#chosing kindness despite the shit I've been through

[nekrosmos]

My ability to calm people down in record time will never not be funny to me, useful skill to have in social work for sure

[whoredyceps]

"OH LOVER BOY!" || 28 Days of Love: A Valentine's Challenge + Series

day six: "i can't stand you."

ᰔ pairing: joel miller x reader

ᰔ summary: joel made the mistake of telling you he was having trouble with his generator, and you offered to help.

ᰔ author's note: this was going to have a sweeter ending, but i think with joel, it's a more realistic ending. there's a lot left unsaid, and i've always been a fan of stories like that. a little angst as a treat ✨

ᰔ content warning: jackson!joel, grouchy joel being a bitch but he makes up for it- kind of, slight angst with a happy-ish ending, reader gets small cut/mention of blood, strong language (joel and reader are not afraid to drop an f bomb) reader has non-descriptive hair (enough for joel to put his hand in)

"For the love of god, can you hold the flashlight still?" Joel looked back with a scowl on his face. He damn near dropped the wrench on his foot as you shifted the flashlight again.

"I'm sorry! Jesus," you muttered the last bit under your breath. You held the light still, a bit more rigid than before.

Joel knew better than to tell you that he had to fix something in the house. He loved you more than anything— you had built a nice life together in Jackson. For the end of the world, you two had a welcoming home and a good relationship. It was the best anyone could ask for in this post-apocalyptic world.

You had brought him peace and solace in ways he hadn't expected. He liked to think he did the same for you, in his own ways. You two complimented each other, an odd balance others in Jackson chose not to question.

That being said, you were not helpful when it came to handy work. Joel preferred to work on his own, or ask Tommy for help if he really needed the extra hand. Not that he liked the idea of another hand in the pot, but he knew when he needed another set of hands.

When the generator shit out at the end of the last ice storm, Joel made the mistake of mentioning to you that he needed to talk to Tommy about fixing it before the next storm came through. When you got that look in your eyes, excited to jump on the chance to help, he knew it wasn't going to end well. Despite knowing that, he knew it would be worse to tell you no.

Now, you moved the flashlight all over and talked through the whole process of him running diagnostics. While it was endearing that you were eager to help, Joel couldn't focus on what was in front of him. He had changed for the better thanks to you, but old habits die hard— or Joel Miller's bark was still just as sharp as his bite.

"Just hold it still," Joel gruffed. "The sooner I can see what I'm doin', the sooner it'll be finished." He wanted the whole thing to be over and done with, to get back to anything but this.

"I'm doing my best, Joel. I'm trying to help," you huffed. What had crawled up his ass was beyond you, but you weren't going to sit and let him bitch at you.

"Well your tryin' ain't good enough. Hand me the damn flashlight." Joel held his hand out, an expectant look on his face. The two of your stared at each other, a silent battle for dominance. Eventually, you conceded and shoved it in his hand.

"God forbid I try to fucking help you. See how much help I am when you need it the most," you snapped. "I can't stand you sometimes."

"Better find a goddamn chair then." Joel dismissed you with a wave of the hand before he turned back to the generator. He ignored the sound of a stomp and the door that slammed behind you.

It was well over two hours before Joel finally climbed out of the basement. It only took him an hour to fix the generator, but he wasn't sure how to approach you. After these pissy little fights you two had, there were two situations that followed. One apologized and the other begrudgingly accepted. By the time dinner rolled around, it was water under the bridge and left in the past. The other? A battle of silence and cold shoulders for the next few days.

After the chair comment, Joel braced himself for the silent treatment and a few sleepless nights on the couch. He was quiet as he walked towards the kitchen. He heard the radio playing, along with the sounds of pots and pans clanging.

He lingered in the doorway as he watched you. Even from where he stood, he saw the way your mind raced without you saying a word. As he opened his mouth, he watched you stop peeling a potato and cuss under your breath.

"Fuck! Goddamnit!" You ran your hand under the sink water. It had taken everything in you to remain calm after Joel's whole... thing, whatever had possessed him in the basement. The chair comment had you seeing red, but you tried to let it go as you prepped for dinner. Working on the meal was cathartic, and your anger had come down some.

Slicing your finger, though, was the straw that broke the camel's back. Another thing you had fucked up— something else to add to the list of bullshit you couldn't do.

Once the blood had eased up for the moment, you finally let a few tears slip. Your chest felt heavy with anger and regret, along with every nasty feeling in between. Joel still hadn't returned, and you knew it was your fault. You knew well enough that you should have just let Tommy help him.

Lately, you felt as if you hadn't offered much to Joel. You did some things, sure. Kept everyone fed, worked hard to make sure all ailments were healed— you pulled your weight where you could. It just... it didn't feel like enough. Of course, you offered him your love and support, but it didn't feel like you did your part. You thought lending a hand with the generator was a step in the right direction, a way to prove that you were capable of more in Joel's eyes.

"Let me see it." You jumped at Joel's sudden presence, the way he brushed against you to take your hand in his. You stayed quiet but still let him look your hand over.

"You saw that?" You asked. Your voice was thick with tears, which had yet to stop. The cut wasn't bad— just a nick and a bit of blood. Nothing a bandage wasn't able to fix.

"I did." Joel held your hand as he grabbed for the first aid kit you kept in the junk drawer. It was small, only various sized bandages and a few crumbled alcohol wipes that you had scavenged. He grabbed for a bandaid and ripped the paper open with his teeth. You watched as he bandaged you right up.

There was a beat of silence that hung thick in the air. Neither of you knew what to say, how to concede after that little spat that left you both in a sour mood.

Finally, Joel broke the silence as he cleared his throat.

"I didn't mean what I said. I'm sorry for snapping," Joel sighed. "Didn't deserve that." He shook his head. His hand still held yours, careful of the fresh wound.

You looked down, unsure of what to say. Your cheeks were soaking wet, and it made it hard to string together the right thing to say. Finally, after another long beat, you met his gaze.

"I didn't, and I know you meant it when you said it." Before Joel cut in, you stopped him by continuing. "But I know I shouldn't have offered to help. I'm sorry for putting myself where I shouldn't have." You leaned against the counter as you spoke. One thing about you, something that Joel appreciated, was your frank nature.

"I just, I have a particular way of doing things. Havin' someone else there just makes me uneasy. Makes me too aware of every move I make," Joel admitted. It took time and effort on both of your parts to get to a point where you were transparent with each other.

"I know that," you assured him. "At least a little bit, anyways. I'm sorry for makin' it harder. I just thought I was helpin'." Joel tugged your hand and pulled you into a hug. He tangled a hand in your hair as he held you close.

"You were tryin', and that's what matters. I love you, darlin'." There was still a pit of unease in your stomach, but you knew it was best to drop it. Navigating what you two had took work, and sometimes that meant dropping the subject. Joel did the best he could for you, and you did the same for him.

"I love you too."

Maybe the fairytales you had dreamed of when you were younger had the perfect ending and the ride off into the sunset. Then again, they didn't exactly include zombies and the end of the world. As you grew older and harder around the edges, you realized loved looked different. Now, it was give and take— no sunsets to gallop towards. It may not have been perfect, but what you had with Joel was good.

He loved you, and you loved him. That's what mattered most, right?

[hitomisuzuya]

Hello! I've been lurking around for a while and I really enjoy how you write Scaramouche/Wanderer! If it's not much to request, how do you think the Wanderer would comfort fem! Reader who's quite emotionally sensitive and gets hurt by his rude/sarcastic manner of speech? I hate that sometimes, I don't feel like I deserve to self-ship with this character because I'm like: goddamn, Scara, it literally wouldn't cost you your life to be a little compassionate and humble🥹🥹

Wanderer x fem!reader. Comfort fluffy fluff fluff.

Trust me, I feel you. I really do🥺

Wanderer had no filter. Not with anyone, or with you. He knew he really should with you. Usually, you would know exactly what he meant, you were that patient with him.

But sometimes, it got to be too much. The insensitive comment from him this time being, "What use do I for have hobbies, much less hearing about yours."

At first, Wanderer didn't know what to do. He would freeze in place, his eyes a little wide. The second he saw tears well into your eyes, there was look in his that was rarely there: fear.

Making you cry was on his list of things he should never ever do.

"That was such a mean thing to say, Scara," You brushed some tears away that fell from your eyes, "you don't have to rub it in that I am a boring person."

...Shit.

When you turned away from him so that he wouldn't see you cry, Wanderer didn't stop you right away. He knew you didn't want him to see you cry and he didn't want to see it either. After a few moments, which he spent internally kicking himself, he put a hand on your shoulder before wrapping his arms around you.

He pulled you back against his chest. "I'm a jerk, I know," He murmured into your hair.

"You are. You really are," You leaned back into him, making Wanderer visibly relax. You didn't sound mad, nor did it sound like you were crying all that much anymore.

In other words, he knew he was on the right track.

Wanderer was sarcastic, egoistical, greedy, and self centered. But most importantly, he was brutally honest. It was because of this attitude that you could tell he was sincere when he said things like this, especially when followed up with what he said next.

"...I'm sorry," It was said barely above a whisper, but you'd heard it.

You let out a soft squeak of surprise when he scooped you up bridal style in his arms. "Let's go to bed now, I've woren you out enough for one day," He set you down on the bed, pulled the blankets over both you, and held you close to his chest.

His fingers stroked soothingly through your hair. You sighed contently, curling into him as you settled into his arms. Despite the fact that you'd forgiven him, you kind of wanted to hear him say how much of a jerk he was again.

He needed to do that sometimes.

After making sure you fell asleep first, Wanderer decided to sleep as well. Sleep was a luxury that he could chose to indulge in if he wanted. This act also showed how much he loved and trusted you.

[irkimatsu]

Hi! I've absolutely fallen in love with the way you write this devious old man, and I can't get the thought of Husk taking shots off of a female reader tits after beating her in a few hands of cards lmao

God damn something about this request put me into "must write this now" mode, so thanks for that! Here's a NSFW fic about Husk and AFAB!Reader playing strip poker, Reader losing miserably, and Husk licking whiskey off her tits. 1.3k words. Warning for author not being much of a drinker and probably fucking something up here. I did read about how to do body shots with tequila/salt/lime, but decided to keep it simple for my baby Seagram's drinking ass. Enjoy!

Sometimes you wonder why you even bother playing strip poker with Husk, when the score always ends up so unbalanced. He’s sitting across from you, fully clad in a nice suit, his bowtie the only article of clothing that’s been discarded to the floor. You, on the other hand, have been reduced to nothing but your matching bra and panties.

As you stare at your cards, you know that one of those things is about to go.

“Three of a kind,” Husk says, face absolutely smug, as he rests his cards on the table. “What have you got, doll?”

“As far as I know, nothing,” you respond with disgust as you set your own hand down.

Husk takes a quick glance at your cards before laughing. “Yeah, you don’t have shit.” He grabs one of the bottles of whiskey he’s been drinking throughout the game and takes a long gulp. With all he’s had, you’re impressed he’s not face down on the floor right now, but even with his high tolerance he’s definitely not sober.

“Are you sure you’re not cheating?” you playfully accuse him.

“What? You really think I’m so desperate to see you naked that I’d cheat at cards?” he says, his wide, toothy grin not helping you determine how sarcastic he’s being. “Now, come on, take off your bra.”

“I thought the loser chose what to take off?’ you shoot back.

“Oh? You’re gonna take your panties off for me, then? It’s not like you have a lot of options right now.”

“Asshole.” Despite the insult, you’re still laughing as you pull the straps of your bra off of your shoulders. Husk’s eyes are glued to you, his tail waving behind him in interest. Both his smirk and his pupils widen as you pull the cups down, exposing your sizable breasts to his view.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous…” The slightest hint of a moan breaks through his voice.

