#and the worst times are when I become self aware and that really breaks my focus but I know I’ve got to keep going

[flygonscales]

2 weeks at uni and I’ve already reached peak procrastination. I found masking tape and somehow decided that the best use of my time was to make a tiny Belphemon-sleep.

[frostbitebakery]

A Disturbed State Of The Natural Environment, Gods-Fucking-Dammit

A Pada-Wan Story

for @lttrsfrmlnrrgby

“Obi— Commander Kenobi-“

“You can call me Obi-Wan, Cody,” the kid huffs. “Neither you nor I will suddenly combust into a ball of fire if you do.”

You don’t know that, Cody thinks, not liking how his voice sounds in his mind.

Four days since the incident - or, “The Incident,” how Boil and Waxer like to say in unison with the bucket lights under their chins -, two since the 104th of all Battalions received their signal and towed the 212th fleet to the nearest station within the Republic that would allow them to overhaul the ships’ electronics.

It has been exactly two point five hours since Wolffe stopped wheezing at Cody over comms. Nearly as much time as the kid had vanished from under Cody’s paranoid nose.

“Councilor Kenobi is safe and sound,” General Koon had assured him while Wolffe stood at perfect parade rest a step behind, shriek-laughing his armor off.

The kid sighs. “You have come here for a reason?” he asks, stubborn and prim. “Or is Wooley babysitting me not enough?” He points a thumb over his shoulder to Wooley popping up several yards away, waving.

“If you haven’t noticed Hook, Line, and Sinker also keeping an eye on you, my trepidations are justified.”

The kid rolls his eyes, gesturing to three empty looking spots in the distance. “I am well aware Master Koon is in league with you.”

Cody will not explain safety precautions again. He’s saving that for when the kid really sets out to stomp on any and all walls Cody had to hastily and thoroughly built when his General, his partner, suddenly turned into a child at the worst possible development stage for Cody’s sanity.

The kid studies him while Cody is trying to come up with a legitimate reason for looking for him. Direct admittance to personal concern would backfire on Cody in multiple, entertaining ways, and he frankly doesn’t want to deal with that. From the kid being smug that Cody cares about him very much so keeping his distance must mean something more. To accusations of not trusting Obi-Wan (which, correct, Cody doesn’t know him after all), seeing him as a kid (also true) when he’s sixteen and basically a stone’s throw away from becoming a geezer.

Sixteen. Cody shudders. He remembers very well that half year when he was that developmental age. He shudders again. Gods, the mood swings alone.

“I am reasonably paranoid about your welfare,” he says at last. Wooden which makes him cringe but he’s never lied to Obi-Wan and he’s not starting now.

The kid stares at him for a while. One corner of his mouth quirks up with a shrug and a shuttered look in his eyes Cody desperately wants to make better. “It’s different when they really are out to get you, isn’t it.” The Council had explained how precarious his older self’s safety was at the best of times. Cody had only seen the aftermath and the accompanying ranting about life choices with the occasional visibly happy understanding that Obi-Wan could, actually, grow a non-patchy beard when he’s got a few more years on him.

“May I sit with you?” Cody asks. Shoveling his own metaphorical grave is so much easier with mixed signals after all. But he misses the older Obi-Wan. It’s not fair of him but he needs this.

The expected blush blooms on freckled cheeks. “Yes, of course!” is the eager reply, followed by more blushing.

It’s endearingly cute and Cody would like to chew on his bucket now.

The kid scoots over, wide eyed and expectant.

Gingerly, Cody lowers himself, ignoring the armor digging into his ass and thighs. And lets the silence stretch.

This, really, is what he came here for. A self-indulgent little break to catch his breath. The High General of a Systems Army is compromised and that fact has to remain eyes only to an exclusive handful of people. Only the Jedi Council knows out of obvious necessity. So it’s up to Cody to keep everything else running, keeping the admiralty in the dark because even teenaged Obi-Wan had said he’s got a bad feeling if they were to tell the brass. So they haven’t.

Usually, when flimsiwork and war horrors keep stacking up and expand into an avalanche, Obi-Wan and Cody sit together in silence, sharing a precious cup of real tea, being together and lending support and strength they can’t find for themselves but can always, always find for each other.

Selfishly he wants that strength from Obi-Wan now, the warmth of his body nearby. He’s already breathing easier.

The kid is looking at him curiously, but Cody chooses not to say anything. Instead he turns forward once more, watching the busy night markets of the station and the stars behind it. After a moment the kid does the same.

Shoulders slowly relax and the silence becomes comfortable.

[thesophistiicate]

hey im 20 year old female. recently i have recognised that i practice negative self talk a lot. any advices how could i stop or atleast reduce it?

how to cure negative self talk 🤍💭

the way we speak to ourselves can majorly impact our self worth and ability to reach our goals. i remember when i first tuned into my inner monologue… i was shocked and disgusted at how horribly i was speaking to myself all day every day. i had no idea! so i began researching how to stop it and implementing as much as i could. it definitely takes a lot of active work but i’m happy to say that years later i currently hardly ever have negative thoughts about myself (or others) anymore, and when i do it’s really easy to catch and deal with.

1. tune into your thoughts

it’s common for negative thoughts to run wild through our minds without us actually even noticing. the first step is to take some time to tune in and really notice what you’re thinking. the best time to do this is in “trigger” moments, like when you’re stressed, facing something challenging, looking at yourself, reflecting on a social interaction etc. how you talk to yourself in these moments will be very revealing.

2. actively reframe negative thoughts

flip any negative thought you have into an opposite, positive thought and/or speak to yourself with compassion and nurture. a common one for me when i was stressed while working and feeling stuck was “ugh i’m so stupid!” i changed it to “i’m smart and capable of solving problems”. it will feel silly at first but the more you do it, the more natural it becomes. with time you won’t have the negative thoughts at all.

3. journalling/writing morning pages

morning pages are from “the artist’s way”, which i recommend everyone read and try at least once in their life. but you write 3 pages of free flowing thoughts first thing in the morning (ideally). no self editing, anything that crosses your mind goes down. this is where a lot of your deep negative thoughts tend to spew out, and this allows you to see them, confront them, and view them as the silly little thoughts they are. your negative thoughts are from shame and fear; you need to express them and get them out. shame thrives in darkness but will shrivel under the light.

4. practice mindfulness and staying present in the moment

so often we spiral into negativity due to overwhelm. guided meditations helped me a lot (you can find them on YouTube, Spotify, insight timer etc). you’re essentially trying to re-wire your automatic brain response so you need to be able to stop running on autopilot and actually tune into what’s happening inside by gaining some control over your thoughts. it’s literally like training a muscle so is difficult at first, but you get better at it the more you do.

5. eliminate distractions and consider a dopamine detox

we numb and distract ourselves in a variety of ways. whether it’s constantly surrounding ourselves with people, scrolling social media, binge watching tv, over-using substances or other indulgences etc… these things are fine in moderation (and actually can be necessary to overall wellbeing, i think being constantly self aware can also drive you crazy and you’re allowed to have a break) but take note of how often you are actually numbing yourself out and promoting disconnection with your mind. you need to be able to face your thoughts.

6. notice how you think about others, too

i’ve mentioned before one of my worst qualities to overcome was the fact i could be very judgemental and arrogant. i actually found this was directly related to my negative self perception - after all, what we think about others is usually actually just a projection of how we feel about ourselves, our insecurities, our fears. so i also made an effort to stop judging others and instead find positives to focus on. this worked so well to overall retrain my mind toward positivity (and also started attracting much more healthy and positive relationships into my life too).

and consider tailored support if necessary

if you struggle with any of the steps on your own, a therapist, counsellor, coach, or other professional may able to be help with more personalised guidance 🤍

[space-matt]

always there for you

matt.sturniolo x fem.reader

summary: They’re not easy days for you, especially when you’re in your dark ones. But luckily you have someone by your side who can make you smile

cw: fluff, mentions of depression, anxiety and hint of cheating

author note: hi all! this is my first story here so pls be kind! I really hope that you’ll like it 

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English is not my first language, if you see grammar and typing mistakes, I apologize in advance! I just ask you not to be rude to me ♡

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revised

"You've gone through the worst time you've ever had."

You’ve always dealt with situations differently than others, and when you’ve been diagnosed with depression, you’ve had confirmation.

It wasn't easy, but thanks to the support of your parents, you slowly got out. You started to live better even when you moved a couple of hours from home to university, only for the first year.

You had everything you could want: good grades, a group of dependable friends, and a boyfriend. But fate dealt you a cruel blow when you caught him in bed with the one friend you trusted.

The city of New York can often leave one feeling trapped and in need of escape. After much contemplation, you decide to embark on a journey of self-discovery, leaving behind a part of yourself in the city that has been your home. With your bags packed and heart filled with anticipation, you prepare to step out into the unknown and embrace new adventures in Los Angeles.

You had managed to find a small apartment and a job at a bar, but despite that, you still had an uneasy feeling at the end of each day. This feeling kept you uncomfortable and you couldn't sleep all night. On top of that you had a lot of work to do, which only added to your anxiety about managing everything.

As you were getting ready to start your shift at the bar, you suddenly saw a man walking towards you with three large glasses in his hand. You tried to move out of the way, but unfortunately, he ended up spilling the drinks all over you. The man, later introduced as Matthew, or Matt for short, was clearly apologetic and offered to help clean you up.

After a few minutes of awkward laughter and wiping the drink off your clothes, Matt suggested that he take you out that same evening to make up for his mistake. Despite the unexpected situation, you agreed to his offer and exchanged phone numbers with him. You couldn't help but feel intrigued by this fallen angel from heaven.

As you spent more and more time together, you found yourself becoming increasingly drawn to him. At first, it was just a casual friendship, but as you got to know him better, you began to see him in a different light. You found yourself admiring his sense of humor, his intelligence, and his kindness.

And as the days went by, you realized that you had developed genuine feelings for him. And it seemed that he felt the same way. The two of you spent more time together, going on long walks, sharing meals, and talking late into the night. It was as if you had found your perfect match, and you couldn't imagine spending your days without him. 

As things seemed to be settling down, your depression episodes grew more intense, keeping you in bed for days.

Your employer had prior knowledge of the situation, but they were understanding enough to grant you a few days of leave without any consequences or negative impact on your job. They recognized the importance of your well-being and the need for you to take time off to deal with the matter at hand, and therefore, they supported your decision to take a break from work. This allowed you to address the issue with a clear mind and return to work feeling refreshed and focused.

Matt was aware of the different medications you had to take in order to alleviate the disturbing thoughts and he was always there for you, supporting you no matter what. However, one thing that bothered you was that no one could see you in that condition, and the fear that one day he might become exhausted made you sink even deeper into the pillow.

For four consecutive days, you found yourself unable to get out of bed. You only left your bed to relieve yourself in the bathroom or to drink water which you had kept on the bedside table. Matt, who was concerned about you, tried to visit you by using the duplicate keys. However, you were not comfortable with the idea of him seeing you in such a vulnerable state, and you refused to let him in.

