugs uncaringly.
“You like them, so I figured I’d see what they’re about. Not really my thing but at least I half understand what you’re talking about when you bang on about primers and toners and all that shit. Besides, I have discovered that they apparently live scandalous lives and I’m oddly entertained by all the drama even though I have no idea who they are.” Hoseok says absentmindedly, mind drifting back to all those drama videos he’d accidentally ended up watching when he fell down the YouTube rabbit hole one night.
You let out a peal of laughter, the sound bright and happy and it makes his stomach twist slightly to hear it. He likes your laughter.
“Oh my god, I can’t believe you actually watched that. So does this mean we can watch drama channels when you’re here?” Letting out a deep and bone weary sigh, he nods slowly before leaning over to kiss your cheek.
As he does so, he quickly angles the phone and snaps a photo of you both. You don’t realise what he’s done at first until he brings the screen for you to look at, grinning down at the image of you both that has been immortalised in high quality pixels.
You’re laughing still, mouth stretched into a wide smile of joy while your eyes are closed, the skin around them creased ever so slightly from happiness. His side profile is clearly evident, the gentle lighting of your room surprisingly good for this picture and his lips are pressed firmly to the soft skin of your cheek, lip ring shifted into view from the movement.
There’s no makeup on your face and you’re wearing an oversized white shirt with Kirby on it while he’s in his usual band shirt. The difference between you both is startling, but it makes his heart flutter a little oddly as he looks at it with a gentle smile.
Looking over at you, he realises that you haven’t said anything about it and he worries that you’re unhappy with the photo. Instantly, he stresses that maybe he’d done a bad thing and he’s about to apologise to you, chastened by his excitement.
But then you give him a shy smile, leaning into him and burrowing your head into the space between his neck and shoulder. “I...I actually like that. It looks...nice. Though you should probably edit it, edit my flaws and all that.”
Giving you a deadpan expression, he just pushes at your shoulder before rolling his eyes. “I’m going to forget I heard that. So...anyway.”
Despite what he said though, he does edit it and shows you what he uses and what he thinks the best edit would be. He lets you play around with the editing too, smiling as you make the photo look horrific by maxing out different sliders before letting him edit it exactly how he wants.
And then once he’s done, he goes onto Facebook and uploads it as his new profile picture. 
The stunned silence from you has him looking over cautiously, taking in your shocked face which soon quickly morphs into shyness. It makes his chest hurt a little to see how you react to something as simple as him changing his profile picture to a picture of you both.
He doesn’t say anything though, recognising this as a moment that you’d need to work through it yourself. So instead, he presses his lips to your cheek once more before using his fingers to tilt your face towards his, capturing your lips with his. The movement is bordering on natural now, four months into your relationship.
“So...I ordered pizza which should be arriving soon. Think you might want to take a break?” Hoseok asks, nodding towards the screen where Geralt has been stood quietly for the last ten minutes as he’d distracted you successfully. Pursing your lips, you consider for a moment before shaking your head with a grin, picking up your controller once more.
And that’s when he realises that you had been paying attention to him the whole time. You’d just been refusing to give in to his whining. He almost says something before shaking his head with an exasperated smile, getting up when your doorbell goes off.
Well played, he thought to himself as he took the pizza boxes before standing for a few moments and watching as you became involved once more, well played indeed.
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Text
I Taste Honey but I Haven’t Seen the Hive - Chapter Six
Ao3,   Masterpost,   C.1   C.2   C.3   C.4   C.5
Relationships: eventual queer-platonic intruality. platonic dukeceit, creativitwins, and dlampr.
Yet again there are no italics. its new years eve sue me. oh also happy 2021 nobody question my priorities thanks <3
Warnings: so much softness, implications of self-isolation, swearing, Lots of Feelings, sympathetic everybody, descriptions of the sides having non-human features.
Word Count: 3,962
Something Remus came to realize was that he, a bit paradoxically, was not used to people being in his space.