You toss your bra to the floor and start gathering the cards from the table. “So, it’s my turn to deal?”

“Hey, wait!” Husk protests. “At least give me a minute to enjoy the view!”

“All right, you dirty old man.” Even as you say that, you find yourself blushing in his gaze. It’s not like you dislike the interest he always shows in your body; it’s quite the opposite, in fact. You could expose yourself to him a million times, and every single time he’d find himself transfixed as if he’d never seen anything so beautiful before. No matter how lewd he gets, especially when he’s drunk, his gaze on you always holds a sense of romantic wonder, even worship.

That man adores you. His hungry eyes drinking your body in do nothing to downplay that.

“Why don’t you push them up for me?” he asks. “Give me a better look?”

He groans as you follow his request. Your hands on the bottom of your breasts send the slightest jolt of excitement through your blood. Oh, to have his hands where yours are right now… you absentmindedly stroke the tops of your breasts with your thumbs, imagining his hard claws in their place.

“Now push ‘em together.” A small purr escapes his throat as you continue moving to his will. “Mmm… fuck, that’s it…” Even as he takes another gulp of whiskey, he still doesn’t take his eyes off you.

“Can we get back to the game?” you ask. Not that you don’t want his eyes on you, but you’re so close to finishing it… finishing one game, and starting another. You’re so ready for him to get that last point, get you out of your panties, and take his grand prize for once again besting you. At this point, he’s just teasing you… and that fucker knows it, you’re sure.

“Hmm…” Does he actually need time to decide how quickly he wants you out of your clothes?! “Hold on… there’s something I wanna try.” Still holding his whiskey bottle, he rises from his chair. “Don’t move your hands,” he says as he walks over to your chair. “Just turn and face me.”

You turn as he asks, unsure where he’s going with this. You then gasp from the sudden cold as he pours a bit of whiskey between your breasts, letting it settle in your cleavage as it slowly trickles down your skin. “Husk, what the fuck are you-”

You don’t have time to finish your question before his paws are over your hands and his face is buried in your cleavage, rough tongue lapping up the amber liquid.

“Husk…” you murmur as he continues tasting you, long after the whiskey on your skin has trickled out of his reach.

“Pour me another one,” he asks from his position against your chest. It’s difficult to get your hand out of his grip, but you comply, grabbing the bottle from the table and pouring more whiskey into your cleavage. Chilled drink is quickly followed by his hot breaths and tongue, and you’re not sure which sensation is making you shiver more.

“Do you want some more, kitty?” you ask playfully. His waving tail answers that question. You pour some more whiskey onto yourself, this time aiming for the top of one of your breasts. His mouth quickly seeks out the stream, tongue grazing against your skin as he laps directly from the flow. Once you turn the bottle upright again, he focuses on licking up what he missed, tongue following it as it drips down the curve of your breast.

You gasp as his tongue laps at your nipple, licking up the last of the drink.

“More,” he grunts. This time, you focus the pour directly onto your nipple, desperate to keep his mouth’s attention there. Hot and cold alternate on the stiff, sensitive bud as he savors his new treat, alternating between licking and suckling the liquid from your skin. His hands begin massaging your breasts, squeezing and grazing with his claws. Your hand is starting to shake, but he still continues to sip from the now-erratic flow, not even bothered when your hand jerks in a way that pours some of the whiskey onto his face. He’s way too drunk, on whiskey and on you, to care about anything that happens to him.

Unfortunately, the bottle can only hold so much, and soon he’s cleaned the final drops from your body. As if in search of more, his tongue licks its way back up your breast, then to your collarbone, before making you gasp with a few firm licks to your throat. His lips then find yours, kissing you deeply as he continues to massage your breasts. The taste of whiskey is strong on his lips; you gently suckle his tongue to get more of that beautifully familiar taste, the taste of him. You may not even like whiskey that much, but it’s so delicious when you’re tasting it from his breath.

“Did… did you still want to play cards?” you ask, breathless and laughing, when he pulls away from the kiss.

“I don’t think we have to. It’s pretty obvious I was about to win anyway, right?” he says.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” you say. You lightly scratch beneath his chin before pulling him in for another kiss, his purrs rumbling against your lips. “Congratulations, you still have your undefeated streak against me.”

“You’re damn right I do. Now come on, get on the bed. I want my prize.”

He steps back to allow you to rise from the chair. You expect him to follow you to the bed, maybe unable to keep his hands off you during the brief journey, but instead he makes a detour to the fridge in the corner of the room.

He pulls out another bottle of liquor and brings it over to your now-lying form. You gasp as he presses the cold bottle against the side of your neck, then slowly drags it down your body, over your collarbone, breast, nipple, stomach, before pressing it between your legs against your still-covered lips. You instinctively grind against the bottle as he rubs you with it, his smirk growing more devious.

“Thanks for the best whiskey I’ve ever had. Now, let’s see how you’ll taste with a good rum…”

[raayllum]

what's the worst that can happen

Going into s6, we know it's the show's 11th hour in a lot of ways. I expect the mid-point of S7 will also have some terrible shit happening, don't get me wrong, but going into S6, there's a lot of things that are probably going to happen and here's some of 'em, and then we can check back here in two weeks and see what was shaken out!

Janai loses her kingdom. This would be especially devastating because 1) Janai has called for reinforcements through both Ezran and Aanya, and 2) it means Kim'Dael could be freed as well. I'm not expecting this to be the end of the plot line either per se (Sol Regem + Pharos corruption sleeper agent infecting more Sunfire elves)

Aanya dies. We know that Aanya has an older adoptive brother, and I've been wondering for a while on why to give her one in the first place. The most obvious reasons would be for him to provide her with a confidant (perhaps some Aanya angst or uncertainty) and as a parallel to the broyals. The other most obvious reason would be for her or her brother to die, thereby leaving the other alone; if Aanya dies as well, he would also inherit the throne, and this would possibly leave Ezran with a weakened or non-existent ally as well.

Katolis falls. Katolis has been a safe base and starting point throughout arc 2. We also know Ezran is staying behind there in early S6 and that Claudia, at some point alongside Terry, makes her way to the Valley of Graves in Katolis as well for some kind of spell. If Katolis fell, and Ezran and co. had to leave (maybe with the castle under siege, and a character like Opeli also dying), this would be a big blow to the status quo as well as for Ezran's character to deal with.

The quasar diamonds don't work. One is missing, or the Star magic isn't enough because of the nature of the coins. This doesn't mean the Moon fam + Kpp'Ar doesn't get out, per se, but that more creative solutions (dark magic, a quasar diamond substitute) have to added in order to have a real shot at releasing them. Alternatively: the quasar diamond star magic is all that's needed, but it leads to disaster such as the possession.

Aaravos takes the Nova Blade. Big bad who is notoriously angry at other Startouch elves, and the sword that just happens to be the main thing that can kill Startouch elves? Yeah, it's a recipe for disaster in terms of "collecting mega dangerous objects that Aaravos could have a reasonable vested interest in" and a classic "the tool you hunt down to use on your enemy is then used against you" (perhaps literally, if Callum and/or Rayla are also stabbed with it).

Callum is possessed. This is a matter of when, not if. There are a few different orders this could go through, the most dramatic probably being either escalated choices Callum makes or random happenstance leading to his possession, Aaravos isn't out yet, Rayla refuses to hurt him despite everything being on the line, Callum stabs her (with the Nova Blade?) but snaps out of it, and sets Aaravos free in order to keep her alive. I could also very much see Aaravos being released and then Callum being possessed if they want to go full throttle on the "possession is a kind of death (you chose)" deal.

Claudia is Claudia. Do I really have to explain this one? Poor girl, but the world is definitely going to be worse off in S6 for having her in it. Still love her though.

[whoviandoodler]

this is going to be all over the place and probably have holes bcs I have a shit memory but bear with me here, I've been pacing for a while while ruminating and i must get it out the question of 'why gemma and mark, why choose them specifically for this experiment?' has been one that's been needling me since I got into the show. there's always the option that it was random, of course, but what's the fun in that? so it must be purposeful. i considered the option that lumon didn't stage her death and that she died as they said, in a regular car crash, and they necromancied/are necromancing her, but i'm not a huge fan of that one, despite the fact that it would give the easiest explanation for mark identifying her corpse and answer the 'why' question (convenience). mostly i'm against it bcs it seems much harder to me to bring a person back to life + to remove all the wounds she would've incurred upon impact than it does to fake a death, and the identification thing could with a bit more difficulty be attributed to the dead body being too charred to be easily recognized (and really, i'm a huge proponent of the idea that sometimes when we badly don't want something to be true, we're much more likely to believe it is (and vice versa)).

so i'm going with the base and simple foundation where lumon orchestrated the death, and we're back to 'why them?'. Are there no widowed people in the city who could be offered severance as an escape? There have to be some! so mark and gemma can't be random.

(i'm playing with the idea that gemma might've found something she shouldn't have and this was their way of killing two birds with one stone, but it's an aside, partially because i cant remember if she taught in the same school as mark. if she did, it's of some interest, considering the weird shit that was going on in the basement*)

mainly i'm concentrating on what i believe the focal point is, what would matter to lumon in selecting the candidates. one, the couple would have to love each other strongly (bcs it would rly test the 'is love a loophole to severance, does it cross the divide' + it would make the widowed party more susceptible to accepting oblivion). two, the widowed party would have to lean towards oblivion when under stress.

and that makes me think that whoever chose them must have known them. idk if its ricken (through malice (smts theorized in the fandom) or through near-suspicious naivete (all present + we have proof he'll just fucking talk to anyone and believe them, after his convo with natalie about the book), if it's some fellow professor or student that hasn't been revealed yet, if it's some other severed employee who has a relationship to o!mark/gemma that we havent witnessed yet, but somebody must have known them.

i'm kind of leaning ricken bcs of how close he was to gemma and mark, their whole friend group/double date situation, but then again idk if he'd be capable of properly telling what their deal is (in the love department and the psychology department) or if anyone would find him reliable (if we're going the naivete route, idk if it holds up as well). if we're going the malice route (where ricken isn't as oblivious and constantly wrong), it would make a bit more sense. either way, i believe that sb who knows them, sb who knows how they work and how they deal with stress (that mark runs away and that gemma (in my hc, based on the 'she'd tell me to get off my ass' line) pushes onward) marked them as viable options for lumon, and that that's why they were chosen as lab rats of the month.

* there was smt up with that right??? my memory fails me

[yarnzipangirl]

Names, Identity, and Power

(Malevolent rambling ahead!)

This is 100% probably going to be less grand than the essay I've got going in my head but here's central thesis: names and identities are a huge part of the power that characters have in this story.

By which I mean: when a character is the self that they choose to be, and lean into the name/identity they chose themselves, they are stronger. When they try to be what is expected, what others put on them, that's when they get in trouble. It's all about their individual purpose, the meaning they CHOOSE to their life.

John

Your biggest example of this is, of course, John. When John is being John, that's when he's able to accomplish things. He saved Arthur's life by dragging him to the road with one arm. He chose to stay with Arthur and the King Could Not Force Him during the ritual. He pulled Arthur through everything in Addison by being the person he WANTS to be. And when push came to shove during ep 40, not only did he discover a new ability, but he was able to beat an opponent that had been sapping his strength and who had (technically) kicked the shit out of him before when, by all logic, he should be weaker (since he was in Arthur).

But in all those cases, he was defending someone he cared about. He was standing up and protecting something that mattered to him. He was standing against the King in Yellow, denying that identity and holding fast to his own. He was defiant that He Is Not That, that he is JOHN. He was choosing to be John, choosing Arthur, choosing hope.

