#and i kind of feel awful for that because it feels like i’m playing directly into amanormativity because i KNOW that friendship is just as

[even-if-in-another-time]

.

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

a singer!reader where she writes a super sexy song and the fans are going crazy because she's never written a song like that. she goes to some talk shows bc she has to promote the album of the song, and they ask her about it and if its about her boyfriend tom blyth!!!!

Never be like you || Tom Blyth x singer!reader

A/n: lowkey need Gracie to do a cover for this song bc I feel like her voice would suit it sm and I wanna see her do this type of vibe!!

Warnings: fem!reader, swearing

Wc: 719

Tom Blyth x singer!reader au masterlist

“Our next guest, is a Grammy nominee for best new artist, performing her single never be like you for the first time, please welcome Y/n Abrams!” Jimmy Fallon announces as the crowd erupts in cheers. You take the stage, the crowd hushed in anticipation. The spotlight illuminates you, clad in a sultry ensemble that's a departure from your usual style

“What I would do, to take away, this fear of being loved, allegiance to the pain,” Your fingers wrap around the mic as you close your eyes. “Now I’m fucked up, and I’m missing you, He’ll never be like you,” The atmosphere shifted, and you began to sing the sultry lyrics in a way that surprised even your most dedicated fans. The audience was captivated, and whispers of amazement spread like wildfire.

“I’m only human, can’t you see? I made, I made a mistake, please just look me in my face, tell me everything’s okay,” Your hands, usually strumming a guitar, were instead in your hair as you tilt your head back almost in a sexual manner. The crowd, initially unsure how to react, soon becomes entranced by your unexpected venture into this new style.

The song's sensual undertones echoed through the venue, and you felt an electrifying connection with the audience. This style of song was something you’ve never done before. That’s why you really enjoyed producing it. It brought you out of your comfort zone; a deliberate choice to express a different side of yourself.

"How do I make you wanna stay? hate sleeping on my own, missing the way you taste," your voice, rich and alluring, wraps around the lyrics with a sensuality that catches everyone off guard.

"Stop looking at me with those eyes," a smile naturally played on your lips as you delivered that line, intentionally fixing your gaze on the camera, fully aware of Tom's watchful eyes. The lyrics, tailored to hit home with your boyfriend, spoke directly to his captivating deep blue eyes – the kind that always left you spellbound, and no amount of time together could diminish the flutter of nerves they induced.

"like I could disappear and you wouldn't care why, now I'm fucked up and I'm missing you, he'll never be like you," Backstage, Tom can't tear his eyes away. The way you command the stage, blending vulnerability with a newfound confidence, stirs something within him.

He had heard snippets of the song before its release, but experiencing it live brings a visceral intensity he hadn't anticipated. The lyrics, once a private exchange, now echo through the venue, leaving everyone captivated.

As the performance concludes, the audience erupts into applause, their astonishment turning into admiration. Tom approached with a grin, desire in his eyes, expressing his awe at your unexpected and alluring rendition. "That was incredible," he whispers, pulling you into a passionate embrace.

Word spreads like wildfire. Fans, accustomed to your previous style, can't believe the transformation. Social media buzzes with speculation, theories swirling that the song must be about someone special.

In a promotional interview, the host, with a sly grin, asks the question on everyone's mind. "Rumors are circulating that the inspiration behind your latest single is none other than your boyfriend, Tom Blyth. Care to shed some light on that?"

A coy smile played on your lips as you glance at the crowd, then back to the interviewer. "My supporters sure are smart, huh?" You giggle softly to yourself. "But, yes, it is about Tom."

"It's quite different to my usual style, but it was very fun to compose," You smile. The revelation sends shockwaves through your fanbase. Speculation turns into fervent curiosity, and they dissect the lyrics for clues about your relationship with Tom. Social media explodes, and you find yourself at the center of a newfound spotlight.

Tom, for his part, embraces the attention with good humor. During his interviews for "The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes," fans playfully tease him about being the muse behind your provocative song. He takes it all in stride, admitting with a smile that he's flattered by the attention.

"So, Tom, we've all heard your girlfriend's new song 'Never be like you' and everyone knows it's about you. What are your thoughts on it?" the interviewer inquired, a playful glint in their eyes.

Tom chuckled nervously, a light blush creeping up his cheeks. "Well, it's certainly an interesting experience," he replied with a sheepish smile. "I'm flattered, to be honest. My girl is incredibly talented, and she expresses herself very well through her music, something I admire,"

As he spoke, his castmates, Rachel and Hunter, couldn't help but interject with mischievous grins. "Oh, come on, Tom! 'Interesting experience'? That song is steamy!" Rachel teased, eliciting laughter from Hunter.

Tom rolled his eyes, feigning annoyance. "Alright, alright. Maybe 'interesting' is an understatement. But seriously, I'm incredibly proud of her. She was worried her new style of music not being a hit, but she nailed it."

The banter continued, but beneath the teasing, there was a genuine camaraderie. Tom's supportive words reflected not only his admiration for his girlfriend's artistic expression but also his pride in you.

As your relationship becomes a public fascination, the dynamics of your performances shift. Fans attend your shows not just for your music but to catch glimpses of the chemistry they've read about online. The narrative surrounding your love story becomes intertwined with your artistic identity.

Tom's become a regular at your shows, grinning from ear to ear as he watches you own the stage. Your private affair has gone all public, and now it's like you and him are this dynamic duo everyone's rooting for. The crazy twist in your music style? It's like you cracked open a whole new world for yourself, and at the same time, it's made you and Tom this inseparable couple in the eyes of your fans.

[queensunshinee]

His favorite toy- Part 4 || Art Donaldson x reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (p in v sex), our favorite toxic relationship is back.

Word Count: 6.1k

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

This one can stand on its own, but I recommend reading the rest :)

His favorite toy- Part 4:

"What are you doing here?" I tried to sound composed. My heart couldn't stop racing at a speed I never wanted it to beat again. A speed reserved for one person only. And no matter how many years passed or how out of place he would seem in my world, Art Donaldson entered my life like he was the boss. Like he was paying my salary. With exaggerated confidence and an aura that made me blush. A smile that made my lips tremble.

I was painfully aware that my mascara was smudged after a too-long day, and that I had taken my shirt out of my skirt after lunch. Painfully aware that I had taken off my shoes an hour ago because pacing around the room in heels made it hard to think. Painfully aware that he was seeing me in all my flaws now. Years after the last time we met, and he was just as smug.

"I was in the area, and Patrick mentioned something about you working around here..." he said, as if everything in that sentence made sense. As if the fact that I stayed in touch with Patrick made sense. I nodded, trying to somehow control this ridiculous situation. I'm not supposed to react this chaotically to Art Donaldson. I'm 28. I'm not a 19-year-old girl. I do morning meditations. I drink green smoothies and ginger shots. I'm a fucking queen. But I don't feel particularly royal when I remember the coffee stain on my shirt, or the half-eaten avocado sandwich I bought from the café downstairs. It was awful. Both the sandwich and the café. I’m pretty sure the regular barista hates me because once I corrected one of my orders. Ever since, he's been out to get me. It’s a nightmare. I've considered changing jobs more times than I'd like to admit because of it.

"That sounds... completely normal," I mumbled, and he chuckled in response. One of his legs found its natural place over the other, and his fingers played with one of his billion rings in a disturbingly nonchalant way. "Is a tennis player supposed to have that many rings?" I blurted out the first thing that came to mind, knowing how stupid it sounded. Hating myself a little for how stupid it sounded. "I don’t play with them, and they’re beautiful," he shrugged. "They’re ridiculous," I rolled my eyes, trying to recover from this topic of conversation. "Yours is ridiculous," he shot back playfully, looking directly at my ring. At the small diamond (Art probably thinks it’s too small- well, fuck him).

"Oh, this?" I asked, and now we were both looking at it. I liked it until about three seconds ago. Until he walked into the room and stared at it like it was filled with snake venom. It felt like it weighed as much as my entire body. It felt like it was burning my hand from the inside. My blood boiled beneath it, reminding me that all my plans just went to hell. A reminder that I was crazy to even try making plans. "It’s pretty, delicate," I could hear the mockery in his tone. No matter how many years passed, I would always recognize every nuance in his voice. Every rise and fall in octaves. Every unnecessary affectation. He smiled the way he did when he tried to get under my skin—five minutes hadn’t passed, and he’d already succeeded. How embarrassing. What a failure as a person. A failure as a woman. A failure to feminism. Sitting in my office with a coffee stain on my shirt, while my ex from college critiques my choices like some kind of fraudulent fortune-teller. Like God sent him to help me make some life-changing decision.

"Why are you here?" I asked again, trying to maintain control and not snap at him. After all, we hadn’t spoken in nearly a decade. What good would it do to lash out at him? What would it accomplish to tell him about the therapy sessions, about the years I didn’t believe anything good was coming my way at all? About the fact that because of him, I didn’t believe I could ever be anyone’s first choice. "Why did you stay in touch with Patrick?" he asked, and for a moment, it sounded like his tough mask cracked. Like his defenses crumbled and his heart was laid bare. Like we were 20 again, and he was holding my face, explaining how scared he was to let me go.

"He insisted," I shrugged. The day after that party, Tashi's accident happened. Some would call it karma, but I’d say it was just bad luck. Because even though she hurt me without even knowing my name, I never wanted her career to end before it even began. And everyone was sad that day—Patrick, because he felt guilty, Tashi, because her knee twisted in the air, and Art, because he lost a friend and the girl who forgave him for all his bullshit. Aka me. But he won what really mattered. He got Tashi. Patrick found me that day in the library, refusing to wallow in my own misery, and somehow, he managed to entwine his miserable life with mine. He managed to secure a spot on my couch from time to time. He managed to impress me with lame jokes about his pathetic life, or maybe about mine.

And life didn’t turn out the way I planned. I didn’t discover a cure for cancer or make it to space by age 25. My apartment was crappy. So fucking crappy. But there were funny moments, and I only occasionally followed Art’s career. I only followed his love life when his face and Tashi’s were plastered on billboards. That could never have been me. It would never have worked. It wasn’t meant to be, I’d tell myself every time I was filled with self-pity. Every time I worked a temporary job selling skincare products or transcribing lectures for students. Every time I felt lost. I knew he wouldn’t have settled for someone like me in the long run.

He and Patrick made up two years ago, which was ironic. Because what’s the point of maintaining my friendship with Patrick if not to have at least one person in my life who understands the pain of knowing Art Donaldson? Of knowing that once, he was a part of your life, and it felt amazing. Almost unreal. Almost spiritual. But they made up, and Patrick promised me he wouldn’t talk about me with the smug bastard sitting in front of me right now. He promised and didn’t keep it. Well, here’s someone who’s never eating pasta at the restaurant near my place on my dime ever again.

