#but it is very fitting for both pieces of media

[temis-de-leon]

Sewist MC who makes clothes with his clothes

Characters: Demon Brothers x gn!MC (separately)

Main Masterlist

C/W: established relationship, possessiveness, very suggestive in Asmo's part

.

Lucifer

At first, he suspects your talent will be spent fixing clothes and creating pieces for cosplay, just like Levi does, but it doesn't take him too long to discover how wrong he is.

There's more to you than meets the eye, and he enjoys every second of it, although it would pain him to admit how long he spends watching you transform something as simple as a t-shirt into whatever else you have in mind; a creation of your own much more interesting and flattering.

If you catch him staring at you with fascination while you search for the best thread to use in the fabric, no, you don't.

Stop looking so much at him and pay attention to what you're doing, MC.

Things will change the moment you ask him to give you any clothes he may not use anymore, though.

Are you telling him that not only are you a resourceful, skilled, creative and patient artist, but you also want him to mark you?

Because why else would you want to wear his clothes if not to show who you belong to?

But the symbolism goes deeper than that.

Seeing what had previously been his possessions fit you so perfectly makes your relationship feel more raw and natural.

It is as it should be because it couldn't have been anything else.

Wear as much as you like; he can always buy more.

Mammon

The Great Mammon will tell you that it is a waste of time and you should join him at the casino downtown instead.

You want to upgrade your wardrobe? How about waiting for him to win the biggest prize and then he'll give you anything you want?

Mammon, however, will tear his clothes just to see you fix them, so if the cuts or holes look too purposeful, don't mention it.

You seeing right through him is one weakness he's gonna have to learn to live with, so be merciful and don't say anything about his poor excuses.

His quivering dignity will appreciate it.

They're PR gifts from his modelling gigs, anyway. He hardly wears anything that changes his style too much.

When the inevitable day comes in which you ask to "borrow" some of his actual clothes for personal use, he will blush and stammer like crazy, even as he laughs at you for being so obvious in your affections.

Of course you want others to see who's your boyfriend! And he is glad to make your wish come true!

...

What do you want exactly? In which colour?

...can you make a matching piece for him...?

Don't laugh at him, MC!! He was asking for your sake!! In case you were too embarrassed to ask, you know?

Dumb human

Leviathan

He's one of the brothers who appreciates what you do the most, not only because he admires every form of arts and crafts by default but also because he is a fellow sewist.

And a good one at it.

Sure, his talent mostly (almost always) comes up when cosplay is on the table, but there is serious work involved, and barely anyone complains about the results.

Your shared interest deepens your relationship on a genuine level, and the innocence of it makes it very endearing.

Sometimes, you're catching up to your favourite piece of media in either of your rooms, but on other occasions, the rest of the family will probably find you working around each other, silent or deep in conversation, with eyes always focused on the task at hand.

Mammon almost had a heart attack once because he was hanging out while you both worked in the same room and suddenly you started talking after a whole hour in silence.

Levi enjoys your presence every moment of the day, but doing the same thing makes him feel all warm and tingly.

He especially likes it when you both make little trinkets for the other to wear or carry around, like a reminder that you'll always be together no matter what.

If it's the other way around, though...

If you want something that belongs to him to make customised clothes for yourself...

He won't be able to give you a clear answer for at least a week, mainly because every time he sees you after the question is made, he blushes deeply and has trouble coming up with words.

Will eventually agree to give you something, but only if you do the same.

Low-key cringe, but the thought of people seeing you in his clothes and vice versa, even if they're altered, makes him tremble in excitement.

Satan

The most curious about your abilities by far, he will be hovering over you and asking all types of questions. Of course, he will stop if you ask him to, but he won't go too far.

He can always grab a book and read it next to you.

His questions aren't meant to intrude, anyways. They're mainly directed to how long you have been doing this and how it started. Also, do you only make human sized clothes? Have you ever tried making them in smaller sizes? Say... cat sized?

Just imagine, MC! Imagine how cute the stray kitties would look with a costume or something to keep them warm during the dead nights of winter! They may even remember you for it!!

Is he getting too excited? Forgive him; he can't help it.

Imagining his favourite stray cat with a creation of yours is more than enough to make him blush.

You are dating, yet he is still surprised when you ask him to give you something that belongs to him.

The many ways in which you show how much you love him are endless.

If you teach him how to sew, maybe he can return the gesture...?

He's a dork.

Asmodeus

Real tears of joy.

Finally someone with talent that doesn't throw it away in cosplay! Levi can defend his costumes all he wants, but at least you make fabulous clothes for daily life!

He shows great interest in your projects and isn't shy in the slightest when he voices his opinions on what would look better or where you could improve your designs.

Why settle for good when you have the potential to make it perfect, right?

That's why you're dating 🩷 Because neither of you settled for less 🩷🩷

It would be wise to listen to him, though. He knows what he's talking about.

Will absolutely yell and cry in delight if you ask him to give you clothes to adapt for yourself.

Whether you're a romantic person or not, he now thinks you are and has no problems showing you how much he likes it.

His brothers are horrified by the amount of hickeys on your neck the next morning.

Those are the visible ones.

Not long passes until he invites you to his room just to show you an arrangement made out of a selection of clothes and accessories chosen specifically with both your styles in mind.

You'll make an outfit for him too, right? You have to match!

Better be ready to take his measurements, because you will be the one doing it even if he knows the numbers by heart.

Beelzebub

Oh, you have a hobby, MC? Nice!

He doesn't totally understand the appeal of it, but he's content knowing that it makes you happy.

Plus, it's a good way of spending time together. No one demands your attention whenever they see you so focused, so he can enjoy your company in peace during those moments. It's just you and him, and occasionally Belphie, sitting together while he eats and you work.

Some of those times he isn't even hungry. That's how satisfied he is.

He's asked on very few occasions if you could mend his sportswear after a rough training session, but he doesn't want to look as if he's taking advantage of you or your talents in any way.

If he breaks something of his, then it should be his responsibility, not yours.

The moment you ask for his clothes so you can wear them instead, however?

He is grinning and humming in joy like an eager puppy.

One moment you are asking him and the next you are standing in front of his wardrobe choosing what you want to use.

Surprisingly, Beel will offer to use his laundry detergent even if they're now technically your clothes.

They may have your measurements, but that doesn't mean you bought them in that size.

He still wants others to know that they were originally his.

Belphegor

Won't be extremely excited about your capabilities, but he'll show interest and, if you haven't flaunted about them already, then he's encouraging you to do so.

You are talented and other people should know.

He won't force you, though.

After all, those peaceful moments spent alone while he naps by your side and you sew are some of his favourites. The only downside is that he can't use your lap, but he isn't complaining too much.

And the presence of other people would only ruin it.

He likes to be there as you work; to fall asleep as you frown and the tip of your tongue peaks out deep in concentration; to kiss your fingers if you prick yourself.

The sight of the needle disappearing in the folds and the thread blending with the rest of the fabric is hypnotic.

.

These are the naps he enjoys the most, but he will never tell you directly.

When you finally ask him for some of his clothes, he's immediately nodding in agreement. Even before you finish the question.

What more is there to ask? As long as it is for you, then everything is available.

He also relishes in his brothers' sour expressions when they recognize your "new" outfit, but that's a secret.

.

Taglist: @ilovecandys2010 @ollieoven @kingofspadesdelusion @whimsybloom

[thecindercrow]

So on this week’s TLasso a character recites the poem “This Be The Verse” (excellent poem, btw) and I keep seeing people talk about the meaningful moment in their life when they first heard or memorized the poem, or glad that the show introduced them to it, and I’m over here like “Yeah, I know that one. Beth May recited it on a commentary episode of her “not a bdsm” dnd podcast.”

[russell-crowe]

[src]

[verdenz]

BLIND, DEAF, MUTE

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒⠀→⠀You're McLaren's reserve driver, and the social media team forced you, Lando and Oscar to do a challenge.

𝐀/𝐍⠀→⠀I'm a little surprised that I liked the result of this oneshot, since I'm not very good with very long content (this one isn't that big bUT STILL—)

“You should introduce yourselves, shouldn’t you?” was the first sentence spoken in the recording, coming from one of the team members.

You and Oscar just looked at each other before turning back to face Norris, who was on the other side of the counter, already wearing headphones and dancing quietly.

“Lando should be the mute one.” Oscar said, cutting a piece of tape that was handed to him and sticking it over his mouth.

“Agree.” you replied, trying to find the best way to tie the blindfold. “It saves the effort of those who will have to censor his jokes.”

“You can start.” they said, and as expected, Lando had to be pulled by Piastri to fit into the camera frame, as he didn’t hear what was said.

The confusion began when you, unable to see, started feeling around, knocking over a wooden spoon in the process. “Why are you all silent? I have no idea what’s going on!”

Oscar just made a muffled sound, forgetting for a second about the tape that prevented him from speaking. Realizing it had already started, Lando "gently" pushed you both aside, standing in the center and starting to show the ingredients.

“We’re going to make cookies because they don’t believe we can make something more complex!” he shouted, making you flinch at the sound, while your teammate just shook his head in denial.

Norris picked up a sealed package, reading aloud. “Do we start with this?” Lando asked. He saw Oscar raise a finger and try to reach for the bag of flour, but he smiled and threw it into your hands, resulting in part of the floor and your clothes turning white. “She has to do something too.”

Oscar took the package from your hands and placed it on the counter. He tried to explain with his hands that he wanted to see the recipe, but you couldn’t see, and Lando couldn’t understand what his teammate wanted. “Paper?”

He shook his head. “Stir the mixture?”

“What mixture, Lando? We haven’t even started yet,” you complained, as if he could hear you. “We should look at the recipe and start.” Then, you heard a sound of approval from Piastri.

After brief instructions from the team, you felt around the counter and picked up a package of sugar, believing you had the right ingredient, and started pouring a large amount into the bowl. Piastri, who couldn’t speak but could definitely see the disaster unfolding, gestured frantically, pointing to the bowl and trying to stop you.

Lando, who was closest to you, took the ingredient from your hands. “This is sugar!” he yelled in your ear, making you try to grab his hair to playfully pull but hitting his nose instead. He laughed and stepped back. “We need to melt the butter.” Norris said, this time in a normal tone but too close for your liking.

“I can hear you without you breathing in my ear.” you complained, trying to find the next ingredients. Oscar held your hand and handed you the pot with the melted butter, since while you and Norris were bickering, he was following the recipe.