We have two situations that went the opposite way to this: fighting the King in Yellow in the Dreamlands: got his ASS BEAT by the KiY and tossed into the Dark World. Because he was thinking of himself as just a piece/half/whatever of the King in Yellow to be assimilated. He gave up being John as part of that situation! And in the witch's cave: he doesn't call himself an entity known as John Doe. He is the King in Yellow and you have to respect him and WHOOPSYDOODLE did that all fall completely flat. He wasn't able to do shit with all his bluster and shouting and projecting. Total wet fart. How did he win that day?

By being John. By being crafty. By keeping his head and leaning on an ally (Yorick), by not relying on pure power OR his identity as the King in Yellow. No power, back to the wall, pure headology, good enough to make Arthur proud. He was John Doe: patient and clever and finding a solution.

Because he is not the King in Yellow. The narrative has definitively told us this TWICE: he cannot be the King in Yellow anymore. So every time he tries to go back to that well, it's dry. It fails. It's when he leans into being this new entity, John Doe, (a 'great old one named John', so to speak) that he can pull things off.

(Which is also, I think, why Kayne makes pains despite technically respecting his new status as John to remind him over and over of how he's really the King in Yellow /cough this is my red string board MOVING ON)

Yellow

Obviously you talk about John, you got to talk about Yellow. And Yellow went the opposite direction: pretender to the throne, wants to be the King in Yellow so bad he can taste it.

He isn't either. But he's leaning into what that identity is, trying to be it, so much more than John. And thus, he's a lot more effective with those kind of tactics than John; it's all part and parcel, identity and means to use that identity.

But ultimately, Yellow is a pretender. Ultimately, Yellow doesn't want dominion, he wants love. I would say it's even odds between whether he knows that's what he wants but he's denying it because it isn't a part of the KiY or whether he thinks dominion will get him all the love he's craving, prove him to be the 'better' half, and doesn't know that it can't. But Yellow has no central identity of his own, didn't get a chance to build one, and thus he's trying to live up to Larson's expectations (and to a lesser degree, Kayne's, to be a second John) and he ends up failing at both.

...which is a tragedy. #justiceforyellow

He cannot be John because he wasn't formed into John through his experiences with Arthur and he cannot be the KiY because he isn't, any more than John is. Which is why despite the fact that this half of the KiY kicked John's ass back in ep20... John kicked his ass during ep40.

John knows who he is. Yellow doesn't.

Kayne and Yorick

These two are two sides of a coin (badum ching) because they're both schemers and I think they both KNOW this better than John does, who's just kinda muddling along trying to figure it out.

Kayne is not Nyarla. He has taken pains to not be that. Killed others to not be that. He has, I think, liberated himself from the restrictions and possibly the obligations of being Nyarla by being Kayne. He saw someone break the rules with Shub and said 'sign me the hell up'. It's why he got so angry at Larson: because names and identities have power and trying to make him 'just' Nyarla again is literally a detriment to him. Cannot be tolerated. Nope.

And Yorick found a different way to do it: he didn't give himself a new name or forge a new name for himself, he used his Master to give him a new name, changing the rules, changing the game. John said, back in ep.10 when the vanguard first was discussed:

"A vanguard would only watch - could only watch, and is never with a foot in this world, and all to serve whichever monstrous entity they were bound to."

Except we've seen him take a body and do things with it. We've seen him demand deals from his 'master'. I even wonder if it has unbound him, potentially, or if that's part of HIS identity now: he is John and Arthur's Yorick and not just the King in Yellow's vanguard. Unsure but it sure seems like being Yorick is important to him! (stay tuned for my eventual 'Yorick is not the traitor you think he is' ramble).

Arthur

And you can't talk about this whole thing without talking about Arthur. And Arthur's struggle is a lot more of how he thinks of who Arthur Lester is, what Arthur Lester is.

Arthur Lester is a detective. He's someone who finds things out, who tries to answer questions, who LEARNS and DISCOVERS etc. He's SMART and he relies on his knowledge and his thinking and he PROTECTS people. He also does best WITH OTHERS. He is UNCOMPROMISING and STUBBORN and he doesn't bend. He's strong, accomplishes great things, when he does that. When he thinks like that.

He wouldn't have been a good husband because he didn't want that, but he was a good father because he did! He's a great detective and he was a good composer/makes beautiful music because he's passionate about it but he could never be what Daniel wanted to make him.

And when he and John are on different pages, when he wallows in his rage and anger and makes it about punishing himself... that's when things go wrong for him. I am constantly amazed at how quickly and easily Kayne gets Arthur distracted and doesn't let this man think critically about what he's doing/saying/acting and how easily it puts Arthur in a vulnerable position. He's pointedly OFFENSIVE, goes for the attack, proactive... and Kayne puts him on his back foot in every way.

And I think that's a big part of what this Black Stone and possibly the Grey Stone thing were about. Because Arthur, like John, is his experiences. It's what he's survived. It's his five tragic backstories in a trenchcoat. And Kayne's offer to change fate is, I think, both a way to keep Arthur not thinking about what they're doing... and a way of trying to lead him towards making himself less... himself. Faroe is a part of him. Faroe, we know, is the light inside of him. He wouldn't be as far as he's gotten without her spark. And getting her back through a deal with a Devil?

Not Arthur Lester.

Whatever he is that fascinates Kayne (or possibly scares him, or possibly can't be manipulated directly by him), I get the feeling Kayne wants to hand it to him to eliminate the problem.

CAN'T WAIT TO FIND OUT HERE'S YOUR AWKWARD ESSAY END BYEEEEE

[tealquacks]

As a juice reward for myself, I’m going to go through my playlist that I made for Ryoto Hishakaku and say why I put each song on my playlist + my headcanons about this guy bc there’s literally nothing about him on the wiki (except that he sucks so much <3)

Here’s the playlist!

(I also made it on Youtube for those without Spotify, link here)

Note: this isn’t the music I think he’d listen to. Frankly, I don’t think he listens to music. He listens to AI generated lo-fi or business podcasts when he needs background noise.

If my thoughts don’t make sense, it’s bc I was writing this over the course of a few days while working on a few papers and a bunch of college stuff.!

Song by song explanations is below! It's mostly focused on his characterization in 8888 but there's mentions of 6488 and 7579 :3

This admittedly got long. I am fucking crazy, but I am free.

TANGLED WEB by slowgramming

To start off, I chose a song from REPLYHAZYTRYAGAIN, which is an album that (if I remember correctly!) was made for SCP-8888, where Hishakaku features heavily in. The reason I chose it for Hishakaku is because of the title, frankly. Not only does SCP-6488 have a good deal of spider imagery, but Hishakaku himself is also underhanded and manipulative. While he hasn't been particularly successful with his scheming, he still does it.

Kiss Me, Son of God by They Might Be Giants

This song, I feel, represents the type of power Hishakaku wants (and briefly has in 6488). He has the O5 in the palm of his hand, and can put any enemy brave enough to stand against him in a jar, what more could he want? Also, I don't think there's much of a difference between admo!Hishakaku and 8ball!Hishakaku, personality wise. The difference between them is that 8ball!Hishakaku was stopped earlier in the timeline than admo!Hishakaku, and that 8ball had connections to the Wanderer's Library/other anomalous communities that would be too risky to have in the Admonition timeline.

Caesar on a TV Screen by The Last Dinner Party

"And just for a second I can be one of the greats I'll be Caesar on a TV screen Champion of my fate No one can tell me to stop I'll have everything I want Anyone and everyone will like me then Everyone will like me then"

I think that like. Despite his unwillingness to get close to anyone or be intimate, he's still lonely. He feels entitled to human connection, if that makes sense, and believes that when he gets what he wants then love will come naturally to him. However, he'd be more comfortable with worship than actual companionship, because romance and friendship both require a level of give/take and vulnerability Hishakaku refuses to give people. He refuses to be seen as "weak", and is scared of being hurt.

Black Honey by Thrice

"I keep swinging my hand through a swarm of bees I can't understand why they're stinging me But I'll do what I want I'll do what I please I'll do it again till I've got what I need

I'll rip and smash through the hornet's nest Do you understand I deserve the best? And I'll do what I want I'll do what I please I'll do it again till I've got what I need"

He kind of fucks himself over in 8888, doing risky things like working with a crime ring and trying to sabotage the mission— and he fucks himself even harder in 7579 and 6488. He acts in his own self interest without thinking, and ends up facing the consequences for it, again and again. I think he can’t get himself to stop, honestly. A part of me thinks that this pushing and pushing, trying to get more of “what he needs”, is trying to make up for things he doesn’t have— like friends, or anything else outside of work and fruitless grabs at power. This guy needs a hobby.

Oh No! By MARINA

"Don't do love, don't do friends I'm only after success Don't need a relationship I'll never soften my grip"

Yeah, Hishakaku does not give a shit about people or anything but his own success. Placeholder (the author) answered an ask about Hishakaku potentially being divorced. They said: "Hishakaku claims to be aro/ace on account of his violent allergy to intimacy. But that doesn't explain whatever's going on between him and Jerry in 8888". In the tags, he elaborated, "To be clear I do not think being aro/ace automatically means repulsion to intimacy. I'm mainly trying to express that Hishakaku has used the label to write off a part of his identity he is not interested in investigating, because Hishakaku is a fundamentally incurious douchebag who does not care for other people and does not want to acknowledge his incelness"

Speaking of Hishakaku not wanting to investigate his sexuality, I don’t think he wants to examine his gender, either. I cannot justify it in any way but I think he’s genderfluid, or would at least be a bit more confident if he allowed himself to present femininely.

This is something that is also in Caesar On The TV Screen, where the singer talks about being able to speak because they are wearing a suit/being masculine. Which could be a part of the reason Hishakaku doesn’t want to introspect over either his gender or sexuality— he is a man, and that gives him social status— at least over some people. If he examines his gender/sexuality and it turns out that he’s not a man, then he’d either have to live knowing that he’s not a man and do nothing about it, or embrace it, potentially leading to lost respect/influence. Idk if I’m making sense but!!! Idk I think about him a lot.

ANYWAY back to Oh No!

"One track mind, one track heart If I fail, I'll fall apart"

Because Hishakaku doesn't give a shit about anything but himself and his own goals, if he fucks this up he's COOKED. He has nobody to turn to, no friends or support system. That's his own damn fault.

"I'm gonna live, I'm gonna fly I'm gonna fail, I'm gonna die I'm gonna live, I'm gonna fly I'm gonna fail, gonna die, die, die, die"

Every single SCP Hishakaku is in ends with him eating shit and getting his comeuppance. He's kind of doomed to fail, since he feels like he can only find contentment in power and control and refuses to look inward/embrace the things that could bring him happiness-- I.E, the relationship he has with Jerry in 8888.

The Circle Maker - Demo by Sparkbird

Firstly can I just say how nerve-wracking it was to add a Sparkbird song to this playlist? They make tiktoks about fandom related playlists their music is on. I'm trying to overcome my anxiety, but that'd be too much for me. As far as I know it's not on there.

"You are out of time You are out of favor You are but a cipher You are the circle maker"

Emphasis on the "you are out of time / you are out of favor". While he once might've had a place within the Foundation, he's totally squandered that. Also, I don't think anyone knows what the fuck his problem is. Hishakaku doesn't even know what his problem is, he represses so much shit and refuses to address behaviors of his that are shitty.

"How strange to grow so old And to never grow up And to never grow tall And to never grow wise And to never grow anything But smaller and farther away"

Like I think I say later in this post (I'm not writing it in all one sitting), I think that as director, Hishakaku is given life extending treatment, such as SCP-006. I think he's terrified of growing old-- and while he is, technically, aging, he's not changing or bettering himself. If anything, he could very well be getting worse.