"He insisted?" Art looked amused, and I just shrugged again in response. I knew he wanted more details, but I wanted him to take a headfirst dive into a volcano. Desires are ridiculous. "He insisted," I repeated, and this time he laughed. Actually laughed. "It's like you two have a contract not to tell me anything. How am I supposed to work with that?" He spoke as if we’d been friends for years. As if there hadn’t been a rupture, a break, and devastation. As if I didn’t have the image of him leaving me at that party seared into my brain. As if my heart hadn’t shattered into pieces because of him more times than I could count.

"I want you to handle my money," he suddenly said. "Excuse me?" I raised an eyebrow, looking at him as if he'd lost a lobe of his brain. "You're a financial advisor, right? Be my financial advisor," he said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, all while glancing at the pathetic office I was sitting in. "You don’t want me to be your financial advisor, Art," I almost snorted in disbelief. "You haven’t spoken to me in ten years, and now you know what I want?" he asked, allowing himself to raise an eyebrow in return. "This is a big firm; I can recommend someone who’d be happy to take you on," I tried to fake a smile. "I'll go to your boss and tell him I’m willing to let only you handle my account, and that you’re refusing. I’m sure he’d be thrilled. I Googled him—Albert looks like a guy who’d love to lose a wealthy client," and I saw that spark in his eyes. Challenging. Almost childish. The kind that said, 'Let’s see what you do. You’ll lose.'

"That’s a terrible idea," I declared. "Keeping in touch with Patrick and not me is a terrible idea. Managing my investments will give you some good money," he said, gesturing with his hands, and for the first time, I realized how big his hands were. "Are you bored with your life, Donaldson?" I asked, trying to figure out what I was dealing with here. "Come on, Peaches, you have to admit you missed me, at least a little." And for a change, his smile was genuine. He looked like every word I said could hurt him. "Like I miss my appendix," I rolled my eyes, and he laughed. "I’m looking forward to working with you." He suddenly stood up and extended his hand for a handshake, as if that wasn’t utterly ridiculous. "I’m looking forward to it like a deer looks forward to being eaten by a lion. It’s on my wish list," I said, and he just laughed again. A laugh that was too real. The kind that made tears gather in his eyes.

An hour after he left my dingy office, my heart was still racing at an unreasonable pace. The kind that made me wonder if there was a defibrillator in the building. I tried to remember if I shook his hand at the end of the meeting. I couldn’t. . . . As he left your office, Art felt like he does after a long tennis match. One that he won. A thought detached from reality, but he allowed himself those kinds of thoughts now. He was a new person. He believed in victories before they even happened. And seeing you after so many years in real life, not in blurry Facebook pictures, felt like a victory. You hadn’t changed much. The years had even given you a more sophisticated look—subtle yet full of curves. Your eyes still looked at him with that same spark. With a glimmer of something he could never quite put his finger on. But he wanted to conquer it. He wanted to win.

When Patrick and he reconnected, it was alongside the problems that only began in his relationship with Tashi. Alongside Lily’s birth, alongside the intrusive thoughts that had plagued him all his life, he wondered if it was a mistake. But Patrick was Patrick, and when he insisted on something, he got his way. And for Patrick, he and Art had to reconnect. So they did. Slowly, gradually. He wasn’t his best friend anymore, of course. But sometimes Art thought he was his only friend. Which was strange, because he was always surrounded by people. Tashi was supposed to be his best friend, but she never was. She made it clear more than once that it was a ridiculous notion.

One night, as he and Patrick were having beers at some sketchy bar, Patrick casually mentioned that you and he were good friends. Art looked at him as if he’d fallen from the moon. He wanted to punch him. He hadn’t expected that. It felt like someone had punched him in the chest and knocked all the air out of his lungs. Patrick got over Tashi and settled for you? You weren’t supposed to be a compromise. Art wouldn’t allow that. He’d go to war if he had to. He had no grounds for such a war, but you were too good to settle for Patrick. You were too good to settle for anyone, really.

He quickly realized that things between you and Patrick were platonic. Or at least that’s what the guy sitting across from him kept repeating, but Art wasn’t fully convinced. Everything was too mysterious. Patrick kept too much information to himself. He didn’t share anything with Art about your life, and the more Patrick kept things hidden, the more obsessed Art became.

And it wasn’t weird that he checked if you’d posted a new status on Facebook almost as often as he checked if his infant daughter needed anything. It wasn’t weird that he searched for you on Instagram. It wasn’t weird that he looked through the profiles of all 67 people you followed and hated most of them. Because you didn’t follow him, and millions of people did. You could have followed, and he wouldn’t have even noticed—allegedly.

"She got engaged," Patrick said one day, throwing it into the air as if he were talking about his grocery list. Art stared at him, blinking, trying to process the information. Who’s the person responsible for this? Who’s the person who took you away, and why do you think he deserves forever with you? What kind of thought is that—that someone else deserves forever with you? That someone gets to have a picnic in the park with you. To pick you up for dates. To share a house with you. There’s someone who’s going to be the father of your kids. Who picked out a ring for you. Who’s going to make sure your dreams come true. Art doesn’t know what your dreams are. But he doesn’t want to think about it.

"Is he a good guy?" Art knew that was what he was supposed to ask. That’s what social norms demanded. "I’ve sat with them a few times when they were together. He’s kind and funny, and I think he loves her," Patrick shrugged, as if that’s all it takes to be with you. "Well, I’m happy for her," Art took a gulp of whiskey, too big, letting the drink burn its way down his throat. Patrick looked at him like he didn’t believe him. His problem, Art thought. Let him believe whatever he wants.

That night, Art opened your Instagram while Tashi was asleep. There wasn’t a picture of a ring or a tag of some guy. Tashi got annoyed because of the phone light. Art apologized.

That was almost six months ago. Since then, his life had changed because he and Tashi decided to keep their relationship strictly professional. It was for both of their benefit, though he wasn’t entirely sure how much it benefited him. He was still learning how to function without her. He was still learning how to communicate effectively. He was still trying to bridge the dissonance that came with going home to an empty house, yet navigating press conferences as if he were happily married.

In two weeks, even that charade would end. And he wasn’t sure what he was even fighting for. Because they weren’t truly happy. And you were in his thoughts enough for it to count as emotional cheating if he were married. So he let Tashi go. He was much less broken than he had imagined he would be without her.

'I’m looking forward to working with you.' -Art- He couldn’t resist sending the message. Maybe ten at night was too late. Maybe you were already asleep. Maybe your fiancé was with you, trying to love you. Maybe Art was intruding.

He didn’t particularly care if he was. . . . "I’m going to kill you," I said into the phone, hearing Patrick's rolling laughter. "You're exaggerating—" he began, trying to save his ass. "We had one rule! Just one, Patrick!" I found myself pacing the bedroom while Alec worked in the living room. This was the day after the meeting with Art Donaldson. "He lives in New York and he’s divorced. I felt like a jerk not telling him where you work when he asked so nicely," Patrick’s voice sounded genuine. "He's not divorced," I rolled my eyes. I would know if Art were divorced. His and Tashi's faces are plastered all over this stinking city.

"They’re finalizing things in about a week and a half. There will be a press conference and everything. It’s going to be a big deal," he said, as if it were common knowledge. As if I should already know this. "Sorry I didn’t give you a heads-up. That wasn’t cool," he added, and I could hear him biting into something, probably an apple. "We’re supposed to be a team. You can’t prioritize Art Donaldson’s interests over mine. I fed you when you were half-homeless," I declared. "I still prioritize your interests, drama queen," he continued speaking lightly, as if I had no reason to feel like my world was crumbling. "How is this prioritizing my interests? I’m going to manage his money. I’m going to handle his investments, Patrick. I’m going to see his stupid face every time he wants, as part of my job. Because of you! This is your fault!" I found myself stopping for a moment in the room, almost stomping my foot in frustration. Years of self-work going down the drain.

"Everything okay, Bunny?" I heard Alec's voice from the living room. "Yeah, I’m just talking to Patrick," I replied, steadying my voice into something more composed and responsible. So he’d keep thinking I had my life together. "Tell him 'hi,'" Alec said, and I could only guess he’d put his headphones back on. "Well, hi," I rolled my eyes, returning to the conversation with the chief idiot. "I’m sorry," Patrick mumbled after a few seconds of silence, and I hung up, sprawling on the bed like a starfish. He didn’t sound sorry.

I sat down next to Alec on the couch, wearing just my bra and panties with an open button-down shirt over it. Sexy enough for any stranger peeking through the window. A teenage boy's wet dream. I’m on fire. He kept staring at his screen, ignoring my existence. I started placing small kisses along his neck, trying to set the mood. Trying to seal the deal. Trying not to think about the one-who-shall-not-be-named. Trying to be a good woman. Trying to conquer feminism with mediocre sex, just like Alec and I know how to deliver. "I really have to finish this, Bunny," he mumbled, shifting uncomfortably, making me sigh, lean back, and roll my eyes. "How long will it take?" I asked. "You’ll probably be asleep by then. Watch an episode of your favorite show instead," he said without looking at me. "Can we talk about the wedding?" I tried another angle. "If I don’t have time to make love to you, I definitely don’t have time to plan the wedding," he said, slipping those hideous—massive—headphones back on, ending the conversation. I kind of hated that he never said "fuck" or "have sex" or even used the word "sex" in general. He always treated it like I was Princess Diana. I am clearly not Princess Diana. Sometimes I wonder if he even wants to marry me at all. It’s been over six months since he proposed, and he’s been dodging setting a date since practically the same day. It’s very frustrating. I need to meditate.

"Bunny," he suddenly said, and I looked at him expectantly while he removed his headphones after I’d already started heading to the bedroom, "you have a stain on your shirt." He quickly put his headphones back on, eyes glued to the screen. At least the soup I had for lunch managed to fuck me today. . . . "You can't just show up here," I said as I tried to finish chewing the terrible sandwich I’d chosen today. I think it had mold. "If you had answered my messages, we could’ve scheduled something without me showing up at your office." Art looked good. So fucking good. It was frustrating. Today was the day I decided to skip the contacts and wear glasses. God hates me. But on the other hand, God was trying to help me—making sure Art Donaldson never gets attracted to me. God is on my side. I knew she was a feminist.