“You need to add an egg.” You looked at Lando again.

“Whole?” He blinked, trying to understand what you were saying.

“One egg,” he repeated.

“Whole?!” You nodded, as confused as he was, and gestured with your hands.

“Yes, it’s one.” Oscar’s laughter was muffled by the tape again. He picked up the egg, showing it to Norris. “Break it and put it in the bowl.”

“Whole or not?! Oscar!” You waved your hands, trying to find him to help you, not knowing he was already doing so. He tried to speak.

The team gestured for you to stop, as for the next part of the recipe, they preferred you to switch positions. Piastri was the first to remove the tape and breathe a sigh of relief.

Finally, you took off the blindfold to see how well you were doing up to that point. When you opened your eyes, the scene you found was utter chaos: Lando laughing, Oscar with his arms crossed, and a counter with more flour and sugar than what was inside the container you were supposed to be using.

“Can we take a break?” you asked, already grabbing the headphones for yourself. “Who chose this playlist? Damn.”

The team signaled the start again, and before you could even take a deep breath, Lando was already messing with everything he saw in front of him. Unable to speak, he pointed frantically to different jars and ingredients, trying to guide you.

“This? This here?” you asked, randomly lifting a package of flour. Lando shook his head desperately, making exaggerated hand gestures to indicate what he meant.

Oscar, now blind, had no idea what he was supposed to do. “Shouldn’t we mix the dough?”

“You need to knead the cookies and put them on the tray.” you said, lightly pulling up the sleeves of your sweatshirt that threatened to cover your forearm again. Terrible choice of clothing for that type of activity.

Lando tried to speak, getting agitated once more. You looked at him, he pointed to the bag of chocolate chips, and you nodded, grabbing the package and pouring it into the dough.

Oscar put his hand on your wrist. “Wait, I think it should be less. Right? I can hear you pouring the whole package. We should use a measuring cup—”

“What is he saying?” you asked Norris, who only shrugged.

After a few more minutes and a bit more mess, you managed to get the cookies into the oven, and it was finally time to be free.

“You know, each of you has to be blind, deaf, and mute at least once during the challenge." a team member joked, and the three of you immediately showed your discontent.

As soon as the cookies were ready, you placed them on a nice plate to show to the camera.

“Who will be the first to try?” Piastri asked, running his hand through his hair.

“We count to three, and each of us takes a bite.” And so you did, but only Lando managed to break the cookie. “Why is it so...”

Oscar stared at his, while you stretched out your arm and hit the table with yours, which only crumbled a bit.

“My expectations were low, and I’m still disappointed.” you murmured.

[motorsportbarbie13]

Forbidden - Part 4

In which your heart shatters into a million pieces.

Warnings: swearing, descriptions of a panic attack, charles being a dick.

Pairing: Max Verstappen x LeClercSister!Reader word count: 2.3k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Master List

Summer break. Four blissful weeks of no racing talk, no work for Max, and nothing to do but spend the day in bed. Of course, you had work to do but considering half of Europe was also on summer holiday at the moment, your inbox was fairly empty and you didn’t have much going on. The first week of the summer vacation passed with you spending nearly all your time with Max, holed up in either your new apartment that you finally found and rented four weeks ago or in his apartment across town. The uninterrupted time you had spent with him so far had been one of the best weeks of your entire life. 

And Max felt the same way. It was so nice being out of the spotlight for a while, able to hide away and focus solely on you. Things between the two of you were becoming…serious, he supposed. It was still a secret from everyone and Max was beginning to chafe under that shroud of secrecy. You were still insistent on keeping it private, still confident that Charles would have an absolute fit if he found out. 

But you also were wary of what the media and fans would do if they found out. Just a few weeks ago, there had been a rumor about Oscar’s girlfriend Lily being pregnant and Oscar had been accused of hiding her pregnancy to save his career. It was all false, of course. You had seen Lily with your own eyes the other night when you ran into her and Oscar while you were at dinner with your mother and Charlie and she was very not pregnant. But you could see the toll it had taken on the both of them. The way Lily looked a little more on edge than normal, and Oscar a little more distant than usual had you nervous of what would happen if Max and you ever decided to go public. 

For now though, you were content setting up house and pretending the outside world didn’t exist. In another week, you would go on a trip with your family to Croatia for a week, spending time on a yacht Charlie had rented to island hop. While you didn’t want to leave Max, who would be leaving to spend some time with his family first in Belgium, where his mother was from and then in Italy. You hated how much your heart hurt when you thought about how much you’d miss him while he was gone for the two weeks, but the first race back would be Max’s home race in the Netherlands which would be such a good weekend. 

You were in the shower that morning when everything crashed and burned. Your phone had been set to Do Not Disturb for various reasons, so you missed the warning signs. Max was in your kitchen, the picture of domestic bliss, as he flipped pancake after pancake, wanting to surprise you with breakfast after you had finished getting cleaned up from this mornings romp in the sheets with him. His shirt was off as he stood barefoot in only a pair of running shorts in front of the stove, whistling along to the upbeat jazz that floated out from the speakers connected to the bluetooth on his phone. 

The smell of the freshly made pancakes, sticky with syrup, wafted through the small apartment, drawing you out of your bathroom in only one of Max’s shirts. “Something smells good.” You crooned, padding into the kitchen in bare feet, hair still damp from your shower. 

Max hums in response, pointing to the pile of pancakes waiting for you on the counter. Wrapping your arms around his waist, you rest your head on his shoulder, pressing your lips to the bare skin there. He always tasted so good, you could never resist the chance to taste him. 

“There’s fruit on the table, juice in the fridge. You really need to go to the grocery store, liefje.” 

Your heart fluttered at the new pet name he’d begun to call you in the last few weeks. You hadn’t known what it meant and when you asked Max, he shyly told you it was Dutch for ‘baby’ or ‘love’. You had always been a sucker for pet names but pet names in a different language than your native French and English? That did something extra to your heart. 

“I know, I know. I can’t help it if there’s a hot Formula 1 driver that refuses to let me out of bed for longer than a few moments though, can I?” 

Max raps you on the ass with the spatula as you scamper away, giggling at the grin he tosses over his shoulder at you. 

“What the actual FUCK am I looking at right now?” 

You spin around, the bowl of fruit in your hands clattering to the ground at the sound of your brother’s voice. 

Oh fuck. 

Your eyes bounce from your brother’s face, a mask of rage to Max’s horrified expression. 

“And here we thought you were hurt or something, but no!” Charles stalks towards you, the key to your apartment dangling from his fingertip. “No, you’re just playing house with my biggest fucking rival! Of all the people you could choose to fuck, it had to be HIM?” 

“Charlie.” You whisper, tears burning the back of your eyes at the look of pure anger and more horrifying, sadness, etched on your brother’s face. “It’s not what you think. This isn’t…”

“Save it. I don’t want to hear you justify whoring yourself out to fucking Max Verstappen.” 

“Do not speak to my girlfriend like that, Charles.” Max grits out, the muscles in his jaw twitching from how tightly he’s grinding his molars together.

You turn slowly, along with Charles, at his words and blink at him. Girlfriend? 

Max ignores the look of panic on your face and continues, voice measured and deathly calm. “I know this might be,” He pauses, searching for the right word. “Upsetting and a surprise but this is not a fling, I swear.” 

If it had been any other time, you would have melted at his words. And you were still reeling from Max calling you his girlfriend. But you had bigger things to focus on. Charles practically shook with anger as he tore his gaze away from Max, fury fully settling on you now. “How long? How long have you been lying to me? To everyone? You’ve been traveling with us under the guise of spending more time with me, living in Monaco to be closer to the family but all this time, you’ve been with him?” 

The disgust in your brother’s voice turns your stomach, acid creeping it’s way up your throat. “Since Austria.” You whisper, wincing when Charles throws your key across the room in a fit of rage. 

“I fucking knew it. I knew something was up when you suddenly had that migraine in Belgium but didn’t answer your door when I came to check on you after dinner. You lied to me! You never lie to me. We never keep secrets and this is the first one you choose to keep from me? My sister fucking the man that has taken everything from me my entire career? What kind of fucking joke it this?” 

“It’s not a joke, Charles.” Max murmurs from where he now stands beside you, fingers laced tightly with yours. Maybe if he showed your brother that this wasn’t some random fling, he’s calm down. 

“Shut your fucking mouth Verstappen.” He growls, furious gaze swinging back to you. “This obviously can’t continue.” 

“Wh-what?” You stutter, absolutely floored that your bother would think that he could make you choose. 

“You left the family for six god damned years because you couldn’t handle being the sister of someone famous! What do you think it’s going to be like as Max Verstappen’s fucking girlfriend! You’re not strong enough.” 

Pain lances through your entire body at the venom in your brother’s voice. “Charlie.” You choke, unable to believe that your best friend, your twin, just said something that awful to you.

“Enough.” Max shouts, stepping in between the pair of you, shielding you from Charles’ view. “You need to leave, right fucking now.”

Charles scoffs, still completely floored by what he walked in on. “You know what, you two deserve each other. Both fucking liars. Don’t bother worrying about coming to Croatia with us, you’re not wanted there anymore. I’m sure you’d have more fun with your new boy toy anyway.” 

Charles turns on his heel and stalks out of your apartment, slamming the door shut behind him so hard you flinch. A haunted silence falls over you and Max, panic and anguish flooding your body as you begin to tremble from the scene that just unfolded before you. 

“Fuck.” Max breaths, turning to you. “I’m so sorry liefje.” He reaches out to take you into his arms but to his surprise, you step out of his reach. Panic shoots through him, you’ve never turned down affection from him, especially when you’re upset. He’s been the one you go to for comfort for months now and not being able to do anything about how distraught you are sets his teeth on edge. “Liefje?” 

“He’s right, you know.” You whisper, not sure if you’re talking to yourself of Max. 

“What?” All Max wants to do is hold you, to get his arms wrapped around you and stop your shaking. 

Tears stream down your face as your brother’s words echo in your head. How you weren’t strong enough. You were whoring yourself out. The vile words repeated over and over until the buzz of his venom was all you could hear. Your breath comes quicker, panic squeezing itself around your heart as you fight for a breath that just won’t come. You know what’s coming and are helpless to fend it off. Having Max see you so weak sends you even further down the road towards the panic attack you can’t keep at bay. 

