#embarrassing stories from when i was in school

[tinysunshine]

━━━ ✧˖° 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒

  [ 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐱𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ]

female reader, inclusive language. minors dni.

warnings and triggers: extremely dark subject matter, graphic mentions of abuse. sexual trauma. hints that daryl might be autistic. name calling. no smut, but moments of fluff. slight alternate universe.

word count: 9.4k

you and daryl grew up in broken homes. bonded by the abuse you both suffered, you find comfort in each other. but as you grow up, you drift apart, although the connection between you two never fully goes away.

when you reconnect as adults, you both realize that the love between you two has always been more than just friendship - it was also survival during the rough times, and in each other you find healing. in daryl, you realize that home isn’t always four walls and a roof.

sometimes, it’s a man with rough hands and a kind soul, who’s always had your best interest at heart. who knows all your demons - and loves you anyway.

you grew up with daryl - but instead of riding bikes around the neighborhood and telling fairy tales like a normal kid, you trauma bond over stories about your abusive family situations and collect empty beer bottles littered around both of your childhood homes to throw baseballs at, looking for any form of entertainment to get through the day. you’re practically neighbors, and as you grow up you’re more like brother and sister than just friends. shared trauma will do that to anyone.

during the summer, you stay awake and out of your homes until it’s dark, looking for frogs and eating berries, finding loose change on the road and walking the mile to the little convenience store in town to buy and share a bag of chips. you stay out until merle comes looking for daryl, or your own brother calls out to you, yelling, “get your ass inside or i’m locking you out!”

daryl and you always exchange a look, one that’s founded in humor, a ‘look what i deal with everyday’ expression while you try to act strong - but you both know it’s a very thin thread that holds your emotions, your hope, together these days. the only thing that brings a little light into either of your worlds is the friendship you have with one another.

you don’t have to hide around daryl. both of you can be your broken selves, show your bruises around each other. it’s not even embarrassing to bring daryl into your home, because his home is just the same. dirty, loud, a place that has you constantly tense and ready to defend yourself.

daryl is like your shadow, and you’re his. wherever you go, he goes. wherever he goes, you go.

you’re so close - until you’re not.

────

as teenagers, you grow apart.

you get pretty - and a little slutty. you look for validation from the mean guys at school, offer yourself up to any man that reminds you of your father. your beauty is your currency, your weapon, but also your biggest curse. makes it so you don’t even want to be around your father when he’s drunk, or your brother or his friends for that matter.

you’re busy, flunking your classes and stealing fashion magazines from the same convenience store you used to go to with daryl as kids with pockets full of change. you spend your time in bedrooms, mostly yours, hanging up photos from those precious magazines on your wall to cover up the cigarette smoke stained wallpaper. but you also spend a lot of time in the bedrooms or truck beds of different men.

sometimes, you wonder about daryl - the boy with the haunted eyes that was your lifeline and such a big part of your childhood. he’s just as much of the voice in your head as your own is, and when you walk home alone, from school or the store or past his house without catching a glimpse of him, you think back to the memories you shared together. the games you played, when there was still a little bit of innocence in the both of you.

like pretending to be cops, with daryl being the good cop and you being the bad. hide and seek by the stream in the woods that destroyed both of your school shoes, and you only got one pair a year, in just one weekend. grabbing an old bowl from your house to collect grass and leaves and little rocks and mud, so you could play family and make dinner, pretending the random squirrels that ran past you both were your pets. it was an idealized version of a family from the television you watched - because neither one of you have any actual memories of your mothers cooking.

or your favorite game: royalty, when daryl made you both crowns out of old grass and twigs and bestowed upon you the most important title you’ve ever held: mud queen to his mud king. like you were married or something.

on especially rough days in your present, you swear you see the tiny, muddy footprints of you and daryl when you’re walking on a trail back to your house. when you’d both check to make sure your fathers were at the bar or out of the house so you could sit next to each other on either of your couches, and share a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on stale bread, watch cartoons on televisions with grainy screens and bad audio.

you still remember how daryl likes his peanut butter sandwiches. lots of spread, a little jelly, and if there was one available - a whole banana smashed up inside.

you wonder if he remembers anything about you. you wonder if he even thinks of you at all.

────

daryl’s not like the rest of the guys in town, and that’s good - because he was always worried he would be. used to look at merle and your brother in disgust and hatred whenever they were high or drunk or just being themselves. and you don’t know daryl anymore, not at all, but what you do know about him, hear about him - you can tell that he kept those promises to himself.

promises to you, when you’re feeling extra sorry for yourself.

you have a memory of him walking into your bedroom so you could show him a new coloring book you got. you were much too old to be so excited about a coloring book, but daryl was ranting about how much he hated his family, and you wanted to cheer him up.

you notice this in your life even though you’re almost all grown up. maybe coming from poverty, having nothing, being denied a real childhood - it keeps you young. interested in things that normal people your age would’ve outgrown already.

like now, with your bed full of stuffed animals you could’ve never afforded as a kid, but that you’re so excited you can give to yourself now. back then, it was that coloring book that your mom’s boyfriend of the month, when she finally remembered she had a daughter and came to visit, gave to you. it had unicorns on it and you also had a brand new pack of crayons.

but when you opened your drawer looking for it, excited to show daryl, there was just a bunch of broken crayons and ripped up pages. your eyes watered, and daryl stopped his story about his father putting out a cigarette on his hand to see what was wrong. his expression fell, seeing what was in the drawer, and he picked up whatever was left of the coloring pages. your brother walked by your bedroom at the same time, and he saw what was in daryl’s hand.

he shook his head, and you couldn’t tell if he was angry or not. daryl stepped in front of you, and you don’t even think he realized he was doing it, but you remember that it was obvious that he was turning into a man. he was finally taller than you, and too strong now to climb up and into your favorite tree. your brother scoffed, like he was disgusted just by your presence.

you knew that feeling all too well.

“yer too old for a coloing book anyway. what you do to get that, huh? mom didn’t give me anything. she didn’t even say hi, but you - you whoring yourself out like her already?”

you saw daryl’s hand tense up. he grabbed onto the coloring book so hard it was damaging it more, but you didn’t say anything. just whispered, “let’s go for a walk,” as soft as you could until your brother walked away.

and on that walk, daryl grabbed at his hair and kicked empty cans in the road.

“god,” he groaned angrily, and you still remember that he was the only man or boy you’d ever been around who’s anger didn’t scare you. “i’ll never be like them. i swear it,” he ranted the entire walk. you stopped at the convenience store again.

the guy at the front hassled daryl about telling merle to pay up, and daryl hassled him back, which was unusual. you didn’t realize why he did that, until you both left.

on the way back home, daryl pressed a fresh pack of crayons into your hand. he had been distracting the guy at the counter so he could steal it. he shrugged. “can always just use regular paper,” he suggested, and you remember leaning on your tip toes to kiss his cheek.

nowadays, daryl sticks to himself, and eventually, drops out of high school. but you know he’s still in town because you see him sometimes when your brother drags you to the dixon place to pick up a bag of something to get him high. you never talk to daryl, but sometimes you see that he’s there, from his crossbow by the door or a banana on the kitchen counter - because merel wouldn’t eat that gay shit. or sometimes you hear him in his room, blasting music while merle bangs on his door and roars at him to “turn that shit down!”

you don’t know if he’s avoiding you or just avoiding the world. you wonder why you grew apart exactly. you have some theories, because there was never a falling out between you two. one day - you just stopped hanging out. you don’t even remember how it happened.

both of you just wanted to outgrow the shitty childhood you had, maybe hope for something better as you got older. did it happen? no. but the memories you have together are just reminders of the abuse you’ve seen the other handle. the dreams you bonded over, about escaping this town and your families - they never came true. looking at each other is just a reminder of that.

but your paths keep crossing. it is a small town, after all.

────

daryl sees you at a party one day, being shoved in a room by three guys that you don’t know beause you’re drunk and your reputation precedes you. he pulls you out of the room and gets in a fight in your honor, one against too many to win but daryl is a dixon and can hold his own. he walks you home and when you thank him he just shakes his head. won’t even look you in the eye. “quit bein fuckin’ stupid,” he says, and it hurts. but you know he’s not wrong.

it’s not your fault that you got shoved in a room, but it is your fault that you can’t say no. it is your fault, that you dumb yourself down so you’re easier to use, anything for a crumb of attention from a man who might be your ticket out of this town. you don’t want to be ashamed, but you are. of the woman you are, of the one you’re becoming - at the things you’ve done, just for an ego boost that ultimately ruined your self esteem even more.

daryl can see through you, even after all this time. and you hate it.

you see him smoking on the steps of a diner a few days later, eye bruised and black and nearly shut. his hair is dark and floppy and he’s so handsome, but your heart hurts when you see that even though he’s getting taller than his dad and merle, even though he’s strong now, the way he always used to wish he was as a kid, with big arms and shoulders from buffing up on his porch with the weights merle has - he’s still a punching bag.

you know the feeling. you gaze down at the bruise on your wrist, hidden by a tight sweater. it’s the sad proof that daryl is a stranger now, that you have to hide things from him that you never would’ve had to hide when you were kids. although: both are fucking sad situaions. the fact that you were kids, bonding over bruises anyway.

you walk up to him, and he offers you a cigarette. you shake your head. “good girl,” he says mockingly, and you hate the way that your body heats up. you can’t deny that you feel like he’s mocking you, like cigarettes are where you draw the line in terms of risky behavior, but you try not to dwell on it. it’s just nice to see him.

“they got you good,” you say, referring to his eye and the party. “thanks for helping me.” you don’t know what else to say, aren’t really thinking - you just want daryl to talk to you again. but daryl just shakes his head, scoffs and walks off. but not before putting his cigarette out, stepping on it with his scuffed up boot.

“wasn’t from that fuckin’ party,” he says, about his eye. “you know that.”

you don’t speak again for years.