"What do you want?" I mumbled in surrender, knowing he wouldn’t leave until he said whatever he came to say so we could all move on with our lives. "To talk business," he smiled from ear to ear. "I'm eating right now, come back in half an hour," I replied, "or better yet, schedule a meeting like a rational human being." I continued pressing my point. "Better idea, let's go grab lunch and talk business over food." He looked at me like a dad who just told his little girl what her next hour is going to look like. "Sorry, I can't—" "Art Donaldson! When I got your email, I couldn't believe it," Albert burst into my office excitedly. Sure, let’s invite everyone. Apparently, there’s free cookies being handed out. All are welcome.

Art kept wearing his unbearable poster smile while Albert went on and on about tennis and how much he loved Rafael Nadal. Albert is clearly a man with vast general knowledge. "She treating you right?" Albert asked Art as if they were best friends, and now they both stared at me while all I wanted was to finish my food-poisoning sandwich in peace. "She just agreed to join me for lunch to talk about my money," Art said, and if looks could kill, Art Donaldson would’ve had a stroke right there and disappeared from our lives as suddenly as he appeared. But no, looks don’t kill, and feminist God apparently isn’t on my side anymore because now I’m sitting across from this asshole at a diner. I ordered a burger because I knew he’d never allow himself to eat one and would whine for hours about how he wants to eat a burger every day but can’t.

"I hope that's okay," I smiled one of the fakest smiles I could muster, blinking as I took a bite of the slab of meat in front of me. "Mmm, it's amazing," I sighed, watching for a moment as he stared at me, mouth half-open, eyes sparkling. "You're cruel," he stated after shaking his head, as if shaking off urges. He looked different with short hair. I always told him he needed to cut it because it kept falling into his eyes, but his curls had a youthful playfulness that was clearly missing now. He looked defeated.

"So, what did you want to talk about? What are you looking to invest in?" I tried to focus on the reason behind this ridiculous meal while Art stole a fry from my plate and picked at the sad grilled chicken he had ordered. Maybe I should stop making those satisfied sounds when I eat. "You," he said, biting his lip like a kid who let a curse word slip in front of his mom. Testing boundaries. Watching as I rolled my eyes. "I'm not going to let you waste my time, Donaldson," and we both knew I wasn’t just talking about business. Because honestly? Fuck business. Art didn’t seem like someone who was planning to disappear from my life anytime soon. He had shown up too determined for that to happen. "I have no intention of wasting your time, Peaches," he smiled, leaning back, relaxing a little after we established this basic ground rule. He continued stealing my food.

"So, tell me about him," he suddenly said after insisting I order an enormous ice cream that was supposed to be just for me. Every time his spoon got closer, mine heroically fought it off. "Who?" I asked, taking a spoonful of ice cream and leaving it in my mouth for a few seconds. His gaze immediately locked on my ring. "We're not that kind of friends, Donaldson," I said, watching as he inched his spoon toward my ice cream, and I quickly blocked him. No chance. "So what kind of friends are we?" he asked, smiling, looking half at me and half at our spoons, still battling each other. "I don't know," I sighed a little, finally lowering my spoon in defeat. There’s no point in fighting. It’s truly a lost cause.

The more Art Donaldson entered my life, the more Alec distanced himself from it. Art did it in a quiet way, almost eerily so. It started with deep conversations about financial investments he wanted to make. About charity events he wanted to be part of. A foundation he wanted to establish. He talked about his money as if it made sense to be this rich at his age. As if he and I were on the same level in terms of lifestyle. He never once acted condescending about it, even though I expected him to. Even though I had prepared arguments in advance. He never once asked why I didn’t continue in academia or why I gave up on medicine. He didn’t poke at that wound. Even though he could have. Even though it would’ve been easy.

It continued with stupid messages in the middle of the day about how he was hungry, tired, or wanted to go home. Messages about seeing a guy dressed as a bear in the middle of the street. Fucking New York. He’d ask questions about my day. Ask what I ate. If I ate. If I was drinking enough water. Never anything too deep. Never out of nosy curiosity. If I forgot who he was, I might’ve thought he cared about me. I know, it’s unbelievable.

One time, he called me at seven in the evening, talking such nonsense that I wondered if he was drunk. I wondered out loud, of course, because I’m not 19, and I’m not afraid to tell Art Donaldson what I think. He wasn’t drunk. He made dinner and decided to call. He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. Said it, and then went on about his day. About Lily. About how she was adjusting to splitting her time between his place and Tashi’s. He talked about Patrick and told me what he was cooking. It was domestic. Like I was a part of his life. Weird.

Alec and I were in the middle of a fight that made me wonder if I was mentally strong enough not to throw the vase that was sitting on the dresser. Not at him. I’m not violent. On the floor, to make a point. “Do you even want to marry me?” I suddenly asked. Because at that point, I no longer knew what was happening. I don’t like not knowing what’s happening. “Of course I wa-” “To who the hell is it obvious? Do you know how embarrassing it is when people ask me about a wedding date almost a year later, and I change the subject?!” I cut him off. “Every time I try to bring it up, you’d rather talk about light fixtures or that time we randomly had an hour-long conversation about types of doors.” I reminded him of some of the truly bizarre moments we’ve had recently. “We do need to replace the door.” I shot him a look that should’ve made it clear that if he kept going with that sentence, I was breaking the vase on the floor.

“Why don’t you want to fuck me anymore?” I suddenly asked. Almost defeated after too much yelling. “What? Bunny-” he blushed. The question was too brutal for him. Too raw for his delicate soul, which couldn’t handle talking about sex. “I can count on one hand how many times we’ve fucked since you proposed,” I said it as bluntly as I could, enjoying his discomfort. “We don’t have to make love every day,” he mumbled. Last time I checked, to make love, there has to be love. I threw the vase. Alec left the house. . . . ‘You’re not at work.’ – A –

‘How is it that we’re back to you not answering me?’ – A –

‘Did you secretly get married over the weekend?’ – A –

‘Seriously, get back to me. It’s about the charity event.’ – A –

The bitter truth was that I was busy wallowing in the current failure of my life- Alec. I binge-watched all the seasons of The O.C. in three days and ate more ice cream than should be legal. But I didn’t feel the pain in my bones the way you’re supposed to when ending what was supposed to be the relationship. I’d once hurt more over losing someone who loved me less.

‘Are you okay? You’ve got our mutual friend worried.’ – P – He talked about Art like he was a spy. ‘Hey, could you stop being an idiot for a second and just answer to say you’re alive?’ – P –

‘I’m calling the fire department to check your apartment.’ – P –

‘This is concerning.’ – P –

‘I’ll call your mom. She’d love to hear from me after that time I burped in her face.’ – P –

‘I broke up with Alec.’ – (Y/N)–

‘You’re not going to die alone.’ – P –

‘I know you think you will, but you won’t.’ – P –

‘You can’t know that.’ – (Y/N) –

‘You’re an idiot.’ – P –

‘Are you okay?’ – P –

‘I mean, obviously you’re not okay, but... are you okay?’ – P –

‘I’m okay.’ –(Y/N)–

When I walked into the hall where Art Donaldson’s charity event for kids with muscular dystrophy, was being held, eyes didn’t turn toward me like they do in the movies. Everyone was too busy with their conversations and stroking each other’s egos. From the side, it almost looked homoerotic—the gentle touches on shoulders and the occasional pats. Almost sexy. Maybe I was seeing sex in things that weren’t sexy because my ex refused to touch me with more resolve than an ant carrying food that weighed more than its body. “You made it,” Art’s voice came from behind me. “You’re sharp,” I shot back as I turned to him, taking one of the champagne glasses he offered. “Is Patrick here too?” I asked. “No, he couldn’t come. He signed up for a Challenger in Malibu,” he replied, his eyes unapologetically scanning me. I felt completely exposed under his penetrating gaze. “So random,” I mumbled. Art’s hand gently pulled me by the waist, bringing me close to him while keeping his hand exactly where it was. I almost let confusion show on my face, but he introduced me to the man who had come over to talk to him, never taking his eyes—or his hand—off me. Not during the next conversation, or the next one, either. He presented us as a strange package deal. If someone wanted to talk to him, they had to talk to me too. Maybe he hoped it would drive people away. It didn’t. "Want to step outside for some air?" he whispered in my ear. After spending most of the evening standing so close to each other, it felt strange to pull away now that no one else was around. "Sure, why not." I shrugged, acting like it wasn’t a big deal. Before stepping out, we each grabbed a glass of wine. "You raised a lot of money," I remarked, trying to break the ice. "You disappeared on me," he shot back, not bothering with small talk. "I’ve been busy." I shrugged again. "Where’s your ring?" he asked. "You’re obsessed with my hands, Donaldson," I said, unsure how to respond to this level of bluntness after being in a relationship with someone who was too scared to talk to me for years. "It’s not relevant anymore," I added, as his gaze didn’t allow me to dodge the question. "Good, it was ugly," he stated, stopping in his tracks, making me stop too and turn to look at him, raising an eyebrow. His expression was challenging again, with that playful spark, inviting a debate. "It wasn’t ugly," I rolled my eyes. "It was pathetic, Peaches. You know you deserve better," he declared, leaving no room for argument.

And somehow, he was so close. Close enough that his breath, smelling of mint gum and wine, blended with mine. "I’m not looking for a rebound," I murmured. "Neither am I," his usual smug smile was gone. There was no trace of it. He looked hazy. Almost captive. "What are you looking for?" I dared to ask. "You," he replied. It was a good answer.

After an excruciatingly long hour and twenty minutes, during which I had two more glasses of wine, and Art spoke into the microphone—stopping me from downing a third—we arrived at his house. It looked a bit like a modern palace. "How is it that you live here?" I mused aloud, and his mouth found my neck as he chuckled. "What, this old thing?" he mumbled, his kisses as sharp as his words. "Don’t leave marks, Donaldson. We’re adults," I managed to say as I kicked off my heels, and he unzipped my dress.

"I want to do this from the moment you walked into the room today. Fuck, you’re so hot," he growled. It was throaty and masculine, almost animalistic. His eyes scanned me like a smoke detector picking up a cigarette. Within seconds, I found myself on the most comfortable couch I had ever been on. His lips traveled over me as if he was painting a map, as if he remembered all the sensitive points on my body. "I missed her," he said, giving a small bite to my right nipple, glancing at my face as I let out a moan. "her too," he added, moving to the left one. "Art, I need you." I tried to make it clear to him that I couldn't handle the teasing right now. That he should save it for another time. For someone else. For something else. I need him inside me.

"Peaches, have some patien—" he started, continuing to place deadly kisses on various areas of my body. "Art, just fuck me. Okay?" I almost pleaded, my voice lower than usual, filled with an inexplicable need. He looked at me for half a minute and nodded. "Okay baby, I got you," he said. And within seconds, his boxers were on the floor, and my panties disappeared too. He was inside me as if this was his home, as if he belonged there. "Fuck. Art. Thank you, there," I felt stupid, but I couldn't control it. I needed him so badly. I needed someone to fill the empty space. That Art Donaldson would fill the empty space.