It was weird. Not weird in the way that people usually felt when he was the one interrupting- he wasn’t scared by it, or disgusted, or even really annoyed. It was just… surprising, to have somebody else hanging around him, unprompted by anything. 
Remus wasn’t known for having boundaries- or respecting them, for that matter- but he’d at least been attempting to restrain himself just a bit after being accepted by the others. Out of courtesy, if nothing else. 
And apparently he didn’t need to. Not after what happened with Patton, anyway. Now that Patton had deemed the two of them ‘close’- something he was absolutely happy to agree with, for the record- Remus’ world had flipped sort of around. Back to no boundaries, only he wasn’t the one crossing those lines, and nobody was running screaming. Least of all Patton!
Remus ran the thoughts over in his head, feeling like that day was shaping up to be a great example of the change:
He and Patton were sitting side-by-side in the living room, content, with the rest of the sides spread around in different seats and configurations just the same. The unlikely pair were at the fringe of the circle, close enough to be part of things but far enough to zone in and out at will (as both were prone to do). It was nice, amiable.
 But minutes before- forty of them at most- Remus had been up in his own room, happily dissecting some gooish creations and only vaguely aware that there was a meeting that day. His attendance to group meetings varied from week to week- sometimes he was bored and could use an argument, and other times he was having fun on his own and knew that it wouldn’t be all that important if he ditched. He joined more often than he used to, sometimes he was even asked for, but he was optional still. A favored option, suggestions taken now, sure- but still not mandatory. 
He was going to stay upstairs for that one, but Patton had come to get him. Had dragged him down in that sweet, puppy-dog way of convincing that worked so well and, knowing him, was totally unintentional. And even if Remus didn’t care about arguing his way through content production right then, Patton had promised that it was important for him to be there.
That was the word he’d used for Remus. Important.
How the hell could Remus say no to that?
At least the meeting was going by without a hitch, for once. He assumed it was- Remus was honestly paying very little attention- but the lack of anger or tension was practically palpable. These things were usually so spiteful that even Remus, renowned lover of chaos, could almost taste his headache when everybody started shouting and hissing and fighting. It just got sad.
But not that time, apparently.
As Logan went on his third ramble of the evening, smiling widely at a surprising lack of interruption, Remus turned to Patton. He whispered:
“Okay, when are they gonna snap? Did they all finally get lobotomized?”
Patton frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean where’s all the screaming and crying? Specs and Prince Priss haven’t had a single one of their horny yelling matches, what gives?”
Patton smiled in a way that said he was trying very hard not to laugh, rolling his eyes.
  “These meetings have calmed down a bit, I guess,” he shrugged.
Remus glanced around the room with narrowed eyes. While that certainly seemed like the truth, he couldn’t buy it. 
“Yeah, I give it until one of them vaguely insults the others,  and then everybody’s gonna shut down for the next week. That kinda tension doesn’t just go.”
Patton didn’t say anything. Half-gazing at the carpet, he didn’t look like he’d even heard. He was smiling, but it was one of those jumbled up expressions, the type that tried to span a hundred different feelings. He had so many expressions like that, that seemed bottomless and swirling and so intricate on a humanoid face that, in reality, wasn’t built to display something like that. It was uncanny- not like an eerie doll, but like something with unearthly beauty. This face, though, had tones of upset.
“It’s been a while since you’ve been around everybody,” Patton said.
It wasn’t a question and it didn’t need to be. While Remus wasn’t exactly known for keeping to himself, he couldn't be called sociable either. He dropped in to say something, usually random, and then he was gone as soon as he’d visited. Even before the first Patton incident, fuck, it had been weeks since he’d actually stuck around through something.
Since The Acceptance, now that Remus thought of it, he’d been spending more time alone than ever. Not all of  his time- he remembered being surprised at Logan talking to him, willingly, like friends, and after that had even come Virgil and Roman. He saw people, talked to them, yeah. The time spent was friendlier, more welcoming, but it was so much less. 