────

in a blink of an eye, you go from two damaged kids to two fucked up adults.

daryl, a man now, big and strong and tough. handsome, dirty, rough. you see him in town sometimes, around his brother and their fucked up friends. or maybe they’re just merle’s friends, but you can’t judge. the people you hang around aren’t exactly good.

you hear the whispers about him, how nobody can read him, how he’s stupid, or a creep with anger issues - all things you know aren’t true. you know that, because they say shit about you too. that you’re stupid, slutty, a whore no better than your mother.

you don’t have an excuse for your behavior, but daryl does. you’ve got a television in your room now, and you watched a show one day that talked about…mental stuff. it was a little too complex for you to fully understand, but the doctor on the show explained somet things that just screamed out daryl to you. quiet, sensitive. they talked about some spectrum thing, and you wonder if that’s what daryl is on. why he’s so hard to understand.

why he dropped out when you saw him coming from a classroom that your peers used to always call the idiot class.

you wish you could tell him about it, but then again. what do you know? about life, or even about daryl in general.

you want out of this life, but you don’t know anything else. you don’t know how to get out. you wonder if daryl thinks about the future you used to dream about when you were kids. two apartments in the same complex, so you could always play together but got to experience your own space, you know? a big, color television. you have that now, but so does everyone. a fridge stocked with food and snacks. no beer allowed.

it’s a sad, funny thought. because every time you see daryl in town it’s with a beer bottle in his hand. and you, well - you’re never alone. never have truly experienced your own space that you’ve always yearned for.

these days, you see daryl as a stranger. not as a childhood friend. not anymore. and you certainly don’t see him as your brother. maybe you never did. because your brother is mean, with cruel hands and even crueler words. daryl could never be like that.

and you know that daryl doesn’t see you as his friend or his sister, or as anything different than the people in your town see you, because whenever he sees you at a bar in town, dressed up and on the arm of whatever shitty boyfriend you have, the way he looks at you, with the same disgust he used to look at your brothers with and something else in his eyes - it makes that clear.

although, when you’re hopeful, you hope that disgusted look is meant for whatever man you’re with and not you.

sometimes, when you know you might see him in passing, you dress up just a little sexier. but you’re not sure why. daryl’s not the type to think you’re any happier than you were as a kid, just because your skirt is short and you’re wearing cheap perfume. he’s not fooled by the charms of any woman, because he does have admirers. you embarrass yourself, for even thinking about getting his attention with your body and your looks. this is the same person who used to smear dirt on your face and call you mud queen, pretending to throw arrows with twigs before merle stole him his first crossbow.

daryl could give a shit about cleavage - and he sure as hell doesn’t think being chosen makes someone any more worthy. you should take notes.

while it’s a good feeling that deep inside, daryl might be the same person he always was, it scares you a little bit. because maybe you’re the only one who’s different. and not better in this case.

sometimes you feel even worse off than when you were a kid.

────

you’re walking home from the store one day, bag of groceries on your arm, when you run into daryl. he’s hopping on his motorcycle, and it starts to rain, which sucks - not because you don’t want to get wet, but because you’ve got makeup covering your black eye and the hand prints on your neck, that’ll surely wash off on the long walk back to your house in this weather.

daryl spots you. he’s leaving the gas station. you’re humiliated that of all people, you run into him today. you pretend you don’t see him, and tighten your hold on the bag.

“hey,” he calls out as you pass him. his voice is different. a little deeper than you remember hearing, but you guess it makes sense - you’re both all grown up. you always wished for that, but now you’re not so sure it was the right wish. because you’re in the same position you were in as a kid.

maybe you should’ve wished for a ride out of this town instead.

you look back at daryl, and give a tight lipped smile and nod of your head to let him know you saw him. you keep walking, but as embarrassed as you are, you’re pretty happy that he’s talking to you.

he starts up the motorcycle, and you wait for him to speed by you. a thought occurs to you, that he’s always wanted a bike like that. used to talk about it as a kid, used maple syrup to stick pictures of motorcycles from his father’s magazines to his bedroom wall.

you’re happy for him. it must feel good, to finally get something you want. you don’t know what that feels like. maybe daryl is happy in this town, and it’s just you who’s so miserable you’re projecting that onto everyone else.

the motorcycle stops right beside you, and you’re closer to daryl than you’ve been in years. you see his face, with more lines than he had the last time you spoke to him. but just as handsome as ever, hair longish and dark and in his eyes. you want to push it back, like you did with dirty, sticky hands back when you were kids.

“you need a ride?” he asks shyly, and you swallow hard, wondering if he remembers that was the first thing he said to you back when you were kids. the sentence that started your friendship.

you were stranded at school, your mom run off with a new man and your dad too drunk to give a fuck, brother probably high somewhere. daryl rode by on his run down bike, just slightly too big for him, the parts all mismatched - but at least it was wheels. he rode that thing until merle went to prison and coudn’t steal him anymore parts to fix it.

he asked you that same question then, and you still have the same answer.

“wanna ride?” he’d asked, no backpack or anything even though you were both leaving school. “you live by me. i’ve seen you.” you nodded, and got on, just like now.

it breaks the ice. much like it did when you were kids.

you realize that day, from a thought that's just as sweet as it is scary for someone like you - that history really does repeat itself.

────

suddenly, you’re not avoiding daryl anymore. and he’s not hiding from you. when you see him in town, you walk over to him to talk. you offer to go to his house to get shit for your brother from merle because you know you’ll see daryl, and you share a soda on the porch with him, sitting mostly in quiet, but daryl’s presence has always been comforting to you. not his words.

being around daryl now, as an adult - it doesn’t feel like friendship. it feels like something else. when you see him, ripped arms showing in a vest, his new camaraderie with his brother that feels more equal than it ever has before - you realize you’re attracted to him. it’s the first time you’ve ever though of daryl like that, and even though your friendship or whatever it is is growing, you pull back, scared.

it’s been a long time since you’ve been around a man who just wants to be your friend - and you trust daryl, but it’s hard to believe that’s all he wants. the pressure you’re making up all in your head starts getting to you, and you change.

start wearing makeup to your little porch sessions. a push up bra that’s a size too small. you’re a little jealous, you think one day, sitting on his porch after your own brother punched a hole in your bedroom wall because you drank the last orange soda, that daryl’s big enough now that his brother and father don’t pick on him, while you’re still at the mercy of the two men in your home who will always be bigger and stronger than you.

you see daryl one day when merle and his father are out so he’s alone at his place. you’re in a little, yellow sundress and daryl scoffs at you. “what the hell are you wearin?’” he asks, and you blush, attempting to sit on the dirty stairs of his porch. but he stops you by reaching a hand out and you flinch - and he notices. looks at you like he always did when you were a kid and he heard your father yelling at you. pity, but something like hurt in there too. hurt, maybe, that you flinched around him. but’s it not like you can control those types of reactions. your body is just being cautious.

daryl doesn’t say anything. he just puts that angel wing vest of his on the step so you can sit on it so you don’t ruin your dress, and it’s sweet but it makes you sad.

you’ve never had a guy be thoughtful to you before. only daryl - and that’s pathetic. you’ve shared your body with more men than you can count, and daryl doing something so normal makes you feel incredibly indebted to him.

“just wanted to feel pretty,” you tell him, embarrassed. he looks you over, shakes his head like you’re an idiot. maybe you are. you can’t say you’ve ever had a man not want to see you in a sundress, but you’re happy he’s noticing the effort you put in to be around him.

“don’ have to do shit to be pretty, mud queen,” he says. your stomach erupts in butterflies. he remembers. “yer already the prettiest girl in this garbage town.”

────

weeks go by, of sharing sodas on daryl’s porch, or bringing him those peanut butter sandwiches he likes so much when he stops by yours. eventually, those childlike foods progress to beer, and then somehow, some way, you kiss him.

it just happens. you’ve never been good with boundaries, and daryl has never made a move. you worry, even if you’re not conscious about it, that if you don’t show him you’re interested soon that he’ll be done hanging out with you. men play the long game that way. it’s all a game to them. you know daryl is different but still -

you put yourself out there. or maybe, a better term would be get desperate. you make it clear, how you’re feeling. and after his compliment, calling you the prettiest girl in your entire town, all you can think about is the fact that you got pretend married when you were kids. you found a dirty lace shirt in the back of your closet that must’ve belonged to your mom, and it looked like a veil you saw in a movie. and daryl humored you, used a leaf as a bow tie and held one of your dirty hands in his own as you said i do.

and then you admitted that you don’t know what being married actually means. how could you? you'd never seen a normal example of a family. “i think there’s supposed to be rings,” you remember telling daryl that day, and he just shrugged. “i’ve never heard of that,” he’d said.

but now you’re adults. and you're not a mud queen, you’re the town slut. and daryl isn’t the broody, quiet kid skinning frogs for fun, he’s strong and handsome and a man - and, okay, he's still broody and sinning frogs. but things are different, and so are you, but he’s still the daryl that always brought you peace.

you wonder, pressed arm to arm on his little porch step, what it'd be like to be married to someone like daryl. to daryl dixon himself. but you shake yourself out of those random, childish thoughts, because they do nothing but hurt. with your reputation, there's no way in hell anyone, even a man as kind as daryl, would ever actually marry you.

but daryl's always been your peace. even with the screaming and yelling and the violence in your home, or in this case, with merle screaming at the television inside of the dixon home -

you’re still that same little girl you've always been. desperately looking for someone to care. to love you. you push yourself into daryl’s arms and kiss him, and he kisses back for a second before pulling away. shoving you, although gently, back.

‘’m not one of those losers you gotta fuck for some attention,” he spits, and you’re speechless. embarrassed. he stands up, and you know it’s your cue to leave, especially when merle comes out. he overheard, despite the screaming. or laughing. hard to tell with merle.