He moved at a chaotic pace, almost as if he was trying to prove he could give me exactly what I wanted. What I needed. And he was right. I came after a few minutes, during which his cock filled me perfectly, and his lips found mine and refused to let go. He wrapped me from every direction and came right after I did.

"It's like we're teenagers," I muttered, and he laughed. "I usually last longer," he stated, not getting up, his body weight feeling almost comfortable on top of me. It was almost nice to breathe heavily. "So do I," I retorted. His hand drew little shapes on my shoulder. "Let's go to sleep," he decided, standing up slowly, reaching out his hand and pulling me toward him. Not forgetting to give me another kiss on the lips, a small one. As if it had happened a million times before. As if it were a routine.

"Your bed should be illegal, Donaldson," I said after he tossed a soft T-shirt he had in his closet over me. He lay down beside me, laughing. "I can't believe you're here. I was afraid it wouldn't happen," he said, with a seriousness that felt profound. "How long have you been thinking about this?" I tried to sound amused. "Since the moment I stepped into your office," his honesty was both terrifying and comforting. No one had talked to me so openly in a while. "probably before that" he added. "You can't waste my time, Art," I replied, looking up to catch his gaze. . . . Art took a moment to nod. He already had a ring for you. Even before you broke up with that idiot, he had bought the ring. He didn't know where life would lead you. He just knew he was going to spend every free moment proving to you that he loved you enough not to waste your time. Not when you were his favorite person.

How are we doing guys?!?!?!?! Can't wait to hear from you. That's my chance to remind y'all that English is not my first language and I might have some grammar issues. love you all, hope it was a good addition to the story <3

taglist: @lalalandofive @wild-rose-35 @theynothem @angelism13

[prince-liest]

was recently talking to a friend about qi rong which then lead to me going on a reread of my favorite qi rong fic EVER, and now I’m in my feels about him, his relationship with his family, and his relationship with xie lian and guzi.

I just love qi rong a lot. to be clear, he’s a horrible little gremlin and that is a lot of WHY I love him - but I also think that fundamentally qi rong is a character who is super traumatized but does not receive sympathy for that trauma because he is not traumatized in a “palatable” way which is a trend that starts when he is young and just never ends, canonically, at any point in his life

right from the bat: the first 5 years of his life, he's being physically and emotionally abused, he's cast out to live in a shed, his mom is forgotten by her family. by the time she finally escapes his abusive father and goes back to the palace, her elopement with him has been swept under the rug and most people don't actually know what happened - and are then weirded out by her and qi rong, causing all the children and even most adults around qi rong to basically refuse to interact with him. so he's abused and hated, then isolated to the point where nobody talks to him, nobody plays with him. the one time he thinks he succeeded at attempting to make some friends, it turns out that they tricked him into writing a death wish for himself and his mother on his lantern.

and all the while, he's watching xie lian and the adulation he receives, not understanding why xie lian gets those things and he does not. everyone always says he looks like xie lian. he’s even called xiao jing, like he’s a mirror of the crown prince. what’s the difference?

and then xie lian himself is the only person aside from his own mother to be genuinely kind to qi rong. qi rong is desperately lonely, envious and fixated on the cousin that nobody will stop comparing him to, and then said cousin is the only person to reach out to him with kindness. of course he wants to attach himself to xie lian and emulate him.

unfortunately for both of them, then his mother dies - not just randomly, but specifically in defense of xie lian’s mother, and having extracted a promise for xie lian’s parents to care for qi rong. however, things don’t actually change at that point. sure, they take him in and buy him whatever he wants, but as far as love and care are concerned, xie lian is really the only potential source of those things left for qi rong. xie lian is also a teenager with a lot of pressure on his shoulders and a lack of understanding of difficult situations. of course he doesn’t know how to raise his traumatized, misbehaving cousin! and nobody else bothers to. it’s deeply unfair for xie lian to be used as the singular tool to discipline and direct qi rong, and that directly contributes to their extremely soured relationship.

now that qi rong’s mother is dead, there is nobody left around that actually wants him or is willing to put effort into properly raising him. when a kid turns out as wild as qi rong - that's not just random happenstance, that happens because they weren't parented right (or at all). he acts out in increasingly insane ways for the attention everyone hates to give him - anyone's, but especially xie lian's, which sucks for xie lian because it should have been his parents providing qi rong with an authority figure and source of love, not xie lian's teenage self. and people respond by waving him off, giving him whatever he wants just to make him go away, and ignoring him, because he has a deeply off-putting personality.

and it causes everyone around qi rong to resent him in this vicious cycle that escalates his behavior because he doesn't know what else to do - until eventually even xie lian, the one person that he really looked up to, hates him too.

obviously qi rong is an awful person by the point we reach in canon, but I also think that if he had received regular hugs as a child and maybe some actual parenting from someone who didn’t beat him, instead of just being given a bunch of money and being told to fuck off

specifically because he was weird and traumatized and unlikeable

things would have turned out very different for him. because he very clearly tries - that’s one thing that’s very clear in the flashbacks and even continues to modern canon: qi rong really tries to get love and attention, and when that doesn’t work, he just escalates to “any attention, bad attention, attention that proves I’m worth something, proves wrong all the people saying the supposedly-amazing cousin that took away my only source of kindness when he started hating me, is so much better than me”. he starts out an awkward, off-putting kid and ends up the night-touring green lantern. of course he holds enough resentment to end up a calamity. his cannibalism shtick doesn’t even read as genuine to me, it just seems like he picked out “what’s the worst, most attention-grabbing thing I can possibly be to pre-emptively justify everyone’s disgust in me” and landed on that.

(see also: I think it’s hysterical that he has very strong opinions and abilities as pertains to gourmet cooking, and then just uses them to lure in victims so that he can have his meal of Raw Unseasoned Human Flesh. you can’t tell me he’s doing it for anything other than the bit at this point.)

and that’s also why I think his weirdly wholesome relationship with guzi also makes a lot of sense. qi rong is a shockingly decent father to him (eventually), probably in part because he overidentifies with guzi also being abused by his father, but also, because guzi is literally just a kid and therefore is not someone that yet has the capacity to have all these preconceptions about qi rong, nor for qi rong to read into his words and be insulted, because. that's just a kid. there’s nothing to read into.

I think his treatment of guzi (eventually) shows that he's capable of being at least kind of decent (or at least functional), he's just never been in a circumstance where his trauma and relationships let it happen. his material life was always supplied for, but his emotional and familial environment in xianle was invariably toxic for him.

anyway, I think qi rong needs a shower and a hug, in that order, and then to be forced to learn to interact with people who don't immediately assume the worst of him. thanks for coming to my TED talk, I know it was long as hell.

[funhouse-mirror-barbie]

in an interview a while back, vivzie compared stella to beatrice horseman from bojack horseman. if you haven't seen it, beatrice's childhood AND adult life were awful but at the exact same time it's also very clear that nothing about it justified how she treated her son bojack - much like how bojack's own abusive childhood didn't justify the way he treated people. it just explained it.

we'll have to wait and see if viv can actually pull this off (signs point to 'no' atm tbh) but stella being written with this particular comparison explicitly in mind is giving me a little hope she'll at least try.

Hey, Anon! Thanks for the ask!

I’m really glad you brought this up because I had actually been planning a post comparing Beatrice and Stella because I find it kind of fascinating that the writers say Stella is similar to Beatrice Horseman. Because so far they’re really, really, really not.

In fact, the way Stella and Beatrice are introduced and developed as characters are inverses of each other. (Explanation below)

Beatrice is introduced to us as being unambiguously the one in the wrong—she’s so ridiculously abusive towards Bojack, her own son, that it sometime crosses over into pure black comedy. Bojack is clearly the wronged party here, as he was a literal child. He depended on Beatrice for everything and was met with abuse.

Even when Beatrice’s abuse becomes so over-the-top that it’s almost comedic, the audience still understands she’s in the wrong. We understand even though it’s played for black comedy, Bojack was clearly very negatively affected by the abuse, and that her treatment of him was horrific.

During the flashbacks to Bojack’s childhood in earlier episodes, the audience has no further details or information as to why Beatrice would act this way, (not that there’s any excuse regardless) so it seems like there’s not a lot of depth to Beatrice because of this. Season 1 Beatrice Horseman is a very flat character.

But after season 1, the writers of Bojack Horseman continue to develop Beatrice. In the beginning of season 2, we learn that Beatrice is aware of her abuse and how it affected Bojack and, in her own messed up way, tries to apologize to him. She acknowledges that she is a deeply flawed person, and acknowledges her own part in Bojack’s terrible upbringing.

We learn that she regrets the way she acted, that she thinks of herself as being broken, and she sadly admits that Bojack inherited this broken-ness from her.

NONE of this makes the abuse okay for course, but we’re given more insight into her as a person. As Bojack Horseman progresses, the audience is continually given more and more information about Beatrice that explains her in depth. We learn why she acted the way she did, how she coped (and failed to cope) with the intense trauma from her childhood, and how everything that happened to her affected her behavior and outlook on life, and how that in-turn affected Bojack.

The writers develop her from being a flat character to one with depth, one that feels like a real person.

In contrast, the VERY first thing we learn about Stella, before we know anything about her personality, or how she usually talks, or what her relationships are like, is that Stolas cheated on her. She is literally introduced to us as someone who has just been wronged, and presumably, hurt by her husband’s cheating on her.

I don’t think it’s unfair to assume that audiences immediately understand why Stella acts the way she does around Stolas in season 1. Being cheated on sucks. It’s a breech of trust, and extremely hurtful.

Unlike Beatrice, Stella is introduced to us as the wronged party.

Again, that doesn’t mean her actions are warranted or should be excused, but it’s very easy to understand why she is acting the way she is.

Due to this, while Stella still starts as a relatively flat character to b/c we don’t know much about her (other than how she acts directly after being cheated on) she has a lot of potential. The writers could have gone in lots of different directions in her character development.

So naturally, in the first episode of season 2 of Helluva Boss, we learn that Stella strangled puppies as a young child, was always mean to Stolas all the time even before he cheated on her, loves “tormenting” Stolas, and is physically abusive. We learn that since she was a young child she’s always been terrible and evil.

Any potential for some further depth to be added to Stella at the beginning of season 2 is fucking steamrolled by this writing decision.

Since S2E1, The Circus, Stella has been written consistently as being mean, rude, vindictive, and stupid. The audience has been given no further information on her, other than that she has brother who is smarter and than her, and that we should hate her for standing in the way of Stolas and Blitzø’s relationship.