Brand New City by Mitski

Hishakaku sees aging, and the fact that he will die, is something absolutely terrifying. This guy would love to be put in some kind of robot body, I think. Not just because he wouldn't die, but because he wouldn't age, too. Hishakaku came off as pretty vain to me, with him getting mad at Sokolsky for insulting his clothes, as well as STRAIGHT UP HISSING AT SOMEONE for making a joke about him not being fit. He will never be okay with aging or with growing older or weaker especially if he thinks that he hasn't "done enough".

Also, the line "I think my blood is passing me by" makes me think of his family, some nagging fear he has that he's failing them in some way.

Money, Money, Money by ABBA

This is a playlist about someone who cares about their wealth. I was contractually obligated to add Money Money Money. AND the song is a bop. Sure, it doesn't 100% fit but it slays so that's what matters.

However I don't think anyone, no matter HOW badly they needed the money, would either be able to get close enough for Hishakaku for him to give them money, or would be able to stand his bitchass for that long.

Also, Hishakaku 100% sees the world as "a rich man's world". Take that however you'd like.

Take Me To War (Live) by The Crane Wives

I can't 100% explain why this song makes me think of him so much-- I think it's because of how determined and ruthless I think he is. It doesn't matter what or who is in the way, if it's unsurmountable or not, he's gonna put up a fight until the very, very end.

Something I found interesting rereading 8ball for this is the fact that in the puzzle where they have to assign archetypes to people, Hishakaku was given the role of outlaw (or rebel, they were used interchangably when I read this.) Which, yeah he's elbow deep in crime, but outside of that I think he fits that archetype well. He's combative and driven, and desperately wants to shake up the status quo just so he can be the one who said he did.

Eat Your Young by Hozier

"Get some Pull up the ladder when the flood comes Throw enough rope until the legs have swung Seven new ways that you can eat your young Come and get some Skinnin' the children for a war drum Puttin' food on the table, sellin' bombs and guns It's quicker and easier to eat your young"

There's a nonzero chance that Hishakaku's been doing sketchy shit, even outside of what we learn in 8888. You don't become director with a clean record. Sure, he might not have been punished for these things, but what about things the Foundation condoned because, while unethical, they were in their interests? Fuck ethics, Hishakaku's going to do what's most convenient for him in the short term, with little concern for the long term or how he could hurt those around him.

Locals (Girls like us) by underscores, gabby start

Idk it's just the vibes. This song is cunty as hell and I think Hishakaku deserves one (1) cunty song. As a treat. The editing, and the fact that the song starts with what almost feels like a bunch of corporate buzzwords is part of why I associate this with him. That, and the singer's desire for conformity "I've done this questionnaire like 700 times / to get the same result as my friends" is something I think Hishakaku buys into. He wants to be special, but not a pariah.

How We’re Gonna Die by North Bloom

"But I cant take everything so seriously These days I'm just hoping to forget Move on and repress"

Hishakaku wants absolutely nothing to do with reflection and introspection, or his own emotions. Something I feel like he may value in computers/machines over humans is their unwavering logic. They don't get caught up in their emotions like humans do. He insists he's like machines, ruled by logic, but he's really not.

"Tell me how does it feel to know you were Bred to be a tool"

I headcanon that his family-- the Hishakaku's-- were a long line of mid-ranking Foundation personnel, always trying to get more influence within the Foundation. He was raised to be the very best, to move up the ranks more and more to make his family proud. I don’t think his parents really gave that much of a shit about him? Emotionally, at least. He grew up pretty rich, and they weren’t outwardly cruel, but they cared more about his future success and grades (to the point of being helicopter-y) than his emotions. I also think that if he had any conflict with someone and went to his parents for advice, they’d say “oh, they’re in the wrong. You’re smarter than them.” Or something along those lines. It’s an attitude he’s carried with him whether he realizes it or not.

Evelyn by Kim Tillman, Silent Films

“I'm a machine without a switch”

I see Hishakaku as a person who can't get himself to let go of things. He wants his cake and to eat it too. He's fully dedicated himself to what he wants, what he feels like he deserves/is entitled to. He sees nothing wrong with his behavior.

"These lofty thoughts are killing me Preoccupied by what I could be I get so high on my ideals Don't call me down But you can meet me where I land"

Hishakaku, to me, is someone who is constantly driven by desire. He wants to be high ranking, he wants power, he wants to be the very best. However, when he finally gets to where he's "meant" to be, he feels hollow. So, he's stuck thinking about what he "could" be.

ハロービルダー by Utsu-P, Hastune Miku

Here is the link to the lyrics!

Hishakaku is a technofetishistic guy, and I could easily see him obsessing over something technological like the singer. The song also fucks crazy hard.

The Spider’s Face (Dr. Stockill) by Emilie Autumn

Shoutout to @dino--draws for recommending this song! And also for enabling me. It makes me think mostly of Hishakaku in SCP-6488, when he's cast his web over the entire world. He's effectively destroyed AI, and even had the O5 under his thumb for a bit. He was able to make the OCI, and put his enemies in jars for christsake. This is him at the apex of his power, basking in the influence and control he has over others-- maybe even relishing in the suffering he can cause to them.

There's also spider imagery in this. I like to think that the reason LOTUS is a spider in the final bit of 6488 is because Hishakaku really likes spiders. He thinks they're kind of neat but would never tell a soul that because it's not normal to like spiders.

EVERYTHING by LuLuYam

"I want a life that'll give me purpose Fans, and lovers start to surface Be so big, that I own the circus All you clowns are at my service I want a life that's filled with green Leaf and money if you know what I mean White on my nose, blood on my sleeves Who needs friends, with dreams like these?"

I might not even have to pick these lyrics apart-- this is just what Hishakaku wants. He's burnt his bridges with people for his own image and ambition (Hell, he cheated at POOL with Kain Pathos Crow just to save his pride). In this, the Foundation is the circus. I've always interpreted him saying he "oversees" the site in 8ball (or whatever he says) as a Freudian slip-- he wants to be an overseer. He wants that power. That influence. He wants a life where he doesn't fell like he has to be more and more and more.

"A king, a lord, an emperor, a God A ruler over all My ego will not fall A fake, a fraud, a phony, oh my GOD! Don't crack through my facade… DON'T CRACK THROUGH MY FACADE!"

This guy sucks :3! I think that he's so focused on coming off the way he wants to that he's kind of lost himself in it. If you cracked through his facade you'd find a hollow mess and all the issues he insists he doesn't have.

Cockroach King by Haken

This song is basically about how Hishakaku is a capitalist/crypto bro and sucks a lot, but also how he's a fool for ignoring all aspects of his life outside of what he serves to gain from hurting people and believing he'll find any peace in financial success or bureaucracy.

All Eyes On Me (The Outtakes Version) by Bo Burnham

The repetition of "all eyes on me" again and again is what sells this as a Hishakaku song for me. The echo-ing vocals and the chaos of it also makes me feel like it's a fit-- I feel like Hishakaku has a lot of internal conflict that he doesn't address and just hopes will go away.

Whatever Makes You Feel Superior by Toehider

"Look at your friend's faces Don't it look like they're not having any fun? It becomes less about your theory And more about the feeling that you've won But whatever makes you feel Whatever makes you feel Whatever makes you feel superior"

Hishakaku wants to be superior to people because if he's above them then that means that he can't be vulnerable, nor would he be expected to be friendly or dedicate time to them. The most inaccurate part of this song is that it implies Hishakaku has friends-- he doesn't. He has subordinates, coworkers, bosses, and co-conspiritors.

In Cold Blood by alt-j

This is another one of those songs where I feel like the VIBES are what make it a Hishakaku song, not necessarily the lyrics. It feels like it'd be the theme song of some silicon valley murder mystery/conspiracy tv show. That fits Hishakaku perfectly. And if there's anyone who would do something in cold blood, it'd be him. The 01110011's also connect to Hishakaku's work with computers and technofetishism

King of Fools by Twain

"Ferdinand, a human-devil walking among men Filled up with the greedy lust to own up all the land He cut their bellies open thinking they had swallowed jewels When he watched the blood flow onto the naked ground Do you think he knew? He was the king of fools"

In all of this, Hishakaku is the king of fools. He wants and wants and hurts people without caring how he hurts them, then when they blow up in his face he either indignantly fights that he's in the right, or he acts as if he didn't know that anything would happen. For example: How I headcanon he got Site-15.

After Placeholder was abstracted, he changed quite a bit (check Dino--draws' blog for fir headcanons about how abstraction physically changed Placeholder.) I think Hishakaku was one of the first to catch onto the changes-- namely, the brain fog/freezing up-- by pure chance. Right place, right time. He started running "experiments" and being courteous to Place in an attempt to manipulate him into stepping down. Had Place not been recently abstracted, he would've caught on quickly. He's not sure if it was because of his suggestions or Place's genuine decision, but Place ends up stepping down and recommending Hishakaku for the position as director of site-15.

Almost immediately, Hishakaku switches up on Place and begins to lord his "victory" over the other man's head, especially when Place begins to study pataphysics, which Hishakaku sees as a quack science.

It takes some time, but Place realizes what type of person Hishakaku really is, and grows to loathe him. Not just because he tricked him into all but giving him the site, but because he pretended to be his friend in a time where he was at his most vulnerable.

Who Are You, Really? By Mikky Ekko

"So you feel entitled to a sense of control And make decisions that you think are your own You are a stranger here, why have you come? Why have you come? Lift me higher, let me look at the sun Look at the sun, and once I hear them clearly, say Who, who are you really? And where are you going? I've got nothing left to prove 'Cause I've got nothing left to lose See me bare my teeth for you Who, who are you?"

Hishakaku's been raised to be a director. He has no hobbies outside of crypto and computers. He grew up knowing exactly what he would be, and that is his ambition, purpose, identity. I firmly believe that if you asked Hishakaku to describe himself without mentioning his job, family, or status, he'd blank and stammer out that that question is ridiculous. This is part of why I think Hishakaku's dislike of Place is mutual-- Place thinks he's a puffed up crypto twit ruining his site, and Hishakaku is confused and jealous over the fact that Place stepped away from his position as director to go study nonsense in the woods, and he seems happier than ever. Hishakaku, deep down, feels hollow. He refuses to acknowledge that, but he is. And seeing Place so fulfilled, so sure of himself despite his abstraction, enrages him.

Iscariot by WALK THE MOON

Hishakaku always gets what's coming to him. Personally, I think he at least has some idea that he might not be able to weasel his way out of consequences-- but that common sense is discarded in favor of the arrogant belief that he'll be free from consequence forever.

This song could also be seen as potential feelings of betrayal from Cimmerian, since Cimmerian promised to keep his involvement with the Wanderer's Circle under wraps in exchange for helping him steal the 8ball. Even if he didn't have a personal relationship with Cimmerian, he'd still be pissed about the betrayal.

The Bottom (You Fucking Fucker) by The Taxpayers

Hishakaku could very well be the "you" in this song.

"You fuck. I fucking blame you, you fucker, you fuck I fucking know the reason you came Your name, your place, your time will come When the bottom drops out, when the bottom drops out And even though, even though you’ll get away with it Even though, even though people like you don’t do time I know someday your little black heart will pop Someday you’re gonna die, you're gonna die, you're gonna die

Things can always get worse Things can always get so much worse Things can always get worse Things can always get so much worse When the bottom drops out"

"Even though, even though people like you don't do time" This is more accurate in regards to SCP-8888, where, instead of being imprisoned for betraying the Foundation (AND LEADING TO THE THEFT OF THE 8BALL), his suggested punishments are being sent to watch the fish that goes on forever, or being sent to work at the Planet Fitness Foundation front in Jupiter, Florida. Researching Jupiter (I'm poking at an outline about his time there), it seems like a pretty nice place. Sure, he doesn't have his power, influence, or money, but it feels like such a nothing punishment compared to his actions.