“oh hell, little brother,” he teases. “you finally fuck her? wassit been? ten years? how much longer you gunna make her wait? she’s aching for it, comin’ here all the time. you sure your pecker works?” he goes on and on.

they starts bickering, and you leave, heading back to your home with nothing your brother asked of you - weed, something stronger. you’ve got nothing but the last piece of self-worth in your hand, and you want to just toss it down the toilet and flush it.

what kind of woman puts the moves on a man? it's so desperate. you're mortified, and as you pass the mirror in the entryway of your shitty home, you feel like the ugliest person on the planet.

of course, not having what your brother asked for causes a fight, only - you’re not daryl, and you’re not strong. it’s not a fair fight, and you end up with bruises so bad you just pack your sundress away, because there’s no way in hell you’ll get to wear it again by the time summer is over. it's long-sleeved shirts from now on.

you think you ruined whatever you had with daryl and you hate yourself. how stupid you were, treating him like some other guy. just because that’s the only way you connect with other men, doesn't mean that's the way to connect with daryl. you should known that, better than anyone.

you ignore him. avoid him. but it’s not like he’s seeking you out.

until one day, he comes to your window.

that’s how he used to ask you if you wanted to play, when you were kids. would walk through the dense woods, because he said he was never scared - which was a lie, because you’d seen his eyes when his father pulled his belt out of the closet one day. but maybe he just meant he was never scared of anything in the woods. he would throw a rock at your window to get your attention. anytime you ever watch a romantic movie with a window scene, you always think about daryl - and you wonder why it took so long for you to see him in that light.

why it took so long to realize that daryl dixon is so much more than the dirty, damaged boy you knew as a kid. but maybe that’s because it’s a scary realization. would mean that you could be more than the damaged, dirty little girl you used to be - and if that’s the case…what do you do? how do you move on and learn to live as someone you’ve never even known you could be?

you open your window when daryl taps on the glass. he doesn’t use a rock this time, probably because he remembers when your father shoved you against a wall for throwing a book against the television once as an accident. now that you think about it - the rock throwing did stop after that incident.

when you see daryl and open your window, all you say is, “i'm sorry.” he doesn’t say anything else, just crawls through the window, body almost too big, and lands with a thud after almost tripping. you giggle, so happy he’s not mad.

“room looks different,” he comments, sitting on your bed. he looks funny, a little filthy and all dark clothes, on your ratty, floral print bed covers in your trashy, uber pink room. you wish you’d cleaned up, but you never have anyone in here who matters.

never have had a man in your room who’s more interested in the design of of it rather than the little pajama set you’ve got on. you nod.

"i’m all grown up now, daryl,” you remind him, standing in front of him. “and so are you.” you’re not trying to excuse kissing him or making him uncomfortable, but maybe he forgot. you’re not kids. you’re not friends - you don’t call yourself brother and sister to the people at school after they question why daryl always shares his lunch with you.

it’s okay if he wants to kiss you back.

you wish he would.

he just looks at the ground, at your dirty carpet, the red nail polish on your toes that are so close to touching his boots. you follow his gaze. and then, he notices the bruises on your arms.

“whos been hurtin’ you?” he asks, and you understand why. you’re always seen with a different guy around town. or, you were, before daryl filled the void a few months ago. maybe he thinks it’s someone from town, but you’re too embarrassed to admit that it’s not. or maybe, he forgot that just because he’s bigger, can handle his brother and father - you’re not. it feels like he should really be asking who’s hurting you now?

you understand now, how he felt that day outside the diner. on the spot. like the answer is obvious, and someone is just trying to pry the truth you’re so ashamed of from your mouth. you bite your lip, shutting your eyes as you answer. “you know who.”

he looks from you to the door, hearing your brother laugh at something that’s playing on the television, before visibly taking a deep breath. he shakes his head as he exhales, pausing before his eyes look into yours. he’s quiet for so long, that you shift on your feet, looking for something to fill the silence the way his large frames fills your room.

“i don’t think of you like the other guys, daryl. i just. i dunno. i felt comfortable with you and,” you don’t know what to say. you’ve never had to apologize for coming onto someone before - and you’ve definitely never had anyone apologize for coming onto you.

he looks at you, neutral expression on his face, and then he sighs.

“come here,” he says, tugging you closer by the hand. gently. you stand between his legs, in nothing but your pajama camisole and a pair of shorts, and he kisses you. has to lean up a little from sitting, but it works. he wraps his arms around you, holds your body close, and when he rubs a hand down your back, your body shudders with sobs.

daryl is a good kisser. sweet. he’s timid, and you can tell he hasn’t had much experience. not compared to you, where kissing is like breathing at this point. you like that about him - it makes you, selfishly, happy.

but you’re still crying.

daryl pulls away, visibly confused and worried, but you you push yourself back in his arms. like a stray kitten, who's not taking no for an answer now that it's finally being shown some love.

you’ve never been kissed so gently. never been touched so gently. you never thought about what it’d be like to kiss daryl until recently, but you didn’t know it’d feel so, so. soft? the opposite of home? warm and calm and safe. maybe it's what home should feel like. you lose yourself in him, even with the sound of your brother screaming at the television and hitting the wall in the other room.

you cry like an idiot in daryl’s arms, even as he kisses you. some first kiss between you two.

when you were a kid, you never cried. always prided yourself on being strong and tough - just like your best friend daryl. maybe you have changed more than you realized. you sniffle, and sit beside him at the end of your bed, but he still holds loosely onto your hand.

“you’re the only one who has ever held me without hurting me, daryl,” you admit. sheepishly, with heat in your cheeks, you sort of shrug. “you’re the best man i know.”

you don't know what this is between you two. what it could be, what it will be. what you want it to be. you just know that it feels like the strings of fate wove together to give you both someone to count on. someone who understands. unlike when you were a child, tonight, in daryl’s presence, you don’t hope or wish for anything.

you don’t care what that kiss meant. you just don’t want daryl to go.

daryl says nothing at first, just strokes a hand down the back of your head, a comforting gesture you’re not sure where he learned, considering the way he grew up.

if you weren't so upset, you'd realize that his mother used to comfort him like that. the few times she ever did.

“yeah,” he finally replies, swallowing hard, like the compliment isn’t one at all. maybe he just doesn’t like what it means for you. “that’s a shame.”

and that’s it. you’re inseparable again.

────

after that night spent together, you don’t kiss again. but you touch. something is different between you two. you’re more than just the former friends you used to be, but there’s a line you haven’t crossed.

it sort of feels like it’s always been, you know? you and daryl. daryl and you. you see each other almost every day, but it's hard since you both still live at home. you stopped sneaking him in your room when your father ran into daryl at a bar and slapped him on the shoulder. said, “so you’re the one screwin’ my daughter now, huh? enjoy it while it lasts, dixon. she’s a pretty little thing, ain’t she?”

daryl had to punch a hole in the wall of the men’s bathroom to stop from punching your father in the face. he wants to hurt him, you know. your brother too. now that he’s big enough, no longer the little boy that used to help cover for whatever mistake would get you hit as a kid because he lacked physical strength, he wants to be the friend he’s always wished he could be.

but you tell him no. it’ll just complicate things. you still live at home, and he can’t be there every second to protect you. daryl seems pissed, but he understands. has the scars on his back to prove how just much he does.

but things are good. as good as they can get, anyway. you spend a lot of time together. find an empty field behind your homes and lay on the grass together, watching the stars. he never tries to kiss you again, but he lets you hold his hand or nuzzle against his arm. and that’s enough. it is.

shit’s getting crazy in town. a few hours away, in the big city, there’s word going on about people getting sick and dying. first it’s a fever, and then they’re up and walking and trying to bite others. you don’t understand, but daryl tells you not to worry. you want to trust him, and you do, for the most part -

but it's getting worse every day. people are dropping dead all around. which would be horrible in itself, except for the terrifying fact that they don’t stay dead. they get back up, and they - the walkers - try to attack and -

that’s what daryl says they’re called. you see your first one when daryl’s walking you back from your spot on the field. it looks like the man that owns the old convenience store, but he’s growling, and he’s trying to walk towards you, and his scalp is missing and you’re so scared you start crying.

daryl kills him with a big rock. you’re shaking, hysterical when you get home, and daryl walks you inside. “your dad home? brother?” he asks from the doorway, but you don’t see their truck or the television on, their staple. you shake your head, and he comes inside.

“shit’s going to hit the fan. you understand?” he asks, and you don’t. you’re scared. you’re confused. and you’re worried. but you nod anyway.

“you need to be ready for,” but the sound of a car driving into the garage and alerts you that’s someone’s home. daryl looks at you, then the door that leads into the house from the garage, before nodding. “i’m gunna go. gunna get some shit together and check on merle. i’ll be back in a few hours to check on you. pack a bag or sumthin’ just in case,” he says, and for the first time in all the times he’s walked you home lately, he looks shy as he leans in and kisses your cheek.

he’s out the door before your brother and father even drunkenly stumble in the house.

you obey what daryl says. you lock yourself in your room, and you’re not sure what daryl meant by be ready, but you grab a bag from your closet and fill it with clothes. just in case, right? who knew it’d take an apocalyptic situation to get you to finally leave this shitty town.

you’re worried, about daryl. you count the minutes until he comes back, because it's getting later and later and he’s not here yet. the sound of the clock, the tick tock tick tock makes you want to puke. you honestly consider trying to empty your stomach in the bathroom before your body makes you puke on its own when there’s a sound outside your door.

the door opens. it’s your brother.

“get your shit,” he orders, your door bouncing off your wall. there's a hole in the wall from the doorknob being constantly slammed against it. you catch a glimpse on the skinny part of the door that's normally hidden when it's closed - it still has the height markers you and daryl used to measure yourself with. he's everywhere, has always been, even when you don't notice.

your brother looks down at your bag already packed, purse on top of it. “shit, you already did. where you goin’?” you open your mouth to answer, but then your father is walking behind him, both of them peering at you with so much suspicion in their eyes you actually feel like you did something wrong.

“you planning’ on leavin us as soon as shit goes wrong? we’ve put a roof over your head for how many years? and now, what? you think dixon is gonna save you? that fuckin' re," he stops before he finishes that statement. even he knows better. besides, he'd never be mad at another man - only his daughter gets that special treatment.

"we’re all gonna die, girl. you first. can’t fight, can’t think, can’t do nuthin but pass yourself around town.” your father won’t stop, and you try not to cry, but you really just wish daryl would come back. your hands are shaking when they try to zip up your jacket, but it seems like that just pisses your brother off more. that you’re avoiding their angry outburst.

there’s nothing an angry man likes more than getting someone else angry. so he has an excuse to be the asshole he is at his core. you’re not going to give them the satisfaction.

in the distance, there’s a noise like an explosion. the sound of alarms going off from the neighboring city, the smell of smoke, so strong it actually masks the smell of cigarettes in your own home, which you didn’t think would be possible. tears start flowing from your eyes.

but it’s not because of the state of emergency in the city. on your brother and father’s face you see fear - something you’ve never seen before. and then it all happens so fast.

your brother reaches out and pushes you down. grabs you by the hair and hurts you, hurts you, hurts you. your father only interrupts to tell him it’s time to go, and they leave you, alone on the ground with new bruises and trauma to take with you wherever you go.

they used you, like always, to mask their own fears and pain. at this point, you really feel numb.

daryl comes back, a few hours later. you’ve been staring at the floor, scared to move. the town is literally a hellscape right now, the sound of people breaking windows, screaming, growling. you stay as quiet as possible on your bedroom floor, and you almost jump out of your skin when you realize it’s daryl coming through your window.