Despite your love for Matt, you couldn't help but feel guilty and ashamed of the state you were in. You couldn't understand how he could love someone like you who was unable to get out of bed for days. You tried to search for answers, but your mind was foggy, and you couldn't come up with any.

It seems that Matt's accidental spillage of glasses on you may have actually been a blessing in disguise. According to him, having you in his life is one of the best things that has ever happened to him. Your presence and the joy you bring him make him feel incredibly fortunate. Your smile, the touch of your hands, and the way you gaze at him with love and affection leave him spellbound every time.

In fact, if anyone were to ask him if he had any grievances or dislikes about you, he would be at a loss for words because he adores every single part of you, inside and out.

At this very moment, he is putting effort to find something for you, despite knowing that it might not be an ideal time. He wishes for you to comprehend that your appearance does not matter to him. Whether you have been wearing the same pair of pajamas for days, or your hair is messy and you have no make-up on, his only desire is to support you during these difficult times and be there for you every single second.

As you hear the sound of the keys fitting into the lock of the door, you quickly turn your head in the opposite direction. You notice the alarm clock on the bedside table and see that it marks 9:28 in the morning. You realize that you must have passed out last night without even realizing it, and now you are waking up to a brand new day.

In the meantime, Matt straightens up the house and knocks on your door. To his delight, it opens to reveal you lying under a white duvet. He slowly approaches. "Hey, babe, you're awake" he says. You turn around without meeting his gaze, but you can pull yourself up, noticing your favorite red roses on the bed.

You gaze into your partner's eyes, who says "Babe, look at me" Your voice is hoarse from not having spoken in days, but with longing shine in your eyes you say "I missed you"

Matt sits down on the bed beside you and pulls you into a tight embrace. You feel his strong arms wrap around you, and you lean into his chest, feeling safe and loved.

As he holds you, he whispers softly, "I missed you a lot too" Matt tilts his head down and kisses the top of your head, making you feel even more loved and cherished. The warmth of his embrace and the softness of his lips on your head make you feel like all is right in the world again. You take a deep breath and smile, grateful to be reunited with the one you love.

As you hold onto him, you can feel the weight of your emotions bearing down on your shoulders. You know you pushed him away, but you couldn't help it. Looking up into his eyes, you try to explain. "I'm sorry I pushed you away, but you know how I get when I'm in this state" you say softly, hoping he'll understand.

He stops and looks straight into your eyes, his gaze unwavering. "You don't have to worry" he says, reassuringly. "You need your time, and I respect that. You don't have to face this alone. Just know that I'm always here for you. Don't forget it" he adds, his voice gentle and comforting.

You nod, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. The weight on your shoulders slowly begins to lift. He leans in and kisses you tenderly, and you feel the warmth of his love surround you. "I love you" he whispers. "Love you too" you reply, feeling grateful for his understanding and support.

That's what you missed, him. Matt is the person you have been longing for and he has the ability to make you feel good.

[katyahina]

Gascoigne's beast form stuff (ask reply)

@ anon I decided to respond in this blog instead of my personal/rambles one, hope this is ok!

(Model ripped by tokami-fuko on dA ( x ))

I think this is a fair suggestion that his transformation might go even further, especially considering the fact that he not only barely has any fur, but also his skin keeps its color! Beasthood has a consistent trend of making skin that unnatural grey color:

(LOVE that they bothered to give bestial hunter's normal form unnatural skin color too despite the fact that we can't see it in game! Sometimes their attention to detail is just.. something)

Amelia is probably the biggest pointer as we are clearly shown her human skin color on her hands in a cutscene.. In fact, arguably, Gascoigne is doing a bit better than average Huntsmen, or even better than the fellow Old Hunters (look at hostile Old Hunter mob and 'true' form of Bestial Hunter). He has been losing himself to the hunt and paranoia for a while now and finally lost it, but he doesn't have that much fur, his skin color didn't alter. (He also doesn't have horns unlike Cleric Beasts, Abhorrent Beasts and even Large Huntsmen, but these are not for all beasts so we don't have to count them!)

I think that Huntsmen are transforming gradually over time, consumed by blood and aggression, and their 'final' form is Scourge Beast type, when they become completely animalistic:

I think it is valid to believe that Gascoigne could transform even further, there are enough reasons to think so! He is still too humanoid, all things considered! I will just move onto my personal interpretation now!

The thing about Cleric Beast-leaning Gascoigne is a really great topic of discussion! He already was a 'Father' (as in, religious figure) in his homeland, so, a cleric! As for Yharnam life, not only he was with the Healing Church once and quit it, but also his transformation happens extremely abruptly, that we only saw with Amelia!

(Interviews: ( x ))

The thing about Cleric Beasts is that they're so horrible because they've been holding back for so long. I can imagine Gascoigne being the same, as someone struggling to hold back so much for his family. We just happen to meet him when he finally breaks, but the guy must have had a huge will power to last as much as he did. +Also, please correct me if this was debunked, but as someone who always uses hunter summons to examine their patterns I've noticed that Gascoigne is the only one who never even once uses Blood Vials? If this is intentional, it could be a further evidence of his self-restraint: avoiding consuming the blood being aware of its addicting properties!

But here is why personally I do not headcanon that Gascoigne could transform even further! Unlike average people that are turning gradually, with strongly self-restraining people whatever form they take when they finally break IS their inner beast, it its truest form! This IS already his "cleric beast" form.... And it is not all that big and scary or impressive, because HE didn't have as much evil to hold back as average clerics in Healing Church. One person's very worst won't be the same as another person's very worst, but I also think it psychologically "helped" him to waste some aggression in the hunt - something Laurence and Amelia didn't have!

He murdered and part of the dark urges would escape through it, but he did not hunt in the same unhinged way as Ludwig either, so he is not transforming into someone as big and scary as him. He is just helping people! Not to mention Viola helping him to calm down with the music box when he was forgetting himself in the hunt. Just the right balance between what impulses to restrain and what to unleash!

My personal headcanon is that he cut the ties with the Healing Church over its corruption and wish to self-isolate and abandon the hunt (with the exception of its own walls), leaving the citizens to fend for themselves and defaming Oedon Chapel to bury the "proper" hunt as a concept. He was a honest man with a sense of justice and could not stand resorting to safety and not doing anything to help... But he still had religious principles of self-restrain and patience internalized; if not Healing Church ones, then those of the Church in whatever country he came from! It is also why whereas I believe that Cheric Beast of the Bridge was a Healing Church hunter too, since he drops Sword Hunter badge, he certainly avoided the hunt except for maybe defending Amelia, and mostly participated indirectly as the commander. (Honorable mention: Henriett that did the same, because her clothes imitate Old Hunters' set and she is a summon against Healing Church bosses, but she has Church weapons).

_____________________

Thank you very much for an ask, it was interesting to think about and it helped me to shape my interpretation of the character better! He definitely has something in common with Cleric Beasts, but I just personally like to think that as a 'hold back and snap' kind of beast rather than 'gradually transforming' kind of beast, this IS his "worst"- Still very strong and fearsome, but far from how much evil the corrupt clerics held back! He is just a good boy!

[suddencolds]

The Worst Timing | [1/?]

hello!! I've been wanting to write a longer h/c fic for awhile. This is the exposition/first installment to that (4.8k words).

this is an OC fic - here is a list of everything I've written for these two!

Summary: Yves invites Vincent to a wedding, in France, where the rest of his family will be in attendance. It's a very important wedding, so he's definitely not going to let anything—much less the flu—ruin it. (ft. fake dating, an international trip, downplaying illness, sharing a hotel room)

—

“A wedding,” Vincent repeats.

“Yes,” Yves says. “A wedding.”

It’s his cousin Aimee’s wedding—she’s four years older than he is. Back when he’d gone with his family back to France over the summers, she’d been one of the people he’d grown quickly to look up to—someone who knew the ins and outs, it seemed, to every stage of life he was in the process of stumbling through.

Yves has always been used to being looked up to—one of the natural consequences, perhaps, of being the eldest in his immediate family—and he likes to think that he’s good at giving off the impression that he has things figured out. But he’d grown close to Aimee at their family reunions precisely because she was everything he tried to be: strong-willed and resilient, self-sufficient even in the face of hardship.

Aimee’s getting married to Genevieve—someone who Yves has only met a couple times, but who manages to be one of the sweetest people he’s ever met. All in all, it’s a wedding he wouldn’t miss under any circumstances.

Leon, his brother, and Victoire, his sister, will be there, along with Aimee’s friends and the rest of his extended family. The problem is that Leon keeps in touch with Mikhail. Mikhail let slip that Yves has been seeing Vincent. Leon told Victoire, who told Aimee. And now Aimee is offering to pay for Vincent’s plane ticket to their wedding in France in the spring—a bit of a last minute arrangement, but she’d sounded so excited at the prospect that Yves was finally seeing someone new (“I’d love to meet him,” she’d said over the phone, “would it be too much to ask him to take a couple days off work? Oh my gosh, please give me his contact details, I’ll send him an invitation,” and she’d sounded so excited about it that he hadn’t had it in him to turn her down).

“It’s very last minute,” he says, “but my cousin’s getting married, and she really wants to meet you. It’ll be some time in early March, in Provence. She says she’ll pay for your flight, if you want to go, but you’d probably have to take a couple days off.”

“Oh,” Vincent says, blinking at him. “And you want me to be there?”

“Of course I do,” Yves says. “I think it’s more a question of whether you want to be there.”

Vincent looks back at him, his expression carefully blank. “Are you sure you want to introduce me to your family? That doesn’t seem like the kind of thing that you’d take lightly.”

“They want to meet you,” Yves says. “And I wouldn’t mind introducing you. I think they would really like you.”

“It would be a waste of your time,” Vincent says, quietly, “to introduce me as someone you’re serious about if we’re just planning to break things off.”

Yves is well aware of the fact. This arrangement with Vincent—the trust he places in Vincent; the practiced familiarity, the feigned intimacy—has an expiration date. The fact that he doesn’t know when the expiration date is doesn’t change the fact that it will, inevitably, end—when Erika gets the point, or fades from Yves’s life entirely; when Vincent finds someone he considers worthy of pursuing in actuality; when either of them become interested in dating again. Whatever it is that ends up ending things, Yves knows: what he has with Vincent right now is strictly temporary. 

Perhaps it would be disingenuous to lie to his family about who exactly Vincent is to him. But then again, Yves thinks it isn’t much worse than any other relationship, with all of its ups and downs, all its hopes and uncertainties. It’s not like he can ever guarantee that a relationship is certain to work out, no matter how serious he feels about it in the moment. So is there really any harm to introducing Vincent as his current partner—as someone he feels certain about now, but maybe not always—and to leave it at that?

“It’s not really going to be my day, in the first place,” Yves says. “My relationship status is more of a conversation starter than anything. And even if you go by the timeline we told Erika, we haven’t even been together for a year. I don’t think my family will think much of it other than, like, a small and noncommittal window into what I’ve been up to. So it’s really up to you.”