"Someday you're gonna die, you're gonna die, you're gonna die". Due to the sensitive nature of what is kept at Site-15, I like to imagine Hishakaku receives life-extending treatment, like SCP-006. Once he no longer has access to that, though, he's stuck with having to confront his mortality. He'd taken 006 for granted, honestly. Now he's lost.

"Things can always get so much worse / when the bottom drops out" This is what Hishakaku's dealing with-- the bottom dropping out. Sure, he's not in prison, but he's been stripped of everything he's ever tied his identity to and in a super unfamiliar environment dealing with things he's never dealt with (assuming he is sent to Jupiter, which I think is the funnier and more painful option for him)

In conclusion, Hishakaku is an interesting guy that sucks a lot <3.

If you have any questions or want to give me a suggestion to add to the playlist, plz send an ask or message me I love this guy

[curseofaphrodite]

champagne problems | regulus black x reader

summary: this is regulus wondering if things would have been different if he just fought harder. (for all of us who like PAIN.)

Regulus looked around with distaste. He'd rather be writing his book, much much farther away from the present scene of ballroom dances and tiny cakes. In fact, he would be doing that if it wasn't for his mother's pestering.

L/Ns are honorable purebloods and to decline their invitation would be an act of immense disappointment. To both them and me.

Everything I do is a disappointment to you, he wanted to say, but of course, he didn't.

He had spent all morning picking out the perfect tie, which led him to throw his freshly arranged cupboard into a chaotic mess, something his father was horrified to see.

"Goodness, you'd think an elephant stampede happened here!" he had said lightheartedly, stepping over huge piles of clothes.

"What do you want?" Regulus snapped, immediately regretting it. He was supposed to be passive. He didn't throw temper tantrums, no matter how many reasons he had to.

If his father took offense, he didn't show it.

"Why don't you want to attend the function?" Mr. Black asked, tilting his head.

"I don't like weddings."

"But the bride personally invited you."

"Maybe I don't like the bride either."

"Nonsense! You practically grew up with her." He sighed. "The two of you were inseparable."

"Well, father," Regulus harshly drew another tie out of the pile, which didn't have much difference from the last one. "The only valuable thing I've learnt from Hogwarts is — shit happens."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh you can excuse both me and my foul language, but it's true. Now back to the original question, what are you doing here?"

"Sirius is waiting for you downstairs. You're late."

"Why's he coming?"

"To keep you in check."

Regulus sneered. "For that, you can trust him?"

"Your mother and I are not a fan of anything your brother does, but we also know he loves you more than he admits. He'll look out for you in case something happens."

"I don't need a babysitter."

"Just get down, will you?" his voice turned sharp. "And you're not the groom, just pick a damn tie!"

****

Now he's there, standing next to an enormous ice sculpture, wondering who on earth even chose it. He had lost Sirius among the crowds, but he didn't mind. If he felt alone, that's what he was supposed to feel.

"Reggie, you made it!"

He turned to see your mother walking towards him, hands wide open for a hug. He smiled involuntarily. Your mother was a spitting image of you, both in character and looks. You had gotten your kindness, humor, and chaoticness from her, so when he saw her, he had his first hit of sadness hit across his chest.

God I miss her, he thought helplessly. And as much as he did, he wished he wouldn't see you either. He hoped against hope you were busy with the crowds to ever search for him. He knew you wouldn't. He knew you had other priorities now.

"...and don't you look as parched as ever! C'mon some of the turkey will help you out with that—"

"No Mrs. L/N, I'll—"

"Don't be ridiculous. I've saved you the best seats in the house. Hurry up, the toasts are almost starting!"

Before he knew what was happening, she was pushing him through the ocean of people until he was at a bright clearing, one with too many lights that it took him a second to realize its where the guests had already gathered around pretty tables for food.

Mrs. L/N pointed out a table near the front, and made sure he sat there despite his protests.

Regulus wondered how long the seat had been reserved. He hadn't even RSVP'd yes. Or did you just knew him too much to know he'd be there? For the first time in his life, he wish he was seated next to Sirius.

There was a clatter of chairs being moved as everyone stood up. Regulus did the same, following their gaze.

He forgot to breath for a second.

The bride was here.

**

Sure you were accompanied by your groom, but he didn't spare a look at him. Regulus knew he should stop staring at you, but he couldn't keep his eyes off. No one could. You were absolutely stunning. White simple gown, your hair down, a diamond necklace adorning your neck — how was anyone not supposed to stare?

As you were seated at the front, just feets away from Regulus's own table, he wished he was anywhere else. It felt suffocating, and all memories came rushing back. Soon, the toasts started and people were standing up, talking things about you that he already knew. By the end of each sentence, Regulus chugged down a glass of wine. It magically refilled itself, which didn't help his self-control.

Fifteen minutes later, he was positively drunk.

"Anyone else want to go?" Mrs. L/N whispered at his table when the toasts were almost over. "Reggie?"

Regulus Black did one thing he never thought he'd do.

He giggled.

"Reg?"

"I haven't had a proper conversation with her in months!" he said, a little louder than he intended to. You raised your head at the familiar voice, but couldn't figure out where it was coming from. Could it be...?

"It was just a suggestion—"

"Nope, I'll do it. Why the fuck not." He stood up, and Mrs. L/N regretted her decision already.

"Oh dear," she whispered, sinking back into the shadows as he cleared his throat loudly.

Regulus saw your jaw hitting the floor, only seeing him now. He snorted. He brushed the front of his suit and cleared his throat.

"I hate public speaking." He finally spurted out, all bold and definite.

A room full of expectant people stared back.

"Oh no that's it... I hate public speaking." Regulus met your eyes. You were glaring back. "Shit yes, a toast! A toast to the lovely bride and groom! I don't know rat's ass about him—" a few gasps echoed through the room "—but her? Oh, I knew her alright. Don't you think so, Y/N? Don't I know you like the back of my hand?"

Sit down, you mouthed. He looked straight into your eyes as he said the next words.

"I spent half of my life loving her and the other half wishing I didn't."

The gasps earlier were nothing compared to the ones now. Your husband stared in shock when you got up from your seat.

"Great fucking wine!" Regulus concluded, raising his glass. "Cheers!" He gripped the glass with a little too much force, and the glass burst into pieces.

"Reg!" Your anger was replaced by worry, and you rushed toward him to see if he was okay. Mrs. L/N had used magic to get rid of the shards and was currently begging him to let her take a look at his hands.

"I'm FINE!" he said groggily, pulling his hand back and stepping away from the whole mess he made. When he saw you right next to him, he recoiled as if you were a snake positioned for attack.

With no other words, he left the scene, and you stalked without a second's hesitation. He didn't even know where he was going.

Anywhere but here, he thought, pushing open door after door. A blast of cold air hit his face, signaling he was finally outside. The lawn had all kinds of flowers, which looked beautiful against the dark night.

"Regulus!" you called sharply. "Your hands are bleeding, you know? Maybe slow down, for Merlin's sake!"

"Don't come near me!" He yelled, taking two steps back.

"I'm sorry," you spat those words out like it hurt you from inside. "Is that what you wanted to hear? I'm sorry shit got so fucking shitty with us and I'm sorry I wanted my best friend on the most important day of my life!"

"You don't get to play the martyr! I never left you, I couldn't leave you if I tried!" His words got louder by the second.

"Please let me just look at your hands."

"No."

"You're being so stubborn for no reason—"

"You left me." He sounded suddenly drained. You opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off. "No. Please. I'll just- go. Sorry for causing a scene."

"Reg—"

"I'll— I'll disapparate. Tell Sirius I'm going, if you're not too busy."

You tilted your head in dismay. "Okay. Should I say keep in touch or would that be too ironic?"

He scoffed first, but then sighed. "Maybe one day."

With that, he disappeared. Not a word more, not a word less.

"Maybe," you whispered into the night — alone, full of guilt and just a little heartbroken.

[drdemonprince]

Hi Devon,

I'm a recent grad planning to apply to psych PhD programs in the fall with the plan to pursue a career academia (despite how much I know it'll suck I've thought long and hard about it and truly don't think I would be as fulfilled doing anything else). My research experience has been in cognitive development and I keep on being drawn to questions about autism. I am Autistic myself and pretty much think the way we have historically thought about cognitive abilities in autism is garbage. I want to pursue my questions but am honestly terrified about trying to fight my way through the current status quo in autism research.

You're one of very few people I know of in the realm of academia with views on autism that I actually agree with and respect, so I would love your thoughts. Is there hope for actually Autistic individuals pursuing research into autism? Are there any researchers who you've seen building community with Autistic people and listening to Autistic voices? Do you have any advice for surviving in the field as an Autistic person?

Anything you can say to these questions would be much appreciated, thank you!

I'm the type to be brutally honest rather than uplifting and encouraging, so you know, take that into account when adjusting for the skew of my answers.

Any time a person reaches out to me seeking advice on pursuing a graduate degree in psychology of any kind, I advise them against it for the most part. The field desperately needs more research conducted by Autistic people, for Autistic people (and other neurodivergent groups) but I have never known a graduate program to be anything but extremely abusive, exploitative, ableist, and ill-suited to preparing a graduate student today for the reality of academic life as it now is. These mfers are playing by a rulebook that was tired in the 1980s and its downright detached from reality today. My graduate experience was so traumatic and disillusioning that I chose to abandon academic research or any hope of having a tenure track career altogether. Everyone that I know was either completely abused and traumatized by their advisor, or pod personed by them and transformed into exactly the kind of passive aggressive liberal manipulative ghoul that had once mistreated them. Graduate study ravaged my health and my self-concept.

Is there hope for actually Autistic individuals pursuing research into Autism? Well, there is a growing body of research by us and for us. Journals like Autism in Adulthood do give me hope, and help nourish me intellectually and improve my work.

Are there any researchers whom I've seen building community with Autistic people and listening to Autistic voices? All the ones that I've seen actually operating in practice use methods of communication and workflows that are profoundly inaccessible and harmful to us, even if they are incredibly well intentioned and open to the idea of neurodiversity. There is a lot of decent research coming out these days finally, but I don't know how all of that sausage gets made.

Do I have any advice for surviving in the field as an Autistic person? Make sure you have a very robust support system that exists completely independently from academia. Make sure you have a complete and rich life that has nothing to do with academics and do not give up even a SHRED of it, even if it means accomplishing less and taking more time while you are in school. Have hobbies, friends and loved ones you see daily, a spiritual or physical practice that helps you offload stress, vacations or little adventures within your community that renew you, and work that is applied and grounded rather than just basic/theoretical research. (especially needed if you're in cognitive psych land. shit gets so fuckin abstact and divorced from reality).

Read a lot of fiction or practice some art or do something creative that has nothing to do with your graduate studies. Do not sign up for meaningless committees. Poster presentations do not matter and don't help your CV much at all. Most committees don't either. Read the book The Professor Is In and the blog that goes along with it religiously. Do not trust your advisor. Do not expect your dissertation to be perfect and do not make it your most ambitious project, focus on making it something you can get done quickly that is just "good enough." Cultivate skills that will be useful outside of academia. Do not assume you will ever get an academic job. Read the statistics on how many PhDs there are relative to how many professorships. Speak to people who work outside of academia who have the credentials you are getting. Know how to market yourself and get a job outside of academia if you have to -- consulting especially may be a good fit if you are Autistic and not suited for a 9 to 5 in an office.