“you good?” he asks, a huge bag slung over his shoulder. he’s in a rush, you can tell, is looking around the room with a frequency you’ve never seen in him. he’s reading the situation, and he sees it written all over you.

but you see through him too. he’s scared, but he’s trying to be casual as to not scare you. you wonder where he learned to be gentleman - sure as hell wasn’t from any man in this town.

when you don’t answer, he tosses his bag down and pulls you up, grabs your little bag too and hands you your purse. there’s a little stuffed bunny keychain hung on it, and it looks so fucking stupid for the severity of the situation happening outside your window. you rip it off and daryl notices but doesn’t say anything.

“c’mon. we gotta go. i grabbed some supplies, i’ve got my bike. can’t stay here. it’s crazy outside,” and he goes on and on but you’re not really listening.

you interrupt, just as he helps you to the front door. “my brother and dad. they left,” you say, embarrassed to admit. yeah, you both know you’d be leaving with daryl - but the fact that they didn’t even care about what happens to you hurts more than you thought. maybe you convinced yourself, all these years, that they were so hard on you because they loved you. showed they cared in different ways - kind of like merle with daryl.

you were wrong. because your arm hurts, your hand is cramping, and you’re pretty sure you’re missing hair from the way your brother hurt you. it’d be tough to fight a walker at your full health, but right now, you’re completely useless.

thank god for daryl dixon.

daryl freezes, pauses. looks down before ushering you to his motorcycle. “yeah,” he says, nodding. he won’t look you in the eye. “i know.” another pause. “c’mon. we gotta go.”

he leads you to his motorcycle, and you hop on. it’s kind of impossible to get comfortable, because you’re holding two fucking bags and trying to hold on for your life, but you manage. daryl speeds off, and you wonder how a normal day could turn into such chaos. fire blazes through the trees and neighboring city. there’s these, these - things walking around, slowly, growling.

you hold onto daryl tighter. press your face in his back and breathe in the comforting smell of him. he smells like home - cigarettes, cheap detergent, woodsy.

you want to ask about merle. about your own brother and dad. how you can just leave them, how that’s fair, but you just can’t. you’re scared, but you still know the best place for you to be right now is with daryl.

you just know. and anyway, it’s not like anyone else gave a fuck about you to make sure you got anywhere safe.

that day daryl picked you up on his motorcycle in the rain - you imagined what it’d be like if he just kept going. if you didn’t stop on your street, if you didn’t have to go home. you pictured the two of you driving somewhere better, so long as it was out of this fucking town.

but you never imagined it’d be like this. with the walking dead running after you, cars stalled on their journey out of town because the walkers got to them before they could drive off. fire in the distance, the sound of some alarm going off so loudly you can hardly think. the dead litter the streets - walking, but also just laying there.

and then you see them. you're not even a few minutes away form your house. they’re laying on the ground, right next to a truck you’re sure you’ll see in your dreams for years to come. it belongs to your father.

“daryl,” you say, but he keeps driving. you’re certain the people on the ground are your father and your brother, a group of those things surrounding them, ready to dig in. “daryl,” you say again, “stop the bike.” but he doesn’t. you turn your head to look back, almost dropping your bag, but you catch a glimpse of the muscle in your brother’s arm being torn out. the muscle he always utilized to hurt you.

you sob into daryl’s back.

────

you keep driving until daryl’s bike needs gas. there’s a long road that leads to all the major highways, and it’s completely jam packed. you’ve been on the road for hours, so daryl parks the bike, tells you the run down of the plan that you’re not even listening to because you’re so scared and frozen. he's beyond frustrated with you, but he leads you to a spot in the woods to spend the night.

it’s risky, being anywhere right now. but daryl knows what he’s doing more than you do. you trust him, more than anyone else you’ve ever met. more than you even trust yourself.

“did you,” you start to ask, wanting to know if he was the one who saw your brother and father and put them on the ground. you couldn’t see the blood or how they died, but there was no gunshot wound. it was too clean, and you counted the arrows daryl has left in his crossbow. he's missing two.

“yeah,” he answers coldly, leaning against a tree with a sigh. he pulls out a bottle of water from his bag and hands it to you, and you take a greedy sip before realizing you better learn to ration. embarrassed, you hand the water back to daryl who raises his brows in amusement and puts the bottle back in his bag. you think that’s it. that he’s not going to talk about what happened, what he did, anymore.

but you’re wrong.

“been waiting for a chance to do that. ‘ve wanted to, for a long time. now that the world is shit, thought there’s no better chance, you know? no police, no laws,” he seems proud of himself, but even though you’re not close to your brother and dad, them being dead is still painful.

daryl’s not stupid. far from it. he reads your expression and then hands the water back to you. anything to stop the look you’re giving him. it looks like fear, you know -

but anyone looking a little deeper can see that it’s gratitude.

────

it’s been just the two of you for weeks.

you spend those weeks sharing a little tent, eating the animals daryl catches and cooks for you, wanting to cry at the sheer discomfort that not bathing has brought on. you're itchy, you're tired, you're hungry - but most of all, you're scared.

you don't know how daryl does it. wakes up every morning after a shitty night sleep to hunt for food to feed you both, to protect the both of you against walkers, since you still haven't got the hang of it.

the first few nights, things weren't so bad. the reality of the situation wasn't yet known. deep down, you thought something would be able to save you both from this mess. you were wrong.

but on those nights, you curled up against daryl in the tiny tent, and tried to take his mind off of the sound of distance cries and screams.

"we shared a tent before this, remember?" you asked. he just shook his head. it was actually the night you got fake married. both your brothers and fathers went to some poker game, and you both knew it'd be impossible to sleep at home. so you found a sleeping bag in your garage, and daryl found a tent in his, and the both of you camped out in the woods, too scared to go home.

"married people live together," you remember daryl saying while he zipped up the tent and you opened up a can of expired ravioli. you just shrugged, shared the food with him, and spent the night telling stories about what your future would be like.

you didn't imagine this, but it's like history is repeating itself again.

────

a few weeks later, you find a group to join.

it’s when you’re looking for a place to sleep after moving through the forest, dirty and hungry, that you come across a camp. you hear a child laugh, and then the sound of a woman's voice, and before you know it you're tugging daryl towards the sound while he drags his feet and curses.

he doesn’t want to see anyone else, let alone join anyone else. but you do. you don't know a lot about surviving, but you do know that pretty soon, you're both going to be walker food if you don't eat something proper. if you don't get a full night of rest. it's impossible, to live like this as two people.

it's been days since you even had more than a sip of water.

you both need help, you need -

“do you need a place to stay?” a man says, walking towards you and daryl while you try to reason with him. he scoffs, and you’re too tired to roll your eyes. you nod to the man, and then a woman appears. they must've heard you bickering while you walked towards the sound of their camp. they look friendly. they seem nice. and so you go with them, tugging daryl behind you.

it’s like asking for help makes him feel like a failure. but he goes because he knows you want to, and mutters something when you’re alone about looking for merle again when he gets his strength back. you tell him okay, good plan, knowing and hoping you never see merle dixon ever again. not that you’d ever tell daryl that.

daryl just feels like your other half these days. bonded now, not just from the childhood trauma you shared - but also this situation. you don't hold hands, you only touch to keep each other warm. you don't smile - and sometimes it feels like daryl regrets ever bringing you along with him. you're dead weight, and extra mouth to feed.

you don't know what he's thinking because he won't open up.

the first night at camp, you have dinner with the rest of the group. but you still haven’t had a chance to freshen up. there’s mud on your face and caked under your nails when someone asks daryl who you two are to each other, he pauses for so long that it's actually uncomfortable.

you’re more than friends, but you’re not exactly friendly. you're not close, beyond the memories that you share, that you're not even sure if daryl remembers.

you're stuffing your face with a can of chili, wondering why you're worried about a relationship status during the fucking apocalypse, and you're so in your own world that you don't see the way daryl is looking at you.

you take his word so literally - because you trust him so much. when he told you, ages ago, that he didn't get scared - you must've believed him.

because he's terrified. of losing you. of misreading what you want from him. of admitting, that every single memory with you is etched into the forefront of his brain. that he had to distance himself from you back then, because you deserve more than a hick like him, and watching you destroy yourself never came easy. that he wonders if you'll ever forgive him, for what he did to your dad and your brother.

there has never been a day that has gone by that he hasn't thought about you. and all day long since this shit started, he feels like he's failing you. can't feed you enough, can't find a good enough shelter.

and he looks at you, with mud and dirt on your face, messy hair. even at your worst, you're better than another woman's best, and he sees the greedy eyes of the men around the campfire, wondering if you're free. daryl doesn't know these men. he doesn't know if these people are safe, women and kids here be damned. that doesn't mean shit, not when people put themselves first to survive.

he thinks about the tent you shared a decade ago, after that fake wedding ceremony he went through with to make you happy. how it felt when your soft lips pressed against his before you left town. how you want him, how you never give up on trying to connect with him, even when he doesn't open up back to you. he likes that you're chatty. likes that you're trusting, and even dirty and starved you're the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.

but when he sees the mud on your face, your hands, your clothes - and he sees the men looking at you, leering, he makes up his mind.

a lot has changed. but not how he feels about you. you're still his mud queen, the girl that loved him so much she said yes to marrying him, even without a ring.

“she’s my wife,” daryl says, and that's it. the rest of the men look away, because a man's claim is more important than a woman's own voice. and daryl knew that’d be the case. he knows men. he is one, even if he sometimes hates that he is - particularly when you flinch from a movement he makes, or go all quiet when he raises his voice. being apart of a gender that can do so much hurt has always made him feel like an outsider.

at his words, you don't even think about the way history is repeating once again. because your history, your past that you share with daryl - they've been the best parts of your life. and instead of trying to run from them, to avoid them because of what they mean - you should embrace them.

connection formed during the worst hours of your life is still connection. and you're done feeling ashamed.

daryl throws a look your way. one that feels like you're sharing your own secret world. like you did as kids.

but most importantly, you're riding on a high, because daryl dixon might be a man of few words. he might be more guarded than a maximum security prison, might be ashamed of his emotions and wants and everything else that makes him human. but -

he remembers.

the childhood you shared. the memories you made. history may be repeating - but that doesn’t mean you can’t make new memories together.

life is different now. tough. and it’s all about survival. but then again -

when has life ever been anything different for you and daryl?

so you put yourself out there again, this time without fear. you put the can of chili down and reach for his hand.

but daryl grabs yours first.