“You need to leave.” You choke out, desperately needing to be alone to work this out by yourself. It’s how you’ve always done it, gathered yourself together on your own without anyone else seeing you so weak. You couldn’t let Max see you like this. How could you when the only other person you’ve ever allowed in just threw everything in your face. No, you couldn’t stand if Max turned on you too. 

Max comes to stand beside you, concern etched on his handsome face. “What? No, schatje absolutely not. I can’t. Leave you right now, you need me. You can’t be alone now.” 

“That’s exactly what I need. Charles was right, I’m not strong enough to be your girlfriend.” You choke on the word, having wanted to be claimed by him for months now and when you finally get what you want, it hurts too much to even enjoy it. 

His arms reach out to circle your waist, pulling you to him. Strength completely depleted, you allow him to crush you to his chest, the heat of his skin like a warm blanket settling over you. “Baby, I can’t do that. I just can’t.” 

“You have to. Charlie was right.” You repeat again, still listening to his words on a loop in your head. “I need some time to process what just happened and I need to do it alone. Please, Max.” He winces, you never call him just ‘Max’.

His arms drop away from you then and despite your begging him to leave, you instantly miss his warmth. “Is this the end?” Emotion claws at his throat, unable to process what is happening. You’re simply the best thing that’s ever happened to him and now? Now you’re pushing him away. 

“I don’t know.” You choke out on a sob. 

“Fine. I’ll go but I don’t want to. You call me the moment you change your mind, okay? And this isn’t over, not for me. It won’t ever be over for me, liefje.” 

Max retreats to the bedroom for a moment, leaving you standing cold and alone in the kitchen. When he returns, he’s got a shirt on. He doesn’t have his bag that he brought with him though, he refuses to bring it with him. It’s too final, taking that bag out of the house. He wants, no needs, an excuse to come back and he wants you to know that he’s not leaving without a fight. He’ll respect your wishes for now because he knows you think you need the space but if he knows you, and he’s betting everything that he does, you won’t run away from what the two of you have. 

You’re balled up on the couch, faraway gaze staring at nothing when he comes to stand in front of you. “I’m going now but if you need me, you can call me. Any time of day, no matter what.” He crouches down in front of you, fingers snagging your chin so you’re forced to look at him instead of at some unknown point over his shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere. I love you, liefje. So fucking much.” 

The sob that escapes your throat shatters his heart in a million pieces. He doesn’t know if that was the right thing to do, to tell you what’s bene on his mind for weeks now. It was the truth though. He’d been fighting it for what felt like forever now, terrified to scare you off with those words that felt like they were coming too early but now? Now it was different. He needed you to know that he wasn’t going to give up this easily. He needed you to know that he had fallen head over heels for you and that he’d never leave, no matter how hard you pushed him away. 

Your silence ripped him even further in two but he accepted it, knowing that there was too much emotion swirling around in that head of yours to properly respond. Maybe that made him selfish, taking this time to tell you how he felt but he needed you to know. 

Dropping a kiss on your head, Max stands and does the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. He walks out of your apartment not knowing when he’ll see you again. 

Tag List: @shelbyteller, @formulaal, @martygraciesversion381, @longhairkoo

[moltengoldveins]

ok but I have Thoughts about the way Minecraft usernames translate to actual names, both irl and in fanfic. They’re definitely ‘obsessed with structure and grumpy at inconsistency flavor autism’ thoughts but still. I find it weird how we cut and paste the media we’re given to fit what we view as functional worldbuilding, and how that gets screwy when translating online names.

like, you’re working with several categories here. The person’s actual real name, their irl nickname, their gamer tag, a name possibly contained by or possibly the entirety of that gamer tag, and any extra pieces or symbols in the gamer tag. And you have the weird situation where those categories might not easily translate to a ‘First Name Last Name’ structure. For an example, we’ve got Phil Watson, who’s gamer tag is ‘Ph1LzA,’ and is called Philza Minecraft or Philza. The ‘Minecraft last name’ is a…. Bit? A joke? A reference to a bit of lore? It’s unclear. The ‘Za’ bit was put there for flair and is now an integral part of his name. Sometimes it’s his last name. Sometimes his real last name is chucked in there. the 1 in his actual username is literally never referenced in nicknames or fic it’s like it’s not even there. But that’s a simple one. What about Tubbo_? because we call him Tubbo Underscore. Like. We say the ‘_’ aloud. Why do we do that. What has possessed us to make that decision? What about FitMC? I’ve usually heard it said ‘Fit Emsee.’ Why say that, and not say ‘Minecraft? That’s not even really a last name, it’s just like…. His full first name. Fit is used more like a shortened nickname. BadBoyHalo. Like. ‘Bad boy’ is a slang term, not a name. It would make the most sense to call him Halo, that’s the distinct noun in the name, the term the ‘bad boy’ bit is referring to. Like ‘GoodTimesWithScar’ but noooo. Bad. Halo is usually a last name, if it’s there at all. Skeppy on the other hand is… just his name. No last name ever. Technoblade is also weird. Technoblade is his full name. We call him that. We ALSO call him ‘Techno,’ and use Blade as a last name. We also use Blade as a title. What the heck. GeminiTay. We call her Gem. We use Tay as a last name sometimes. Her name is a Zodiac constellation. Literally nowhere I’m have I seen that affect her naming conventions. IJevin. We just… remove the I. For everything. This wouldn’t bother me except we don’t do it with everyone and I’m starting to get annoyed by the inconsistency. GoodTimesWithScar. Ok. This one also bugs me. Like, most fics call him Scar Goodtimes when they need a name. I’m not gonna dig into it but that’s…. Why? Why that? Grian never gets a last name. Ranboo sometimes gets chopped into Ran and Boo but usually he’s an Underscore or he’s last nameless. Wilbur Soot functions wonderfully (until the get involved shhhh) but it’s too close to his real name it gets very confusing.

anyway, all of this sucks, I hate it all, we’re a terrible fandom /hj

all that nonsense aside, yknow who has a functional Firstname Lastname username? It’s even got a space, and proper capitals: Mumbo Jumbo. That’s who. Look at that. It’s perfect. Everyone should be more like Mumbo Jumbo. Thank you and good night.

.

Edit: I know about Ranboo Beloved and Grian Dreamslayer and the various other characters whose names I didn’t mention perfectly in this post. This was no piece of journalism, this was an old man shouts at cloud meme personified. I was very overstimulated and this was what happened to catch my autistic ire. I’m not upset, just figured I’d clarify, a lot of people seem distressed at my not mentioning Beloved. Hope y’all are having a lovely day 💜

[efy727]

So, before the show's season finale, I was thinking of posting new designs for Dev, hopping he will get to keep Peri and redeem himself. I'm not very knowledgeable in fashion, but I just love coming up with new outfits for characters, especially when there's story significance.

In this case, Dev's current design is very similar to his awful dad, so of course him wearing something else is to distance himself. An as you can see, I also adopted the theory of his hair being naturally curly, though I admit I don't have much experience drawing different hair textures.

Ramble below.

I also made a few references to other media I like. The Red Son one was a no-brainer, they are both voiced by Kyle McCarley. They are also looking for parental approval, are good handling technology (not to the same degree) and are red heads. I wasn't sure if adding the ponytail or not.

The Asriel one is actually inspired by a piece of fanart someone else made, where Dev was dressed as Chara instead. Why? I kind of have been drawing comparisons Ariel/Flowey's fate in the True Pacifist ending and Dev in the end of the first season. Both did awful things (not to the same degree), but then undid it knowing they will end up alone due to someone else showing they care for them.

No one knows what Flowey/Asriel did but him, Frisk and the player; while everyone that saw it knows what Dev did but himself (or so it seems) and his dad.

For the serious designs, I wanted the outfits to convey Dev's affinity for technology, but without the sanitized look of his first season appearance, aka less white. I also wanted to do something different from Hazel, Winn and Jasmine. I wasn't sure if just changing the color of the hoodie, but I thought of the turtleneck shirt he wears.

I also removed the boots, for obvious reasons. I'm not good at keeping characters height consistent, so I'm not sure how tall he'll stand next to the others.

I emphasized yellow as his color in a good deal of the fits. I essentially just changed the amount of color his design has. I think yellow could go well, it's complementary with Peri's purples. Is close but different from white. I saw the swap AU where he and Hazel where fairies and I liked the designs.

And there's certain character significance, I want to explain with another comic. I just like this electric lemon hue

I also put an edgier design in the corner for a potential scenario and added an "Assistant" Peri design that I mentioned in my previous post.

[otaku553]

I am making an AU that is Sooooo self indulgent

ASL x Nine Sols crossover :)

Don’t ask me for context because I have none!! Usually I enjoy crossovers but I think Nine Sols is an amazing standalone piece of media that is very difficult to fit other characters into reasonably given the setting and circumstances. I feel like trying to add characters from other media to it would take away from the narrative strengths of the game— the way everything is centric on the Tao and fighting by deflecting and inaction and how death is such a key part of Yi’s journey and character development and the path for all solarians in general.

In short, I just wanted to see ASL as little cat people and that is why this exists :) I like when they’re just Here and There with no reason and people are like “what. How did you even get here”

I am at present also working on hanfu designs for the three of them so this is a little teaser :))) I’m especially proud of some of the little details— on Sabo’s sleeves are the characters 革命 for 革命軍, the revolutionary army, and the dragon on his robe also has three horns to match the revolutionary flag. Then on Ace’s glasses on his hat, the characters are 笑 and 哭 in place of his usual smiley and sad face. I had some ideas for Luffy but in the interest of keeping his design simple his design is a lot more plain.

I imagine it as a side quest for Yi to go around New Kunlun and help the brothers find each other. I have no clue how they would have gotten into New Kunlun in the first place, or how they would survive for so long without Vital Sanctums and soulscapes. Maybe they just have their own spaceship and happened upon New Kunlun and managed to get on before all Dusk Guardians disappeared, and then got separated while on the ship and individually hid around different places to avoid both the Tianhuo and the mutants?

I feel like Ace would chill around the factory area since he’s most at home with fire. Maybe he would venture out to the agricultural area once in a while to grab food. Sabo would camp out near the Empyrean District passages. He’s not suicidal enough to go around the Empyrean District itself, especially after finding out that the weird monsters there don’t die. I think he would have some grudge against the Tiandao Council for being composed mostly of the rich and powerful. The Fengs are especially high up on his shit list, which is why he hangs out in the empyrean district in the first place. And Luffy,,, somehow would just be in the four seasons pavilion, I think. He finds a way to sneak in, probably pretty easily while Yi is in hiding because the security is down without Abacus activated.