“I think it would be fun,” Vincent says, “though only if you’re sure about having me there.”

“Great. I’m sure,” Yves says. “Everyone will love you.” He does think it’s true. Something about Vincent tends to have that effect, he thinks.

��

The fact that he and Vincent are traveling together is not exactly a secret.

Vincent agrees it’s best shared on a need-to-know basis—they won’t be the ones to bring it up, but if someone asks about it, they’ll answer honestly. It would be more work, Yves thinks, to have to coordinate lies about this.

But he runs into trouble not even two weeks later.

“So you and Vincent are taking the week off,” Cara says to him carefully, over lunch.

“Yes,” Yves says.

“Any plans?”

“I’m actually flying to France,” Yves tells her, uncertain about whether or not he should mention Vincent’s involvement—if Vincent has talked to Cara about this already, there’s no point in hiding anything, but he should be careful with the information he discloses otherwise. “One of my cousins is getting married there.”

“Oh,” Cara says, all too knowingly. “What a coincidence. Vincent told me he’s also planning on going to France.”

“I… heard,” Yves says, slowly. “He’s told me as much.”

“I didn’t realize France was such a popular tourist destination for march,” Cara says, smiling at him. “I thought most people went over the summer.”

“You know what they say,” Yves says. “France’s beauty knows no seasons.” 

“You should ask Vincent which part of France he’s visiting,” Cara says, with a smirk. “Maybe you guys can book a hotel together.”

Yves is positive he’s being laughed at. “It’s the third largest country in Europe,” he says. “I’m sure the chance of us ending up in the same region is statistically very low.”

“I think Cara knows we’re fake dating,” he laments to Vincent later, in the break room. “I mean, the dating part, not the fake part.”

Vincent blinks at him. “Did you tell her?”

“No,” Yves says. He doesn’t think they’ve been that obvious about it. “I just told her I was going to France. She made some undue assumptions.”

“Oh,” Vincent says. “I told her I was attending a wedding there.”

An impromptu trip to France, over the same week at the tail end of busy season, to attend a wedding. Separately. Yves is starting to understand where Cara's suspicions might’ve come from.

“That would do it,” he says.

Perhaps they really need to coordinate what a need-to-know basis means. Cara is, thankfully, not the type of person to gossip, from what Yves has gathered, but if their coworkers know, that could complicate things. “I don’t think she’ll say anything,” he says. “But I’m sorry. I didn’t think she’d assume.”

Vincent seems to consider this. “It’s fine,” he says. “Though it might prove troublesome when we decide to end things.”

“We can figure that out when it happens,” Yves says.  

At some point in the foreseeable future, everything will go back to how it’s always been. Yves had been fine on his own for a long time before he’d met Erika. He’s sure he’ll be prepared for it when it happens.

—

The entire drive to the airport feels surreal.

Mikhail drives them. They leave at the crack of dawn—4am, on the dot. Victoire’s in the passenger seat, dozing off, and Leon, Vincent, and Yves are crammed into the backseat. 

Yves sits in the middle—there’s not much leg room to go around in the first place, but he tries to take up as little space as possible, mostly for Vincent’s sake. He and Leon have been crammed into far smaller cars on far longer road trips.

Leon says, “This is the earliest in the morning I’ve ever third wheeled.”

Victoire, who has her eyes shut, says, “It’s very nice to meet you, Vincent.”

“Likewise,” Vincent says. 

“Yves has told us all about you,” Leon says.

“Oh,” Vincent says, blinking. “What has he said about me?”

“Mostly that you’re super hot,” Leon says. Yves, who is in a perfect position to elbow him, elbows him for that.

“You make me sound so shallow,” Yves says.

“But also that you’re really good at your job,” Leon continues, patting Yves on the leg. “Did you know Yves likes people who he’s slightly intimidated by?”

“I never said that,” Yves says.

“It’s pretty obvious,” Mikhail says. 

“You guys are conspiring against me,” Yves says, and Vincent laughs. 

Leon launches into a series of questions—about how they met, about who asked who out first, about what it’s like at work, about what kinds of things Vincent does for fun.

“No wonder Yves is totally whipped,” Leon says, after Vincent finishes telling a story about how he’d given a presentation at a conference in place of his then-boss, who had—due to unforeseen flight delays—found out last minute that she wouldn’t have been able to make it on time. Yves hasn’t heard this story before, but it doesn’t surprise him that Vincent would be able to pull that sort of thing off, even with such paralyzingly short notice. “You’re exactly his type.”

Just great. If anyone could dig a nice, fitting grave for him over the span of one conversation, Yves thinks, it would be younger brother. 

“I can’t believe he hasn’t invited you over for dinner yet,” Victoire says, her eyes still closed. How much of this conversation she’s actually been awake for, Yves can’t say.

She makes Yves promise that, after their trip to France, Vincent will be over for dinner. (“Sure,” Vincent says. “Just tell me the date in advance. I’ll clear my schedule.” Yves will have to apologize to him after this—for some reason, Vincent has an uncanny talent for ending up invited to half the things Yves is personally involved in.)

Yves is awake enough to hold a conversation, but he finds himself yawning mid-sentence on more than a few occasions. Vincent doesn’t so much as yawn at all over the entirety of the car ride. Yves has no idea if he’s always up this early, or if he’s just naturally immune to tiredness—another signature of his good genetics, next to the fact that he looks like he’s just stepped out of a photoshoot, or the fact that he manages to look good in everything he wears. Some people just win the genetic lottery, Yves supposes.

For some reason, he finds he feels a little more tired than usual. Waking up early is never easy, but usually he’d be distinctly more alert by now. There’s a strange, uncharacteristic heaviness to his limbs—it’s the kind of grogginess he only experiences when he hasn’t been getting enough sleep for awhile.

It’s fine. They have an eight hour flight ahead of them—they’ll be flying into Marseille, and then being driven up to Provence, where the wedding will be taking place. He can catch up on sleep over the flight.

As they’re unloading the suitcases from the back trunk, Vincent says, “Your family’s nice.”

Yves laughs. “I’m relieved they haven’t scared you off yet. Sorry for the… well, interrogation, by the way.”

“I can tell you’re close to them,” Vincent says, a little more quietly.

When Yves looks over, something about Vincent’s smile looks almost wistful. Yves wonders, briefly, how well Vincent has kept up with his own family. If he’d ever been packed into the backseat of a small car, back when he’d lived in Korea; if over some long road trip, he’d ever had to come up with increasingly inventive ways to pass the time. If his relatives ever teased him, then, about the crushes he’d had when he was younger, or anything else. If the ocean that was suddenly between them came with another, less tangible kind of distance, the kind that even phone calls and international flights can never quite bridge.

Yves doesn’t know. He doesn’t even know how he’d go about asking if he wanted to know. How is it that sometimes, he feels like he knows so much about Vincent, but other times, he feels like he knows almost nothing at all?

—

Aimee has booked him a seat next to Vincent. 

They’re a few rows away from the others—I wanted to seat everyone together, Aimee had texted him a few weeks back, but when I was booking Vincent’s ticket, the seats up front were all sold out, so I just moved you so you’d be sitting next to him. 

Now, he watches as Vincent pushes his briefcase gingerly into the overhead compartment.

“You must not be new to flying,” he says.

Vincent nods. “I’m not.”

“Eight more hours,” Yves says, taking the middle seat so that Vincent doesn’t have to. “It’ll be over in no time, especially if you take a nap.”

“I have some work to get done,” Vincent says. “Only after the plane takes off, though.”

Right—no electronics larger than a cell phone until they’re 30,000 feet in the air. “I thought this was supposed to be your week off.”

“It is,” Vincent says. “I just want to make sure everything’s still in one piece by the time I get back.”

Yves has never quite been comfortable on planes. It’s not that he’s afraid of flying, or that the turbulence bothers him—it’s more just the cramped space, the noise, the anticipation, the discomfort—all of it compounds. It’s usually difficult to get to sleep, but he’s so tired right now that maybe this flight will be an exception.

There’s just one problem: whoever is in charge of the air conditioning in the airplane cabin really hates him. Compared to Provence, New York’s climate is generally more extreme—colder in the winters, hotter in the summers—so all he has on him right now is a thin jacket. It’d be perfectly reasonable attire in most situations, except for the fact that this airplane in particular is unusually frigid. It’s definitely cold enough to be distinctly uncomfortable, especially considering that he’s just sitting in place. Yves crosses his arms, suppressing a shiver.

“Do you think Aimee will be convinced?” Vincent asks.

“Convinced?”

“That we’re together.”

“I’m sure she has better things to do than play detective over the state of my relationships,” Yves says, with a laugh. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“It’s why you invited me,” Vincent says, “is it not?”

“Pardon?”

“To show the rest of your family that you’re not still hung up over Erika.”

“I invited you for a lot of reasons,” Yves says. “For one, you’re good company.”

“So are all your friends.”

“I thought we could both use a week off,” Yves adds. “It’s France, in the springtime. What could be better?”

Vincent says, “I need you to tell me what to do.”

“What?”

“Your cousin paid for my flight,” he lists, counting off his fingers. “Your family is paying for the hotel. Your best friend drove me to the airport.” He says these things as if he’s listing off all the ways in which he’s indebted to them. “It’d be easiest for both of us if you told me how to make a good impression. That’s what I’m here for, right?”

Yves blinks. “I don’t think you’d need my help to make a good impression.”

“You could’ve taken anyone with you, but you’re taking me,” Vincent presses. “There has to be something you need me for.”

If there was nothing, you wouldn’t have invited me. The sentiment hangs between them, unspoken. But Yves can see it in Vincent’s expression. 

“My favorite cousin is getting married,” Yves says, fervently. “To her fiancee—who is also super cool, by the way. My whole family is going to be there. Do you think I’d choose to endure an eight hour plane ride sitting next to someone I didn’t like?”

“Maybe,” Vincent says.

Yves shakes his head. “It’s true that my family wants to meet you. But if I didn’t want you to come to France with me, I could’ve come up with an excuse.”

He twists around in his seat so that he’s facing Vincent directly. Narrowly resists the urge to reach out and grab Vincent’s hand. “I like spending time with you. I wouldn’t have invited you if I didn’t. You don’t have to do anything out of the ordinary—if you have fun on this trip, that’s more than enough.”

Vincent stares back at him, his eyes wide. 

Yves has a feeling he’s said too much. It isn’t Vincent’s fault for assuming this is all just for show, considering everything that’s come before. Part of it is, but another part of him just really wants Vincent to have fun—to take in the sights at the gorgeous venue Aimee’s sent him pictures of, to have a week off in one of the most picturesque countrysides in the world (Yves may be slightly biased, but still) and not have to think too hard about impressing everyone. 

“Is that… okay with you?” Yves asks.

“Yes,” Vincent says. “It’s just unexpected.”

“Which part?”

“All of it.”

“Oh. Well. I’m sorry if I misled you, or anything.”

“You didn’t.” This time, Vincent really does smile—a sly, quicksilver thing. “For the record, I am very excited to go to your cousin’s wedding.”