[bohemian-rhapsody-in-blue]

I love seeing all your fandom origin stories! Mine was when I was 5 and picked out Meet Molly from my school’s library, and my grandmother read it to me after I got home from school. I read almost all the books from our library’s little American Girl section (although not all in order)! It’s been an on-and-off obsession ever since, probably the oldest one I’ve ever had.

I did see the little photos and mail-in cards that showed the dolls in the backs of the books, but had no idea they were primarily a doll brand—for a few years I thought the dolls were a fun side thing, probably much to the relief of my parents’ wallets.…

American Girl fans of Tumblr, what was your very first exposure to the brand?

Mine was finding a Meet Kaya book in my primary school's library.

[aheathen-conceivably]

Zelda knew the way to City Hall by heart. Week after week she had picked up Violette from school, staring at it across the street while admiring how its stately white columns reflected the sunlight like a mirror. Now, she was standing right in front of it, too nervous to move her feet but too restless to simply stand still anymore.

She looked down at the card in her hand once more, even though she knew every line from anxious fixation. Alexander Barnes, Librarian. Letting out a deep breath, she put the card in her pocket before walking into the building.

As she stepped inside the heavy wooden doors swung shut behind her. Immediately, the noise and heat from the courtyard became a distant memory. In front of her another set of doors were open wide to a simple courtroom, one she hadn’t seen in half a decade. Quietly, a myriad of emotions overcame her, bolstering her resolve as she realized that maybe this place was a nexus of new beginnings for her after all. 

A new sense of calm accompanied her as she followed a dim, sparsely furnished hallway to a closed door inscribed with a shining metal plate. Alexander Barnes, Librarian. She stood still for a moment, listening to see if anyone was inside before she raised her hand and knocked on the door.

A distracted voice told her to enter, and before she could second guess herself she turned the metal handle and walked through the door. The office was small, filled from one corner to the next with books and mismatched furniture that made her think the whole scene was moments away from bursting at the seams.

In the middle of it all sat a man at his desk, his glasses beginning to fall down the bridge of his nose as he stared diligently at a stack of papers in front of him. At the sound of her footsteps, his gaze bolted up and he seemed not to recognize her. Both of them looked at eachother with embarrassment, and Zelda nearly turned on her heels and walked back out the door.

She tried to muster an apology before leaving unceremoniously, but just as she gathered the courage to do so, a smile overtook the man’s face and he pointed familiarly in her direction. “Mrs. Duplanchier! You must forgive me. You’ve caught me in the middle of a letter that has taken just about every ounce of my concentration. And all of this - the office - I mean, well, it’s just a mess, I fear. Would you - do you want to sit?”

His voice trailed off as he looked around the room for a chair. Other than his own there was only one, tucked into the corner and covered with books. As he moved them onto the floor Zelda’s eyes wandered through the room. He had books on every surface, tucked onto shelves, in stacks on the floor, perched precariously at the edge of the desk. But as she watched him move them to make room for her, she could tell that they had all been stacked carefully and with love.

“Ah! Here you are,” he rounded the desk and sat across from her, allowing her eyes to finish searching every square inch of the space without pressing her with questions. Her gaze finally settled back on his, which was still looking at her curiously. It didn’t seem to throw off her words quite as much as most people’s did. “This is - it's quite a collection you have here. I often thought the books I’d managed to collect were noteworthy but this - this is just remarkable.”

His eyebrow lifted slightly. “Do you have a collection?”

Zelda laughed lightly, mostly to cover up the embarrassment that she felt anytime she talked about herself. “It feels a bit silly calling it that here, amongst something so impressive. It’s mostly just books I brought from home - from England, I mean, when I was a girl. But I’ve bought what I could over the years.”

“England! I thought I may have heard as much back at the truck. How did you possibly end up here?”

Her eyes trailed away from him slightly, roaming back to the stacks of books that were lining the walls. “Its a long story, I suppose. One infinitely less interesting than any selection of which you have here. May - may I ask you about them? The books, I mean. And the truck. All of it really, how any of this came to be.”

With an affirmative nod of his head Zelda began the litany of questions that had come to her mind over the weeks of waiting for this meeting. There was very little about his job that she didn't want to know. Where had the books come from? Where did he drive? Was someone pay him to do so? Where was he headed next?

He answered each question thoroughly and patiently, as though no one had taken the time to have such an interest in his work before. As she reached her last question, where was he headed next, he smiled widely and pushed his glasses up even higher on his nose. “Nowhere, hopefully. I’m working on a request for the Works Projects Administration to open a permanent location in Strangerville.”

Zelda’s eyes went wide in disbelief. “A - a real library, here? In Strangerville?” 

“That’s my hope. Of course there are competing proposals but I’ve been surveying the region and the town is perfect. With the Route running through it and the abandoned Queen Annes up the hill, it’s exactly what the Administration is looking for.”

He could easily read the look on her face, a mix of childish amazement and interest, and ventured further, “Listen, I - I unfortunately can’t promise anything; but if you have an interest in the project I will need a team. They’ll want a catalog of everything I’ve collected and a survey of potential locations. I should know who the grant is awarded to in five - maybe six days? I’ll write to you, if you’re interested.”

“Yes!” She answered so quickly that her anxiety barely had time to register what she was saying. “I - would love that.”

Previous / Next

[miss0atae]

Random Thoughts about Gelboys EP1 : The excitement of teen love, nail art and queer identity.

I made the decision to watch this series because it was centered around the turmoil of teen romance with nail art as the basis for the story. If you ask me nowadays if I have any interest for nail art, I would answer with a firm “no”. I have no interest with nail art anymore, but there was a time when I was younger and it was really important to me. I had several nail polishes of so many different colors and I used to change them a lot. I tried to make few designs, but turns out it's far more complicated to draw on your own nails than it is on someone's else nails. I forgot how I liked it back then when I was a teen. This long introduction that has nothing to do with the series, is to show you that I believe the creator of this series made a conscious choice when he decided to put nail art as the basis for the story and that's what I want to talk about in this “random thoughts” about the first episode.

I will make a quick summary of first episode, but you have to know there isn't much happening. This is mostly an introduction of the series' “world” and characters. We get to meet Fou4Mod aka Sakolphat Phlaphithak, a teenager boy who, in the first minutes of the series, discovers that the person he thinks he is dating, is actually seeing someone else too and he ends up blocking them from all his social media and crying from the heartbreak. Then, you'll watch him being a normal teenager: being embarrassed by his mom(‘s old taste in music) as many teens are, going to school, taking the public transport, spending time with friends, being bored in class and socializing. The first day he takes the BTS, he meets Chian and he noticed him because he was wearing nail art. From this point, he became really interested in him and it steers him to try nail art too. Unfortunately, this attraction may cause him some pain too as Chian is described as a “player” by his own friend “Bua”, another character who is a “friend” of Chian and certainly the future “love rival” of Fou4Mod. There is also another important character Baabin Saebal, Fou4Mod's friend.

So as you can see, nail art has its importance in the series. There has always been a social relevance of nail art in our society from a very long time. Unfortunately, I'm not an expert in this, so take everything I say with a grain of salt as my passion from nail art died with me discovering I had allergy to most nail polishes and I stopped caring for this when I entered university. Despite this everyone can agree that nail art is a form of creative expression. It is a way of creating its own identity through fashion because nail art can be seen as just another accessory. The color choices, the length and the shape communicate something about what you like and who you are. It's an easy way to show your individuality, and even if you're not making them yourself, it also shows your taste in art and creativity as you still get to be the one who chooses the design. In the series, the characters' nail art is made with what seems to be gel nail polish technique (I don’t know yet if it’s going to be relevant).

Nail art can be an allegory of queer identity. The fact that you can use different colors and shape to suit your taste, can be seen as letting go of your past self; the one where you couldn't be who you wanted or you had to be the way your parents/caregivers choose for you to be. In choosing some specific design for your nails, you're creating your new self, something that could be more aligned with who you want to be. It's a form of protest too, where you can reject the gender norms. If nail art can be tied to the idea of “femininity” it doesn't mean that it's only meant for this “purpose” (I'm sorry I don't a better word here). In the story of Gelboys, Fou4Mod starts doing nail art because he has developed an instant crush on Chian who was wearing it. It's probably a way of feeling connected to him that steers Fou4Mod to do it. In a way, he is self-expressing by doing nail art that he wants to become closer to Chian. I wonder if in the upcoming episodes, the choice he is going to make in his nail art will be showing the turmoil of his love life. I also want to know if there is going to be a larger discussion of his queer identity. I'm not saying it has to be shown, but I admit I would really like to see it. I feel there is a common pattern with LoveSick 2024 where I felt like young queer love can be mixed with the identity development associated with the transitional stage that is adolescence. Here in Gelboys the identity development could be seen through nail art.

Anyway, I’m pleasantly surprised by this first episode. You can see how I liked the introduction of nail art as I believe it can be queer performativity.

[kunigamiau]

“ harvey, nobody knows what I see. ”

ryusei shidou x reader

highschool au.

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⋆˚꩜｡⟢ ˎˊ˗

— ❤︎ —

—

you were never a fan of moving away, far too attached to every house you had the chance of living in, to the memories it brought and most importantly to the people you met. that’s what you learned to realise each time you moved away, you weren’t stupid, even as a child you had realised your weaknesses and made sure to never let yourself truly go because everything was temporary.

at least it was until you met him. the blonde haired peculiar boy at the school you were attending. In your younger years you wanted nothing to do with him. you were opposites after all. He was loud, eccentric and boisterous, you were quiet, reserved and contemplate. well until you had no choice but to.

The first interaction between you was when you were peacefully trying to read your book on the bleachers on a warm summer day, basking in the soft rays of the sun. it was going well until- you promptly woke up with a ball straight to your face, knocking the air out of you as you slightly jerked back. The gasps around you made it all the more embarrassing, your friends were nowhere around you and hearing everyone else either holding back laughs while others were still shockingly watching could do nothing but make you want to crawl inside a hole and never come back out. and that was when he approached you, it was silly but the one thing you remember is how he tripped running over to the bleachers.