Grill any potential advisor at any program you are considered for, hard. if they are defensive being asked questions about their working style, their leadership style, their former students, etc, that means they do not like ever being challenged and that is a red flag. Ask to speak to *FORMER* students. Not current ones. Current ones will not feel safe being honest. Ask for job placement data for graduates of their lab. Look up reviews. Do not pay for graduate school, only apply to fully funded programs otherwise they are scamming you. Remember you can leave at any time. good luck.

[jewish-vents]

My entire life, I've yearned for the kind of community the Jewish community and Judaism have provided me. I found out I had Jewish ancestry when I was a kid, I looked into it more later and realized my most recent Jewish ancestor (like three-ish generations back) was almost certainly forcibly converted out, and decided to convert to like. Make amends for that I guess and also because I really vibed with the holidays and how we turn up everywhere in history bc we keep doing cool stuff despite consistently shitty circumstances.

But I digress.

I have waited my WHOLE LIFE trying to experience the joy becoming Jewish has shown me, and that gets shit on constantly.

My sister has started making a truly obscene number of Jew jokes. My mom scoffs at all the 'nonsense rules' and has said repeatedly that she thinks choosing a 'restrictive' religion is dumb and I've made a mistake. She even said it's an insult to HER parenting skills that I would seek out religion after she tried to teach me to know better.

My dad is dead but I never ever in a million years would have told him even if he were alive, and my sister thinks it's funny to threaten to 'out' me as Jewish to his relatives even though they're basically KKK-adjacent so she actually enjoys threatening mg safety at this point. (Yay family right?)

My friends have turned everything into an Israel/Palestine discussion lately and I know damn well what they're doing when they start saying truly horrible shit about Israelis and looking at me. They get mad if I try to temper their extremism so I've given up. I barely talk to them anymore and I spend more and more time with other Jews from temple and I don't want to like. Isolate myself from all non-Jews I guess bc I've always felt like that leads to weirdness and perpetuates shit about Jews being unfriendly I guess idk?

Anyway I digress again. My point is I'm really sick of constantly being expected to tolerate it when people think I shouldn't be Jewish.

Other queer people think I'm somehow compromising my queer identity by being Jewish, leftists think I hunt Palestinian children for sport now apparently, right-wingers think I traffic good Christian babies for organ harvesting or some shit idfk, my friends think that if I'm not being more vitriolic in my hatred of Israel than they already are I'm some kind of secret rabid Netanyahu fan, my family think I've been recruited into a cult apparently and the only other people who show me even an ounce of compassion or regard are other Jews and Gd knows there's like ten of us and that number is unlikely to increase.

Just. Fuck. I've put blood, sweat, tears and money into this, I invested more time and emotional commitment into this than I have into going to college or choosing a career, I love it more than anything and have only loved it more the more I learned about it, and all I get when I express this or even just let slip that I am Jewish and chose to be, I get nothing but hatred. I will never understand how a religion that has spent all 5000 years of our existence minding our business and arguing about the same book over and over can possibly have offended this many people with our existence.

Dmn anon, that is a lot you're dealing with right now. I'm so sorry you're surrounded by people who clearly don't respect you. Because yes this is a lack of basic respect, and it is antisemitic. Now I don't know how old you are and how safe you are, but if you can safely do so, set very hard boundaries. Do not tolerate this amount of disrespect towards who you are. It is hard, and many of us have had to go through similar situations, as you can read all over this blog. But I think having to spend your life surrounded by people who make you feel unsafe and disrespected is worse. I know sometimes there are situations in which people cannot safely set these boundaries, I hope it's not your case, but if it is feel free to come here to vent again.

I know you don't want to isolate yourself from goyim. Many Jewish people don't want to. Sadly, when people disrespect us like this, they're the ones isolating us. It's not your fault. Seek people who love and accept you. Sadly, a good chunk of goyim won't - I'm not saying everyone, obviously, but a portion. Having a good Jewish support network seems to be more and more important, whether it's irl or online.

I hope you can soon be in an environment that's safer and more accepting

- 🐺

[brighttears]

Tender

Joel miller x reader

No physical description

Summary: You and Joel met on the road a few months ago and chose to stick together. On your way, you look through a house and find nothing more than a threat, but Joel takes care of it. You take care of the body with a kind gesture that impresses Joel. When you set up camp for the night, he asks you a favor, and you oblige, finally letting yourself move a little closer. With you in his arms, he admits something.

Word count: 4.2k

Warnings: violence, death, vivid description of a dead body, talk of death, talk of sex, all you do is kiss

A/n: revived from the drafts with very little editing once again! i've been reading this book i really like and trying to experiment with that writing style lately but this is back to how tf i write. teehee

—

You walk in the middle of the road despite the sidewalk, having unlearned that social rule, because you don’t walk down residential streets much anymore and there’s no cars to worry about anyways. You’ve been walking through his suburb for hours now, making your way through this town to get to the next. Walking for days, weeks, you only following him, having met him at the right time, in the right place, and under the right circumstances to let you come along, though there hasn’t been enough trouble so far for you to be able to actually prove your worth. You wonder what it actually is about you that made him want to keep you around, but it doesn’t matter much. All you know is now, you and him are a team.

“Alright,” Joel sighs out, slowing his steps, “let’s clear one of these houses, see what we can find, take a little break.”

“Sounds good to me.” You reply, aching feet thanking his decision. 

You both stop in front of the next house, a two story, olive green gothic. 

“A big house like this looks promising.” You say to him, and he gives you a halfhearted nod, only glancing at you and instead looking over the front of the house. You hope the worry he’s at least trying to hide is not a precursor for what's inside. For once, you would really like to see some relief on his face.

You’ve only been running together for a few months, but you work well enough for a look between you to tell you all you need. It takes a minute to clear the large house, but all there is to see is dusty furniture, nothing useful left. 

Joel is behind you as you ease open the last door, creaking open to concrete steps to a basement. You look at him before placing your feet slowly down the steps, bent posture to keep your eyes level with your gun, scanning the new room. You come into a wide space with two open doorways, the floor and walls all grimy concrete, rusty metal pipes lined in a corner and stretching over the ceiling. There’s almost nothing down here, just a few rusty shelves with miscellaneous, useless crap. In the corner, however, are a couple tied trash bags, both half full, a few cans of vegetables and beans, visibly expired, which wouldn’t be worrying if there was not also a rolled up sleeping bag with them, dirty but not dusty. 

Someone is here. Maybe someone stupid, someone who brings too much shit with them and doesn’t know what to eat. But someone to worry about all the same. 

Joel cocks his head into the room to your left and then to the room he stands in front of, holding his rifle up and ready, telling you you go that way, I’ll go this way. You nod, turning with your own gun raised to enter the next room. It’s small and all there is is a washer, dryer and filthy utility sink. You twist around to check behind the door, all clear. 

Then, you hear a quick “Hey,” from a voice you don’t recognize, the cocking of a gun, a hit, an oof, then metal skidding on the concrete floor. You dash into the main room and stop in the open doorway of the next room to see Joel, back to you, struggling with someone else you can’t see. There’s a small handgun off to the side that must have been what you heard thrown from the stranger's hand. You watch, gun in hand, too much scuffling for a clean shot, but Joel appears to be handling it fine. He headbutts the stranger and there’s a gasp and a garbled yell, and then Joel forces him to the ground, his rifle somewhere between him. Based on the screaming, choked and squeezed, it must be on his throat. The person's legs kick and scuff wildly between Joel’s as he attempts to breathe and scream. They slow, go wild for another moment, then, still. 

Joel stays on top of him for a moment, making sure, his shoulders heaving with his breaths. He struggles to his feet, frame hanging for a moment before he straightens. He turns around slowly, catching his breath, and his eyes meet yours like he wasn’t expecting to. He pauses, glancing between you and the ground.

“You ok?” You ask. 

“Yeah.” He pauses, “You weren’t s’pposed to see that.”

“I’ve seen worse.”

Still catching his breath, he responds, “Have you?” 

“Of course I have.”

Joel stares at the ground, then shakes his head. “I still… don’t want you t’ have to watch… that.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Well, I will anyways.”

“You’re gonna give yourself an aneurysm if you keep worrying about everything.”

“I don’t worry about everythin’. I worry about you.”

You try not to let it show how deeply his last words twist in your guts, making your heart warm, your brain bleed, coming from him. There’s no room for this, the way he’s been making you feel, starting the second you saw him. 

“Well, still…” you look down, fidgeting with your gun absentmindedly before reholstering it.

“Doe’n’ matter. Let’s go.”

He heads for the door, curving his path around you, but you stay planted, looking at he body on the ground before you. 

“You’re just gonna leave this mess behind?”

Joel pauses in the doorway behind you, “What’s the point of cleaning it up?”

“I dunno.” You step towards the body, examining it head to toe. Eyes open wide, still fearful over a badly broken nose, steaming blood into his open mouth. Around his head is a growing red halo. His throat is nearly crushed. His arms are splayed straight out, one of his legs bent up, stuck from where it fell as he tried to kick his way out of Joel’s hold. The other is laid straight out, worn sneaker’s toe wrapped in silver duct tape. He’s skinny. Young. 

You curse the mushiness in you that refuses to leave. You don’t dig graves anymore, but you still can’t stand to just leave someone. People that have survived this long, regardless of how they’ve managed to do it, have earned at least some dignity in death. Too much thinking of your own death, resenting all the ways you might go before it’s even come, probably plays a part in this being instilled in you. 

You come around the body to link your hands under the armpits, dragging it to a wall, then coming back around to set him up against it. 

“Why’re you doin’ that?”

You take his pack off of his back and toss it over to Joel without looking. Then you rest the boy's head against the wall so that he’s looking straight forward, and pull his eyelids shut. You pat him down and find a fat revolver on his hip, too big for his size, fully loaded, and stuff in the back of your pants. He also has a dagger with a leather sheath made for something bigger, but it’s good enough, so you tuck in on your hip. You stand, not letting yourself pause on the body, and walk past Joel. 

He looks to be born after 2003, but not long. Based on his looks, he probably had his parents with him for a while. Maybe biological, maybe not. People that thought they were protecting him, but never taught him to survive alone. That allowed him to not have much muscle on him. That kept him too slow, too easily caught off guard, too scared. Maybe he ran away. Maybe they died.

Whatever his story was, it’s over. 

“Find anything good in there?” You ask, referring to the boy's pack.

“Nothin’ worth takin’.”

“Ok. Then let’s go.”

—

That was the last thing said for close to an hour after you left, walking back through the dregs of a neighborhood. 

“That was kind’f a, nice thing you did back there.” Joel breaks the silence as you walk past the large houses with a short forest overlooking a creek on the other side of the street. A nice neighborhood—formerly nice neighborhood. 

“You think so?” You respond, not used to a comment on it. 

“Yeah, I mean… I’ve never seen… someone do somethin’ like that before.”

“Well, get used to it. I do it a lot.”

His silence tells you that he knows not to ask further about it. You like that about him, that he doesn’t push. 

“You uh… you kill a lot of people?”

He’ll grant you some reticence, but you can’t blame him for some opposition. After a scene like that, further questions are fair. 

“Yeah. I mean… you have to. It’s like eating meat.”

“I like that analogy.” He gives you a slight smile. 

“It works, doesn’t it?” You match his smile. It’s strange how you can smile at something so macabre, but he did, so you do. 

The exchange feels like a leveling of the playing field, with all that back there. You think you’ve come to an understanding on what you can and can’t see, that he understands that shielding you from anything is a lost effort. He won’t scare you, you won’t be scarred, no more than you already are. There’s other things to worry about. Safety. But there, in the back of each other's mind, you know will be a sorry, sorry about the world we have to live in. 

You wonder what he was like before. From what you’ve seen, you guess he was probably a lot sweeter. It’s not hard to see that he’s got a front that he puts on. The shroud has fallen some, though. You bet he was a dad. But you won’t ask. No one asks about before. It’s an unspoken rule. 