[duckprintspress]

Back “A Truth Universally Acknowledged” Today!

We’re thrilled to announce that the crowdfunding campaign for our next anthology, A Truth Universally Acknowledged: Queer Fanworks Inspired by Jane Austen’s “Pride and Prejudice,” is now live on Kickstarter – and already selected by them as a project they love!

With this third installment in our Queer Fanworks Inspired By… anthology series, we set out to explore the truth by which we at Duck Prints Press live: that a classic work without a single canonically queer character must be in want of a very LGBTQIA+ makeover! A Truth Universally Acknowledged: Queer Fanworks Inspired by Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, with 21 short stories and 20 full-page color artworks, is just that. 38 creators have contributed to this project, drawing inspiration from Pride and Prejudice’s characters and story to create delightful, thoughtful, intriguing, and (of course) very queer fanworks and Pride and Prejudice-inspired original works. For this collection, we encouraged our creators to focus on Sapphic/wlw relationships and/or transgender and genderqueer interpretations for their inspiration, though those are definitely not the only types of queer we’ve fit into this diverse collection. We’re also offering an awesome array of merchandise – art prints and note cards and an enamel pin and a folding fan and more!

We’ll be posting more information about the campaign and the contributing creators throughout the next couple weeks, so make sure to give us a follow on social media.

This campaign ends on December 5th 2024 – don’t miss your chance to get all this awesome stuff! Become a backer today!

It’s also a great time to become a Patreon backer – and you’ll get a free bonus piece of merch if you back both the “A Truth Universally Acknowledged” campaign and are a $10/month or $25/month level supporter!

[hnslchw]

if she wasn't your last - LN4 X Reader

Summary: You haven't felt this uncertain before. Now that doubts about Lando's lingering feelings for his ex have surfaced, you're struggling to move past them. As your insecurities grow, you're finding it harder to trust him, wondering if you'll ever truly have his heart.

Based on "Did you like her in the morning?" by NIKI. (highly recommended to play this while reading)

Warnings/Themes: heavy angst and overthinking insecurities (please let me know if I missed anything)

Word count: 1.2k

Author's note: hello everyone!! This would be my very first story im ever posting on tumblr, pls be kind. For the longest time l've just been appreciating everyone's stories. I hope you guys enjoy (pls tell me if there's anything I should change or look into tumblr settings wise). English isn't my first language and im a tad bit dyslexic please bear with me if there are any errors HAHAH but please comment what you think. Thank you <3

It was never hard loving Lando. It was a whirlwind, an intoxicating rush of emotions you never thought you'd experience. Someone like him, bright and vibrant, taking a chance on someone like you—a girl who had never been in a proper relationship before. It felt surreal, perfect, at least in the beginning.

His past relationships were never something you dwelled on. Everyone has a past, you told yourself. You were confident, secure. Or so you thought. But that was before you both went public with your relationship, before the internet got involved, before every picture of you two sparked comparisons you hadn’t asked for. His ex-girlfriend, the one everyone seemed to prefer, loomed like a shadow over everything.

Suddenly, you were scrolling through endless posts dissecting every detail—her smile, her style, the effortless way she seemed to fit into Lando’s world. You, by comparison, felt like an outsider.

You tried to brush it off at first, laughing along with Lando when he made jokes about the craziness of social media. But when you opened your phone, those comparisons started to chip away at you. Even worse, there were moments with Lando that made it impossible to ignore. Like now.

He was rifling through his drawers, his movements frantic, eyes wild with panic.

“Where is it?” he muttered, slamming another drawer shut before turning to you. “Have you seen it? My bangle, the silver one?”

You felt your stomach drop at the mention of the bangle. The one his ex-girlfriend gave him. He never talked about her, but you always noticed how careful he was with that piece of jewelry, how he wore it every day, like it was some kind of talisman. The fact that it wasn’t on his wrist now sent him into a frenzy.

“No, I haven’t seen it,” you said softly, watching him tear through his things.

“Damn it,” he hissed, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe I lost it.”

“Lando…” You hesitated, unsure if you should even say anything, but the words slipped out anyway. “Why does it matter so much? It’s just a bracelet.”

He stopped, looking at you like you’d just said something offensive. “It’s not just a bracelet,” he snapped. “I’ve had it for years.”

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your voice steady. “I know, but…it was from her, wasn’t it?”

He froze, the question hanging in the air between you. His expression softened, and he sighed, but he didn’t deny it. “Yeah, but that’s not the point. It’s… it’s sentimental, you know?”

You nodded, even though you didn’t quite understand. It was hard not to feel like you were competing with someone who wasn’t even here anymore, someone who left behind pieces of herself in Lando’s life that you couldn’t match.

“I get that,” you said quietly, “but sometimes… I feel like she’s still here. Like you’re still holding on to her.”

Lando blinked, his panic slowly giving way to confusion. “That’s not true. You know I’m with you.”

“I do,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “But when you act like this—freaking out over something she gave you—it makes me wonder if part of you still wishes she was here.”

His gaze softened, guilt flickering in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. It’s not about her, I swear. It’s just… I don’t know. It’s complicated.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat, trying to believe him. But deep down, the doubt was still there, lingering, just like the bangle that had somehow become a symbol of everything you weren’t sure you could compete with.

That night, after everything settled down and the search for the bangle was abandoned, you lay next to Lando in bed. The room was dark, filled only with the soft hum of the city outside and the faint sound of his breathing. His arm draped over your waist, pulling you closer in his sleep. It was a familiar gesture, one that should’ve comforted you, but instead, your thoughts were miles away.

Did his hand find her waist like this?

The thought crawled into your mind, uninvited but persistent. You could almost see it—her leaning against him, laughing with that carefree confidence everyone loved, while he pulled her close, their night buzzing with that electric excitement.

Did he kiss her goodnight?

Did he hope the night would never end?

You close your eyes, willing the thoughts to go away, but they don’t. Instead, they morph into another image, one that stings even more.

Did he laugh with her over cold cups of coffee that he hated but still drank anyway?

You’d seen him do it a thousand times with you—pushing a cup of something bitter away with a grimace, teasing you about your questionable taste, but always taking another sip. Was it the same with her? Was she the reason he developed the habit in the first place?

The questions wouldn’t stop. Every memory you shared with him felt tainted now, overshadowed by the possibility that they weren’t really yours at all. Maybe you were just walking through scenes he had already lived, following in someone else’s footsteps, trying to fill a space that was never truly empty.

Beside you, Lando shifted, pulling you even closer in his sleep, but it didn’t feel like enough. You stared at the ceiling, blinking back the burning sensation in your eyes. You wanted to wake him up, to ask him Did you laugh with her like that? Did you hold her like this? Did you want her more than you want me?

But you didn’t. Instead, you stayed silent, letting the questions twist and tangle inside you like a knot you couldn't unravel, the truth too painful to confront. You turned to look at him, his features peaceful in sleep, and wondered if you’d ever know the answers to those questions or if they would haunt you forever.

In the early morning light, his fingers traced lazy circles on your skin, but his eyes seemed distant, lost in a memory that didn’t belong to you. Did he like her in the mornings too? Was his smile brighter then? Did he hold her closer?

The quiet moments between you were filled with unspoken questions, the weight of his past love pressing between every breath. He said your name softly, but it didn’t feel like enough to anchor him here, with you. You're falling, but you wonder—has he ever truly caught you? Or is his heart still wrapped in the warmth of a love that wasn’t yours?

You want to ask him. The question sits on the tip of your tongue, Are you still in love with her? But you don't. You stay silent, afraid that by giving voice to your insecurities, you'll make them real. You cling to the hope that maybe, just maybe, you're overthinking it, that it's all in your head. After all, he’s with you now, right? That should be enough.

But deep down, you can't shake the feeling that you're sharing him with a memory, a past that he hasn’t fully let go of. And it's hard to compete with a memory. So, you keep your doubts hidden, tucked away in the corners of your mind, even as they threaten to pull you under.

Because in the end, you're afraid of the truth: that he loved her in the mornings, just like this. And maybe, just maybe, a part of him still does.

"I know it would be easier if I just didn't ask, but it'd also be easier if she wasn't your last"

[evertomorrowart]

Best of YouTube 2023

Yes, I did spend the first week and change of January on this. I wish I could have had it done for New Years, but too many people came out with incredible work in December, so waiting turned out for the best.

What these creators do are a huge influence on my life, I would honestly have difficulty doing what I do without them. That isn't to say that my favorites of the year are *only* on this image--It was almost impossible to narrow down my favorites. Many creators I wanted to include couldn't fit on a single page, and too many of them made more than one video I wished I could draw too!

But, to all of you, thank you for what you do. You're an inspiration.

For those who don't know, further is an explanation.

At the bottom center is an artistic masterpiece by Defunctland: "Journey to EPCOT Center: A Symphonic History." Over the last several years, Defunctland has risen from delightfully-entertaining commentary on decommissioned theme park attractions to occasionally dropping profound statements on the creation of art itself. "Journey to EPCOT Center: A Symphonic History" is worth treating like the cinematic experience it is: No second screen, you sit your ass down in front of a TV, set down the phone, and then you *watch it.* Any Disney, theme park, or independent film fan needs to pay attention to this one.

Bottom left is Caelan Conrad with their piece "Drop the T - The Deadly Consequences of Gay Respectability Politics." While I do think they've done more visually or artistically-daring pieces before, "Drop the T" is one of the most important videos released on YouTube in today's current climate of hate. We as queer folk (and our allies) need to understand how integral every identity of the queer experience has been since the start of the Civil Rights movement (and before!). While we are not identical, we *are* inseparable, and we deserve having our real history easily accessible.

TERFs and other conservative mouthpieces need not reply. Your opinions are trash. 😘

I cannot stop watching and rewatching this video by @patricia-taxxon, "On the Ethics of Boinking Animal People." It's not just a defense of furry fandom and its eccentricities, it's a thoughtful and passionate analysis of what the artform achieves that purely human representation can't. Patricia goes outside of her usual essay format to directly speak to the viewer about the elements that define furry media (the most succinct definition I've ever heard) and just how *human* an act loving animal cartoons really is.

As an artist who can draw furry characters, but never really got into erotic furry art, this video is a treasure. Why did I choose to have her drawn as a Ghibli character, hanging out with one of the tanukis from "Pom Poko?" Guess you'll have to watch, bruh.