Due to all of this, I have absolutely no idea how HB’s writers could possibly develop Stella to be even 1/8th as nuanced or “real” as Beatrice.

At this point, I think it’s too little too late for Stella’s backstory. Why would I care about her upbringing now? What important bit of information could the writers possibly give us about her past that would make her behavior understandable, or develop her character further??

I’m not saying it’s IMPOSSIBLE. But I can’t think of anything they could do to build upon Stella’s character after they already cemented her so firmly as a one-dimensional villain.

So. To summarize (TLDR)

Beatrice Horseman started out flat, and was developed over time until she felt like a fully realized person.

Stella started out flat, but with the potential to be developed into a more nuanced character.

Instead of being developed more gradually, like Beatrice, starting in season 2, Stella was written to be as evil as possible in all her appearances.

Due to this, the writers have made it incredibly difficult to go back and give Stella a backstory that will matter or explain her behavior in any meaningful way.

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Elbert Greetia Episode 0

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors.

Pale lips, bloodless white cheeks, trembling limbs.

My first impression was that she didn’t look like a person suited for sin.

Elbert: “Al, do I have to go too?”

Alfons: “Yes, seeing how it’s such a lovely evening. Also, there might be something you’ll like at the target’s mansion.”

Elbert: “I see. Okay.”

Victor: “Tonight, let’s pledge our loyalty to our evil deeds again.”

The Crown, an organization directly under Queen Victoria, is composed solely of “cursed” individuals.

From espionage to assassination, we undertake shadowy jobs that the police or the military cannot handle.

I’m a member of that organization, but一

(I don’t really like going on missions.)

Using my ability to “revive the opponent’s saddest memories” and seeing the target suffer with it is like adding to my sins, making it harder to breathe every time.

(But as Alfons says, maybe I’ll find what I’m looking for.)

Something that can atone for my sins. Something worthy of what I’ve taken away.

(The most beautiful thing in this world.)

I gently close my eyes, feeling a dark, murky lump wriggling deep in my chest.

Victor: “By the way, William found a cute Robin in the city today.”

(A robin?)

Robins are not very rare here in the UK. In fact, people love them because they are friendly and familiar.

If he’s specifically saying he “found” it, then it’s likely not about a bird.

Alfons: “When you say Robin, are you referring to someone very lovely?”

Alfons: “Or are you referring to someone who brings water to sinners and gets burned by the flames of hell?”

William: “Well, maybe both.”

William: “According to Victor, she apparently defended a poor girl who had stolen jewelry on the roadside and paid for the stolen items in her place.”

Elbert: “That’s very kind of her.”

Alfons: “But she seems like the type to suffer losses.”

William: “You could also say she has her own sense of right and wrong.”

(To think she’d defend someone who committed a crime...)

(She must be strong and kind.)

Elbert: “If she’s that kind of person, it might be best for us not to get involved with her.”

William: “That might be true.”

With a narrowed gaze and a smile, William seemed to be expecting something contrary to that.

William: “Hm? Aren’t you the little Robin I met earlier today?”

Kate: “Huh? Eh? What?”

As it turned out, the woman referred to as “Robin” appeared before us.

(Is that her...?)

Amidst the deep darkness and the blood-red dance hall, she stood alone, bathed in moonlight and shining brightly.

(I don’t know why, but I can’t take my eyes off her.)

Pale lips, bloodless white cheeks, and trembling limbs.

(She doesn’t seem like the kind of person who would be fit for sin.)

A feeling similar to envy suddenly came to mind.

Liam: “Is she your acquaintance, Will? Does she know about us?”

William: “We just talked a bit in town, Liam. She doesn’t know about the Crown.”

Liam: “I see. Then we’re in trouble. What should we do?”

Harrison: “I apologize for scaring you, but this is just a prop for a stage play.”

Kate: “Y-You’re lying...”

Harrison: “Pretending to believe would’ve been for your own good.”

Harrison: “What do we do about this, Will?”

William: “Of course, we should take her to the palace’s grim reaper.”

Jude: “Tch. I told you to lock the door.”

Roger: “Haha! I didn’t think anyone would trespass. You’re quite the naughty girl, aren’t you, little lady?”

Ellis: “Why don’t you come over here? You can’t escape, anyway.”

The moment she heard the words “can’t escape,” she grimaced.

Her appearance, a mess of fear and confusion, resonated with a younger version of myself.

------------Flashback------------

Maid: “Kyaaah!! Someone! Someone help! Madam is!!!”

---------Flashback Ends---------

The fear and confusion that had overwhelmed me when I peeked through the gap in the door and heard the maid’s scream from my mother’s room resurfaced.

(Poor thing.)

It was awful and heartbreaking.

My mother’s death was undoubtedly my fault. That's why my fear back then was something I deserved to experience.

(But you're different.)

You had no connection to the scene unfolding before us.

(A kind person who even extends a helping hand to a sinner doesn't deserve to experience fear.)

(Why did you even end up in a place like this?)

William: "Let me invite you to tonight's dinner. What's your name, dear guest?"

Under the control of William's ability, she introduced herself as Kate.

I thought it was a sweet name.

As she was being taken to the castle, she had been staring anxiously at the sky the whole time.

Kate: "I'm sorry."

Elbert: "It's fine. Are you alright?"

I held her staggering shoulders, and she looked at me for the first time.

Kate: "I'm okay. Thank you."

Elbert: "Is that so?"

(Still, why am I captivated?)

Is it because I felt sorry for her?

Or is it because I heard that she is a strong and kind person from Will?

An inexplicable urge to gaze at her welled up from the depths of my heart.

(Or maybe...)

Because she's beautiful?

I felt like I heard a deep and heavy whisper from within my heart.

Then, as a result of negotiations between Victor and her, Kate decided to stay in the castle as a "fairy tale writer" for one month.

I asked Alfons if she was beautiful, but he simply denied it.

On sleepless nights, as always, I wander around the garden.

Gazing at the blooming white roses, I looked up at the castle and saw a light in a room that should have been empty until yesterday.

(Is she still awake?)

She probably couldn't sleep through the night either.

(One month, huh?)

(If, by any chance, I have the opportunity to accompany her on a mission, the only thing I can do is close her eyes so that she won't get hurt anymore.)

While I was thinking about such things, her eyes suddenly came back to my mind.

(But if she is what I am looking for...)

I would obtain her, even if I had to hurt this innocent girl.

Conflicting emotions of anxiety, fear, anticipation, and excitement surged and engulfed me.

Elbert: "Are you what I am looking for?"

Elbert: "Kate..."

No answer came back from the dimly lit window, and before I knew it, a freshly picked, pure white rose lay in the palm of my hand.

[devoted-rotting]

A Meeting that Could Have Been an Email

“Lucifer, a word, if you will?”

The crackle of interference veiled over the sound of Alastor’s voice. Lucifer shook himself out of his daze before settling on the demon with a scowl.

“Whatever for, uh…” he paused, a smile creeping up his face. “What was it, facility manager?”

Alastor sneered, a forced laugh distorted by interference emitting from his cane.

“Ha ha. I would like to have a private word, about Charlie.”

Just as his focus began to shift, it once again sharpened.

“What the fuck do you want to—“ A shadows suddenly enveloped him, swallowing Lucifer whole in seconds before suddenly reappearing in a small meeting room. At the head of each side of a long table sat two chairs—one slightly taller, and one with his name on it.

“Please, I implore you to sit.” The lights flickered above him as Lucifer sat down, setting his cane in a mounted cane holder on the table.

“Now, I had but a simple—“

“Where in Hell do you get off trying to take my daughter from me?” Lucifer interrupted, digging his claws into the armrests. “She’s my. fucking. daughter. And you’re what? Trying to get a deal out of her? Take her soul? Hm? Is that it?”

Alastor’s eyes narrowed, but his smile remained plastered on his face as Lucifer went on.

“I see right through that plastic little part you’re trying to play on her life, and I’m telling you not only is she smarter than to fall for that bullshit, but that her grace and kindness is the only reason you even have a SEAT at this table.”

“Why are you acting all high and mighty, Pride?” Lucifer’s grip tightened on the armrest, splintering the wood. “Are you trying to play your part? Because frankly, you’re doing an awful job, and making a mess of everything. Although, I imagine you’re used to that.”

The air escaped Lucifer’s lungs, nervousness creeping into his mind as his anger dissipated. His focus dulled.

“I came here to ask you, Lucifer, where in Hell you get off trying to waltz back into your daughters life like you didn’t make a mess of that, too.”

He began to fidget. His claw picked at the wood as he began to space out. His heartbeat thudded in his ears, adding to the cacophony of sensory as Alastor continued on.

“You, of all people, who Charlie has dreaded speaking to, much more asking for help on something she truly cares about, coming back pretending nothing was wrong, like you saw her last week. Like you hadn’t called her months ago. Like you remember every little detail, every effort. Like her friends, like me, who do all the heavy lifting for a child you created, and you royally messed up.”

His breath came quicker now. He tried to form a thought, scattered feelings and ideas just out of his reach. He tried to speak, to defend himself, something, but he only croaked.

“I-…“

Alastor was standing by this point, stiff as a board and scrutinizing as a Seraphim, bearing down upon him from across the table. He no longer was looking directly at Lucifer, more so down at the table, his claws splintering the table as he continued on.

“I am no father—no, no, absolutely not. At worst, however, I am better than you ever have been. You don’t just get to disappear as soon as it’s convenient. You don’t just get to leave. I don’t care how much you love her, when you leave, you forfeit all the love you could ever give or receive. When you leave, you don’t just get to come back. Hells bells it’s like neither of you actually give a shit!”

The lights sparked and blew out, leaving only a couple still glowing dimly. His eyes had become dials, glowing red and cranked high enough that his horns had sprouted into antlers. The room was filled with radio static and red emanated from his form, shadows dancing in his peripherals. Lucifer felt something hit his thigh, mindlessly going to wipe it away when he realized he had begun crying.

Alastor took a deep breath, forcing his composer while his eyes continued to glow and his gaze bore through him.

“If you value Charlie’s wellbeing—if you can get off your high horse and realize she is better off without you, then maybe she might end up alright.”

Alastor began walking towards the exit behind Lucifer, pausing at his side and leaning down to his ear.

“And that starts with a goodbye.”

[frostytherobot]

Alright. Because I’m thinking about Creep as a film series because they just announced more Creep in the form of THE CREEP TAPES (I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR SO LONG… it’s not a movie but a TV SHOW!!!) I’m just gonna ramble a little bit about why those movies are so important to me.

First, though:

^ That’s my Creep tattoo. I got it over a year ago and show it off whenever I can.