“ Shoot, I am sorry ? ” The way his tone was unsure made you look at him with a bewildered but honestly speaking, amused look. After a few more seconds of the seemingly on going staring contest you had going on with him you couldn’t help but let your lips curve upright, a giggle erupting from your mouth, making the equally bewildered boy look at you in a daze, not sure of what to do. let’s just say in that moment two souls tied to one another, because from that day on you were inseparable.

school bleacher conversations were your thing now, whether it would be that you came to watch him practice or you would spend time together revising after school, enjoying the summer time, it was a habit that neither of you denied once it started. bike rides home were idle. you watched the sunset on the back of ryusei’s bike as he talked your ear off about another one of his shenanigans or arguments he had at his football practice despite you being there; he deemed it necessary that you understood his side of the story so those ‘wannabe pretty boys’ as he calls them, don’t try to sweep you off your feet by painting him out to be the bad guy one of these days. to which you would just roll your eyes at and continue listening to him with no sign of refusal.

time with shidou passed faster than you imagined, to the point where you only realised how bad your resolve had broken when your parents gave you the impending news.

moving away. again. except this time you weren’t as neutral. you had finally met someone you wanted to have around, someone who made your life better even without knowing. so like any other naive child you had straight up denied. you didn’t want to move, you wouldn’t move ( it didn’t work. ) So in your antsy frenzy, that night you had made sure to give something to your best friend that wouldn’t let him ever forget about you.

“ What's that ? ” the blonde asked with a curious glint in his eyes as he cotninued to snack on the sweet poki sticks. you replied by looking down, giving him the news. to which he took better than you expected, except from the pout adorning his face now. "Dumbass, why were you nervous to tell me ? ” you simply looked at him huffing “ well ryu’ you don’t exactly- ” but you don’t get to finish your sentence as he pats your head suddenly, “ and why would you think.. I would forget you.” he mumbles the last part more quietly, looking down at his lap with a conflicted look. hearing that, you couldn’t help the smile painting your face as you took his hand putting the morganite, handmade bracelet into his palm. the boy simply looks down at the sudden coldness he felt before immediately doubling down analysing the bracelet. “ I made it ! ” you exclaim proudly, showing off your wrist which had a matching one on. seeing that, he couldn’t help the blush coat his cheeks as he immediately put it on himself. “ ryu.. are your cheeks red right now ? “ you say in a teasing tone that easily gets shut down by him pulling you in a headlock ruffling your hair to which you can only squeal at, giggling as silly bickering erupts from both of your mouths.

That was a very long time ago, now at the prime age of seventeen you’re preparing for yet another new high school, in your third year. it sucked that you had to move in your final year but you reminded yourself that it isn’t something you hadn’t grown accustomed to. In the time of growing up you had met, adored and left a lot of people, yet the one that stuck to you the most was your one and only childhood best friend. moving in and out of Japan had you going insane, and as much as you wanted to keep in contact with everyone, you couldn’t manage it and gave up early on. shidou being no exception of that, which you greatly regretted. Each step you took on the strangely empty Tokyo streets towards your brand new school had you feeling nervous, it was like first grade all over again, every single time. you just couldn’t help the nervous feeling in your heart, especially since you are a third year at a new school, which is not a bad thing, just rare and attention inducing. you dreaded how the day would unfold immediately as you see the huge gates with the name in bold blue writing.

to your surprise your classes were not half as bad as you thought they would, homeroom was simple. you were glad third years here weren’t as curious and judgemental as you imagined. As you walked in, you were immediately greeted by a teacher who led you to the office. There you met your classmate and the student council president, Isagi Yoichi, who was nice enough to take you to your shared homeroom and even let you meet his friends later on after introducing yourself to the new class. now you were currently facing a predicament, due to you starting in the second week; you weren’t able to pick a club so now you, isagi, his best friends bachira, kurona and hiori whom were all your classmates were trying to figure out what club you could join. since it is mandatory. “ What if she joins as our manager ? I mean we don’t have one and it wouldn’t hurt. ” hiori says, trying to improve the defeated mood of the group. “ manager ? “ You say curiously, eyes focused on him, turning to bachira as he exclaims happily “ yea ! we’re all in the football team, isn’t that super duper fun !? ”

he says while putting his arms around the three other boys who just groan in response to his hyper behaviour. "You know what ? That doesn’t sound all too bad. “ you say with a hum as you noted down ‘football team manager’ on your notepad as one of your ideas. “ That's great ! then you can just come now since practice is about to end for the others ! ” yet again, bachira shouts joyfully, this time around getting up and joining your side immediately pulling you up to which you yelp to the sudden force as he just continues giggling pulling you over, leaving the other three boys just looking at each other before sighing and following along you and bachira. It seemed like a great idea before, amazing even but as you’re standing in front of the gym which was booming with noise you could only mentally curse for agreeing, crowds were not your thing; yet these days it’s all you’re a part of. “ It's fine ! Our team isn’t bad ! Even if some people are a bit questionable, they’re alright. “ isagi says, trying to reassure you despite only sparking your nerves more. as you take a step forward towards the door having mentally prepared yourself you immediately open the door while speaking to the four boys,

“ you’re right ! what could go so wrong aha. "

But as if the universe was watching you, ready to prove you wrong and you opened the door a ball is immediately in contact with your face. hard. groaning at the impact you immediately shut your eyes gripping your nose which you were sure was bleeding with how painful the hit felt ( it was not ! ). gasps immediately surround you as you are approached by isagi and bachira from behind you along with kurona and hiori who just look concerned. but before they can even speak, sudden steps approach you, slightly leaning down to your height,

“ Shoot, are ya’ okay ? ” and as if the interaction couldn’t get any weirder a sense of deja vu takes over you as you immediately look at the figure facing you with wide eyes. “ ryu? ” you mumble, shock taking over your senses as the pain you had just faced dilated. you notice his blonde spiky hair, with hot pink tips adorning it, the sharp eyeliner that complimented him even more, along with his freakish height, he had always been taller than you but now the difference seemed even more dramatic. shidou stares at you for a little while longer before finally putting the pieces together and calling out to you, “ n/n ? ” he mumbles, and it truly felt like the world had reduced to only you two as you stare into his eyes with a soft look, tears brimming slightly in your orbs as he immediately takes a hold of your shoulders hugging you tightly. you immediately hug him back, ignoring the awkward atmosphere that was created by your emotional reunion. you didn’t care. what matters most is you had met your best friend all over again, and you weren’t going to let him go again. The other guys could only stare in slight amusement and shock, seeing shidou’s usual fiery, rude, and unpredictable persona immediately crumble down with you was surely a sight to behold.

And with a promise of a hangout date, you were sent back out as the boys were told to go change. to which you were immediately bombarded with questions from your new classmates and few members of the team, “ so you and shidou are dating ? ” bachira asks innocently for the nth time. “ no you idiot," she clearly said that her and antenna freak were childhood best friends. If you had listened-” the two toned hair only booped the black haired male whom you had learnt his name was itoshi rin who only irked at bachira’s touch immediately chasing after him as they ran away from the rest of the group. “ Gotts to say.. you and Shidou are an interesting match. ” hiori says, his accent seeping through slightly, which you found endearing. “ Tell me about it. “ you reply with a sigh, a lazy smile playing on your lips

“ so, that’s y/n huh ? " the red head spoke up to the blonde as he was putting his jacket on. shidou could only mumble a ‘yes’ followed by a nod, looking down at the bracelet on his wrist. "She seems nice enough, treat her well. " sae adds with an amused smirk on his face. The blonde would be on cloud nine at the interaction with the male right now, however he could only smile before replying in the same soft-spoken tone he had welcomed you with.

"Of course I will. ”

𓏵˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

— songs I associated with this •.• !

- harvey, her’s

- over the moon, the marías

- impacto, enjambre

- you might be sleeping, clairo + jakob

- asa, the circus

- sesame syrup, cigarettes after sex

- every summertime - niki

[artist-kreating-stuff]

Aw, thanks for the tag!

What’s the origin of your blog name?: It was originally something different, but that name was derived from two specific fandoms. As I started branching out into other fandoms, though, having a very specific name just didn’t seem right, so I changed it to a name that was a little more all-encompassing.

OTP(s) + Shipname: Dang, I have so many. First it was Jaya and Kailor from Ninjago. Then it was Shualt from Beyblade Burst. More recently, I’ve slowly been becoming more and more obsessed with Codywan from Clone Wars. Along with Rexiyo. They’ve kind of been growing on me.

Favorite color: Any shade of blue!

Favorite game: I don’t really play any games, but I do like to watch gameplays. Jacksepticeye and CoryxKenshin are my two current favorite gamers.

Song stuck in your head: Breathe by Olly Alexander.

Weirdest trait/habit: I pick my split ends. I’ve taken to having a pair of scissors next to me when I’m working so that I don’t damage my hair further.

Hobbies: Reading, writing, drawing, and scrolling through social media. Problem is I often can’t decide which one to focus on during my free time, so I more often then not revert to the fourth option.

If you work, what’s your profession?: I’m a kitchen worker. Trust me, it’s a very messy business.

If you could have any job you wish, what would it be?: My dream job is to be a writer/illustrator, who doesn’t necessarily make millions, but certainly makes enough to keep herself comfortable.

Something you’re good at: I’ve been told my drawings and short stories are good.

Something you’re bad at: ANYTHING WITH NUMBERS.

Something you love: My family, hanging out, not a care in the world.

Something you could talk about for hours off the cuff: THE CLONES OF THE REPUBLIC. I WILL SPEAK AT LENGTH ABOUT HOW THEY DESERVED BETTER.

Something you hate: ANYTHING WITH NUMBERS.

Something you collect: I’m kind of embarrassed to say this, but I take screenshots of fanfics that I like so that I don’t have to scroll through dozens of media just to find it again.

Something you forget: A lot of things. So many things that I forgot how long the list is.

What’s your love language?: I don’t have a partner at the moment, but if I had one, I’d say small moments together and small gifts.

Favorite movie/show: Clue. It was the first true mystery classic that my parents introduced me to and still makes me laugh to this day.

Favorite food: Anything with pasta. Love me a bowl of noodles!

Favorite animal: Dogs. They’re too good for us, even though they (mine in particular) drive us crazy.

What were you like as a child?: Very very weird and naive. I said the weirdest things and thought they were the truth. Probably made my parents very concerned a few times.

Favorite subject at school: English or Art. I loved having an excuse to stare at paper for a while.