Philosophy Tube continuously puts out videos that I would put on this list--I'm not even sure that "A Man Plagiarised my Work: Women, Money, and the Nation" is the best work she released in 2023. However, this video got many conversations going between myself and my partner, and the twist on the tail end of the video shocked us both to such a degree that I had no choice.

At the very tail end of the year, Big Joel released "Fear of Death." On his Little Joel channel, he described it as the singularly best video he's ever done, and I'm inclined to agree. However, for this illustration, I ended up repeatedly going back to a mini-series he did earlier in the year: "Three Stories at the End of the World." All three videos are deeply moving and haunting, and I was brought to tears by "We Must Destroy What the Bomb Cannot." While it may be relatively-common knowledge that the original Gojira (Godzilla) film is horror grappling with the devastation America's rush to atomic dominance inflicted on Japan, Big Joel still manages to bring new words to the discussion. Please watch all three of the videos, but if, for some reason, you must have only one, let it be "We Must Destroy What the Bomb Cannot."

Y'all. Let me confess something. I hate football. I hate watching it, I associate seeing it from the stadiums with some of my worst childhood experiences, I despise collegiate and professional football (as institutions that destroy bodies and offer up children at the feet of its alter as a pillar of American culture)--

I. L o a t h e. Football.

But.

F.D. Signifier could get me to watch an entire hour-plus essay on why I should at least give a passing care. AND HE DID IT. I might think "F*ck the Police," the two-parter on Black conservatism, or his essay on Black men's connection to anime might be "better" videos, but this writer did the impossible and held my limited attention span towards football long enough to make a sincere case for NFL players--and reminds us that millionaires can *in fact* be workers. That alone is testament to his skill.

Sit down and watch "The REAL Reason NFL Running Backs Aren't Getting Paid." Any good anti-capitalist owes it to themselves.

CJ the X continuously puts out stunning, emotional videos, and can do it with the most seemingly-inconsequential starting points. A 30 second song? An incestuous commercial? Five minutes of Tangled? Sure, why not. Go destroy yourself emotionally by watching them. I'm serious. Do it.

Their video Stranger Things and the Meaning of Life manages to to remind us all why the way we react to media does, in fact, matter. Yes, even nostalgia-driven, mass-media schlock. Yes, how we interact with media matters, what it says about us matters, and we all deserve to seek out the whys.

Folding Ideas has spent the last few years articulating exactly why so much of our modern world feels broken, and because of that his voice continuously lives rent-free in my brain. While the tricks that scam artists and grifters use to try to swindle us are never new, the advancement of technology changes the aesthetics of their performances. Portions of Folding Ideas' explanations might seem dry when going into detail of how stocks work in This is Financial Advice, but every bit of it is necessary to peel back the layers of techno-babble and jargon and make sense of the results of "Meme Stocks."

Jessie Gender puts out nothing but bangers, her absolute unit of a video about Star Wars might be my new favorite thing ever, but none of her work hit so profoundly in 2023 than the two-parter "The Myth of 'Male Socialization'" and "The Trauma of Masculinity." There's so much about modern life that isolates and traumatizes us, and so much of it is just shrugged off as "normal." We owe it to ourselves to see the world in more vivid a color palette than we're initially given.

Panels drawn after Kate Beaton and "Ducks: Two Years in the Oil Sands."

"This is Not a Video Essay" is one of the most intense and beautiful pieces of art I've ever put into my eyeballs. Why do we create? What drives us to connect?

I don't even know what else to say about the Leftist Cooks' work, it repeatedly transcends the medium and platform. Watch every single one of their videos, but especially this one.

The likelihood you are terminally online and yet haven't heard of Hbomberguy's yearly forrays into destroying the careers of awful people is pretty slim. Just because it has millions of views doesn't mean that Hbomberguy's "Plagiarism and You(Tube)" isn't worth the hype. Too long? Shut up, it has chapters and YouTube holds your place, anyway. You think a deep dive into a handful of creators is only meaningless drama? Well, you're wrong, you wrong-opinion-haver. Plagiarism is an *everyone* problem because of the actual harm it creates--the history it erases, the labor it devalues, the art it marginalizes--which you would know if you watched "Plagiarism and You(Tube)".

Watch. The damn. Video.

In fact, watch all of them!

Thanks for reading this if you did.

[petew21-blog]

Make him a REAL man

It's hard for me to admit it, but I hate my son. There, I said it. I used to love him like a real father should have. But now, I just can't stand to look at him, wasting away his life being a f... choosing a different lifestyle. Fuck, I can't call it like that, he just became a fag and I can't accept that.

He used to be such a sweet boy. Always good, obedient. Maybe I should have been more strict. I was too liberal while raising him with my wife and now look at him

These are the photos he normally posts on social media

Him, spreading out in the leather clothes on my bike. Yeah, I have to admit he takes care of his body pretty well. But I hate to think about all the things he does with some other men. It's not NORMAL. I wanted to raise a straight good son, who will give a grandchild. Not a queer, childless piece of shit

Fuck, look at this photo. He even looks as if he's enjoying being observed. God knows where his hand is on this photo.

I have to stop this. No more of this fag stuff

Maybe I was a bit irrational. But I do think that this will be a good thing for our relationship. i will put his life in order and he will get to see how good a life of a heterosexual man is.

Yes, I swapped our bodies. He is in my obese 53 year old body, while I have to make him straight.

It might seem gay, for what I'm gonna say right now, but god damn I love his body. I have never been this fit in my entire life. And also, I get to have sex in his body tonight. Not only masturbate, which is also great, because my son seems to be a big shooter. I couldn't believe how far it got yesterday

I got out of the bathroom, walking shirtless back to my room, where my son's friend Ashley was waiting.

In the hallway my body stood with arms crossed

Henry:"What the hell you think you're doing?"

Me:"Just taking a shower. Is that forbidden?"

Henry:"Dad, I thought we agreed to respect our lives. No you brought Quinn here for god knows what"

I laughed and replied:"We're only gonna do what God wants, DAD. And don't forget that tonight is your anniversary with MOM. So you better get ready, that woman is a beast in bed"

I knew the idea of sex in my body with his mother would shatter him and I was right. He didn't even let out a single word a sI walked past him.

Ashley was sitting on the bed, watching me lift in the doorframe.

Ashley:"Henry? You forgetting something?"

I lowered myself down, wiping away the sweat from my forehead

Me:"Oh sorry, miss. I should have payed more attention to you and not to myself" I approached her seductively, making her nervous

Ashley:"No, I meant the homework. Henry, what has been up with you lately? You seem different. And not gay. Is everything ok?"

Me:"Everything is just fine. I have a pretty girl on my bed and just realized how much time I wasted not giving you more attention"

I lowered myself on top off her and started making out with her passionately.

Ashley:"I think we can let the homework be for a while"

Me:"Great idea"

I'm gonna have sex for the first time in my sons body with a proper woman. Not with a dude as my son did. I wonder how different anal sex is?

As we both got naked I inserted my hard dick into her. Fuck yeah

I knew that Ashley would love to have her first time with me. Over the years I had some tricks in my sleeve and knew just how to use them.

As I was fingering her, I noticed someone peeping through the window, jerking himself off. My body stood there, enjoying the show.

I got down to lick Ashley's pussy and as I did, I was still watching my body at the window, hoping he would enjoy the show

Ashley:"Henry, I need you inside of me!"

I smiled and winked at my body behind the window. This is gonna be a very long night for both of us.

[paulandjohn]

JOHN AND PAUL

‘I am delighted to say that Faber & Faber have commissioned me to write a book about John Lennon and Paul McCartney. Getting paid to write about The Beatles - well, that’s it, I can retire. After I’ve written this book.

The Ruffian played an integral part in the birth of this book. Towards the end of 2020 I wrote a piece called 64 Reasons To Celebrate Paul McCartney and published it here. It was the quintessential lockdown project. I’d been making notes towards it for years but never found time to actually write it. I also had low confidence that anyone except superfans would read a 10k essay about Paul McCartney. It didn’t fit any obvious spaces in established media, at least not the way I wanted to do it. But I knew some of you would appreciate it, so once I’d completed it, I dropped it here. Unexpectedly and gloriously it went viral (in a good way).

When I was writing 64 Reasons I found I had to cut a lot of material to do with John and Paul’s relationship, a topic I am obsessed with, just to keep the thing down to its already overgrown length. (In fact I mentioned that in #63 - I was already thinking hey, what if…?). Given the scale and intensity of the response to that piece, I started developing an idea for a book about the two of them.

The conventional narrative about their relationship is deeply flawed. It was set in stone shortly after The Beatles’ breakup and hasn’t been much modified since. Constrained by the myopia and prejudices of the time, it misses out a lot and gets much wrong and consequently we have a very thin and limited view of both men and of what they did together.

Lennon and McCartney were more than just great mates, or fierce competitors, which is how they’ve generally been portrayed. They shared an essentially romantic friendship, a passionate love that ignited mutual creativity. The love (and the insecurity and jealousy that came with it) fed into the music, and vice versa.

I’ll track the relationship from the day they met in 1957 to the day John died in 1980: 23 years. Hence John and Paul: A Love Story in 23 Songs. I’m not just writing this for Beatles fans but for anyone who loves a love story; to me, it’s the greatest romance of the twentieth century.

OK I’ll say no more about it. I need to write the damn thing.’

*blog post from Ian Leslie’s blog The Ruffian (Nov. 13 2021).

It’s interesting that the title is no longer ‘John and Paul: A Love Story in 23 Songs’ and is instead ‘John and Paul: A Love Story in Songs’.

[maudie-duan]

Summary: What happens when the man you've loved since childhood decides he's ready to settle down, but it turns out you are no longer his forever. How would you cope with the sudden engagement? For Blair, it's a hard pill to swallow, knowing that the beautiful girl smiling in all his pictures will get her forever. I guess it's a blue Christmas this year.

A/N: I have to make a confession: I hate Christmas music, but the first time I heard Sabrina Carpenter's 'Cindy Lou Who' I knew this was my kind of Christmas song. I love a sad song, and this song feeds my "angsty soul," So please give it a listen before you read. This whole story is my interpretation of the song. Hope you like it. Happy Holidays enjoy!!!!

Requests: Here

Word Count: 6K

Warning: Mentions of Sex, Strong Angst and Langue, Family Dynamics, Mentions of Pregnancy, Heartbreak.

I don’t think sneaking my ex-boyfriend out of my parent’s house is the best look for anyone on Christmas morning, but technically, it’s still Christmas Eve if you haven’t gone to sleep yet, right?