“It’s too dark to keep walkin’.” Joel speaks up, changing the subject. “Let’s set up somewhere. Get some shut eye.”

You nod, then look at the houses and sigh. You stop and look at Joel, “I don’t feel like sweeping another house.”

“Me neither.” He admits. “The woods, then.”

You nod again and you turn into the trees. They’re a bit depper than you’d thought they were, and you sit down a few feet from the somewhat steep drop off to the creek.

“I’ll take first watch.” You say once you’ve settled. 

“No, t’s alright. You get some sleep.”

“You get some sleep. I can’t yet. Just let me take first watch.”

He looks at you, almost guiltily, then looks at the ground. In the bright moonlight through the trees, it’s still on his face, in his brow, his relaxed lips. You’re not sure what it’s from. Maybe from earlier still. Maybe because he really does want to get some sleep. Maybe because he still doesn’t quite trust you enough yet to not kill him while he does. You hope not; that’s just about the last thing you’d ever want to do

“I’ll stay up a while longer. Can’t sleep yet either.” He says. 

You decide not to ask. 

“Alright.”

All you do is sit for a while, a comfortable silence falling over you with the soft white of the moon. It’s peaceful. The creek trickles, nightlife chirping and humming like a lullaby. 

Joel shifts his legs, putting on straight out and using the knee of the other bent up to rest his arm. 

“So… what you did back there.”

“Yeah?”

“Why’d you do it?” He asks again. His face is soft, he doesn’t look at you with any judgment or scorn or mockery, just pure curiosity, and that’s what gets you to answer. 

You look at the dirt, cold and hard as concrete as you answer. “I guess… because that’s what I want when I die.” He says nothing, offering you to continue. “I just feel like… it takes a lot to live for a while. And I think that deserves some respect.”

“Not everyone out here deserves respect.”

You glance up at him, more diffident when you respond, “Yeah, I know… maybe respect’s the wrong word. Recognition, I guess. It’s not like I’m burying everyone that dies, I just… it takes a lot to get this far. No matter how you did it. Survival is survival. It’s just what I would want someone to do for me. Not that someone will, but…” it occurs to you that if Joel sees you die, maybe he’ll offer that to you, now that he knows. “I don’t know…”

“Well,” you hear him shift again, “I’ve never seen anythin’ like it, but… I respect it.”

You glance up at him, modesty keeping your eyes away from his. “Thank you.”

The quiet then is so peaceful that you don’t want to interrupt it. It’s a nice night, a cool breeze rustling through the trees, brushing your face like a kiss. You close your eyes to it. 

“You tired?” You hear Joel. You keep your eyes shut for another moment before letting the quiet go and looking back at him. 

“No. Just enjoying that breeze.” You offer a small smile. His lips tug up, and then you watch him close his eyes, resting his head back on the bark of the tree. 

“Feels like a kiss, doesn’t it?”

Joel opens his eyes again, looking at you with an unreadable expression. “Yeah. Like a kiss.”

There’s that spark again, straight from your brain to your heart, like an extra pump of blood that bumps a beat into your ribcage. You want to look at the ground or hide your gaze in the trees, but you can’t. You feel caught. You hope he can’t see it in your eyes, his locked on them. 

This man, rough and rugged, soft and sweet. Strong. Stable. Set. Here.

You want him to hold you. You’ve felt that for a while, but you push it down every time. Deep, where it’s safe, wanting it to be unreachable, squashed out, but it won’t leave. It barks like a dog tired of its chain, hungry and lonely and cold outside. Wanting to come home. Wanting to be warm. Safe. 

With his gentle eyes still holding yours, Joel whispers, “Do me a favor.”

Throat stuck, you reply, quieter than you intended, “Hm?” 

“C’mere.”

You flounder in the extra blood in your heart, pumping past your intellect, drowning you and your shield, your armor, you drown, and shift closer. You drown, and come into his arms. Your lips part, and you breathe. 

He’s warm… tender. His arms rest heavy around your shoulder and over your stomach. Your eyes close automatically, and there is that kissing breeze. Your body relaxes in his arms, softer than the dirt you’ve only ever rested on, and your head sinks against him, your cheek on his chest. It moves with his deep breath, and then his chin comes to rest on the top of your head. 

Fully submerged in the water, you submit and take a deep breath of it and reach your arm under his to tug it closer over your body. He places his hand on your other bicep, stroking his thumb over it. Your mind feels fuzzy like fur, this alien feeling petting over your entire body. 

Like a stray, hungry dog, you want more. You shift further up against him, basically crawling into his lap. 

Joel, protective, tough, caring, kind, homely. Safe. 

“Joel.”

“What is it, sweetheart?” He whispers, words coming over you like the breeze. 

You shift up, your guard fully burnt down by the heat of his heart, and look at his face above you. 

Joel. Resilient, passionate, winsome, close. A fallen star here in the dirt. Winged feather’s dark, but wings just the same. And here he is, holding you, those eyes on yours, and you’re caught, metal hook in your lip tugging them to his. 

You forgot how to kiss. But you know how to want. How to need. How to drink. How to taste. How to savor. And so does he. 

He cradles the back of your head, holding you to him, his taste is sweet and heady, like flowers after rain, like pollen, like life, blossoming into your mouth as he slips in his tongue. Everything falls away. All you feel is his warmth, all you feel is him, him, him. He pulls you closer, arms around your back as if dipping you in a dance, and you let your body fall limp in his arms save for your arms around him, stroking your thumb over the veins in his neck pumping real blood, and it makes you feel human. Not survivors, not leftovers, real people, kissing like people do. Joel makes you feel real. Seen, felt, cared about, and so warm in his embrace, so safe. 

Gently, he lays you down, keeping his hand on the back of your head to shield you from the cold hard ground, and he smooths his other hand around your waist as he leans over you, resting his leg in between your as if to entangle you, as if he’d need to, as if you’d leave, as if you’d want to be nothing other than close to him. A moan comes out of you, your brow furrowing up in sheer desperation for him, and you loop a finger in his belt loop to pull him farther over you. His body is heavy over yours, spreading deep relaxation through you under it. You entwine your fingers in his hair with your other easing around his waist under his jacket, exposed skin from his shirt pulling up teasing your fingertips. The word more flowers in your mind, any other thought absent, brushed away by his body and hands and lips. 

He breaks the kiss suddenly to speak, you watch his eyes wandering your face as he does,  “We can’t do this here, too open, it’d be too dangerous. We can uh, clear one of those houses, tomorrow, maybe,”

“What for?” you question, distracted by his lingering taste and a little breathless.

“I mean, uh, well, I wanna, um… alright, I’m gonna be a little crass here, but I wanna fuck you.”

You nearly snort a chuckle, biting your lip to recover and returning in almost a whisper, as if only to breath into his parted lips, “Well I want you to fuck me, too.”

He nearly moans just at your response, meeting your lips again and then pulling back away, “We better stop… I gotta hold myself back already, jesus.” He whispers, stroking his finger over the side of your face. You close your eyes as he touches you, imagining you were somewhere else in time. You wish you met him before all this. You wish you didn’t have to worry about it. Only be with each other. Relaxing in some bed with soft sheets and all the time in the world. 

“Ok,” You breathe out eventually, opening your eyes. He strolls his gaze back up to meet them, whispering “Alright,” and moves slowly to kiss your forehead. You’re a goner, you know it now, you’re his, absolutely, irremediably. He presses another gentle kiss to your lips, and you keep your eyes closed. You keep them that way as he slowly brings you back up, letting him mold your body into his, still in his lap. A sigh falls out of you, letting your head weigh against him as he holds you close. 

Something in you makes you think that this will hurt. Something will happen, and you’ll be separated, and he’ll only be a memory. Yes, he’ll break your heart, whether he leaves on his own or leaves in death, or maybe you will first. Right now, you can’t think of yourself leaving in any other way than your life ending. Either way, one of your hearts will be broken. That’s nothing more than a fact of life, now. Yes, this will hurt later. But not now. Now, is gentle, caring, sweet, unnatural, a dream, like a drug, like you’re tripping out of your mind, thinking you’re in heaven but you’re just in your bed, but right now you’re in the dirt, being held by a man the likes of which you’ve never met. Not even before. Because before, even the most broken were never this sweet, because this man, Joel, Joel, your Joel, is far more broken than any of them, more damaged than they could ever conceive of being, and his scarred rough skin is warm like the belly of a dog with this solid gentleness that makes you feel safe. Safe, surrounded by dark woods with things never not leering, whether they have some sort of human consciousness or not.  

“Have you ever been in love?” Joel suddenly asks, that soft tone that brings you ever deeper into the bed of his chest. 

“I’m… I’m not sure.” You whisper back. “Have you?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“What does it feel like?”

Joel is slow to reply, but then, softly, he says, “Like this.”

[minorfamilysupremacy]

it is insane to watch bible's actions nowadays. i will say, even back in kp era, there were one or two things he said that made him deeply unlikable to me, but like most i just ignored it. but holy hell has the facade dropped. the only thing he is now is a professional victim and you can tell he is SO pissed that his little show failed. these interviews or rather fluff pieces are just for bible to be sad on camera because it's the only way to stay relevant and ensure his fans continue to attack and blame build for everything, because despite it all, his fans couldn't be arsed to watch his show so this is all he has left. they will continue to beat the dead horse of "it was a thing that happened between two people", because anything else would mean they had to admit they chose the side of the woman who was sentenced to prison. oh and btw bible, weird how you never faced any repercussions for your social media posts about underage girls, rape, and transphobia... sure has its benefits being close to ponf hasn't it. god I hope karma comes for all of these people.

yeah, as an ex-stan i know i personally handwaved away a lot of stupid shit as his being young and having been catapulted into overnight fame and blah blah blah, but no. we got played for fools. dude's a piece of shit through and through and it's honestly kind of horrifying to watch. like, really, dude? pond is the fading star you want to hitch your wagon to? i'm just embarrassed watching him make a bigger and bigger ass of himself in every interview. it's always someone else's fault, he's always the victim, bloo bloo, crocodile tears (even more embarrassing since a lot of these interview questions are sent in advance so he can practice his fake waterworks).

and i think in his warped little mind, it IS build's fault that 4m is such a shitshow, or at least he's firmly convinced himself as such, because he and pond are glued at the asshole now and he can't let himself go against the party line. i've always thought sammon deliberately turned in a subpar product -- after all, did BOC ever say boo about the plagiarism accusations? because i sure don't remember it. and poi was punching way above her weight class by dragging in a much more respected writer when she was just trying to have a petty grudge match against her ex. i lost respect for sammon in the entire debacle for other reasons (i draw a hard line with animal violence, and the very vague details i know make it just sound gratuitous and lazy writing), but i was shocked she even stuck around to give them SOME kind of script. pond must have the best lawyers in thailand when he draws those contracts up.

but 4m was a shitshow not because of build, but because of poi and, more importantly, because of pond. pond sat back and dithered about which nong (gag, dude) he could wring more coins out of and tried, unsuccessfully, to play both sides like the loathsome little quisling he is. he did fuck-all to protect his talent and then he gambled on the 4m name still having enough appeal to gawkers to be successful, when anyone with two brain cells to rub together could have told you the project should have been scrapped with a quickness. (besides, if the version of the show we ultimately got bore ANY resemblance to its original vision, i sincerely question what was so tear-jerking about it. but i have a feeling what it was originally envisioned as is a far cry from the steaming pile we got.) the fact that they couldn't get anyone to pair with bible for ages is yet another red flag pond ignored, because god forbid he admit to any fuckups, and the coping about how jes is actually So Much Better and Lovely and Wonderful and their chemistry is So Incredible is...well, it's fucking pathetic. it's clowns all the way down.