“Thank god,” Yves says. “That’s good. I was beginning to think I was holding you hostage.”

He leans back into his seat, suppressing another shiver. Something about the changing pressure in the airplane cabin is making his head start to ache. It’s probably the elevation. Perhaps he should try to sleep just so that he doesn’t have to sit for eight hours with a headache brewing.

He shuts his eyes and tries. It’s no use. He’s tired, and the cabin is quiet enough, but it’s too cold to get to sleep—it feels impossible to get comfortable like this.

So he picks up a novel he’d been meaning to get to—something suspenseful, to offset the monotony of the flight.

When the seatbelt sign flickers off, Vincent unclips his seatbelt so that he can retrieve his briefcase from one of the overhead compartments, and spends the next half hour paging through multiple documents and leaving notes in the margins at a dizzying pace. Yves slinks down lower into his seat, trying hard not to shiver. 

“Is it just me, or is it kind of cold in here?” 

Vincent frowns at him in a concerned way that seems to suggest that it really is just him. Then again, Vincent is unfazed by New York’s cold winters, so Yves isn’t sure he’s the best point of reference.

“Do you need my jacket?” he asks.

“No,” Yves says quickly. “It’s not that bad.”

“Okay,” Vincent says. “If you’re certain.”

He turns his attention back to the screen, and Yves resigns himself to reading—or, more accurately, trying and failing to read. It’s mercilessly cold, and his head hurts enough to make focusing on any one thing an uncomfortable task. He gets through another couple chapters, finds himself rereading the same passage over and over again, and—finally, defeated—dog-ears the page and slides the book into the pocket attached to the seat in front of him.

The next time the flight attendants come around, Vincent says something to one of them Yves can’t quite make out. Yves asks for orange juice—it’s not supposed to be symbolic, or anything, but on the off-chance that this headache ends up being a precursor to something more unpleasant, he thinks it might be wise.

The flight attendant pours him the orange juice he’s asked for—no ice (right now, something ice cold is the last thing he needs)—and sets it down on the tray table in front of him. Yves stares down at it, blinking. He hasn’t eaten all day, but strangely, he doesn’t have much of an appetite.

He doesn’t register the flight attendant from before—the one Vincent talked to—is back until he hears Vincent’s quiet “thanks” to his left.

Something brushes against his arm.

He looks up. It’s one of those travel blankets they sometimes carry, neatly folded, though this flight hadn’t given them out to everyone at the start. They must be reserved—given only upon request, maybe. 

“You said you were cold,” Vincent—who’s holding out the blanket for him—says, by way of explanation.

Yves blinks at him. He’s about to reassure Vincent, instinctively, that it’s not that cold—that he would’ve been fine without the blanket, that Vincent didn’t have to go out of his way to ask for one.

But his head hurts. He hasn’t been warm all flight. To say that the blanket is a relief would be a massive understatement.

“Thanks,” he says, taking it. “This is perfect. I won’t be cold with this.”

He ends up wrapping the blanket around his shoulders, pulling it tightly around him—like a cloak, or like the jacket that he might have brought with him if he’d had the foresight to anticipate feeling this cold on a commercial flight.

It’s nice. He’s still a little cold, with the blanket, but it’s enough to keep him from openly shivering.

He should really try to get some sleep, he thinks. It’s going to be evening in France when they land. A seat away from him, the window shutters are pulled up, but he can see, from the crevices around the window, that it’s light out.

“I’m going to try to nap,” he tells Vincent. “But wake me up if I need anything—elbow me if you have to. I’m not usually a heavy sleeper.”

“Okay,” Vincent says. “I’ll try not to wake you.”

“You can wake me whenever,” Yves says, muffling a yawn into his hand. “Don’t work too hard.”

Vincent smiles at him, the kind of smile that implies he thinks he’s working exactly as hard as he should be. “No promises.”

It’s not easy to get to sleep, despite his exhaustion. He lays there for a while, his eyes shut—it’s certainly warmer with the blanket, but for some reason, he feels strangely restless. Maybe it’s the adrenaline of being here, with his family, with Vincent—on the way to see one of the most important people in his life get married. Maybe it’s the cup of black coffee he’d downed this morning to be awake enough to help Mikhail navigate and, subsequently, awake enough to actually be useful at the airport.

In the end, he falls asleep to the static hum of the aircraft, to the sound of Vincent hammering away at his keyboard next to him, incessant and comforting.

—

Yves wakes to someone tapping him on the shoulder. 

“Sorry,” he says. “I’m up.”

“A ‘light sleeper,’ you said,” Vincent says. “We just landed.”

Yves says, “I’m wide awake.” The yawn that he hides behind one hand is apparently not subtle enough, because when Vincent looks away from him in favor of staring straight ahead, it looks like he’s trying not to laugh.

Vincent’s stowed away his laptop already—Yves hopes that’s a sign that he’s done with work for the duration of this trip, but more likely he just had to put it away for landing.

“How was the flight for you?” Yves says.

Vincent looks at him. “Uneventful,” he says, at last.

“Not enthralled by all the financial records you had to go through?”

“They were very enthralling. How was your nap?”

“Good,” Yves says, even though he doesn’t feel particularly rested. He’s just groggy, probably, and the headache is just as bad as it was, if not worse. He’s sure once he gets off the plane and gets some fresh air, he’ll feel much better. “I probably needed it.” His breath hitches, unexpectedly, he turns to the side, raising his arm to his face to shield the oncoming—

“hH-’IZscHH’iew!” 

The sneeze is loud, embarrassingly, and it scrapes unpleasantly against his throat, which feels… off.

“Bless you,” Vincent says, frowning. He looks more concerned than he has any right to be.

Yves flashes Vincent a distracted smile. “Thanks.”

Everything—from the moment they step off the plane—is exhaustingly hectic. 

The hotel in Provence is more than an hour away from the airport they’ve landed at. They have a bus to catch, which means that after they regroup with the others, it’s international customs, baggage claim, and then they’re headed, maneuvering multiple suitcases each, onto the bus. He sits next to Vincent, though on the aisle side, so that he can lean over and interject whenever Leon and Victoire say something that’s worth commenting on.

Other than that, he talks with Vincent, mostly—about Aimee, about how she’s been in his life for longer than he’s known how to write his name, back when his parents would take him back to France once or twice a year. (“She was practically an older sister to me,” he says, “except we never fought,” to which Vincent says, “You make it sound like not getting along is a requirement to be siblings,” to which Yves says, “It definitely is.”)

His parents flew into France yesterday, so they should be settled in already—they’ll catch up with them at the hotel tonight, if it’s not too late. He probably won’t see Aimee and Genevieve until tomorrow morning, at breakfast—and even then, that depends on how busy they are with the various wedding preparations Aimee’s been telling him about.

The roads nearing the hotel are uneven and winding. Halfway through the drive, Yves registers, faintly, that he isn’t really feeling any better from before. His head is still hurting from the flight, and when he swallows, he finds his throat feels perhaps the slightest bit sore.

He’s cold, too, in the sort of uncomfortable, persistent way that’s difficult to alleviate, even with extra layers or with a warm drink. He’s starting to suspect that maybe the airplane cabin hadn’t been the problem after all.

None of that is particularly visible to any of the others—that is, until he finds himself tensing up halfway through a sentence, burying his head into the crook of his elbow as his eyes squeeze shut—

“God, sorry, I— hh-! hHehh’iiZZSCHh’iiEW!”

“Bless you,” Vincent, Victoire, and Leon say to him, all at once.

“You’d better not be getting sick,” Leon says, turning to him, with the sort of tone that implies that he’s joking. “That would really be the worst timing.”

“I’m not,” Yves says, swallowing against the soreness in his throat. “I promise.” Or, perhaps more accurately—he can’t be.

It will be the perfect wedding, he thinks. Aimee has planned it out meticulously, and she’s one of the most thorough people he knows. The weather forecast says this week will be sunny and temperate. He’s here, in France. Tomorrow, he’ll be surrounded by his extended family, and in the afternoon he and Vincent will head off to the welcome party, and he’ll get to give Aimee the gifts he’s gotten for her and introduce Vincent to everyone formally. Everything will go as planned—the welcome party, the wedding rehearsal, the rehearsal dinner, and on Saturday, the wedding and the vows.

It will be perfect, because it has to be. Yves will be present, and attentive, and he’ll give the speech he has prepared at Aimee’s wedding, and they’ll all remember this week fondly. Even considering the small, almost negligible chance that he’s coming down with something, there are more important things he has to worry about right now, which is to say: Yves is going to do this right.

He’s going to make sure of it. 

[ Part 2 ]

[screams-in-writing]

Wanna share w/ you the idea of Mr Puzzles turning off Reader's vacuum cleaner because it's "too loud" and he has to think about his movie ideas in peace

I was trying to answer from the reader pov and it wasn’t working, so I did 1st pov mr puzzles. He decided he wanted to be dramatic, then have cuddles and one on one attention. So this is fluff, with a lil end paragraph of possible future angst.

Silence could be a wonderful thing when one wanted to be focused on a task at hand, or it could be the worst thing in the world that was so soul-crushing one could find no focus or inspiration at all. 

It was my luck that it was the former, and I was delighted that you’d invited me over to your house to make use of your dining room table to work both on my own movie ideas, and the scripts of upcoming podcasts for you and your…coworkers/acquaintances. While I still believed these audio-based scripts could be better used in a television format, I wanted to be in your good graces after the…little incident in town, where I may have let slip my eventual plan I wanted for this charming place.

Through the movie script I was currently working on was, in fact, a rather charming little romance greatly inspired by those constantly running Hallmark movies. And as I’d informed your roommates, it was not a ‘blatant ripoff.’

(I would have to go through numerous drafts to make it so; curse those self-made critics picking apart my perfectly fine shows!)

In a compromise about my movie idea about your town, and the cafe as the centerpiece, I didn’t take any more townspeople into one of the many show settings within my mind that played out different scenarios of the script before me on the table (I may have not confessed to the latest batch of new actors but I would let them out soon, lest I be assured of kidnapping again; really, it didn’t harm anyone and made for great television and even better, I received great input of what did it didn’t work). 

But enough of that. 

Now that my perfect not-ripoff romance script was in decent shape, it was now the podcast scripts that were to be inspected. These scripts desperately needed my attention and my attention I would give them. 

I made remarks and suggestions on the margins, fixed grammatical errors, and even made some suggestions on an attached sheet of what could be used for references and who would be best to deliver the information for best reception. There were even a few lines that I came across made me experience grudging admiration. Even I had to admit to some things being left unchanged as it made it unique in its own way of delivering the information being spoken of within the topic of the podcast.

What I hadn’t realized at the time of accepting your invitation to do our own work within the house was that your work happened to be household chores while I worked my magic over these…decent scripts. I’d become aware of how those chores were split between you and your roommates. 

But must you really vacuum right now?

The noise was grating. 

The repetitiousness of the sound, shifting now and again as you moved that terrible contraction, drilled into my head with a ferocity that was slowly causing me to lose focus on the task at hand. 