To be fair, he was the one knocking on my window, stumbling his way to my bed. Casually, bringing up the past, circling back to things I thought I had already unpacked with my best friend after I scrolled his girlfriend’s social media, backtracking five years, to be honest, she had me broader line obsessed.

He made his way to my bed and in between my legs, touching place and sharing space in the best way we knew how, and that’s the funny thing about having history with someone—sometimes it makes it harder to say no when it’s knowingly what you want the second they step foot into a place that once served as a sanctuary to you both—a garden where words weaved trust, that turned into secrets, carving out a space of our very own; a world that we created and while he wasn’t my first kiss he was everything else.

I’ve lost track of how many times our words of forever were passed between our mouths, tangled in shared breaths of “I swear until the day I die, I’m yours.” When you’re young, you believe it because it’s all you have—and we took that with us when we thought we were ready for the world—two foolish kids on an endeavor to forge these grown-up dreams of a grand gesture without a second thought, only relying on the word “love,” like love could weather any storm.

The hardest lesson we learned was that love isn’t always enough. Sometimes, you can love someone with all your being and forget that they’re not a possession—but a person. Was that our mistake? I don’t know, but we wanted to be our own people at some point and find ourselves outside of only identifying as “we.” 

Let me tell you, that’s a hard pill to swallow, and from time to time, I still find myself choking on it, especially when it is obvious we still click—we didn’t need sex to know that we still worked, fit together like a puzzle that had been forgotten, and dusted off, only to find that you still had every single piece. Still, when Harry tried to kiss me goodbye, I pulled away.

“Hey—what is it…tell me?” he asks

“Nothing…it’s just late. You know how my mom is about Christmas morning.” I lie because the reality of his leaving is starting to sink in. I’m not ready for him to leave, but we both knew that there would be an ending to this.

He laughs, attempting to shrug his jacket on, and I glimpse the joy of the familiar memory dance across his features, “Yeah, she can be kind of crazy, right?”

“Yeah—but not any crazier than your mom,” I laugh. 

“Hey now—actually…you know they kind of feed off each others crazy…” He says, fighting to find the sleeve of his jacket, and when I reach to help, something falls from his pocket, a loud thud clashing against the hardwood floor. I look down, thinking he knocked something off my shelf, but then I see it.

We both stare at the ground, a small box lying in the space between us, “You shouldn’t have…” I declare, bending down—Looking back now, I don’t know what I was thinking—You know this tends to happen when you rely on your wit to get you out of awkward situations. I thought it would be cute and clever. I would open the box, and it wouldn’t be exactly what I knew it was—a ring, but not just any ring—the ring.

“Hey—hey—hey…give me that,” He jokes, trying to turn it into a game, but I’m in too deep to give it up. I can only focus on getting a peek at the ring, which is now a broken promise, and right this second, I’m desperate enough to open this box—basque in the feeling of the “what if” this was mine.

I turn away, shoving his hand out of the way, compulsively straining to get a look at this ring, immediately getting aggressive when he tries to reach over my shoulder. “Stop Harry—” I urge.

“Come on, Blair—this isn’t funny…” He says, unamused, but he’s too late, and as I shove my elbow into his ribs, the box is flipping open, the glint of the diamond catching the light of the moon shining through the window. He stops then because what’s the use, right? Here it is—the ring—perfect, everything I would have wanted. It’s almost like a slap in the face, like he looked back on one of the many pictures I sent over the years, thinking one day this would be me. 

The ring is stunningly beautiful. There is so little light yet it’s drawn to every facet; immaculate, precise cuts creating the perfect sparkle. There is nothing humble about it, but nothing seems to be humble about him anymore, including his life choices—and here I am, holding my breath, afraid to move, listening to his flustered exhale when I slam the box closed, a loud clap shut. 

Without a word, I nudge him away from me, “Blair, listen—I was going to tell you…”

“When—? Before or after we had sex, Harry…Is that what this was?” I yell.

He panics and cups a hand over my mouth. It’s not hard, but it annoys the hell out of me, and I wrench his arm away, forcing him toward the window, “Don’t you fucking do that—you don’t get to do that—”

“I’m sorry—but seriously, Blair, let’s not wake your family,”

I let out a dry laugh, “Oh—trust me, they would understand—” I seeth.

“Oh, for fucks sake, Blair, that’s not fair—I don’t know what this was…I just really wanted to see you—” he says, raking a hand through his hair, a deep crease forming between his brows, and he licks his lips, running a hand down his face as he turns away.

“What do you want me to do? This is the way it’s supposed to work out. You know my family …I don’t really have a say. You know that—”

“Please—Harry—you’re almost 30 years old. You don’t think you have any say in your life?”

He turns around, a condescending laugh filling the space, “You of all people should understand…”

“Well—I thought I did…but I don’t think I do anymore. It just doesn’t make sense…none of this seems to make sense anymore. I don’t understand how we could be perfectly fine one day, and as soon as your dad put you on the path to be a partner at his firm—which we both knew would happen—” I start.

He shakes his head, pinching his lower lip between his thumb and index finger, contemplating my words, “Help me make it; make sense. When we knew all along what the path was going to be. Were did “WE” get lost because I did nothing but support you, and then you went away on that trip with your family—”

“And you’re on about this again…” he interrupts, words cutting like knives because this was the theme of some of our biggest arguments.

I’m shaking my head this time, confusion inching through my brain, straining to grasp for details I thought I packed away. “Now that’s not fair…” I force, my throat burning with the effort of biting back tears. 

“Listen—this is my fault—” he says, reaching for the box, “I shouldn’t have come. I knew this would be a bad idea, but I just—”

I grasp onto the box, wanting to catch his eyes. I want to see the regret, “Tell me, does it hurt you, hurting me…I could have waited for your mom’s Facebook post…I know she’s over the moon with her…just fucking smitten that’s she’s everything and more—”

“I should go,” he says, his eyes darting to the window before he slides the box into his pocket. He opens the window, and the cold breeze flits into the dark room, reminding me of how little I have on. My eyes float to the bed, already mourning us like a fading memory—disappointment crawling up my spine, the sick twist of regret already tearing at my emotions as tears fill my eyes.

“Yeah, this was a bad idea…” I tell him, choking on the words, and I can feel my body starting to tremble. I want him gone, forever, to leave and be with his girlfriend, who will get him in the daylight. Who will kiss the mouth of the man I love for the rest of her life—and I’m sick—sick with the thought of them—and damn—This was easier when there was distance when I could pretend he didn’t exist.

“I’m sorry, bee—” He whispers, a slight trimmer in his voice as he reaches out to me, and let him because if this is all that is left. I want that last kiss. I want a kiss from the lips that were once mine, but when he pulls me in, I reach for his face, and he interjects, grasping my hands in his, denying me my one last wish.

“Harry…” I whisper, hot tears burning my eyes, “It’s just you and me right now…” I plead because he has that look of goodbye in his eyes; the reality setting in, like me standing here in his old tee-shirt, is too real for him—The cold draft of the air brings the world in with it. Yes, I feel it too, but his hands are so warm, his face is so sweet and kind, and I know what he’s about to do.

“Bee—” He tries, swallowing hard, like the words are stuck in his throat, tears drawing in his eyes, and he rubs his lips together, shaking his head as his eyes dart to our hands, and I grip his hands harder because he’s going to leave—he’s going to leave, and I’m never going to get his back; This man—the love of my life. There’s never a time he hasn’t had me, and he’s going to leave, he’s going to move on, and he will still have me because I could never let him go.

And when the tears spill over and fall down his cheeks, my body aches with a longing that’s so deep in my bone it hurts—my love for him hurts so fucking bad that I don’t think I’ll ever not love him or not want to be with him. He’s standing here breaking my heart all over again, and I still love him. I still want him always and forever like he fucking promised me because he did promise, and now she gets him; she gets to have my always and forever.

Now he’s pulling away, and I won’t let him go; I can’t let him go. “Bee…please…” he begs softly.

“I love you,” I cry out, “I love you so much, H—” and he pulls me into his body, letting me sob into his chest, my hot breath seeping into his body, and I breathe him in, trying to memorize our scent, but it there like muscle memory something I could never forget.

“You know I love you, Bee…” he breathes, pressing a warm kiss to the top of my head, “You know I will always love you, but you know that we can never do this again…”

His words slice through my pain, filling me with rage, and he’s right. We can’t do this ever again; he doesn’t get to have me like this and go back to her—and I’m so fucking mad at myself for falling into his trap because I’ve been so good. I can’t even remember the last time I talked to him. He knew what would happen when he knocked on my window, and I was so stupid to let him—yet here he is still wielding his power. 

“You have to go,” I tell him, trying to force myself from his arms, and Harry’s grip tightens.

“I’m sorry, Bee—”

“No—this was wrong—this was all wrong, and you shouldn’t have done this…we shouldn’t have done this—”

I push him toward the window, angry adrenaline a trimmer in my fingertips when I bring a shaky hand up to tuck my hair behind my ear, “You did this to us…” I tell him.

“I’m—” he starts, and I know he’s just going to try and apologize, but that will never be enough, not when I know what happens next—and what? Did he use me? Did he feel sad and come looking for my sympathy?

“Leave—” I spit.

“Bee…come on—”

“Leave!” I say louder, loud enough to send an echo through the room. He stiffens, his panic reaching his face, and I cross my arms over my chest.

“Fine—” he hisses, his hair falling into his face as he bends his body halfway through the window. Harry doesn’t even look back; he doesn’t even give me a tiny morsel of hope, and I don’t know what I was expecting. Then Harry is out the window, and I slam it shut, swiping the curtains closed.

“Merry fucking Christmas, you Asshole…” I breathe, falling onto the bed to cry. 

…

Here’s the thing about Christmas in my house: we wake up and celebrate, and nothing else is allowed. It’s the one time of the year when my mom is allowed to live in the delusion that everything is merry and bright. There’s no space to be sad. She’s up with the rising sun, her hair perfectly manicured, her make-up set for pictures, wrapped in a festive robe she just “rolled out of bed” in, and then she’s on to two more outfit changes. 

So this morning, when I woke, ready to welcome her joyful cheer, I was surprised to see none. I found her standing at the sink, my dad leaning against the counter like I had just interrupted a fight, maybe some disagreement they didn’t want me part of. My first thought was that they knew. They saw Harry leaving, or maybe my voice had carried, and they heard me arguing with him.