Well, it was obvious why: they visited him, but- like he’d mentioned, he’d been trying to give them some space.
“Sure, it's been awhile,” Remus admitted, “But I never expected shit to change so much around here, still.”
The haze on Patton’s face thickened like fog on the moors, a soft and sympathetic mist over his eyes that Remus knew was aimed at him (even if it was pointed more to a sort of middle distance). 
“I don’t think I did, either,” Patton’s mouth barely moved, his voice less of a whisper and moreso a fragile breath. “I was hoping for it, but… I’m still trying to get used to stuff being allowed to change, you know?” He picked at a loose thread along the seam of the couch. “I haven’t done this stuff in a while, either.” 
Remus’ head shot up, and he almost forgot that they weren’t the only two in the room. Somehow, he stopped himself from shouting:
“You- it has?”
A tiny smile. Something built up behind Patton’s eyes; a wave, dark and lonely and filling his bright blues with cloudy gray. “I just needed some alone time, after everything changed so much so fast. I still feel, I dunno, weird. I don’t know what’s wrong with me- but…” he swallowed, his head lifting. “I’m really happy for them,” he was staring- so very loving- first at Logan, then Roman, then Virgil and Janus. It was a wonder none of them felt his gaze on them, Remus thought, because he was sure if anyone looked at him that way, he’d burn up like a fae upon iron. “They deserve it so much. I know that not everything is perfect still, but, I’m just so proud of us anyways. I- I think maybe-”
He cut himself off, blinking rapidly. Remus gave the room a quick once over to make sure nobody was looking their way- and nobody was: Virgil was very resolutely trying to get everyone to stay on topic despite Janus and Logan’s continued tangenting, and Roman was scribing furiously on several different pieces of paper- before he inched close enough to curve his arm around Patton. Touching like that had steadily become familiar to both of them, and it didn’t take long for Patton to fall untense against his side. He leaned into him, muttering: “I mean, they’re all doing a lot better than me, that’s for sure. I- I don’t even know what I’m for anymore. Maybe that’s why I’ve been… ditching, really.”
Remus squeezed his shoulder. There were so many things he could’ve said and done, but all of them loud and fervent and definitely not subtle enough to go unnoticed by everyone. So, for the sake of Patton’s privacy, he settled on this:
“That makes two of us, Morey.”
 The meeting that was planned to take two or three hours took the entire day, just as always. Hours and hours were spent in a room filled with excited conversation, of which the subject oscillated wildly between relevant topics and complete nonsense- which Remus and Patton did, eventually, tune back into (and contribute to as well, mainly in the nonsense department). Eventually, even Virgil gave up on trying to keep anything in order. 
But the meeting ended on a good note anyway. Lots of good notes, actually, if the stacks upon stacks of paper they’d scribbled up were any indication. Mess, the sides had come to believe, was usually a measure of their productivity: if crumpled pages were strayed across the room, if forgotten pens and pencils balanced on every surface from coffee table to TV stand, and if- in the process of snacking- they’d accumulated enough dishes to fill the sink for days on end? Shit. Got. Done.
Remus stared over the chaos with unfocused eyes. He felt distantly proud of the stormish state the living room was in. Draped over the back of the sectional, he gnawed idly on a wood pencil, stripping its yellow into beige. The paint fell off in bitter chunks, and the taste made him think of grabbing some non-acrylic dinner before closing the night off. Maybe he’d steal some of whatever saccharine sweet Patton usually made in the late evenings, and then spend the rest of the night with him, anyway. Remus debated what would be the most fun (or if he was tired enough to sleep yet), partially aware as he did so that he’d chewed and swallowed the metal-eraser end of his pencil.
“Ugh,” a drawn out groan broke his thoughts, petulant and whiny. “Do you have any intention of helping us clean up this, the common area?” 