What to do, what to do. 

I tapped my free hand in the table in thought before I perked up with an ‘ah-ha!’

Perfect!

I could use an excuse of having us both take a little break. Not only would that allow me to avoid having to listen to that dratted vacuum, but I’d get to spend time with you, without our focus on work and chores!

Taking a brief moment to arrange the papers on the dining room table (ensuring I’d be able to easily get back into it) I rose up out of the chair, stretching out my limbs, and pulling on what little muscle was still at my shoulders and thighs. 

Slumping in brief relief over the relaxation of those muscles attached to machinery, if a little achy, I made my way to the living room with a little hop in my step. 

And there you were, your back conveniently turned as you nudged a box out of the way to vacuum beneath it. 

Stealthily, I crept up behind you, before sweeping in with barely a sound as I wrapped my arms around your waist and carefully rested my head on yours, taking the opportunity to nuzzle with the underside of my head, careful to not press down to hard so as to not cause my neck too much discomfort, as tender as it was as of late.

“Hello, my dear!” I greeted while slyly turning you away from the vacuum while I turned it off. As I did, the noise dissipated, and wonderful silence took the place of the noise. “I think it’s time to take a break before we get too tired to discuss your possible participation it a show idea of mine.” I laid it on thick with dramatic flare, even turning you lightly to witness my face change to a sighing expression as I laid a free hand backward against my face. “And with that, I’d like to ask if you’d care to spend that beak time with me.” I was incredibly pleased by the face that you’d agreed with a shake of your head over my theatrics, but I was practically vibrating with excitement over getting to spend some quiet time with you without your coworkers or roommates around. 

“You’re always cuddling me, so I want to this time.”

I practically tripped over my own feet as I led you to the sofa, surprised yet flattered upon hearing your words. 

“Puzzles?”

“…I would like that.” I said, quieter than before. 

More genuine than I tended to allow for. 

After you sat down on the sofa on one side, I promptly sprawled my lower half out over the unoccupied part, carefully leaning back and smiling lighting up my face with what was likely several different technicolor shapes conveying this and my digital eyes no doubt closing partly when one of your arms went sprint my back while the other rested over my chest. Waiting for you to be comfortable, I carefully lay out over your lap the rest of the way, resting my head on the pillows you’d thoughtfully arranged. 

“You’re so lanky.”

Instead of a response, a static noise issued out of me when you lifted the hand resting on my chest to pet my head, teasing me by avoiding giving my antenna any attention but I was mollified when I felt your fingers slip beneath my hat to caress the usually unseen top of my head. It was embarrassing how quickly my entire body went limp as I sluggishly half-turned over to face you, while being mindful to keep my neck cushioned by the pillows, right before a particularly nice press to my casing caused my screen to fuzz out in the equivalent of eyes closing. 

This was a great idea.

No horrible vacuuming noise plaguing me, and being paid attention to. 

A win-win, in my option. 

And when there was light petting across my face, I would assume that my face allowed for a flicker of a content, multi-colored smile across the bottom of my screen. 

“I’ll make sure I clear my fingerprints off your screen before we get back to work.”

I let out a sigh of appreciation, experiencing quite mushy, complicated feelings over such attention being paid to my habits of a clean screen, due to the fact that this meant you’d been watching him closely enough to notice. 

“You’re not going to go to sleep, are you?”

“Only if you’re going to be the star of the dream.” I muttered, paying more heed to the sensations I was experiencing and not what was coming out of my mouth. Or rather, out of my speakers. 

There was a pause in your fingertips on my screen, before you resumed the touch.

I sank into the attention, appreciating the closeness to another. 

I was so lucky that I’d found someone who’d dote upon me and indulge me in what was likely a different kind of touch than one would normally think of. The fact that you’d touch me head so gently, and avoid poking into the vents on the side, made it nicer and more relaxing. More importantly, it was refreshing for you to be so tolerant and perhaps, (dare I say it?), fond of my presence, despite my past actions.

I could get used to this. 

But of course, it was unfortunately determined by powers outside my control that I wasn’t allowed to have anything nice in my life for once, as word of my misdeeds, both in town and on the world parallels to this one, began to come to light over the next few weeks.

[starsstuddedsky]

Lingering

reader x seokmin

summary: sunrise at the beach with a crush

genre: fluff this is just self-indulgent fluff

warnings: none!

wc: 1k

a/n: while looking up references of his smile i nearly died

The sun hides just under the horizon, the world holding its breath while waiting for the warmth to return. You study the sky, the twinkling stars that are too far away to survive the sun, going into hiding until the next night. But for now, you can still pick them out, see the ghost of constellations you knew when you were still a child. 

The sand digs between your toes, cold and grainy without the sun to warm them. You like watching the waves roll and crash in the half-light of dawn, the thundering crashes of water breaking on the beach mesmerizing. No matter how many times you sit here, it’s magical. Something about the calming power of extreme violence. 

A voice calls to you, inaudible over the waves, though it still makes you jump. When you turn around, Seokmin is crossing the beach toward you. 

“Why aren’t you asleep?” He repeats, close enough this time to be heard over the crashing waves. He stands over you, hands on his hips. 

“Why aren’t you asleep?” You counter. 

He shrugs. “I heard someone wandering around at five in the morning, so I was making sure we weren’t being robbed. Then I figured I should make sure no one was sleep-walking into the ocean.” He raises an eyebrow at you. “Don’t go getting an inflated ego; I’d do this for anyone.” 

“Really? You’d sneak out at dawn for Seungkwan?” 

Seokmin pauses. “Fine, it is special treatment. You only.” 

It’s silly to get this happy over an answer you forced out of him, but it’s fun to pretend you’re special to him. That’s the worst part about having a crush on your friend. It’s not hunting for feelings when none exist, but knowing exactly how desperate you are. Like how your heart races when he sits next to you, kicking his sandals off and burying his feet in the sand to match you. 

“Oh my god, it’s so cold,” he says, shaking his shoulders to emphasize his point. You shake your head, and pretend like you aren’t hyper-aware of his sweatshirt brushing against yours. He’s quiet with you, a rare quality for Seokmin. You’re used to hearing him joke around with Seungkwan and Mingyu, or do everything he can to annoy Minghao. He’s a friend of a friend that’s turned you into a cliché. God, you can’t even think straight around him. 

“You never answered my question,” he says, staring out across the water. The tiny line where the water ends and the sky begins is starting to grow more definite, the sky above just a shade lighter. “You don’t have to,” he quickly adds, “I know we’re not really that close, well, not yet. I’m not saying that we have to be either, I just mean that—” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “I’m saying I’m here. If you want.” And he smiles. 

A thousand metaphors run through your head, each more cliché than the last, but his smile really is brighter than the sun, warming you from the inside out. You want to tell him… you don’t know what, anything that keeps him smiling at you like that. 

“I like your smile.” You cover your mouth as soon as you say it but Seokmin laughs, smile widening even more. With every heartbeat, his face becomes more clear, the rising sun growing more courageous with each inch. 

“Thank you,” Seokmin says, though he can’t quite look you in the eye. Great, you’ve made it awkward. What can you say to fix this? Taking it back feels even more awkward, and even though it was painful, at least it was true. 

You bury your head in your arms. Maybe he’ll just leave and eventually the tide will rise and wash you away. You could turn into a mermaid, or maybe a jellyfish. You try to remember what you know about jellyfish. They have no brains and no muscles so they just float around the ocean; they have one hole for food to go in and out of; they have tentacles that sting. That could be cool, to be a sting-y jellyfish. Or maybe one of the glowy ones in the deep sea, bioluminescent. 

“You know, I like your smile too,” Seokmin says. You don’t dare lift your head. 

“It’s really cute,” he continues, “like, you always at least smile at my jokes, even when they’re really bad. You never make fun of me with the rest of the guys, and you made a cake for my birthday even though we barely knew each other.” He pauses again, taking a deep breath. All you hear is the crashing of waves on the shore. “What I’m trying to say is I like you. More than a friend.” 

He likes you.

You try to find your brain but you’ve already started to become a jellyfish. There’s nothing in your head except he likes you. 

“Hey,” he taps your shoulder gently. “Can you lift your head?” 

“Nope.” You shake your head, just in case he can’t hear you. 

“Why not?” 

“Because it’s five in the morning and my hair is a mess and I think it’s been way too long since I brushed my teeth and I’m covered in sand, and I like you so much I’m a jellyfish.” You pull your knees in even tighter, determined to remain in this ball of safety. 

“You’re missing the sunrise,” Seokmin says. 

You peek out, blinking at the horizon. Everything is pink and blue, from the sky to the water. The water farther out is as bright as the sky itself but the waves that crash against the shore are white. It’s the beautiful scene that you snuck out for. 

“Beautiful,” you whisper. 

“Exactly what I was thinking,” Seokmin says but when you turn to face him, he isn’t looking at the sunrise. He’s looking at you. 

He’s still smiling, the corners of his eyes crinkled. “That was cheesy, wasn’t it?” 

“Yeah,” you say. “It was terrible.” You press your shoulder against his, and you don’t think you’re imagining the warmth seeping from him. “I still like you.” 

“I like you, too,” he says, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Even as… a jellyfish?” 

You groan. “I panicked! I’m still panicking, I wasn’t expecting you to just blurt out that you like me!” 

Seokmin just laughs, throwing an arm over your shoulders and pulling you closer to him. You bury your face again, but this time against his chest, and it’s infinitely better than before. You listen to his heartbeat and you understand the stars in the sky, lingering in a moment that won’t last forever. 

Just one more heartbeat. You watch the sunrise and smile. 