It was like being a teenager all over again as I walked toward the coffee maker to pour myself a cup. Without fail, the clink of the dish against the stone countertop ricochets through the thick silence in the room, making me jumpy; the slurp of the pour is interrupted when my mom speaks. “All I’m going to say is let’s get through this day. I don’t want to talk about it. We can call all touch base once everyone is gone—Bee, will you stay longer this time or not?” 

I’m in the midst of taking a sip, and the hot liquid hits my top lip, burning me as my eyes move from my dad to my mom in question, confused by whatever this is that I walked in on, “I wasn’t sure if I wanted to stay longer…I have a project—”

“Can you—?” she asks flatly like you better say “yes.” 

I look to my dad, who raises his brows, eyes widening, and he blows out a breath, his lip puffing as he brings his coffee to his mouth, “Fine.” I answer because it doesn’t seem like there’s any other option.

And that was it—She switched up her mood as quickly as the conversation ended. I stood there sipping my coffee, mentally preparing, and that’s how we carried on, pushing it under the rug.

It started with presents, each gift given its proper praise, mom all smiles, dad snapping pictures, my sister nudging my shoulder as a constant reminder to keep up the show, and it was perfect—it was— but every time the camera flashed. I could feel myself drifting to the thought of all the pictures that would greet me when I opened my phone—How her red lips and long dark hair would steal my breath, her beauty outshining us all. 

She became the jealous quake in my bones at the thought of Harry down on one knee, entrancing my thoughts, repeatedly threatening to pull me out of the moment—and now my mom is shouting from across the room, bidding for my attention, as I try and swallow the persistent lump burning a hole in my throat, making every word a battle of will to say the most straight-forward sentence—and it wasn’t fair; It wasn’t fair that I got to sit with it all day—a reel of memories cascading through my mind, always the slightest reminder to remind me of the past.

The smallest gestures, a deep-seeded pain strangling my insides; all my dad had to do was glance down at his watch. The watch Harry gave him when he turned forty or every time my mom tucked her behind her ear, I caught sight of the diamond earrings he got her and his mom, making them both laugh the last Christmas we all shared because that was our thing—it almost doesn’t seem real that our moms used to be best friends, nowadays it feels like a lifetime since they even shared one word, my mom growing bitter the day Harry broke my heart.

A sudden breakup can wreck anyone, and inherently, our families became the collateral damage, causing a complicated ripple through our families, a rigid divide that none of us knew how to address, let alone manage any semblance of a relationship; maybe that was our fault. I couldn’t be his friend. It hurt too much to try and mask my feelings, to manipulate them into something they weren’t, like right now—how I’m torturing myself, scrolling through social media, almost hoping I’ll see the pictures I know his mom will post. Perhaps it will be what I need; to rip the bandaid off, the right push I need to fucking move on because I don’t know how much longer I can live in the misery of what was and wasn’t.

Dissasoiating—the word of the day—a single word that could describe my whole day because somehow it’s dinner, and I’m sitting around the table trying to piece together the lapse in time I’ve lost. All it takes is one look at my mom to straighten up and be present. I don’t even know what they’re talking about, nor do I care, but when my cousin Jenny asks me to pass the potatoes, and the light captures the glint of her new engagement ring, my stomach drops, the hideous ache of jealousy climbing up my spine, and I’m sick again, my stomach turning at the thought, that maybe he’s already done it, maybe he’s asked her and she’s wearing his ring on her finger, and they’re sitting around the table; and every time she takes a bite it reflects the light from the chandler, everyone smiling because what a happy time, what a perfect day; what a bright fucking future they have.

This time, I can’t control it; it’s all too much, and I’m scraping the chair back, politely excusing myself, then bounding to the upstairs bathroom, yanking my phone from my pocket—and without a passing thought, I’m doing it—I’m calling Harry—by the first ring, I’m in panic mode, pacing back and forth, willing myself to end the call, trying to keep the phone from sliding down my sweaty palm.

I’m all adrenaline as I force the phone against my ear, the ring getting louder, and each time it rings, a gnarled knot of guilt builds in the depth of my belly. I keep looking to the toilet on the verge of falling to my knees and heaving anything that made its way to my stomach—then Harry forwards the fucking call to voicemail, and tears are spilling over my lids, my whole body hot, like maybe I’ll combust right here, explode with the fury of heat rising in my body.

I’m surprising myself when I press his name again, bringing the phone back to my ear, and I hold my breath, waiting for the first ring. It rings and then rings again, and by the third ring, I think I might get through—and it’s all a joke because yeah fucking right—By the fifth ring, I’m second-guessing myself again, shame eating away at my flesh, and then he’s forwarding the call again—my shame flying out the window.

Okay, yes, maybe this is the part where I tell you I should be embarrassed—but fuck it, I’m calling again, losing myself a little more each time he forwards my call. By the 8th call, I’m tormenting myself, a pitiful excuse of a human on the ground so caught up in my own grief that I don’t even hear my sister knocking on the door. The knock sounds, making my heart leap in my chest, the fear of being caught ripping through like an earth quack, and I’m up, catching sight of my reflection in the mirror, not even recognizing the person looking back at me. 

I haven’t felt this desperate since we broke up, like an anxious tick buzzing under my skin. The humiliation of it all is a time bomb, counting down the seconds until it ignites inside me—and I’m there. I ignore the steady stream of knocks and crouch down like the monster I’ve become because I can’t look at myself and do what I know I’m about to do—it’s my one last stance, and I shoot Harry a text:

“Your a fucking coward!” I send and then realize I used the wrong fucking “your,” and my pride won’t let me go out like this. I send a quick “you’re” to fix my mistake and watch the screen, knowing he is now more aware of his than before. When the line changes from “delivered” to “read,” I watch the tiny dots collect in the corner of the screen, awaiting his reply—they appear and disappear several times until it finally stops altogether, and he leaves me on read.

Just as I’m about to send “fuck you!” my sister opens the door, pushing the bobby pin she used to pick the lock back into her hair, and closes the door behind her. “Dude, whatever is going on right now—you need to get it together—it’s one fucking day, okay…that’s all mom asks for, and she’s down there growing impatient. So seriously…if you’re up here freaking out about another dude you met on a dating app—like this isn’t the time—”

“I had sex with Harry—” I confess right then and there because I know this will be the only thing that will make her understand.

“No—” she says, pulling a handful of toilet paper from the roll, “We’re not doing this right now…” She wipes the tears from my face and forces me out of the bathroom and into my room.

“You have two minutes to get your shit together. I need Mom to be in a good mood today…listen, I have big shit going on too, but you don’t see me up here crying—” and she’s right. I saw her pregnancy test in our shared bathroom trash. She must have been panicked when she half-assed her wrapping job on her test. I know I taught her better than that, but this was what I needed to pull myself back up.

I came down the stairs with a smile. Everyone in the sitting room was having coffee and dessert; this was the last stretch. This is all we had left, and then I can check my phone that my sister made me leave upstairs—and so I would drone on keeping up with conversations, tossing out witty remakes, bringing laughter and joy to everyone around, and when my mom sent me a genuine smile, I felt myself smiling back, enjoying the company of my family; and when dad slipped me the “good” eggnog I realized that there’s nothing better at taking the edge off then alcohol.

Four eggnogs in on an empty stomach, and I was working the room, exaggerating about my life and all the projects I’ve taken on at work, dodging questions about my dating life, and when my grandma brought up Harry four times, dammit, I didn’t even flinch, I just kept the conversation moving, filter out the emotions coursing through me like a breeze on a sunny day, right before a summer storm sets in. I even kept it cute and classy when cousin Jen took her engagement ring on a tour around the room, gutting me like a fish when she said, “I never thought I would get married before you…you know…like you and Harry were like “it” you know—” and I’m smiling again, getting a nod of approval from mom when she hears me congratulate Jen again, admiring her beautiful ring.

By eggnog five, I’m switching to “what he’s having,” I shout to my dad as I watched him pour, maybe whisky over the rocks, a shallow pour, but it packed a punch. I knew it was time to dial it back when I found myself leaning over Jenny, who was flipping between her social platforms, landing on Facebook, where I know for a fact Harry’s mom would be posting, taking care to tag everyone in each photo—which brings me back to the time when dear ole’ cousin Jenny started following Harry. It was Christmas break, we had just turned fifteen, and I could tell she had a crush on him. She spent all Christmas break following us around, cornering him anytime she could get him alone; I had to share my bed with her that Christmas, and I remember how miserable I was without the gift of Harry crawling through my window on Christmas Eve.

It’s wild to think of how feeble my grasp on time was when we were young, how a couple of weeks could feel like an eternity; it’s been less than a day since I saw him last. How am I supposed to go a lifetime of never hearing his voice again, to look into those green eyes that have seen me through so many changes, not to feel those hands that have cradled me like a child, held me like a lover, squeezing and pulling me into shapes that fit him; arms that carried and lifted me to heights that I could never have reached on my own—and maybe I speaking figuratively because no one has carried me at my worst or lifted me at my best until I was the best version of myself, but isn’t funny how the people that bring out our best know exactly how to rally the worst parts of us.

Mom taps her dessert spoon to her glass, grabbing everyone’s attention. It’s time for her big send-off speech. My eyes dart to my sister leaning against the fireplace, rolling her eyes, “I just want to start by saying I’m so thrilled that you’ve all chosen to spend this joyous holiday with us…you all know this is my absolute favorite holiday and every year I look forward to spending it with each and every one of you—” she tells us raising her glass, and everyone knows what’s coming next and as she starts her final lines— the same lines she uses every year—my sister sends me a wink mouthing the lines in unison with our mother.

“There’s no time like Christmas to let you know how appreciated you are. I feel honored to call you family…” and her hook, line, and sinker is, “May the light of Christmas warm your hearts this holiday season and remember love is the true spirit of Christmas—” 

My throat burns as she finishes, “And always know how much I love you and always will…so before I start getting too emotional, I better cut myself off—” she laughs, wiping a tear from her eye, and as much as I hate how crazy she gets about Christmas, she really is amazing at being so selfless; to give everyone such a beautiful day, and I’m so grateful for her and my family, and then the doorbell rings taken everyone by surprise. We all freeze, eyes moving around the room because we’re all here, and no one is expecting anyone.

“Fred—” my mom calls to my dad. “Are we expecting anyone else?” 