and pond further bears responsibility for that fuckup of a 'rollout' of the show. how many countries did it get aired in, officially? seven? eight? half of those were places where explicit gay sex (which, as near as i can tell, is a good portion of the show to make up for the limp writing) is banned. european and american fans got entirely shut out from official support. i suppose that's probably because when build was in berlin, he personally spoke with the german government and explained that they needed not to air this particular show as an act of revenge, right?

but bible is never going to fucking look at the dumpster fire his life and career have become and lay the blame where it belongs, because he and pond are in this creepy symbiotic relationship where pond pimps him out to keep the business going -- seriously, jeff fucked off ages ago and mile is MIA with schrodinger's girlfriend, so they have no major talent outside bible to rely on -- and in return, bible gets shielded from repercussions outside of some well-deserved social media jeering. and both of them constantly pat each other's asses and soothe each other's egos and keep each other from any kind of introspection.

bottom line is, pond thought build was expendable at the time, because he was rolling in so much KP goodwill he thought the gravy train would never stop. turns out build wasn't expendable, so now pond's gotta choke the life out of the other half of the pairing to make sure he doesn't give up the grift (his constant european vacations don't pay for themselves, do they?), and that other half is more than content to play his simple-minded lackey because it's easier than having to fucking put a modicum of effort into anything.

karma will get them -- of that i have no doubt. there's too many rumblings of discontent, too many oldheads who have turned anti, not enough new people to stem the hemorrhage. man suang, for all pond's windbaggery, sank without a trace. THC is more notable for its controversy and rigging than anything else. DFF and 4m both couldn't sustain themselves through their entire runtimes and even people with no axe to grind with BOC were critical about the latter. they keep scrabbling for relevance in idiotic ways -- a sitcom with bible? a sitcom?! with what fucking comedic timing? -- or are late to the party -- they're supposedly planning a GL, which, by the time it gets to market, will just be one of many. gap was a while ago. GL isn't as much of a novelty as it was. and i mean, let's face it: do you trust this fucking studio with GL? i wouldn't trust pond to take out my trash without ripping the bag open, spilling it everywhere, and then making childish vague references about how SOMEONE he used to know paid off the hefty bag company to make his (pond's) life harder.

pond's all ego, greed, and stupidity. he'll trip over his dick (well, harder than he has already) soon enough. i personally can't wait to see it happen.

[fudgetunblr]

I've been thinking a bit about what alternative beginnings of the season they could've given the siblings, and here's some ideas I've had:

Luther was always number one, not necessarily because he was the strongest but because he was always the one most willing to please and be there for Reginald. He cared about his siblings, but he also cared about following protocol more. I think he'd want to be a part of a team, and therefore maybe he works in construction or something. He's not as strong as he once was, showcasing a life without powers, while still giving him something that felt meaningful to him. It ain't much, but it's honest work - and maybe that's what he needs. Also, he doesn't live in their old house obvi.

Diego always wanted to be a cop. Ik, Ik, ACAB, but it still would make sense for his character that despite his erratic behaviour, having kids and a wife and realising he needed to take care of them would calm him down a bit, leading him to a police job. It wouldn't be glamorous, and he could still want more. It would also showcase how he isn't as precise as he was without his powers, but still given him something that felt more meaningful.

Allison being a less successful actress feels correct. But having Ray walk out felt like such a disappointment. Perhaps instead either he died or she left him, showcasing that the Raymond in this timeline wasn't the same, and nothing was as it should. It would also make sense if she was really estranged from her siblings out of guilt. They try to pull that one, but they don't actually show it completely. Maybe she thinks they're madder at her then they actually are? Who knows. More self-reflection at the time-line she helped create.

Klaus being scared of everything was kind of interesting, considering he was once immortal. He didn't know it most of the time, but he also did drugs because of his powers. I like him starting this season off being clean, and also him just being extra careful. I don't think he would've gotten a job, he'd definitely mooch off of someone else, but perhaps not Allison. What if it was Luther instead? It feels like something he would do. Or Diego who forces him to babysit. They've never liked his bullshit, but I feel like Luther would've taken pity on him.

Five retires. Idk how, but he'd find a way. It would be a lot funnier seeing him just chilling out at an old persons home then have him be an agent. He's already done that shit, he's finished with all that.

Ben being a crypto-bro is so funny tho, idk, that can stay the same. And Luther picks him up from prison, and he's like "btw , Klaus lives with me" and we get some Ben and Klaus shenanigans.

Victor moving to Canada also feels correct.

I don't even know what I want Laila to do. I kind of enjoyed her being a stay at home mum, trying to do better than her own upbringing, but also showcasing how it's slowly killing her. Or perhaps she it content with it. Because just like five, she's spent her entire life running and flashing through time, maybe she enjoys settling down.

All this leads me to this - I don't like Ben spiking their drinks and forcing their powers back. I think it would be better if a real threat presented itself and they chose to get them back. Maybe Ben found the marigold and tried to talk Luther and Klaus into taking it. They tell him no, then someone, maybe Klaus, dies, and just like in the beginning, it's the thing that brings them all back together.

I love Klaus, and it would suck without him, but maybe seeing someone who has constantly escaped death so many times actually face mortality would bring a certain perspective. There's a threat (idk what that would be, something something, wrong timeline), and they're just not strong enough to defeat it without their powers. They don't want them back, they're content with their lives as they are, but they have to get them back now to save the world one last time.

Idk, that's just some thoughts. I think seeing them content and have shit ruffle up their lives one last time would've been an interesting way to return to. Alternatively, them being unhappy in the beginning, getting their powers back and then losing them again, because they recognise that they're happier without them. Just, any semblance of a character arc through the season and some introspective you know?

[schnees-and-schnugs]

I just want to say. I voted for Yang "protecting" Blake from Ruby. Out of character for me? Yeah. But consider:

Weiss sticking her weapon in Whitley's face, despite all the outrage, was a just a gag. And we all know crwby are just shit at writing comedy post v3. Their brains got infested with terminal unfunny brainworms that sucked out the ability to make a good joke from their system. They couldn't make edgy jokes anymore because they realized they had to pretend to be a progressive company, but that inclination to be meanspirited as fuck is still actually there inside their souls it just shows itself in a different way. And honestly listening to Kerry Shawcross trying to squirm his way through an explanation for it was much funnier than the joke itself so I'll give them that. Yeah sticking a gun sword in the face of a 14 year old is totally character development material I definitely can tell you went to a very professional and important school for writing Kerry (and he did which is also much funnier than the original gag also). Did it mess up Weiss' character? Not really she's always been a bit of a self centered trigger happy bitch. Slay ig!

Yang protecting Blake from Ruby? One moment that destroyed like... 2 characters. Blake for being the pussiest ass bitch and Yang for being herself post v4. "But you just don't understand abuse victims!!!" Yeah maybe but Blake was introduced to us as someone who could 100% hold her own. She didn't need to be reduced down to someone who needed to be protected from scawwy angwy Ruby. Imagine v1-v3 Blake in your head and imagine Ruby yelling at her, could you imagine she would have reacted the same way? I don't even need to explain Yang like truly what kind of behavior is she exhibiting where she implicitly choses protecting Blake from literally nothing over her little sister. Um !

Now look... It's common to reduce a ship down to the "soft uwu baby who needs to be protected" guy and the "I will protect you" guy in fanon. We've all done it. In our heads. We've all blurred canon so hard for a ship we enjoyed. Ever read one of those middle aged woman eroticas or just any fic on ao3? It's normal. But when canon starts doing that that's when you know youre fucked, son. MKEK are so bad at writing romance all they did was take the common woobification of a couple that fandoms do everyday and made it canon. They literally just made fanon canon.

Also the abuse victims excuse is dumb as hell they wanted us to laugh at Weiss threatening her abuse victims brother with physical violence (when we know canonically Jacques was not above threatening his children and hitting them if he was pushed to that point <3) but now I've got to sit here and act like crwby gives a fuck about portraying victims just because of a ship. Booo.

They didnt do this with Weiss' character btw. We see her get uncomfortable around conflict but never to the extent of what they did with Blake. The difference? Weiss isn't a part of a popular fandoms ship.

[marc-elly]

... an itty bitty ramble (sorry)

So I had a panic attack earlier (twirling hair nonchalantly). I could have sworn the world (or at least I, myself) was going to end there for a while. But thankfully, I had some help.

You ever find yourself, I don't know, enjoying something so much that you become super aware of the fleeting passage of time, and all of a sudden everything is off? It was like that but x1000 because I'm also pretty susceptible to sensory/emotional overwhelm.

Granted, everything in and around Tokyo is crowded/overwhelming in general, but especially in comparison to my natural environment (imagine fields and fields of potatoes, basically). I've learned to cope over the years when I've visited cities, concerts, events, etc. But sometimes when my guard is already down or something else is going on, I just kind-of lose myself a little.

This trip to Japan is something I've dreamed of/worked towards since I was a kid. And with life and winter and the everything going on recently, I've really been looking forward to it.

The last few days I've been feeling challenged, artistic, and newly inspired for my WIPs (fanfic and "super serious" alike) and have been exploring and feeling rather proud of myself for seeing this through, despite being natured and nurtured amidst Anxiety+.

Today, I ventured out into some of the more historic districts to visit sites, including temples and shrines. I had amazing food, took some nice photos, and was doing quite well overall until it was about time to go. I had a classmate who was very interested in Eastern religions and cultures who passed away tragically last year. And I had a little bit of that guilty feeling (why do I get to do this while they don't) and I was able to shut it down pretty fast, or so I thought.

Then came in some more intrusive thoughts (about the crowds, about my past, about other lost friends/family, about relationships, and obviously my own lack of control).

And of course, I thought the next best stop would be Shibuya. Because when you're super aware of the fleeting passage of time/life, you want to squeeze in as much as possible, don't you? So naturally, the BUSIEST FUCKING CROSSWALK IN THE FUCKING WORLD seemed like a good idea. A great one even. (SPOILERS IT FUCKING WASN'T).

So I'll skip forward a little, to me having a panic attack in a public restroom of the Tower Records store with the rain/privacy sounds playing so nobody could hear me hyperventilate (they probably could, oh well). At that point, my brain was cycling through ALL its favorite hits (everybody is mad at me, I'm too much, I'm hurting/failing everyone, I'm a failure, I hate me, the world is definitely ending, I'm going to die, and everyone will hate me for it, etc.)

I took a few beats, because OF COURSE I chose one of the noisiest stores one could go to (because I'm thinking music = calm, forgetting that they're literally blasting music on every floor).

I kind-of dipped out of there without exploring properly and proceeded to get lost. Very cool, calm, and collected of me.

But I low key feel like I had someone/something/somewhere looking out for me or in my corner or whatever, because suddenly, there was someone asking if I was okay/needed directions. And then I found myself at a little restaurant that wasn't super overwhelming. And then I was getting kudos on my Japanese (which is shit, and I said so, but they were kind anyway). And then I was given extra food for free (because I was super hungry by then and apparently throw back a bowl of ramen properly, which I think is a lovely compliment). And then I was finally finding perfect gifts for my friends/fam/sensei back home. And then I was getting complimented on my hair. And then I was... okay. I was okay. I was okay.

Without me really realizing it, a stranger had redirected my attention. And another stranger helped me even further. And then another. They did what I always hope strangers will do for my loved ones -- they took care of me. Maybe they could tell I was having a rough go, or maybe they couldn't. Or maybe they were being directed by the invisible hands of the universe or something. I don't know.

I just know I'm grateful. And I'm okay. And rambling kinda sorta helps me understand what happened and move on from it.