Roman was kneeling beside Janus on the carpet, the pair surrounded by papers and binders and trashbags, the former of which they were sorting into either of the latter two, depending on how useful each page was. Roman had stopped working, however, to stare up at Remus indignantly. Remus glared right back.
“I’ve never had an intention in my life,” he answered.
Janus shrugged, smiling in that I-told-you-so way at Roman. But Roman, ever the nuisance, wasn’t letting it go. 
“Come on! It’s not like you’re even doing anything!”
“I’m doing something,” Remus’ words were wide and wobbly as he stripped another line of paint off the pencil, breaking some splinters off into his teeth.
“Oh, really?”
“Yes,” another chunk of wood, down the hatch. “I’m flaying all these leftover pencils until they’re lead-sticks.”
Roman hopped up from the floor and dropped himself onto the couch, shoving himself into the way so jarringly that it reminded Remus of himself. 
“Well, now you’re going to help us clean.” 
Janus rolled his eyes, not even glancing up. “Roman, just leave it alone, we-”
“We are all parts of this whole now, including him! Remus-” Roman rounded on him again, “If you’re going to come down here and help us make all this mess, with all of your numerous contributions that we have to write down, you’ll help clean it like anybody else. Do you think that I like any of- of-” he gestured, flamboyantly, at the room, “This? Ugh, please, I’m a prince! But, fair is fair, and fair means everybody.” 
And that was the point of the conversation in which Remus would cackle, push Roman backwards off the couch, and proclaim how much it’d go against his very being to clean a mess instead of cause it. He’d tell Roman how funny it was that he thought he could boss him around, because it always had been- that full-of-it Older Brother kind of attitude that had never worked. The Prince had never once managed to get him to do anything, and each attempt only got funnier than the last. 
He didn’t say any of that, though. 
Roman was bitching at him, not to go away this time, but to stay. Stay and help the group, because he was a part of said group. So he was asked to help them, the group that he was a part of, because he was part of it. That group. 
“Okay,” he blurted, “Okay, I’ll- alright.”
Roman blinked at him, a look of disbelief spreading across his face. “You- oh!” he smiled, utterly baffled. “That was- very easy?”
Janus, too, was looking up at Remus with bewilderment, his task of paper-sorting all but forgotten. Remus couldn’t blame either of them, but he still huffed, trying very hard not to be embarrassed by that whole… moment.
He shook it off, rolling off the couch and standing up, jittery. 
“Whatever, just- tell me what to pick up, okay?” 
They seemed not to hear him, the gawking continuing on until he started working unprompted, and longer than that still. Each time he (begrudgingly) shoved something into a trashbag, it earned him another Exchange of Glances from the pair. 
They got over it eventually, though, because there was a fuck-load more to clean than there was room to stare. So they cleaned.
Remus thought it would get old after a minute, and he’d finally gather up the guts to bail on them, but it just… never happened. It felt unnatural to be getting rid of a mess- like an animal having its fur brushed the wrong way, continuously- but by some point the sensation was distant. The rest of him was still busy processing, experiencing, maybe possibly overthinking this kind of recognition he’d never gotten before. It was handed to him now like it was something normal. The three of them worked together, and it was normal. 
Acceptance, as it turned out, wasn’t synonymous with ‘soulless assimilation’. In fact, it was pretty fucking great, getting to watch his brother and best friend find documents from the floor with his ideas on them, then tucking them into a binder marked important, instead of a trashcan marked to burn. It was… surreal. 
But the tidying was over in just an hour and a half- oh wow, never in a million years would Remus have thought an hour and a half of cleaning would be too little for him. He made a note to absolutely destroy something big and important later, to balance the universe out again. 
Roman sank through the floor as soon as they were done, complaining loudly about how very exhausted he was. Remus teased him on his way out, but it was just for the habit- he was way too mushy to think of anything properly mean at the moment. 