[iratusmus]

so bizarre to me when people give fiona a redemption arc like making her evil wasnt literally like the fundamental core of making her an actually interesting character. like . ok actually i was mostly planning on just leaving the post as this but im going to make a proper post whining about this because ive seen it far too often for my liking.

it appears to me that a lot of people do this because they dislike fiona/scourge which is like. sure i get it. but you could literally just... break them up . and have her continue being awful on her own. like scourge is not the reason she switched sides and i find the idea. 1) a bit misogynistic frankly but thats more of a personal gripe than anything else like god forbid a woman make bad choices of her own volition and not because a man forced her hand into doing it (YES i am aware that abuse makes this more complicated than that but also we .... already have a relationship in archie sonic that fits this exact bill. yes it wasnt written well but the wonder of fan works is that you can always make it better. so why are we repeating it again 1:1) and 2) demeaning to the point of her character.

like. ok. lets go over the facts real quick. as a kid fiona got put in robotnik's salt mines and got accidentally left behind bc sonic & co couldnt find her. she realized that nobody was going make the effort to go save her, so she dug herself out and started life on the run as a treasure hunter/thief. she didnt ever really accept the fact that sonic and mighty not saving her wasnt really their fault, and even after becoming a freedom fighter, nobody ever said anything or apologized or said "hey wow that kind of sucks you went through all that". she never really made any actual friends within the ff or formed any meaningful bonds. she starts dating sonic, but its pretty clear that the only reason they're dating is that she's his rebound post The Slap. the moment her history with bean & bark came up - after she used that knowledge to save everybody - sally immediately turns on her and sonic is the only person to try to stick up for her. as bark and bean leave, bean also insinuates that fiona isnt really a freedom fighter, and that she's still basically one of them.

fiona is a "bad" trauma survivor. when i say "bad" i mean in opposition to the ideal tumblr trauma survivor - the sad poor uwu bean whose trauma only inclines them hurt themselves and they become more sympathetic kind etc. as a result. fiona, on the other hand, blames sonic (whose fault this is, frankly, not) for her experiences, and becomes more jaded and mean. she has no real support system and people repeatedly tell her that she hasnt changed and that she wont change and she cant change. shes already got all this baggage by the time her relationship with scourge starts carrying actual weight - he's offering her a way out. if none of them are ever going to really accept her being "good", then she might as well just give into her worst impulses and join hands with scourge, who, notably, has no stake in this - he doesnt have any obligation to be her friend like the freedom fighters, and more than that he likes her specifically because of the part of her that everybody else hates. the important part here is that he encouraged her to switch sides, he didnt make her switch sides.

id say fiona's character in a writing sense is an exploration of the failings of the freedom fighters to support a trauma victim, and how those failings, while unintentional, lead that victim to specifically turn against them. she says "ok actually screw all of you guys" and gives up on trying to be good because nobody ever gave her any real encouragement and decides to put herself on a path of self-destructive revenge and inflicting her misery onto the general population. we can also recall at this point that this motivation is entirely removed from scourge and you can literally break them up and still keep her evil.

the other important point here is that she purposefully chose that path of turning evil as opposed to leaving the freedom fighters or going somewhere else or like literally doing anything else. she literally could have just left but she did not and thats what makes her Interesting. prompted by her unhealed trauma and personal baggage she made those bad choices for herself, and frankly i cannot for the life of me understand why people think that walking back that character development (and yes i mean character development. character development can also mean getting worse) for ..... what. snarky but with a heart of gold generic protagonist girl? come on guys

[green-alien-turdz]

What are your headcanons for the main five, if you dont mind answering. I really like your take on all of them (Especially Kyle!!) and id love to hear more of your takes on them, aside from what you include in your art.

I'm curious as to which headcanons you're really interested in, but I will do my best to try and cover as much ground as possible.

Keep in mind that this is all teen headcanon's (so like 17-18)

STAN: Doing his best to not fall apart at any moment. Home life is still pretty ass and Randy is a dickwad like always. Sharon is a good constant in his life, and she's become much more lenient with him over the years, knowing that he's got a lot of shit on his plate. Is still in Crimson Dawn because it helps him vent his frustrations. Worked rather hard to not be an alcoholic, but doesn't turn down drinking with Kyle, Cartman, and Kenny. Genuinely making an effort to try and take care of himself and trying to get Kyle to do the same. He is also going to be narrowly graduating by the skin his teeth with help from Wendy (who is simply a friend), and Kyle. He also became much more into protest groups, but to the dismay of his friends who are forced to watch hundreds of documentaries and listen to him read articles. (The intensity of this passion came from trying to find a purpose in life when he was at his worst, mentally.)

/\ Both like one another but have no clue where to go from there \/

KYLE: In desperate need of anger management classes. The pressure of always trying to be perfect and excel at everything caught up with him in about 6th grade, where he'd start trying to control every aspect of his life in the worst ways possible. Sheila and Gerald are completely blind to any of this, seeing as the grades never dropped, so they assume all is well. Despite that, he does still preach about self-care and the importance of letting out "pussy emotions" to the rest of his friends, who are all well aware of his issues (sh + ed) but aren't sure how to fix them. He is also Crimson Dawn's biggest supporter and is usually wearing the same shirt because he finds comfort in it.

CARTMAN: Thriving in his own sense. He still has an insane amount of unwarranted confidence, but he does still have some insecurities (the narcissism often cancels it out though). He has become more barrable with age, but that's not saying much. Somehow, he still can't grasp why no one outside of his friend group even likes talking with him. Has a thing for Wendy again, but it's very on again and off again between the two, seeing as Wendy will usually get bothered by him and then dip. Genuinely does care for his friends (in his own way), but masks it with insults and fighting. May or may not purposefully drive away all of his mom's boyfriends, afraid of losing her care and attention. - EXTRA: Worked at the sewerslide hotline as a joke for about a week before getting fired -

KENNY: Can't take a single thing seriously because if he does, it'll break him. Takes pride in being the most comedic person in the room, always trying to one up the next guy, typically with gross out humour. Spends most of his time away from home, unless it's to take care of Karen, but he often takes her out with him, even to his jobs. He still works at City Wok, but also picks up other odd jobs around town. Stan will also give him a shit ton of Randy's supply to sell around to minors as a way to get some extra cash. Similar to Stan, he's not doing so great school wise, seeing as he spends so much time working, and would rather be with friends in his free time, but Kyle also helps him to make sure that he's going to graduate. When it comes to his friendship with Marjorine/Butters, he's the main supporter, doing what he can to help out. -EXTRA: While he doesn't have time very often to do so, he does try and go out as Mysterion when possible)

BUTTERS/MARJORINE: Get this bitch out of her household now. After many years of uncomfortable confusion, finally came to the conclusion that being Marjorine was what she wanted. Despite an unaccepting homelife, she is very openly feminine once out in public, getting dressed into clothes she likes in public restrooms. Going to graze over the home abu$e we know occurs. She mainly hangs out with Kenny and everyone else when she can but spends a lot of time grounded. Getting a job at the mall has helped with being able to get some time to be herself. She also really enjoys being the guitarist in Crimson Dawn and is one of the few times she'll actually let negative emotions out. Although there is still the occasional outing as Professor Chaos.

As a whole, they're all still dickwads who love going around town and fucking shit up. They are NOT well liked because they're so obnoxious, and they're very likely going to be the ones behind random destruction and vandalism. They still love scheming and ruining the lives of others, but try to be less open about it as to avoid getting in trouble with the law as an adult.

(If you have any specific headcanon's you were looking for, feel free to send an ask! I'm not sure what it was you were looking for, so please let me know if I missed anything you were curious about.)

[mrhaitch]

how do you deal with insecurities regarding your writing? i feel like i vacillate violently between “oh i’m pretty good actually” and “i am the worst writer on the planet”. this is also specifically with creative writing. like, when it comes to academic writing i’m really confident in myself and my abilities, and i feel like that’s because i find it easier to objectively judge my own academic writing? like i can tell when it’s good and when it kind of sucks a little, but i don’t know how to extend the same objectivity to creative stuff, so i guess the default ends up becoming that it’s horrible.

i used to write a lot just for fun but i don’t really do that anymore because i end up getting too invested in whether it’s “good” or not and then it just stops being fun, which sucks, but i also need it to be good for me to have fun with it, which just ends up being a vicious cycle. the last time i wrote just for fun was maybe a year ago? i tried really hard to let go of the “this has to be a masterpiece” mindset, so i wrote some fanfiction because well it doesn’t get more “for fun” and self indulgent than that. i posted a couple on tumblr, and i wasn’t exactly expecting much traction, so i wasn’t disappointed or anything when i didn’t get a lot out of the fandom, but i did get a couple really nasty asks. (i guess that’s on me for posting on tumblr lol.) as far as i could tell, it was just one person who was really, really invested in making me miserable. it was kind of stupid but there was just so much of it. at first it was just racism about how i’m not white so i should stop using english because i don’t know how to, which i don’t care about because i’m perfectly aware that my English is more than fine (not that this ask is indicative of anything, i promise i know how to capitalise and use proper punctuation and better grammar). but they said this one thing that i keep thinking about literally a whole year later: “i’m an english teacher, and i’ve used your writing as a sample of what not to do while writing”.

…yeah. so that was just a teensy bit insane!! like they’d called my writing trash in a variety of ways before that, but that last thing was just ??? what do you even say to that?? it was just for fun, i wasn’t trying to be a modern Dostoevsky or anything, but holy shit, was it actually that bad??? (i ask, as if you would be able to judge having never read my writing.) but anyway, i haven’t been able to stop thinking about that, and every time i start writing something now, i have a bit of a “would this be used as the bad writing sample in an english class?” moment.

I believe I answered a couple of similar asks recently.

The short answer is: that feeling of insecurity doesn't go away, but you do eventually learn to pick your battles. Wondering about the tastes of a hypothetical audience is an ever shifting target and unhelpful, so instead aim to satisfy your own tastes.

But I think you know that already.

As for the person giving you shit - honestly fuck them off into a bin. The glorious thing about the internet is if someone acts like a prick, you can bin them and move on - very easily. I have noticed a tendency within Fanfiction communities to be cutting, graceless, and viciously unkind even though the stakes are (as we all know) very, very low.

I reckon it stems from their own feelings of insecurity - that FF isn't real writing (it is, don't let anyone tell you different), so they feel the need to enforce some backasswards, arbitrary standard to create an air of respectability. Trust me - I've been in workshops and swapped work with some incredible, successful authors and this level of backbiting and cruelty is completely alien to me.

So, again: have fun, write what you love, and if someone gives you shit for it, kick them in the shins without breaking your stride.

Or, to put it another way:

[foxes-that-run]

Falling

Falling depicts depression so well. I love it so much, this performance, the music video, his voice, everything. It breaks my Haylor heart but I love it.

While Fine Line is the decision point to step over the line of friendship, Falling is the aftermath of doing so. It is 'chase 2 girls loose the 1'. Cruel Summer was written in the same period with a similar meaning.

To me, the narrative order would be: Sunflower Vol 6 / DBTC/ Golden > Fine Line > Cherry > Falling (& Cruel Summer) > To be so Lonely (& Afterglow). The Fine Line album order is more hopeful though.

Lyrics

[Verse 1] I'm in my bed And you're not here And there's no one to blame but the drink in my wandering hands Forget what I said It's not what I meant And I can't take it back, I can't unpack the baggage you left

I love the imagery in the opening verse, it's a clear reference to a similar time in From the Dining Table, but more mature. Like FTDT, it’s about Harry and his own self-reflection and regret.

Taylor has also referenced baggage in Renegade for Big Red Machine "Get your shit together / So I can love you? (carry your baggage up my street / And make me your future history)"

[Chorus] What am I now? What am I now? What if I'm someone I don't want around? I'm falling again, I'm falling again, I'm fallin' What if I'm down? What if I'm out? What if I'm someone you won't talk about? I'm falling again, I'm falling again, I'm fallin'

To Zane Lowe Harry said he wrote it in a towel in "20" minutes. When talking about Cherry Harry said he could see him becoming someone he didn't want to be. Falling is such a vulnerable song. Harry said the highs and lows of writing Fine Line were the highest and lowest of his life. He was certainly really feeling his emotions during the Live on Tour shows that year and spoke about therapy in interviews about them.

"What if I'm someone you won't talk about" hits me, this sounds like TS, she doesn't talk about him, but they constantly sing about each other. I think there have been times this relationship has been just as muses, rather than actual partners. When I hear this line I think he is scared of losing that because they were the later.