My dad’s reaction is slow, but he launches himself from the chair and excuses himself. When he comes back, he looks bewildered, half-tipsy as he shrugs his shoulder to tell us no one was there—and that was that. No one blinked an eye—yet my first thought was Harry, and I felt myself slipping because the whole day had passed; certainly, theirs was over by now, and the thought had me breaking my own heart, picturing her in his old bed, the whole family tucked away in their rooms, still riding out the high of such a magically joyful day.

And she’ll kiss his lip and say, “I love you.” He’ll lay her down in the bed I gave myself to him in, and he’ll make love to her like he loved me last night, and there is no end; there’s no end to the torture of it all because how can one person fuse themselves to every fiber of my being—and more importantly how could I still allow it?

As the last guest passed our threshold, Mom, being the gracious host she was, sent them off with candies and cookies, and I stood there wishing I was more like her, like my sister, who could always pretend, who knew how to wear “the smile” like a badge of honor. I wondered why this all had to be so hard. Why is love all or nothing? Why can’t we flip a switch and “poof,” it’s gone?

I watched my mom close the door, my siblings dispersing, and my dad already making his way back to his chair, but my mom just stood there. She let out a heavy sigh, her once perfect posture decompressing as she held on to the doorknob, “Oh Bee—” she said, eventually turning around to face me, and suddenly it looked like the weight of the day had finally caught up to her beautiful features, now tired—a mournful pinch between her brows, pursuing her lip while her eyes roamed my face. I’m trying my hardest to keep it together because there is something about that look a mom can give, that “I can fix everything with a hug” look.

“Do you need anything…I didn’t sleep very well last night. I was thinking of calling it early. if that’s okay?” I ask

“Oh honey, don’t worry about it…it’s been a long day for everyone,” she states, unbuttoning the first two buttons of her silk blouse, that mournful look still lacing her features.

“Let’s just deal with the clean up tomorrow…sound good, baby?” she tells me, slinging an arm around my shoulder, “I know today was hard for you…Thank you for being such a good sport. I’m so proud of the way you handled yourself. You did a beautiful job, sweetie.”  Her words catch me off guard, and I turn to face her, my throat burning at the thought that she knows everything.

I swallow hard, opening my mouth to let out the words building up, but I can only manage a small whimper. “Listen, honey,” Mom starts, and I’m already a puddle in her arms, wanting my mommy to make it all better.

“I’m not going to lie and say it gets better, but one day, it’s not going to hurt as bad as it hurts right now, and eventually, when you find someone new—” 

I gasped out a sob then, her words hitting every sore spot on my body, “Shhh—Shh—I know baby, I know—but listen,” She said, cradling my face in her hands, “I know that this isn’t what you want to hear—”

“But one day you will find someone new, and they’ll be just enough to get you over that last slump of pain, and maybe if you’re lucky enough…which I know you are…Harry will become a pleasant memory of the past, baby, because both of you were so lucky to have what you had. Not everyone will get to say they had a love like the two of you shared, and that is so so special, honey, so special—”

The tears are rolling down my cheeks faster than my mom can swipe them away, and it’s taking every ounce of strength I have to keep myself upright, “I love him so much—” I push past the sob, shuttering through me.

“I know, honey, I know—one of the hardest lessons we can learn is to let the people we love go, let them go so they can be free, and if it’s meant to be, they’ll come back—”

“I can’t, Mom, I can’t do it,” I cry, trying to bury my face into her shoulder, but she has a firm grip on it. Blair Marie, you are so strong, honey, and we are all here for you. You can do this, okay?” she says, nodding her head up and down.

“Okay?” She asks again, and I nod in agreement, “Listen—between you and me, we’re going to have our hands full anyway, right? Don’t think I don’t know about your sister—she’s next.”

I’m stunned into silence. “Yeah, I know. That’s how I felt at first. Honey, I love you. I am here for you. Now go get some rest…” she says, pushing me toward the stairs.

“Oh—and hopefully, we aren’t expecting any unexpected guests this evening….”

I shake my head, “I—” 

“Yeah, slamming your window at the crack of dawn is a dead give away—”

Somehow, she manages to get a smile out of me, and I roll my eyes, ready to make my way up the stairs, “Hey, Mom, thank you for making today so beautiful…it really was beautiful.” I tell her.

“Oh—! And Mom, thank you for those kind words. I love you.” she smiles, placing a hand over her heart, and we share a look of knowing—and without a doubt, that woman managed to lift my spirits—again. She’s too good at that; she is father fucking Christmas.

And while my heart still felt heavy, I felt like I could get through this night. I would march into my room, head straight for my phone, and turn it off; there would be no doomsday scrolling. I would take a shower, hell maybe even take a hot bath to rid myself of this day—Maybe I would even start packing away everything in my childhood room that reminded me of him, set myself up for the next year, and seriously, it was amazing how quickly the motivation surged up my chest; almost bursting at the seams with the very thought of it.

So by the time I turned my knob, I was ready, so fucking ready—But as the door clicked open, a cold chill grazed over my wrist. All I saw was my curtains billowing back and forth with the breeze flowing in and out of my window, and I rushed over to shut the damn window because I didn’t remember opening it, but maybe my sister opened it while I was fixing my make up earlier and that’s when I hear it:

“Bee—” 

I slam the window shut, panic rushing through me, every limb of my body shaking with it as I turn toward the sound. And there he is, the love of my life, sitting on the edge of my bed, hunched over with his face buried in his hands, and when he looks up. I can tell he’s been crying, and he pulls a small box from his pocket and places it on the nightstand, right next to the very same box that held his future, and all he says is, “I couldn’t do it—”

[mochifiction]

I’m totally not back for some Late Night Transformers One discourse…who said that…I wanna address something I’ve seen in some of the feedback for the film that, I don’t know, irks me…? One of these things is the fact that “Orion is an asshole” or “immature and stupid” and therefore people don’t like him. I don’t know how to say this, but…he’s like that in a lot of continuities. Orion, in most variants, is a smartass. He has a mouth which gets him both a platform and also in trouble. He also has a habit of seeing short-term solutions to long-term issues. These are things that have existed for a long time, and I think those who have been calling him unlikeable or an ass haven’t seen his variants in the source material. People who also expected him to be a data clerk and throwing a fit about the fact that he’s not also need to realize that it’s a COMIC FRANCHISE. You won’t get the same story every time, and to expect a new continuity to fall back on the sole continuity YOU want is honestly insane. If we regurgitate the same narrative over and over again, the franchise loses originality. Audiences for other franchises have also voiced disdain when their favorite pieces of media get repetitive. This is also a reminder to people that Orion Pax and Optimus do not have the same exact personalities. That’s the whole point and why some people grieve Orion’s absence. To expect him to be the likable gentle giant we know as Optimus Prime right away is an impossible demand to be met. Not only that, but this isn’t even the film relying on one version of Orion, but a mosaic of them all.

I also saw people saying D-16 switched on Orion way too quickly. I’d also argue here that other continuities did similar behavioral changes. In Aligned, Megatronus literally turns his back on him and abandons him at the Council meeting. The behavior is shockingly abrupt, which hurts Orion because he didn’t understand what he could have possibly done wrong. I’d also argue that, in this film, you see multiple times where D-16 is irritated with Orion’s sense of almost immature and irresponsible justice. It’s subtle but then leads to a quick snap. The behavioral change is supposed to be jarring. You’re supposed to feel like it comes out of nowhere.

I am half asleep writing this so I can make another in-depth post when I’m more alive, but I just wanted to remind people they only had an hour and forty minutes to display how a civil war occurs. That’s very hard to do as someone who studies and writes about revolutions and anti-colonial resistance. With the time they had, it was a good job. I only pray people read the source material before giving CinemaSins-esque critiques as well. No Transformers film is perfect. This one definitely wasn’t trying to be.

[drowning-moonlight]

Something about the ASL Brothers that I found so intriguing is that in a "normal" shonan manga/anime, Ace and Sabo would actually be the ones that fit into the regular protagonist archetype.

What I mean is, if Luffy is taken out of the story but the world of One Piece is still the same, who could the story feasibly follow? There are lots of characters that could potentially carry the series as the main character but I feel like Ace and Sabo both fill roles that are very protagonisty even though they aren't main characters.

Ace is the son of the previous Pirate King. Roger is the character that sets up the McGuffin that the whole series is named after i.e. the One Piece itself. It would make sense for the son of this character to be the driving force of the story if Luffy didn't exist. Ace, though he is never called this, is essentially the "Prince of Pirates" trying to distance himself from his father's legacy that has caused him nothing but pain. He does not want to live in the shadow of his father or be judged for being Roger's son. "The Sins of the Father" is a trope that very much haunts Ace in the narrative and that trope is also often part of a typical protagonist's journey. Of course not every single protagonist from every media ever follows that trope, but many do. (One can even argue that Luffy follows the "Sins of the Father" trope to a degree with Akainu wanting to kill him for being Dragon's son at Marineford but I digress.)

My point is that one of Ace's roles in canon is to represent the theme of Legacy (even if it's breaking that legacy), which is a strong Main Character theme.

He's on a journey to find himself, to find freedom from the ghost of his father, a journey to find a father that he can actually love and look up to. Ace represents a journey of self love, self worth, and fulfillment. He tries to find worth in himself outside of who his father was in an effort to be his own person. The sheer fact that Ace is the biological son of the character that basically sets up the whole plot of the series and yet wants nothing to do with the man very much has Main Character Energy to me.

Then there's Sabo.

The world of One Piece is deceptively cruel. At first glance, it's just a silly world with lots of pirates searching for treasure. But as the series progresses, we learn that the world is controlled by a corrupt government and military system full of people taking advantage of the system to further their own gains at the expense of the safety and well being of the common citizen.

In a more "typical" series, a world like One Piece's world would have a Main Character that's sole purpose was to bring down this corrupt government. Now Luffy does fight the power structure at times and has no love for the World Government or Navy, but his main purpose as the protagonist is not to tear down the government - his main purpose is to be the Pirate King. Take Luffy out of the story and who is set up to fulfill the task of tearing down the government? The Revolutionary Army as whole and Sabo specifically (also Dragon but this post isn't about him). Sabo is the one that directly declared war on the WG when he destroyed the Hoof/Claw of the Celestial Dragon in Mary Geoise.

Sabo represents the common person fighting against a corrupt power system in order to make the world a better place for the most amount of people. Again, this very much has Main Character Energy in my opinion.

I just love the ASL Brothers so much and the fact that each one of them could be protagonists in their own way make them all the more interesting.