So, onward.

I watched the first Creep movie for the first time during quarantine lockdown. It was like March of 2021? (Hold on, let me link the episode of my podcast for that.) (Yup. Don’t mind my pre-T voice.) That was like one of the loneliest times of my life. You know how it was, you were there, too. Fucking. Awful. I felt like there was just this bubble of sadness around me and nobody could get through to me. Sure, I had friends I could talk to over the internet, but that can only get you so far. Especially when they have their own lives and you can’t see them face to face.

One night, my two best college buddies and I decided we should watch it for our podcast. That was the one thing we could do that we could talk to each other consistently with, so we went for it. And, fuck. You can hear in that episode how freaked out that movie made us! We talk about human behaviors and the compulsion to kill and where that stems from, the relationship between politeness and gender roles, and lot of other related topics in that episode. It’s a smart film that knows how to suck you into the reality; you see these two men up close and personal, their odd behaviors, and the found footage formatting and intimate setting make you feel as though you are there witnessing all of this with them. As them. Those awkward moments make you cringe; watching Josef admit to stalking Aaron, catching Josef on the lies, tubby time. Oh, god, tubby time.

And then there was the ending. The moment where the camera is left in the car, you’re left in the car, and you just have to watch as Josef puts on the Peachfuzz wolf mask, flourishes his jacket, and buries that axe into Aaron’s head. The shot is static. It’s matter-of-fact, and that’s why it’s so horrifying. He’s dead. You followed this shy, awkward guy on his journey getting to know an oddball all the way to the lake, and he’s dead now. And then, the murderous oddball looks directly into the camera, and while he says Aaron’s name, he’s looking at you as he says, “That is why I love you. And that is why you will always be my favorite. Of them all.” Like he was thanking you for witnessing this event.

I felt like there was someone behind me for hours afterward. Josef had somehow gotten into my home. And that’s how it started.

Months later, we watched the second one. (Episode link here.) Of course we loved it. I loved it. It wasn’t as scary as the first one, but the intimacy and emotional connection was still there. That feeling of watching two people through their own eyes was still there. Only this time, they were trying to out-weird each other, or at least come together on a level they could both understand. The thing is, they were still misunderstanding each other. Sara is only comfortable with Josef’s Aaron’s freakiness because she thought he was lying to her when he wasn’t. The moment she starts to take it seriously is when she decides to leave, and that’s when Josef Aaron pulls out the lies and the deceit to bring her back in. And when she comes back in, that’s when she starts being genuine, letting her guard down, and that’s when she gets into trouble. She starts to believe in the watered-down version of Josef Aaron, seeing the front of softness as a vulnerability in him, and to a point, it is. But she totally disregards everything else that has happened during this day as some kind of ruse, when she should have kept those moments in mind. He’s still a killer, and dangerous, even if he plays it like he isn’t.

Sara ultimately pays the price for entertaining his whims. I guess Aaron did, too, but in a different way. While Aaron died and became a part of Josef, Sara now cannot get rid of him. He tries to kill her, and she runs, refusing his gift of death and absorption into himself, but now he follows her. She’s literally moved on, but like a ghost or a bad dog with attachment issues, he still follows her. He gave her his heart, after all.

And then I got to putting two and two together on why exactly all of this was appallingly appealing to me. I was alone. I was drifting further into this state of paradoxical nothing-pain. And suddenly, I was being welcomed into a dynamic in which I was wanted. It was an obsessive want, but I was wanted. He got me. They all did. Josef, Aaron, Sara. Suddenly I’m seeing aspects of my loneliness on screen. The slow reveal of the odd personality traits, the waiting to see the reaction. Pulling those traits back in when they’re not met with the tolerance I wish was there. The staying when I feel so uncomfortable because I want to understand. Upping the ante in an act of bonding. Feeling like I’ve found someone who’s on my wavelength, only to find they weren’t as okay with the whole me as I thought. The sudden urge to end it all. To kill the relationships. Move on, knowing they were dead, but I could still have the memories. They were getting distant. I could do it, you know. Just end it all right then.

Of course, I didn’t do that. But I felt it. I felt it a lot during that time.

I’ve not been super mentally healthy over my time being alive. I’ve been hospitalized for it. Not a fun experience, by the way. But that was another aspect that just drew me closer to Peachfuzz. He’s funny, and weird, and unstable. Always lying to appeal to the people around him because he wants them to stay, for sincere and sinister reasons. He’s terrible and lonely. I was terrible and lonely.

And there it was. Crystal clear. Los aguas milagros de corazón. I was taking comfort in a manifestation of something dark that I saw in myself. A mischievous, funny, isolated, totally fucked-in-the-head, murderous darkness. I wasn’t alone in that room anymore, and yeah, perhaps my company should’ve been something not so, well, creepy, but I thanked him for being there. I could put a face with the feeling, and the nothing-pain started going away.

He’s a friend of mine now. And I love him a lot.

[eddiegettingshot]

I'm not a big enough blog to engage directly in the sandbox but your and paige's mind!!!! Because this is absolutely uniquely the worst thing that could happen to them!!!

For buck to have his irrational fear of being fundamentally unloveable confirmed???? And by Eddie?? Like my best friend Eddie who loves me and has me in his will and was apparently in love with me but something! About me! Took that away! Because yes he still loves me but it's lesser and different and less intense and fundamentally a smaller part in Eddie's life and that's something that happened to Eddie of all people! Something about me made him decide he wants me lesser despite at some point wanting me more!!! Was it the lawsuit? The tsunami? Bucks reaction when Eddie left the job? Seeing buck in another relationship which buck didn't even want to be in? Like his worst insecurities just coming to life and he's going to be miserable! And the self deprecation just gets worse because of course something about me did this and I can't have him love me even less so he just tries to tone down the annoying things about himself while pretending that nothing's changed! But it has! Bucks probably going through every interaction and moment and going was he in love with me then? Did he just say this because he's in love with me? Does he not think of me like that because he's not in love with me anymore. And it's awful and everyone miserable

ok first of all you are so free to directly play in the sandbox with us i implore you to do so. and second of all YES. this is a horror that literally consumes buck on multiple levels: at the i’m unloveable level, the maybe i made eddie sad level, and the i’m in love with eddie level. and it’s all a big tangle of pain for him. but at the same time it’s kind of selfish. because he would like to know and feel it and he likes the idea of HIS eddie being in love with him. is that so wrong.

[drdoctor-scarecrow]

crutchie - akb vs matthew duckett !!!!

alternatively titled - cast disabled people jesus christ

listen i am having so many thoughts and feelings about crutchie and at the risk of annoying the fuck out of my partner i am putting them on here instead!

prefacing this by saying:

i do not speak for all cripples

matthew’s duckett was my first real introduction to crutch and yes i am probably biased because of it (because matthew was an absolute sweetie when i met him)

i do not actually hate AKB as much as i dislike his crutchie

★

i think the main problem i have with his crutchie (and i understand that it is not entirely his fault at all!!!!) is that it’s so sanitised in so many ways. it is so of its time and not really in a good way, it came about in a period where representation wasn’t a big focus and i very much understand that, but i also hate it.

it’s so easy for disabled characters to fall into this weird ,sanitised, almost infantilising position, where their struggles are shown (abuse from the delanceys that was directly because of his disability, the fact he’s more likely to be put in the refuge because he’s seen as ‘weak’), but they’re bound by this kind of happy-go-lucky persona where they don’t show any real anger or upset. it’s fuelled by the abled need to see disabled characters as some sort of inspiration porn. “he’s crippled but look how happy he is despite that!!!!!! if he can do it i can too!!” he has this air of innocence and can-do-no-wrong that kinda falls a little flat compared to all his friends of the same age, and whilst this wouldn’t be a problem in itself, it fits a repeating pattern of the innocent, docile physically disabled person that is shown so much.

i loved matthew’s crutchie so much because he was so much more than that. he was happy, he was kind and an big laugh, but he didn’t shy away from being truly angry or scared (in the finale when he is brought back and cuffs snyder) and he was still a bit of a dick, he felt a lot more like he truly belonged. one of my favourite examples is at the start of the show the first time we see katherine, he helps one of the boys (i can’t remember which one) steal something from darcy and keeps it on him through the rest of the show. he’s as playful and annoying as the rest of them, shooting paper balls at them with his slingshot (especially during the finale, i love him so much for that). he has an attitude. he has the energy of a boy who was raised on the streets and knows what the fuck is what.

and thats what i think changes him the most for me. it’s all the same script (?) but it’s all so different when you think about how smart crutch actually is. i think the biggest change is my idea of him specifically when he’s being so nice to weasel at the beginning, when all the boys are being annoying and dicks, crutchie is so sweet. i don’t believe he’s doing that because he’s just such a nice guy who can look past weisel and the delancey’s being assholes to them, i think he realised quickly how to play the game. he’s gonna get sympathy, he knows that, and he knows if he acts all innocent and is overly kind, that they’ll somewhat pity him and he can use that to his advantage.

i hate being pitied by most people, i hate being looked at differently, like i’m almost helpless. but i also know how to use it to help myself, i know when i can play the poor little cripple card to my advantage. and i fully believe crutch does the same.

edited to add because i forgot to add this entire section in sorry!!

when i say sanitised i also mean literally. as in they made him cleaner. specifically in the finale again when he’s brought back from the refuge, broadway crutch looks way too clean. he’s a little bashed up but he’s not dirty. he doesn’t look like he’s been battered and then subjected to awful conditions. it takes away the impact of his time at the refuge. when he got back in the uk production they actively were disgusted by how much he smelled, because he’d just got out of a place where he couldn’t look after himself for a multitude of reasons. he suffered in there, mentally and physically, and in more ways than one. he was not given nice clean clothes and a pat on the back, he was taken out and put right back into the mess without much time to check himself over, without any time to process or heal.

i just think it has a much bigger impact when you can see, from his actual appearance and the other guys’ reactions, how much he actually struggled in there. they were glad to have him back of course, but it really drove home the point of how badly it affected him.

and once again in that scene, you could see the fear on his face and the anger when he faced snyder and when he made a move at him. he was fucking scared of the man that had subjected him to all of that. even when he was being a little goofy and put on the hat to handcuff him, there was still that fear, and there was evidence to why.

(end of edit)

but like i said, i don’t think it is entirely akb’s fault or his intention, he almost definitely wasn’t aware of the way it came off and how it perpetuates stereotypes. but it’s just another reason why giving disabled roles to disabled people is so important. plus we know how to use mobility aids properly

★

shoutout to my beloved partner who proof reads my shit and also is the reason i am into newsies . thank u babie @fizzloves-blog <3

[water-mellie-seeds]

I’m curious, what exactly is psychopomp about? What’s its appeal to you?