Least favorite subject: ANYTHING WITH NUMBERS.

What’s your best character trait?: Connect with me on my fixations, and I will be your friend for life.

What’s your worst character trait?: I hate to admit it, but I’m selfish. When I’m put in a situation, I’ll consider the other party, but I’ll also think about how I play into it.

If you could change any detail of your life right now, what would it be?: I’d be less dependent on others and more dependent on myself.

If you could travel in time, who would you like to meet?: Amelia Earhart. I’d like to meet the woman paved the way for women everywhere before she, you know, vanished off the face of the Earth.

Tag as many mutuals as you want! (no pressure): @littledudeholland @pixanefan @give-me-your-heart @mellow-lynx and whoever else wants to join!

Get to know your mutuals!

What's the origin of your blog title? When I was in middle school, someone told me "you dress so goth, but your personality is so happy. You're like a really cheerful grim reaper. A joyful soul collector." And that's been my username for most everything ever since!

OTP(s) + Shipname: Oooh, right now it's Jayvik, and tbh I can't think of another one, this is one of the first ships I've been really really into tbh. Other dynamics focused on my blog have actually been more platonic, like Irondad

Favorite color: Red!

Favorite game: Dungeons and Dragons! Both as a player, and DM!

Song stuck in your head: The Challenge - EPIC

Weirdest habit/trait? I download thousands of still frames of tv shows that I love so I can make memes out of them. But I have to sift through and delete all the pictures that are blurry or unnecessary, which takes hours. I think it's super fun because I'm autistic and really enjoy sorting stuff lol

Hobbies: Writing, playing DnD, making memes, and hanging out with my friends!

If you work, what's your profession? Not so much a profession lol, I work at a toy store. It's a part time job while I'm in college, studying to be a radiologist!

If you could have any job you wish, what would it be? Realistically? Radiologist. But ANY job I wish? Professional DM or Professional DnD player, like the people on Dropout or Critical Role haha

Something you're good at: I'm good at writing stories! I can write them well and write things that make people feel deep emotions, and I like that.

Something you're bad at: Recognizing when someone doesn't want help haha. I tend to try and fix things or help people when they just want to vent, and it ends up frustrating for both of us.

Something you love: I love stories. Any kind, I love so so many

Something you could talk about for hours off the cuff: My favorite shows and stories, my dnd campaigns and characters, my stories and ideas

Something you hate: Fascism. Bigotry. Willful ignorance. Fearmongering. Propaganda.

Something you collect: Dice!! I'm a dice goblin for sure haha

Something you forget: I often forget chores unfortunately

What's your love language? Physical touch and acts of service

Favorite movie/show: Ooh right now it's definitely Arcane haha

Favorite food: Sushi!

Favorite animal: Cats!

What were you like as a child? In a word? Unwell haha. I'm a good bit better now, still struggling with a lot, but better than I used to do

Favorite subject at school? English, I was always good at that class

Least favorite subject: Chemistry. I hate that shit so much lol

What's your best character trait? I think that I'm kind and willing to stand up for others

What's your worst character trait? I can be disrespectful to some types of spirituality unfortunately. It just doesn't make logical sense to me. I have two friends that are fully convinced that a cursed doll gave some youtuber testicular cancer. And I just can't see the logic or critical thought in that

If you could change any detail of your life right now, what would it be? Mmm. All of fascism shit is definitely damaging my calm so I'd love to change that specifically

If you could travel in time, who would you like to meet? Harry Allen. Google him he's a badass transgender cowboy

Tag as as many mutuals as you want!!

@sb-essebi @glitternightingale @blatterpussbunnyfromhell @captainhollowstories @kydrogendragon @misforvendetta @poetryinmotion-author @bocularteletheric @kai-ovillager @thatoneneuvichiliauthor @4amarcanethoughts @alexspearsxoxo @kotonni @buckybucananbarnes @kakesuwolf @martybaker @patheticjayce @sleepycrowhours @aixabi @up-the-bracket @snoopyviktor @emdashflower @humanshapedstress @hellsalore @juuzousmom @softandslow @fangirlshenanigans04 @batmans-attic @lvrstrsh @bluemoyai @tearexxwrites @bodyofvvater @lifeandeathepub @areesespiece @lancesblueazaleas @monaisme @milkywaysipper @carmendyy @tseecka @heazueken @tophat-69 @velocitychroma @prjctdiva @gremlinofchaos @ourvectorviktor @kenjinx @jxmimac @gh0stedvhampir @voxconcordia @arcaneheraldslawyer

ngl I tried to tag ALL my mutuals that I have, but this was how many it allowed me to do before it made me stop lol so here's as many as I could fit!

[skunkes]

biggest downside of not having many experiences or meeting many people is not having anything to feed into the art machine

[steviescrystals]

i seriously need to get a new job and start making money again asap bc i cannot keep living at home much longer it’s driving me insane

(wrote an entire essay in the tags without meaning to oops)

[cielomist]

anyway. so i don't post a giant screencap again mostly of canon info here is the p5 suou au bdays i made up (age reference point is again ~october 30 2016):

Akinari Suou: born Sept. 15, 1999 (Virgo) (age 17)

Shiho Suzui: born Feb. 25, 2000 (Pisces) (age 16)

Mishina Triplets: born March 11, 2006 (Pisces) (age 10)

Akinari Kashihara: born May 26, 1957 (Gemini) (age 59)

Junko Kashihara: born Feb. 1, 1962 (Aquarius) (age 54)

Wakaba Isshiki: born Jan. 10, 1982 (Capricorn) (age 32 at death, Aug. 21, 2014)

[thewadapan]

You know, I had meant to talk more about specifically Makoto's "coming of age" arc, but I'd forgotten until you mentioned it that the domesticity angle actually cropped up much earlier in the narrative than the pregnancy arc. It happens as early as... is it Episode 3? When Kotonoha prepares a bento for Makoto, and he finds it totally unpalatable. What initially attracts him to Kotonoha (apart from her boobs) is the fact that she's always reading a book on the train, presumably because this signifies hidden depths or whatever. During the montage for their awkward first date, they visit a bookshop, don't they? But Makoto ends up just looking at the pornographic books. Whatever independent interests Kotonoha has are soon forgotten, as she becomes obsessed with Makoto; after he responds poorly to her first bento, she takes great effort to improve her method until she finally gets him to begrudgingly admit that she's made the drink just right. But he's kind of embarrassed by the fact, isn't he?

Similarly, I think the entire purpose of Kokoro (Kotonoha's little sister) as a character within the narrative is to be a surrogate child for Makoto and Kotonoha. At first, Makoto enjoys playing with the kid, and Kotonoha ends up using Kokoro as a pretext to hang out, but this is around when he starts losing interest, and he often makes excuses to get out of these engagements. Later, the kids struggle to communicate to Kokoro what exactly is happening between Makoto and Kotonoha, like she's a fucking child of divorce or something.

Checking the dates, it's surprising to me that Fargo predates your earliest posting about School Days, because the thematic similarities are very striking. I guess the same elements can just be traced back to Madoka Magica itself, but it's specifically the size of Fargo's cast and the portrayal of the less-important/distinctive girls at the fringes of the narrative; the sheer violent toxicity of the Sloan/Clair fallout; the highly unpolished, almost decaying setting (in contrast to the glassy metropolis of Rebellion); and the manoeuvrings of this cast around the story's one (1) notable male character (Kyubey), who is constantly being underestimated in his emotional manipulation of the girls for his own base purposes. 1/X is going to be very upsetting, isn't it?

School Days review

Yeah, School Days is actually pretty good after all.

When you google "School Days", on the first page of results there's a reddit thread asking "hey, why do people hate this show?" OP gives a succinct summary of the show's themes and praises it for its tight focus and psychological depth.

The comments in that thread are fucking crazy. The top-voted comment includes this absolute gem: "Sekai is an emotionally manipulative bitch". Some users gesture towards a faint understanding that School Days is a deconstruction of harem anime, but almost to a one they claim the character writing is unrealistic. Nobody seems able to look past the show's metatextual meaning to just look at it on a straightup subtextual level—that is to say, it's not just being different to other anime for the sake of contrarianism, it's making a serious point about misogyny and toxic masculinity. Describing Makoto as a "character" at all is almost missing the point; he's practically a force of nature, and the vast majority of the show is concerned with the psychological manoeuvring of the girls in his class trying to manage and shape his behaviour.

I only know about School Days because @weaselandfriends is constantly banging a drum about it being a secret masterpiece. Gee, I wonder who the OP of that thread was! Cannot imagine being on a "School Days slaps" grindset for eight fucking years now.

(CW: discussion of underage sex, full spoilers follow)

I'm going to take a cowardly centrist route and say that School Days does in fact slap on a conceptual level, but that the execution in many places leaves a bit to be desired. It often feels repetitive. I watched the thing on 1.5x speed because, as someone who reads fast, watching subbed anime is like watching paint dry. The dialogue often feels awkward (unintentionally so, as in), which I'm willing to partially chalk up to the translation; maybe some of the clunkier lines feel more natural in the original Japanese. The imagery is often kind of laughably blunt: in some cases it works, like Kotonoha's red yarn like she's pulling her own fucking arteries out of her body, and in other cases it feels derivative and hackneyed, like the whistling kettle in the final episode. Maybe that was more original in 2007, I don't know—I would've seen the same thing in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire two years prior.

School Days does set out to pull the wool over the eyes of its presumably-mostly-young-men audience, by putting them in Makoto's POV. The show is adapted from an eroge, where the player literally would have inhabited Makoto and made his choices for him, and the "objective" of the game would have been to unlock sex scenes with all the schoolgirls. The trick with the anime is that it removes the possibility of choice, creating an impactful dissonance as Makoto's actions become increasingly alien and harmful. Inversely, as Makoto's sexual exploits escalate, we see less and less of them; by the end, the whole thing is routine, not eroticised in the slightest, we see people putting clothes on afterwards, sneaking around darkened rooms.

At the start, though, it's all panty shots and boobs. And like, how do you depict the objectification of women, from an internal perspective, without just... objectifying women? This has basically always been the classic problem with satire. If there is a way of doing it, School Days hasn't figured it out, so it just rolls up its sleeves and gets on with it. Where School Days stumbles, in my opinion, is that the fanservice shots leak out of Makoto's POV and into the scenes where it's just the girls on their own. Nevertheless, I think that even pretty early on School Days is unmistakably saying, "this is a bad thing". There's a discordant note to everything, a threat of another shoe waiting to drop. At the start, it takes the form of these innocuous remarks as the characters try to interact in good faith: Sekai is constantly like, "There's nothing wrong with feeling attracted to a girl! But maybe she doesn't feel comfortable with it! Have you thought about how she might feel?"