Janus watched him go, silent. He sat beside Remus on the couch, and despite his obvious tiredness, he waited a good few minutes before saying anything. 
“Thank you,” he murmured. 
Remus shivered. Janus pulled him up into a hug (one that maybe dragged on for a little too long, but who was counting?), and it spelled out all the pride and care that he’d never been good at verbalizing. With that, he gave Remus a short nod, and then was gone as well. 
Which made everyone else upstairs, probably in their rooms and halfway asleep. Then there was Remus, antsy in the living room, itchy with feelings. 
Everyone but Patton, of course, who could still be heard humming in the kitchen; who never went up until he knew everyone else was in their rooms, true to the protective parent persona. Remus suddenly didn’t think he wanted anything else but to see Patton after what had happened, to talk to him, to… 
He walked to the kitchen.
“Pat.”
Patton looked over his shoulder at Remus, up to his elbow in sudsy sink water. A smile fell naturally across his face.
“Hi,” his voice was low, delicate. “You about to head up?”
Remus watched his friend work, trailing into the room slowly.  He grinned, “Are you kidding? I could stay up all night, if I wanted.”
“Do you want to?” Patton asked him.
Remus thought on it for a moment. He shrugged, iunno, leaned against the counter by the sink. Patton turned away again.
It was so quiet. No wind. No footsteps. Not a muffled voice upstairs, even- just the sound of water and ceramic hitting ceramic. Everything was still.
Remus hated it. Silence was fragile, and he crawled with the need to break it. He felt it get tense as it stretched out, and he just wanted to tear the air apart with sound. It felt like nothing mattered anymore, when peace was so easily able to drown it all out. Cold and alone. He hated it.
Sometimes, Remus imagined that if the silence went too long, he’d never be able to make a noise again. There were few things that made him so unhappy, but the quiet… 
“What’s on your mind?” Patton asked.
Remus jolted. Patton was staring, concern gathering in his eyes the longer he did. Remus took a deep breath- he remembered something, something small and unimportant that Janus had told him once. 
When one is so intensely happy, they can fall to agonizing upset even quicker than if they’d been mildly perturbed in the first place, because of the ferocity of the feelings. Something like that. 
“A lot more than I’m willing to throw on your shoulders, Pops.”
Patton pouted. Actually. Fucken. Pouted. The worst part was, his puppy-face was actually working.
“Ugh,” Remus rolled his eyes, “Just- could I- I dunno, have a hug, or some shit?”
If Patton was surprised, he hid it well. God knew, that wasn’t exactly the kind of thing Remus would ask for. He almost never asked to get attention- taking it was much easier, and much more entertaining. Besides, if he’d ever asked before that point… well, he already knew what answer he would’ve gotten. 
Patton’s smile only widened, until it was positively melting. “Of course you can,” he shut the sink off. “Of course.”
He reached haphazardly for a hand towel, to dry his arms. Remus, riding the high of that enthusiastic permission, absolutely could not wait that long. He latched his arms around Patton’s middle before the side had even finished talking, burying his face between his shoulder blades and hugging tight. 
Patton went still, like he didn’t know what to do. After it became clear that Remus had no intention to move, Patton laughed, dreamy and soft, and shook his hands as dry as he could. He patted Remus’ forearm; bead-bracelets clattered under the Duke’s sleeves. 
“Hey,” Patton said.
“Mmh?”
“Not that this isn’t lovely,” he laced his fingers with Remus’, squeezed them, “But I’d like it better if I could hug you back, ya know?”
Remus let go, reluctantly. In the true fashion of intrusive thoughts, there was a second he was so convinced Patton would run, now that he was freed. Make an escape from him, an escape from his claws.