Well assuming youve been here long enough to hear this: im schizotypal. so the whole environment is morbidly comfortable KFHSKFHDJ to put it mildly

STRONGLY advise you to heed warnings on the game page if you have a hard time with unreality, though. It's psychological horror and definitely NOT for you if you're scopophobic. The MC. She Loves. Looking. Directly at your screen its kind of her fave activity. Spoiler free answer to what is psychopomp about coming up!

Psychopomp is about a woman who feels like she's been lied to her entire life, that everyone has special powers, knows something she doesn’t, etc. Basically, that the truth is being kept from her, a truth everyone else knows. ( I......... also feel this way. And always will. Even if i 'know' its not 'true' in My case.)

She constructs a device to change that, affectionately named 'Machine That Lets Me Read People's Minds When I Want To' (Psychopomp for short) and puts it on to discover it absolutely doesnt do that. It lets her see a hidden world that 'everyone knew about' full of strange creatures, dead bodies, etc. It's revealed to her that every government building has a catacombs below it where all sorts of awful inhumane things are happening and she vows that no secrets will be kept from her anymore, grabs a hammer and goes to these buildings. Places like hospitals, schools and sewage treatments.

It's appealing to me not just because of the schizophrenia relatability , but also aesthetically. I really like the way it's designed, the music is incredible, the main character is hot, so is the guy who youll play as in Psychopomp 2

It's strange. I love strange games. I knew about it a little earlier but i have a strong feeling it would have affected me VERY NEGATIVELY had i played it when i first heard about it, so I waited.

The MC talks in a way that's just so.... familiar, I guess. Like i could never QUITE understand her completely and she could never understand ME completely but there's an unspoken solidarity we have? Anyway, It's a really satisfying play.

[luna-azalea106]

What if Gundham’s mom isn’t actually that good a person?

Like yeah it’d be funny if she’s just a normal human and he’s just him but-

What if his mom is good to him, just isn’t that good to everyone else? Gundham still regardless of anything was spending so much time with animals that after a certain amount of time he makes a bond with basically any animal he wants to, you don’t have that kind of time if your parents are playing with you often enough. Maybe his mom did, but she works and he was an outcast in school so he had school and whatever time before she got home, but what if there wasn’t much she did. She’d eat with him before letting him back out to run and play with the animals because she didn’t know what to do with him(between the animals he keeps sneaking in and the weird way he is, I say lovingly). What if he idolizes her so much and can’t see anything wrong with anything she ever does because- well she stayed. She was the parent he had and what little kid wouldn’t hold her in such a high regard for that. I mean this is the woman who cried when he wouldn’t eat her awful cooking. Sure it could’ve been quietly at night but how often would Gundham have to walk into her room while she’s crying to realize why. Consider instead she openly cried when he wouldn’t eat only her cooking but never had issues with anything else. Of course the little boy who loves his mom very much wouldn’t want her to feel bad and wouldn’t see anything wrong with her making him feel bad for not suffering(boy called it poisonous I can’t be that far off okay).

What if his dad isn’t that bad. Sure I’m all down for his dad sucking and his mom actually being wonderful like he says, but this is the same man who seems to boil a lot of his life down to make it easier, even if it’s just more like an anime(it’s probably easier for him okay, makes it easier to deal with). An angel for a mother and a devil for a father, very black and white. But what if that wasn’t true, not completely at least. What if it just didn’t work out between his parents and when either his mother didn’t let his father seem him because, as I like to think sometimes, she isn’t good and was vindictive and vengeful and just mad at his dad so she refused to let him see his son, or his dad just didn’t know he existed. And instead of telling him the truth, regardless of what way it happened, she told him- not directly but subtly enough that he understood, his father wasn’t a good man. What would Gundham do being faced with such a complicated situation? This is the man- the little boy who loved his mom so much because even if she wasn’t always around, she was still there when he really needed it. What if he was forced, or happened to meet his father? Who doesn’t necessarily have to be perfect or wonderful either, but is just so happy to finally get to see his son and see what he’s become. What does that little boy do in that situation, he’s done so much to make his life feel less awful and make it feel nice- because as a kid that’s how it seemed and he never had a reason to doubt that, no friends to look at him funny when he talked about his family, no teachers ever seemed concerned so why would he?

I just think it’s interesting I’m all for taking it at face value tho I think this is just an interesting other idea. I just wish he got more so my mind goes a lil crazy

[planet-crait]

Episode 12! Spoilers under the cut.

Are we getting living trash in this episode? Aw Cosmo and Wanda are hilarious and cute! Everyone except Dev oh that’s funny. Hazels mom started off strong until she started marketing her book to her literal child.

Overall I think Hazels dad is the more present parent so to speak and is their more for Hazel then her mom. He gives good advice and is far more concerned with her feelings than her mom is at times.

Aww sleepy Hazel making a wish oh no sleepy Cosmo and Wanda not properly granting the wish oh no. I was wondering when an “accidental wish” so to speak would come up and it feels inevitable with how commonly people say “I wish” and Cosmo and Wanda compelled to grant any of Hazels wishes. Maybe maybe Cosmo and Wanda you shouldn’t grant wishes while sleepy lolz.

Wait wait asking isn’t the default? Why did you guys wait til morning to show off said wish? Also how did trash monster know to go to her apartment? I have questions lolz.

Okay I admit I laughed when Hazel declared they were friends because of the friendship bracelet I just. It’s such a kid thing to become best friends over things like that it’s cute honestly. The sentient trash is weird but Hazel is cute at least.

Her name for him is an insult. Uh okay. Aww Cosmo and Wanda are going with her that’s so cute!! Ohh are we finally going to see some of Devs dynamics with Dale? I’ve heard things about him and am curious to see their relationship play out. Okay a slight mistake I notice Hazel mentions the event is “tomorrow” even though it’s that day. A small mistake but I wanted to point it out

Did. Did they really crash the helicopter? Really? Wow uh. Yikes Dale sucks.

Wow uh right off the gate we’ve got some emotional abuse and manipulation. It feels like the show wants to play it off for laughs but fuck his dad is uh not good to Dev at all and is already pushing him to work constantly. Like this is a ten year old. He should not be working constantly he’s a kid he needs to be able to play and have fun and be a kid. I can already see why he acts the way he does at school. I kind of assumed it was bad at home I know abused kids tend to lash out and act up at school and such but it’s just…sad seeing it play out on screen. What Dale went through was horrible yes but he is perpetrating the cycle of violence on his son which is. Not great.

I do agree he should care about the environment and get involved in school activities but the issue is Dale sees this as work and a job and that’s why he’s pushing it on Dev which is not the way to go. I kind of want to go on a rant about how the fairy godparent system has a set up kind of sets kids up for failure but that’s another post.

Sorry off my soapbox lolz. Oh uh. So he’s directly lying about his products which uh aren’t good. Sadly though environmental flags on products are not regulated last I looked into the subject so what he’s doing might not be illegal but it’s fucked up.

But also what person genuinely doesn’t question single use electronic items like seriously? Is it commentary on people buying the latest IPhone and similar products every year? Man I keep getting on my soapbox today.

“An inhabitable planet is hard to find” oh my gosh Hazel I love you so much protect this child at all costs. She is so precious. Sad though her dad isn’t even here with her and it’s Cosmo and Wanda here. Like good she has them but sucks she can’t rely on her parents.

Lolz I mean it works to get people to throw stuff away properly it works! Oh no oh no. Dale is he going to beef with a literal child? I’m not surprised like at all just look at the number of adults that legit wanted Timmy dead. But still lolz it feels a little too real that a greedy corporation would go after kids who just want to try and make the planet a better place.

Oh no poor Danky. He’s so sad he loves trash and won’t get it. I’m emotionally conflicted here. Trash is bad but Danky looks so sad.

How did the show make me feel bad for a living trash can? I can’t explain why the sentient trash can works while the sentient hair didn’t I just. I don’t know I can’t explain it I’m sorry.

Of course her parents get roped in and don’t care. Shouldn’t be surprised there but uh is anyone going to have a problem with the blatant destruction of property? No? And no one is worried about all the trash piling in the streets? No worries at all?

COSMO AND WANDA WTF??? Don’t encourage this??? Can’t you guys just poof whatever you want or need anyways? Lolz okay Hazel using the box as a literal airplane is adorable. And good thing Hazel learned from her mistake in episode one lolz.

Wait why are the drones attacking them? Who saw the flying box and flagged it as a threat legitimately? They made up fast but eh it works I suppose. If is cute that Hazel assures him that as long as they’re friends they’ll be okay. It’s a little naive but it makes sense she would see things so simply and honestly? Knowing you have friends can make bad things easier to cope with. Cosmo why do you continue to be so adorable? I just. I love them all okay?

Oh oh poor Dev that’s got to be so messed up to hear a trash can get more affection than you? Yeah he’s sentient but still. It would be a painful pill to swallow.

Wait he’s going to space? I mean? Sure? Is there trash in space? I may need to look into this but why not first have him go around the planet itself first regardless? Their is. So much trash on the planet. So much. It’s bad. Also why is no one questioning the sentient trashcan like they have to know given how he eats trash right? I just. I have questions.

Not a bad episode overall. I loved the glimpse we got of Devs home life and hope we get to see more. I feel like they definitely hammed up the issue but maybe also not? Like trash and global warming are major issues and it’s good to see kids show at least acknowledge it. Onto Episode 13!

[chicxxonaa]

Hehehe, this is my second post following up my first one. I’m still getting used to my layouts of my posts. So please enjoy. 💜

CW: None, heavy angst, some fluff, Geto’s perspective on missing Gojo :(

Christmas has passed again

The new year is approaching as well.

And..you’re not here.

…

The girls laugh and play with the toys I bestowed on them. They’re so happy and healthy. But I can’t find it in my strength to smile as much as they can.

They’re tucked away and asleep now.

I look outside the window where I can see the city scape.

The air is chilled as it blankets over the night like a shroud.

And all I want to think about is you.

You, oh infinite one.

The gifted six eyed child.

You are the strongest.

But do you feel strong right now?

Don’t you feel tired like how I am?

Do you feel the weight of our souls crushing?

Is my pain in correspondence to yours?

…

I try to look out for you anywhere where I think you might be there.

The first I think of is your hair. So many people had the idea to compare you to chilled snow. But I beg to differ. Bright, untamed, a beautiful white.