[Verse 2] You said you cared, and you missed me too And I'm well aware I write too many songs about you And the coffee's out at the Beachwood Cafe And it kills me 'cause I know we've run out of things we can say

The 'too many songs about you' line is clearly directed to TS. In Little Freak, later that year, he said "Somehow, you've become some paranoia", HS was asked about TS constantly for years, they hid any interaction then both wrote most of Lover and Fine Line about each other. I think they were struggling with more mature lives, careers and how each other fits in.

The coffee is out at the Beachwood Cafe is a way to say the happy life once shared is now depleted and gone. Taylor also likens the end of a relationship to a drought in Clean, where she "The drought was the very worst / When the flowers that we'd grown together died of thirst". Clean goes on to have imagery of rain pouring in which the Falling music video uses.

'And kills me because we've run out of things to say' reminds me of the theme of not communicating and line in Two Ghosts "Tongue-tied like we've never known / Telling those stories we already told/ 'Cause we don't say what we really mean"

https://x.com/axlsugar/status/1813649655302910352?s=46&t=Flotf9--MTYBMMuqijZ9lg

[Bridge] And I get the feeling that you'll never need me again

The heart breaking bridge is a deep fear that his muse will never need him again because they are were in a long term relationship.

While in Cherry Harry has a begrudging, somewhat petty acceptance that CR had moved on. His relationship with TS is more complicated, even apart they sing of being fated so it's temporary, Falling is the fear of when it is not:

OOTW " We were built to fall apart/ Then fall back together (back together)

HYGTG "Broke your heart, I'll put it back together / I would wait for ever and ever (I want you for ever and ever)"

Suburban Legends " When you told me we'd get back together / And you kissed me in a way that's gonna screw me up forever"

Someday (Michael Buble) "We could be in love once more / Till then I won't give my love away / Darling, I'm forever only yours"

Golden "Hold it, focus, hoping / Take me back to the light / I know you were way too bright for me/ I'm hopeless, broken / So you wait for me in the sky"

There is a list of 20 songs here.

Falling and Clean are similar in that they actually consider an end. NTWDT does too, but it's more mad than resigned as in Clean and Falling.

Which is why Cardigan and it's music video is a response to Falling.

[metisket]

book recs request ❤🖤❤🖤 🙏🙏🙏 in this case, book recs that you feel have inspired your writing style, or inspired your fics somehow?

Hmmm...this is a fun one but a tough one, because I'm not sure I'm really self-aware enough to know the true answer here. But I'll try! A lot of books/authors I believe shaped my writing style did it when I was pretty young, so we're getting some YA over here.

Robin McKinley

I must have read The Outlaws of Sherwood a dozen times between ages 10 and 15. I love me a hero who literally doesn't want to be here and got conned into this by pushy, well-meaning friends. Marian was the most badass Marian I'd ever encountered. Random, complicated, weird side-characters, my beloved. Cecily somehow speaking directly to whatever was unhinged about my own childhood feelings about my gender. Flawless, 10/10, should really re-read to see if it holds up.

This is not to minimize the ridiculous number of times I read The Hero and The Crown, The Blue Sword, Beauty, and Deerskin, because I also read them So Many Times that they've probably become a part of my psyche. Literally none of her heroes want to be heroes. But they've been informed that they are. Apparently. Ugh. Love to hate that for them.

Lloyd Alexander

I also re-read The Chronicles of Prydain at least once a year for many years. It has almost certainly messed with my mind. I was especially unhinged about The Castle of Llyr, because Princess Eilonwy. The best, the worst, the angriest princess. Love and respect. Taran I could take or leave, particularly during his Taran Wanderer phase (I was less sympathetic to his growing pains than I was to Eilonwy's), but The High King was a fantastic payoff, loved everything, no notes.

...Damn, I need to reread this series, also.

Lois McMaster Bujold

I didn't read The Vorkosigan Saga until college, but it immediately hit my brain hard. Fantastic characterization. The way she writes trauma and recovery from trauma, amazing.

Miles. What a character. What a mess. What a problem. He is only a little guy, literally and figuratively, and he's going to do his best to convince you that he didn't mean to offend that guy, set that building on fire, or end that empire. You know. Like a liar.

Sarah Rees Brennan

My number one fanfic influence--her style of writing is so delightful that, particularly when writing Harry Potter fic, I'd sometimes find myself paraphrasing her. I had to Sarah Rees Brennan-proof my fic to make sure I wasn't being an accidentally plagiarist, because her turns of phrase would just go subliminal in my brain. This honestly may still be happening, and if it is, I'm so sorry, Sarah, it's not on purpose.

My favorite of her books is In Other Lands, the story of a boy who is whisked away to magic school in magic land and is extremely annoyed to find himself there. Like why. Why is the plumbing medieval. Why don't phones work. Why is this magical Sparta.

...He's not wrong, is the thing. But he won't bend and he won't break and he won't leave, so apparently he's just going to have to fix the world himself. God help everyone! Love him. Love his friends. Love the entire world and setup and every single side character.

Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman

I have been informed that you can see the Pratchett and Gaiman influences in my writing. I think this is a lie people have told me to make me feel better, but you know, I Want To Believe. So I'll include them.

Pratchett: Love for virtually the entire Discworld series, with an especially fondness for the Watch books and Susan. Still obsessed with Vetinari after all these years. What if Machiavelli but chill, though.

Gaiman: Lost track of how many times I've reread Sandman. The characters, the coolness, the weirdness, the meta! Especially obsessed with Death. Just someone being very calm and collected in the face of all kinds of horrifying nonsense. I admire that. Love nearly all of his books, but my favorite is probably Anansi Boys. Bet your stupid family drama doesn't involve gods. Or at least. I hope it doesn't.

Erin Morgenstern

I'm cheating by including her, because she didn't actually influence my writing, I just WISH SHE HAD. She can't, sadly, because my outline game will never be that strong. I know my limits. But DAMN. ENVY.

Both of her books are without flaw, but I did love The Night Circus just that little bit more, probably because I am weak to a circus. I firmly recommend The Starless Sea also, though, because it features an Unhinged Library. The characters and settings and descriptions--delightful.

But the best part is the WAY the stories are told. They're not chronological--they're like little intricate puzzle-boxes, where you open one panel, and there's a story, and you open another panel, and there's a different story, and by the fifth panel, there's a story that connected to the first panel, but also a little to the third panel, and--

LOOK, I CAN'T EVEN DESCRIBE IT. It should be confusing, but it isn't. It's perfect. Just the right amount of information at the perfect time connecting to other pieces of information in a complex, interesting, deeply satisfying way. I would kill to be able to do this. Kill. I actually tried to do this in 'Mirror Image', and I had to give it up, because the level of incoherence was off the charts. ffffffffffff howwwww does she dooooo eeeeeet.

Anyway, I think those are the big ones. Special mentions to: Tom Holt, a deeply weird writer who strongly influenced one fic in particular (Some Confusion, DGM), Patricia C. Wrede, because Dealing with Dragons in general and Cimorene in particular got to me, and Dennis Lehane, because a) his historical fiction is inspiring, and b) I love his handling of The Unhinged Friend in the Patrick and Angie books. The best unhinged friend. He booby traps his own home. Love him. What is wrong with him? We'll never know.

[indigoatari]

please explain to me what the deal is with chonny jash i am fascinated

oh my friend you have olled away the rock the tomb has been unsealed,

Chonny's Charming Chaos Compendium is a cover album of Tally Hall songs, in the same way Everything Everywhere All At Once is about a woman trying to do her taxes. the full thing is available on youtube and spotify. even solely superficially, it's super interesting, because it's not like, karaoke over the song's musical track, it's like. Redone. new sounds. same song, same tune, but still completely reupholstered. if you like jhariah or will wood, this is like tally hall if you seasoned it to make it sound like them.

HOWEVER.

the instrumentals are NOT the only thing that changed-- he also REWRITES THE LYRICS. he's a VERY clever lyricist, even if hes still definitely drawing from the original. but in doing so he's creating an underlying story, and in tying it all together it starts becoming clear.

CCCC is about Chonny Jash, the artist in question, going through such a bad mental health episode that he manages to split his brain in three. be aware, it's not explicitly anything-- it could be about plurality, it could be about depersonalization, or it could just be a metaphor about self conflict. but the bottom line is, where there was once one there is now THREE, and none of them want to be here.

the bulk of the album is the three of them singing and songwriting and arguing with each other. Mind Electric is the left brain, the logical side, and the only one with a distinctive voice-- he has a distinctly robotic, modulated voice. he also talks like a disney villain.

his counterpart is Heart Acoustic! the right brain, the emotional side, and the most visually distinctive of the three-- he's the chap with the blindfold and the wings and he's a bit of a miserable mess. if mind is the voice in your head who berates you for not getting things done, heart is the voice in your head panicking about the long term impact.

that being said: neither of them are inherenty the Good Guy or the Bad Guy. they are equals, and they cannot lives without each other, and they are constantly committing war crimes. the first thiiiird? of the album is the two of them bitching and bitching and bitching and

number three is my favorite and he shows up in like the last half of the album: the Soul Eclectic. you can't really argue if Heart or Mind are id or superego, but Soul is unquestionably the ego in the triad. he moderates and also keeps Heart and Mind from killing each other. and plays guitar. he's skrunkly

that being said. it is about a depressive episode. all three of them kind of want to die. Soul is absolutely not opposed to it. they have explicitly discussed this. i cannot emphasize enough, the entire album is about an absolute mental low, and that's kind of what keeps it interesting. the three of them are one person at his absolute worst, and they are so filled with loathing for the Others that is really just kind of... loathing of the self. take all of that on top of the fact they are in a time loop.

the three of them are trapped in an infinite cycle of dissolution and reconstitution. they will always eventually synthesize and make it out of the misery pit only to fall back apart into the same patterns and arguments and PEOPLE. they cant catch a break man!!!!!!

i have SEVERE autism about it and so does my girlboybestie @julystruck. the full album is here, but if you're just trying to lean into it, i fully recommend the whole twelve minutes of The Mind Electric along with the lyrics analysis to get a grip on the characters, and then Mucka Blucka and The Bidding for basic dynamics. and feel free to ask me about literally anything and giving me an excuse to write an essay when i COULD be writing an essay about the progressive era,

[rivetgoth]

I have always loved Skinny Puppy’s “Last Rights” but I feel like this year has really been a year of returning to it and sitting with it and exploring it deeper than I ever have before and I’m quickly becoming convinced it’s one of their all-time best albums and also just one of the most masterfully composed albums of all time tbh.

It is just so cohesive and everything feels so neatly interwoven. From the cover with its sickly smoggy greens and yellows and oranges in this desolate surreal wasteland littered with skulls and gargoyles and angels and demons, crumbling pillars that almost evoke a burial ground of some ancient city or temple, and the NAMES of each song which all just feel so dark and surreal even before hearing them— Love in Vein, Killing Game, Knowhere?, Mirror Saw, Inquistion, Scrapyard, Riverz End, Lust Chance, Circustance, Download. I feel like it all feels very desolate and very dark and totally evocative of that same wasteland feel as the album cover. And that’s just the presentation, not even getting into the actual sound of the songs yet.