He didn’t. He spun right around and pulled Remus against his chest- one arm linked around his torso, the other winding into his tangled hair. Anyone, at a glance, could see that Patton was huge- but up close the difference was dizzying: his wide chest, encircling arms that seemed to be made of nothing but muscle and padding, and that height, all made him so… comforting. Big and strong, a body that disguised power in soft edges and fat. If he squeezed just a little too tight, in fact, Remus wouldn’t be surprised if Patton could make splinters out of his bones. Which Remus definitely, definitely wouldn’t mind, but the knowledge that Patton not only could do that but also wouldn’t ever do that- that was what really did him in. 
And he’d hugged Patton before- months ago, and somehow Patton had seemed so small then, when everything had started- but being hugged? Properly, too, not underwater while one of them was drowning- it was a world of difference. No panic, no breakdowns, just a real, solid hug.
He could just ask for this and then have it. He could smell sugar cookies and candle wax, and feel somebody- a willing body- pressing in. It was weird. He thought that someday, he might get used to it. He wanted a chance to get used to it. 
“Do you wanna talk now?” Patton prompted, forcibly reminding Remus that he had a bloodhound’s nose for emotional distress. 
“I don’t know.”
Patton hummed, his fingers scratching through Remus’ hair. “Today went better than I thought it would.”
“You didn’t have to bring me, if you thought it was gonna be bad.”
“I wasn’t worried because of you! I was worried because of me. Things have been… a lot for me, lately.”
“Oh,” Remus angled his head to the side, looking up at him. “Yeah. I feel ya.”
“But they were all so much more patient, weren’t they,” Patton’s eyes went a little misty, the way they always did when he talked about his family. “Everything’s different now, and I guess that scared me, but I think that now… it’s a good different, you know?” 
“Like us, right?” Remus laughed, “This is the craziest difference, if ya think about it.”
Patton chuckled, the sound reverberating in his chest so that Remus felt it more than heard it. 
“I don’t think I would’ve gotten through with today without you, you know that?” 
It was deeply honest. There was a beat. 
“I-” Oh fuck, Remus was choked up, when did that happen? “I wouldn’t have even had a day like today, without you, so. Do with that what you want.” 
Remus buried his face in Patton’s sternum, just to avoid the sad understanding in his eyes. 
He- he wasn’t exactly made for the care he was getting, not the kind of softness in that face. Not when Patton was still patiently untangling his matt of hair while they hovered in the stillness of the dark, empty kitchen, and Remus desperately didn’t want to cry. 
Patton gave him a minute to breathe, at the very least, before:
“They like you, though. Janus loves you.”
“Yeah, okay, but it’s not-”
“I know how you feel,” said Patton, and did. “Like they couldn’t actually care about us, even though it doesn’t make sense for them not to. It’s one of those things that’s easy to forget,” Remus could hear the smile in his voice. “So it’s good we have each other, when we need to get out of our own heads. At least, it’s like that for me, I don’t know if you even-”
“No,” Remus curled his claws in the back of Patton’s shirt, something dark and emotional flooding like tar through his chest. “Nah, you’re right, Morey. This is good for us.” 
Remus shook his head at nothing in particular. He forced his hands unballed, pulled back, and wormed his way out of Patton’s hug after way too long. 
His skin felt like paper from the affection, like he’d been electrocuted, and while that was fun- was amazing- for a while, he didn’t think he could handle much more in one sitting. 
Patton let him go, smiling warmly, leaning back against the counter. His eyes were shiny and wet, but he was content. 
“Thanks,” Remus said.
“What for? The hug?”
“No- I mean, that too, but I was saying ‘thanks, for caring’. For giving enough of a shit about me to try and help.”
Patton smiled, solemnly.
“I told you so,” he breathed, “I promised I would like you when I got to know you, and then I did. I do!” 
Remus felt a grin returning to his face, sliding across his lips more naturally than anything else he’d had to deal with that night.
“Yeah. You aren’t too bad yourself, Pat.”
Chapter Seven
Taglist: @shrimp-crockpot @glitter-skeleton-uwu @donnieluvsthings @intruxiety @thefivecalls  @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @gayformlessblob 
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