The kind of white that the sun reflects on fresh blankets, drying outside on a spring day. The kind that is shown on beautiful chrysanthemums, gently blowing amongst the breeze. You were never much for caring about your look, so your hair was always so similar to like cotton, easy to mess up and pull apart. Like a dandelion, so easy to blow away, they speckled your eyelashes, some of the hair in your arms, and a little bit found in your cheeks. But in a way, it was so different, that I never thought I’d love something as much as your hair.

…

I saw my girls laugh and smile and their sounds of joy rang me to a time when you laughed and smiled with me.

God your smile was infectious. Like a flu i was willing to catch. So much so I was getting annoyed.

Your mouth was wide. Wide enough to see your smile spread across your face like dough. Every teeth, fang, part of your gums would be visible when you smiled. The kind of smile that was carved carefully by some benevolent being above you and I. Only something I was so gifted to see. A perfect array of pearls to form the most magnificent necklace across your lips. If could, I’d frame it in the confines of my mind where I would stare at awe in the museum of my memories.

…

I stared at the lights below the city and tried to see your eyes.

I was never so appealed to the sky. It was blue, what was such a big deal? It was simple science. The only phenomenon that was so simple, and sometimes so dull of this earth.

That was until when we skipped class the first time as first years to head to the roof. The sun was directly shining above us as we played a make shift game of catch and laughed so the world could hear.

You took off those round dark shades you always wore to wipe off your face. You never told me why you wore such glasses. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul, but what about them did you decide to keep them closed? Because when you took the end of your shirt to wipe off the sweat from your brows, you looked up.

Eyes without a face.

The blue in your eyes matched perfectly with the late summer sky. Like I was looking into a kaleidoscope of the sea. The windows to the soul, and your soul felt like that day. Your eyes were the sky, and your face was the sun. What a beautiful sun. I was willing to become blind to see you. Gaze at you. My blue sun.

…

Your skin was as pale as mine. But yours was like porcelain. Not a single scar, cut or mole in sight. A marble statue of desire. It’s all I can think about when I see this snow fall. That perfect skin, the holy body. Only one I can see when I have been wiped of my sins. But you’d wipe them for me with your touch. Velvety, innocent and yet the night of our first kiss, I died when I felt that heavenly death. And then resuscitated when I pulled back.

…

The one thing I try so desperately to remember, so desperately to salvage like a broken record in my mind, tainted with grime and dust, trying so hard to clean any distortions, is your voice.

God, I love your voice.

Every time you’d talk with that boisterous voice of yours, whether it was to say something cocky, a joke with no value, a laugh, a yell, a cry. When you said my name.

I couldn’t help but feel the heat of it all around me, suffocating me and drowning my ears in your sound.

But I remember one blue hour. Three in the morning, when all was still, tranquil.

You came into my room silently as to not disturb, but you know I don’t really sleep well. Less now that it’s been two years without you by my side.

You stand over me and my bed for a moment, mustering up the courage to speak to me. You call out my name in a whisper and I respond.

“Suguru,”

“What is it?”

“I can’t sleep..”

“Hm. Why?”

“…I can’t sleep without you near me..”

“Hm..”

“Can I…lay here with you?”

“…yes, you can”

As you laid down beside me in what was normally a twin bed, I could feel the weight of the mattress shift lower. But I did my best to make you more comfortable than I. You smelled of fresh body wash with a hint of your newly washed white tee. Your back was towards me. I didn’t find that satisfactory.

“Satoru”

“Hm?”

“Can you face me?”

You carefully turned over to face me.

“I wanna hear why you can’t sleep.”

“But I just told you.”

“Tell me again.”

“Why..?”

“…The sound of your voice helps me sleep. Like a lullaby.”

I can see your ears get red, even in such a dark room. You leaned forward and kissed me, and then proceeded to tell me a bit about your day, what you think of people, what you think of yourself. Every hum, every vowel, noun, verb, any name including mines that you’d speak from your tongue, was like music to me. I wanted to replay it over and over again. I didn’t want you to stop. I wanted to sleep to your tune.

You were the lullaby to my dreams. I wish I slept longer.

…

You’re not as mysterious as you claim to be you know. At least not to me. You’re a crystal ball, I see what you are when you’re like this. Vulnerable, beautiful. You’re not a god like you say you are. You’re beyond that.

You’re not an instrument of the world.

You’re not a gifted person.

You’re not the strongest.

You’re human.

Was mortality not enough for you?

…

The world is asleep, I’m not.

Your memories frost over the window pane of my apartment.

The new year is coming, and you’re not here.

Satoru

I miss you.

[docholligay]

Shattered by Lee Winter

Full and fair warning to the pitchers of this book: I did not like it. I did not care for it at all. I am gonna harsh on it. I will never read anything by this author again. If you go further than this, it’s at your peril. 

The pitch: What happens when superheroes don't want to be superheroes? A departure from the conventions of the genre, this book explores the many facets of humanity. Of life. Of loss. Of discrimination and friendship and equality – and how we, as humans, need different people in our lives at different times and in different ways. When your world is shattered, how can you pick up the pieces? (Includes a butch protagonist.)

Nonspoilery: The seductive idea of “A butch superhero” is utterly undone by the fact that everyone in this novel is insanely self-aware and has not only been to therapy, but may currently be sitting in a session now. Pair this with a hilariously heavy-handed look at social justice and axes of oppression, and I think a gay twelve year old would really get a lot out of this. 

I earlier posted little snippets of this book and I think that really sums it up. 

Spoilers

So I thought the major and compelling problem I was going to have with this book is I have very specific and strong emotional surrounds with the name Lena, as I do with only a handful of names in the world. So a character was always going to struggle a little bit for NOT being her. I was worried about this. 

Boy, do I wish that had been the problem! Mostly it offered up funny asides, but it didn’t really affect my feelings about the book. 

Lena is of course an edgy, closed off bad girl with a tragic anime backstory which in and of itself would not cause me a problem, many such characters, a number of whom I like. It’s a trope, and, you know what? It’s a decent trope! Would that an edgy bad girl who is the best at what she does, which is morally suspect, is a little ‘done’ was my biggest criticism. In a good story, it’s not big deal for me. 

BUT OH. Anyway, she goes to bumfuck nowhere to go track down Shattergirl, who doesn’t play the by the rules and goes into hiding, and Lena is all up in trying to figure out how to lure her back, because she’s the best ever at getting superheroes to come back, even though we learn very early on that maybe governments aren’t nice to superheroes. 

So then we go on a magical world tour, in some latter-day, low budget, Christmas Carol interlude where we have to prove to Lena, I guess, that people are bad and capitalism sucks? I honestly felt this was more a problem of Nyah’s imagination and experience than humanity sucking. Of course there are the horrors, but there is joy and beauty, too, and Lena basically takes all of this shit lying down like, “Hm! I, a fully grown adult who engages with a difficult business, never TRULY understood how someone could consider humanity not worth saving.” Really? NEVER? I fucking love the world, I think humanity is capable of immense kindness and beauty, and even I could see how someone who utterly lacked imagination would consider humanity “not worth saving.” 

And of COURSE Nyah’s planet was perfect and valued science and no one chased wealth and blah blah I’m sure she’s actually just high as fuck on the nostalgia of a place she hasn’t actually been in 100 years, but the narrative doesn’t SEEM to challenge this. It seems to be like, “Oh! If only humanity were not so awful! Le sigh!” and then Nyah offers the one concession to the fact that he planet might NOT have been utter perfection is that they weren’t very creative. Good fucking God. 

And we land on Nyah being the new leader of the superheroes, because of course she used to be the old president of the superheroes, but was replaced with a dude that sucks because, And I quote the fucking book directly: “You mean he’s a straight, white male.” The whole book is this embarrassingly heavy handed. God forbid we have a single thought for ourselves, don’t worry, this book will supply it to you like you are a little baby bird who needs it regurgitated into your mouth. 

Anyway, it was all very fucking YA. I wanted it to be the pitch, and I suppose it was the pitch for a 12 year old lesbian, but it was so on rails, so black and white, that I was nearly insulted by it. This was not pitched to me as YA, but the only difference between this and YA is they suck each other’s clits. This is for adults who only read YA.

I was going to go more into this, but as it turns out, I don’t actually want to think about this book anymore. It MIGHT be my least favorite book of the year, and if it isn’t it’s a close second.

[athetos]

It still doesn’t feel real that my brother died. I keep hearing my mom’s voice over the phone saying he died and the awful sob as she said that last word, “died”, the most broken noise. And she is on vacation and won’t be able to get home until Sunday night. I don’t have any tears left to cry. He turned 26 last month. Nobody expected this. He was a partier but he had gotten a lot better. He died presumably in his sleep after 4th of July. He was with his friends but he got home early before midnight. It’s not right. I don’t know what autopsy will say or when that will even be. He didn’t want to die. He had plans for after the weekend he was working a few hours away for the state and had a new job lined up too. I highly doubt there’s foul play but I wish there was so I would have somebody to blame. But there’s nobody to blame.

My roommate is out of state so I’m by myself. At least I fly home tomorrow and I get to meet my parents at their house. My mom is so strong and I love her so much. I know her heart is breaking far worse than mine. It’s going to be different now. I’m going to text her every day and call her often. My brother traveled for work but he lived with them and I know the house must feel so lonely and empty. I’m glad my stepfather is there for her, I know his heart is breaking too because he saw my brother and I as his kids even though we were teens when he started seeing my mom. My brother’s gone. I wish I lived closer to home but there’s directly flights now so I can be there in 2 hours but they only leave certain days of the week. I bought a ticket there but not one back yet. I’ll probably stay a week. I don’t know. I don’t care about work my boss said I have bereavement it’s 3 or 5 days but I don’t care about that either fuck it if I don’t get paid. I want to see the dogs and I wonder if they understand what happened or not. I even want to see my father for once. I talked to my mom but didn’t call the others because I didn’t know what to say and I feel kind of helpless that I can’t do anything and I don’t want to hear them cry when I can’t be there to hug them. But they understand and we’ve been texting and I’ll see them tomorrow. Idk it’s like… it doesn’t make sense I guess why this even happened he was 26 but there isn’t a reason things just happen but now we have to live with it and if I expected either of us to die it would probably be me because god knows I tried but I’m in a good place now and this happens and it just isn’t right.

I’m going to be okay I’m going to take it easy and go to the library to return my book and get another for the flight so I don’t stare out the window and cry the whole time and I’ll get lunch too because I don’t want to cook but I need to eat. And then I’ll rest and pack and call a friend or two and then I’ll try to sleep. I dreamt there was a second futurama movie I don’t remember anything else but it was on directv and my brother and I watched like the first 6 seasons of futurama together on Netflix when we were teens and I have fond memories of the show and laughing with him. At least I hugged him and told him I loved him last time I saw him in December so he knows that at least.