We semi-know what was going on when the album was written and what it’s about to some extent through interviews with Ogre; he was going through the very worst of his addiction, struggling with a bad breakup and a psychotic breakdown and it all sounds like all of those things were feeding into each other in a really vicious cycle. He was self harming on stage for this tour, he had a seizure in the recording studio at one point. 

“I was basically trapped in my apartment, only escaping to get more drugs to sustain the delusion that was going on. I was having massive amounts of hallucinations, there were lights coming out of the walls and I was under the impression that I was being watched by people very closely, and that there was a demonic force that was slowly closing in on me and just harassing me until I committed suicide, basically. It wouldn't leave me alone. I couldn't stop doing drugs because it was too painful to stop doing drugs and face what I'd become. And whenever I did drugs, as soon as I put the needle in my arm and injected the cocaine into my body, it was like turning on all the sound, all the vision, all of the hallucination...this was something very twisted and very real. And at the time I was being harassed by some people who knowledge with occupying different transient fields of energy, which I believe they did.” [source]

I feel like the progression of the album is just so striking. “Love in Vein” as an opening track, title itself evoking the moment of shooting up and the collapse begins. The opening “Dreams not waking,” capturing this imagery of the drugged out “main character” of the album there in squalor, shooting up to escape reality, wasting away. The album flows in and out of coherency and it’s mostly downwards from there. “Killing Game” is the most concious and lucid song on the album, which fades immediately to “Knowhere?” which is one of the most desolate, disturbing, heavy, chaotic songs I think I know of. It really sounds like the ambiance of a smoggy post apocalyptic wasteland full of half-functioning machinery, animal bones caught in oil spills and tar, exhaust fumes melting lungs, with Ogre’s screaming “One day you will have no one to run to.” 

The disorganized incoherent anger giving way to the much much more subdued “Mirror Saw” feels like the moment during a bad trip when you come back to semi-lucid semi-reality and are punched in the gut by self awareness. This moment where you ask yourself “What’s happened to me?” Or in the song’s case, “What’s become of me and you?” Most definitely thinking of the same person who was the target of the anger in “Knowhere?” The song is less coherent than previous ones—the descent downwards continues on even as emotions blur together and shift and evolve in and out of reality—but it feels like a moment attempting to break free from the altered state psychosis into something more conscious. But it’s too late for full lucidity. I picture “Mirror Saw” as one laying on the floor and staring up, looking at popcorn ceiling morphing into angels that morph into demons, noises playing from an old television just out of view so all you can hear is this chaotic cacophony of sounds, unable to fully parse what’s outside in the real world, what’s on the TV, and what’s in your head.

The themes of destruction of the home, the physical space itself, wrapped in metaphor surrounding the destruction of relationship and love and life itself—the dead baby crashing through the windows, the guilt crashing through the ceiling, the invasion of privacy and lack of safety one feels when exposed in the wake of destruction—is a prevalent theme throughout the album but especially in “Mirror Saw.” Alongside absolutely fucking masterful musical composition and mixing from cEvin, Dwayne, and Rave, inserting bits of angelic choral sounds that feel almost sinister in their ominous presence. Songs become more and more incoherent at the same time as Ogre’s vocals becoming less strong and less coherent. “Scrapyard” cutting in and out in these jagged discordant bits and pieces of noise without rhyme or reason. The album loses any sort of musical structure save for certain sound motifs echoing across various sonic landscapes as the album progresses further and further into madness.

“Circustance,” the last song before “Download” and the very last time we hear Ogre’s voice. The angel motifs and soft voices and sounds drifting about over the cacophony of discordant noise — the song is also incrediblyyyy erratic and lacks any linear structure — as Ogre sings “I looked upon the circus in the sky … Make it go away, make it go away,” the sort of transformation of the heavenly into something cartoonish and comical and fictitious, the irony of the circus jingles overlaid, the lyrics being purely bits and pieces of words and phrases, total incoherence as he witnesses this distorted Heaven up above him (more mentions of the ceiling, he’s still laying there in the rotting room, these are all still just visions). The song picks up in energy again and for a split second it feels like coherent (sludgy, droning) rhythm before it ends and we shift into “Download”…

…I think it was Dani who said that “Download” struck her for it being the final song and its complete absence of Ogre vocals, like he’s been fully overtaken or his voice has been lost. That really stuck with me. At risk of sounding corny “Download” sounds like an interpretation of dying. The discordant chaos and sound, the sounds of previous songs returning in distorted bits and pieces as distant motifs, the DMT release, electronic noise that’s incomprehensibly inhuman, life flashing before your eyes in fragments, the chaos increasing through the death throes, battling and resistance to hang on, until finally everything quiets down and turns to soft lulling whirs, breathing slowing, resistance subsiding, and the last 5 minutes of the song feels like floating, drifting away to calm nothing. And that’s how “Last Rights” ends.

I think you can interpret the album as almost happening in real-time, from The needle is warm at the point of shooting up to “I look upon the circus in the sky” as the final fractured thoughts before overdose/death, or just as an exploration of that point in Ogre’s life, perhaps as a sort of speculative piece on if he had succumbed to the intrusive suicidal ideation he described feeling at that point or if he had ended up dying to all the other inflictions at that point, be it overdose or a secondary symptom of the drug use (ex. the seizures, or even the frequent mentions he describes through the album of heart attack, head exploding, etc). Either way it just floors me listening through it all as a single piece how coherent it is, how dark it is, how much it all blends together into this genuinely disturbing piece of music that captures addiction and psychosis so well, the interwoven musical motifs and lyrical motifs and the constant imagery evoked of this totally desolate living space that’s crumbling both inside and out, haunted, plagued by angels and demons, the sort of Jacob’s Ladder sentimentality as the lines between the demonic and the angelic blur together, all both literally and metaphorically, where one can’t tell what’s really happening and what’s symbolic and what’s just a hallucination, how much of it is just spent through the eyes of the narrator staring up at a blank ceiling.

Like… goddamn. This is nowhere near a complete write-up but I just really wanted to get some of my thoughts out. It is such a harrowing piece of music and I actually feel like it’s somewhat underrated (although I know amongst Puppy people it’s beloved) in how beautifully crafted it is on all fronts. There is nothing else quite like it at all. 

[stephpuppet]

binge read your norrington/elizabeth fics and im OBSESSED. you briefly mentioned having an au in your head where james and jack are brothers — do you have any more thoughts about that? i’d never considered it before and now you’ve put the idea into my head i can’t escape it!!

Hi Anon! Thank you for the ask!

I really love the James & Jack dynamic in the film series because it's quite an unusual protagonist/antagonist dynamic (which one's which is up for discussion!). There is actually a fic on fanfiction.net where James and Jack are brothers, though I can't remember the title for the life of me, so it has been done before.

I'm going to spend too much time gushing about what I would do with the concept, so I'll put it below the cut to avoid clogging anyone's feed.

I haven't managed to put it in a fic yet but I really like the idea of James having a really poor relationship with his father. Because then you can play with the idea that James's career ambitions are either 1. a way to prove himself to a father who will never think he's good enough, 2. him trying to succeed to spite a father. If Jack is his older brother this adds in another interesting dynamic of there being a black sheep in the family that James is trying to escape the shadow of but is also somewhat envious of, because Jack has the freedom of not caring what other people think of him and also being very successful in his own right.

Focusing on Jack for a moment. I think that Jack is a character primarily defined by his selfishness and in the films we rarely see him do something that isn't at least a little self-serving and the moments where he does do something unselfish are really nice. I like the idea of Jack having someone that he does actually value above himself, because (as far as I'm aware), we don't ever see that in the films. Jack debates becoming Captain of the Flying Dutchman himself before ultimately giving it to Will, but it wasn't like he had his heart set on the idea. He votes for Elizabeth to be Pirate King, but doing so didn't do anything to his own chances - he wasn't going to get voted in. I want to see him truly sacrifice for someone else.

If I had ever been able to write this idea I think it would have gone something like this.

Curse of the Black Pearl happens as normal just with a touch more "I'm going to arrest my law-breaking brother because I am the GoodSon(TM) and he keeps flirting with my girlfriend" and "hey bro, long-time no-see, whoa what's with the hostility? anywho I have things to do, let's catch up later".

James still goes after Jack in Dead Man's Chest, still on the "I must prove myself to Parental Figure That Sincerely Does Not Give a Fuck" bandwagon. Hurricane happens, only this time Jack and the Pearl go back to fish him out of the water. Cue lots of James being "I hate you, you're the worst brother ever, please leave me to die" and Jack being "Idgaf, I love you and you're going to stay on my ship and I'm going to take care of you while you have your existential crisis/breakdown."

Will and Elizabeth individually turn up for their respective plotlines and Jack deals with them with James just in the background still in his emo-teenager "life is meaningless, woe is me" phase.

From here it gets a bit fuzzy. In this verse, James doesn't steal the heart and betray everyone because, despite all his very dramatic angst, he does actually appreciate that someone gives a shit about him. I think this is one of the tragic aspects of his character in the films - he doesn't have anyone that cares for him. Governor Swann kind of does but I imagine that relationship dissipates when James is no longer a prospective son-in-law. His men respect him but I imagine a lot of that again goes when first he loses the Interceptor and a load of men in the attack on the Isla de Muerta and then again when the Dauntless is sunk in the hurricane. Elizabeth ditches him for Will. He just doesn't have anyone.

That's why I really like the idea of Jack and James being brothers, because it can give James someone that will love him unconditionally and it can give Jack someone he values as more than just a means to an end and also (crucially) something that he can lose. If you think about it, all the consequences Jack faces in the films are temporary - he dies and comes back, he loses the Pearl and gains it again.

I'm not sure when or how it would happen, but I like the idea that James still dies (possibly at the end of Dead Man's Chest) and Jack just loses it. His motivations during At World's End change from the rather impersonal 'Save Piracy and Stop Davy Jones', to 'Find Someway to Get James Back and Fuck Everyone and Everything Else'. There's now a solid motivation for him to try to become Captain of the Flying Dutchman and I feel it would be really interesting to see him sacrifice his principles and screw over people he cares about to achieve his goal. Like all bets are off, the ends will justify the means. And not just his innocent "Yes I betrayed you but it all worked out in the end", but legit life-ruining, "we will never forget or forgive this" betrayals.

I like to think in the end Jack succeeds, potentially without having to become Captain of the Dutchman. Like maybe he's able to make some deal with Davy Jones (and/or the EITC??, prob not though). He gets James back but at some huge cost. Would be super interesting if Elizabeth ends up dying because of Jack's actions and he has to lie about it to James because he knows James wouldn't forgive him if he knew what he had done.

Anyway those are my extensive thoughts on the subject. I like the ideas but I'm not motivated enough to commit them to paper and write the fic.