That's the great tension of Sekai, and indeed of much of the show's conflict: there is a world where Makoto and Sekai are just friends, and where Makoto is faithful to Kotonoha, and everyone lives happily ever after. Maybe Sekai really is earnestly trying to cross this gulf between genders, and wants to just make Makoto understand, so everyone can be happy. But from the start, there's a question of Sekai's motives; embodied by Sekai's friend Setsuna, who trails after her constantly asking, "But do you like him really?"

Setsuna is an interesting character with her own motives. There's a reading where she has a crush on Sekai, but can't pursue it because of her family's impending emigration; she ends up hanging around Makoto and desperately attempting to protect him from the consequences of his actions to preserve his relationship with Sekai, expressly stating that she wants Makoto to be a proxy for her after she's gone (though leaving any romantic feelings unspoken, that's just my interpretation). This escalates to the point of her having sex with Makoto on the condition that he breaks off another engagement with Otome, which is such a self-defeatingly doomed gambit that it becomes tragically clear Setsuna has lost all control over the situation. I got the impression that Setsuna somewhat envied the other girls' entanglements with Makoto: the bit where she kisses him while he's asleep, in an attempt to create a personal memory before she leaves forever, is haunting. Like Sekai, Setsuna ends up manufacturing a romance between herself and Makoto as a way to be with him "by proxy", without earnestly confronting her own feelings.

Anyway, my point is that early on, everyone is treating Makoto like a person, which is sort of their mistake. They're like, oh, a boy with a crush, how cute! What's the worst that could come of this? He's a bit clumsy, but I'm sure he means well! And progressively, mercilessly, the show is like: no, he does not mean well. This dude has absolutely nothing in his life except sex. Girls only exist to him as people to have sex with. Guys practically don't exist, as he can't have sex with them. And for these teenagers who are discovering their sexuality, the very fact that Makoto soon starts having these rumours circulating around him is what gives him some allure: he's a sexual entity, he can be thought of in that way, there must be some reason all these girls are acting so crazy over him. Even a character like Hikari, who early on was crushing heavily on the anime's one (1) other male character, Taisuke, ends up taking her turn with Makoto; whatever feelings she had for Taisuke are forgotten, the anime doesn't even bother establishing how that romance works, because it doesn't need to, we've already seen Makoto use his exact same wiles on like three girls already.

School Days has aged well not just because the years since have yielded a better cultural understanding of its subject matter, but for its "production design": what would have been a timely present-day setting at the point of its release ends up turning the whole thing into an early-2000s period-piece. The fashion and environments are distinctly noughties. Perhaps the most consistent bit of visual symbolism in the whole thing is the flip-phone: whenever a character is holding their phone, you can think of them holding their heart in their hands. They're like the fucking soul gems from Madoka Magica. Sometimes, people leave their hearts in the other room, or block each others' hearts, or search their hearts for good memories. The "cell phone charm" from the first episode is brought up towards the very end, seeming bitterly quaint in retrospect. Right before she kills him, Sekai sends Makoto a text which just reads "sorry" copied and pasted hundreds of times. And of course, the ED shows a propped-open cellphone with a slideshow of photos of the girls.

I think in terms of its place in history, School Days speaks to this information age where young girls are being bombarded with cultural messaging that the best way to get ahead is to sexualise oneself while simultaneously slamming everyone else for their sexuality. Girls aren't just competing with one another for the attention of boys; now, they're competing with online pornography. Sekai works as a waitress at a maid cafe (?), and sometimes wears the outfit for Makoto when they have sex. During the School Festival, the girls theme their class as a maid cafe (drawing on Sekai's experience, I think?), and are shown using "absolute territory" as a last-ditch resort to steal people from the other classes. As part of the festival, they have a secluded area curtained off with a bed, encouraging couples to go there for sex acts—but later, it turns out some of the girls have set up a camcorder, and they use the footage to reveal how everyone is cheating on everyone else. While the exact events are obviously taken to an extreme, subtextually everything in School Days tracks 100% with my own experience growing up in a Bri'ish high school, and it feels like things have only gotten worse since social media really tightened its grip on our society.

The most common talking point I see regarding this show is that the characters are "stupid". And it's like, no, they're not stupid, what planet are you on, they're fucking children! (They're children, fucking!) Most of them have probably never been in a relationship before! Everyone in the show is pursuing their own interests; it's just that often, they're in denial about the reality of the situation, because to acknowledge the reality would run against those interests. It's funny, Makoto hardly changes his behaviour throughout the whole show—it just becomes more extreme—but the only thing that affects whether or not his behaviour with Sekai is good or not is whether or not Kotonoha is his girlfriend. The use of "girlfriend" as a role is weaponised by both Kotonoha and Sekai against the other constantly; like declaring "you're It!" At once point while cooking for the school festival, Makoto starts groping Sekai's ass, and she goes, "Geez, stop it! Stop it I said! What'll you do if someone sees us?", only for Makoto to reply, "Then it's okay if no-one sees us?"; this motif of a private sin recurs with Setsuna's character, particularly in the masked play that crops up a couple of times. In what context is an act of desire okay, or not okay?

Halfway through the show, I remembered Emily is Away, a short Western indie visual novel. Released in 2015, Emily is Away is very consciously an early-2000s period piece, wearing the whole time period as an affectation. The whole game is a series of text conversations on an IM client with a girl; after key choices, you are told "emily will remember that".

I fucking hated Emily is Away when I played it. It made me so, so cross. Because after I finished my first playthrough, and got a miserable, unsatisfying end, I naturally started the whole thing over and tried again. I picked different favourite bands. I acted completely differently. And yet, no matter what I picked, during the timeskips between sections, my viewpoint character would do the exact same shit and the relationship fell apart in exactly the same way. The second playthrough was a complete waste of time. It seemed like I, the player, was being railroaded, that the writer simply hadn't the imagination to conceive of a truly interactive narrative with a wildly diverging chain of events.

But of course, that's the whole point, obviously. Emily is Away plays a mean trick on the player, where it outright lies that "you" are making meaningful choices, when in fact "you" are merely spectating the actions of the viewpoint character, a specific guy who is, by nature, a certain way. It posits that all this shit on the computer just doesn't fucking matter, it has nothing to do with how we feel about each other, that it's only our actions in the real world that matter. The thesis of Emily is Away is that sometimes, for some immutable reason, shit just doesn't work out between two people, and there's nothing you could have done differently that would have changed that.

In the timeline where you go the party, you regret going to the party. In the timeline where you don't go, you regret not going. So, the game says, what's the point in regretting at all?

I totally understood this, after finishing the game. But, fuck, I was still pissed about it. The game lied to my face. It put me in the position of being a shitty person, and I didn't like that. It left a bad taste in my mouth. I'm still not sure if Emily is Away is actually any good; I think I like it conceptually, but maybe the writing sucks, I played it eight years ago. My point is that I think School Days is trying to pull the same trick as this one game, but in a much more mean-spirited way, to much more devastating effect, and I suppose I can't be too surprised that it pissed off a lot of people. If I hadn't known upfront what to expect- well, I wouldn't be watching ecchi anime in the first place, but you get the point, maybe I would've been pissed too.

If you break out of the "anime" mindset for even a second, and allow yourself to think that what you're watching is a frank portrayal of events, rather than some hyperreal cartoon, then Makoto is obviously just a little sexual predator. He's constantly pushing the girls past their limits, groping tits, going in for kisses, often against their express wishes. He initiates all the sex we see, and while in a certain sense it's all consensual, everyone involved is under the age of consent, and the show is making a very strong case for why underaged sex is a problem. When Sekai gets pregnant, Makoto wants nothing to do with her—"It's not my fault!"—but it's made clear he wasn't using any contraception, so, c'mon.

School Days is very deliberate in omitting adult characters entirely. Teachers mostly exist in the form of textbooks being read offscreen. I think we get a line of dialogue from Sekai's mom, if I remember right? It presents this world where Makoto basically has free reign to do whatever he wants to the girls, and everybody knows about it, but nobody is doing anything about it. When Sekai murders Makoto, there isn't a scene where anyone notices his absence, finds out. Kotonoha carries his severed head across town without anyone noticing, kills Sekai, and makes it onto the boat without getting caught. The show ends on a montage of idyllic school scenes, as if to say, "nobody noticed, everything just carried on". And again, to a certain kind of guy, I think this would stretch plausibility to the point of causing offence. For me, I think it's speaking to something very real.

Makoto's bedroom is barren except for his computer and magazines: porn, and porn. In the back half of the show, the void left by the absence of adults is filled by Makoto, Sekai, and Kotonoha, who are thrust into this horrible domestic drama, as everyone else in their class blocks Makoto. Makoto relays Kotonoha's recommendation for an abortion clinic to Sekai. He and Sekai sit diagonally across a table in a living room, and suddenly Makoto's school uniform looks like a salaryman's suit, a size too big for him, like he's walking around in his dad's clothes. Sekai tries to prepare a big meal for him, in a fucked-up parody of domesticity, but ends up destroying the whole thing after Makoto spits in her face yet again; later, she sees the remnants in the trash, an uneaten chicken leg poking out, and sees a little of herself in there, and that's basically when she decides to take the knife and kill Makoto. She stabs him in the belly, which is what Kotonoha will later do to her; both are imitating the original sin of the pregnancy.

Kotonoha explicitly chooses to kill Sekai this way because she believes Sekai is lying about the pregnancy—which we can pretty safely say isn't true, based on the scenes where Sekai is on her own. There's this horrible, horrible shot where the camera is looking out at Kotonoha from inside the gut wound, and she observes, "Just as I thought. There's no-one in there." And it's like, is she talking about this baby, still so early in the gestation that it's scarcely even an idea? Is she talking about Sekai, or Makoto, these two people who turned out not to care about her at all? Or is she peering straight through the screen at the viewer, complicit in this atrocity? The shot mirrors the bag containing Makoto's head earlier in the same scene; when Sekai unzips it, the inside is just a black void, and we aren't shown the contents. It's honestly more unsettling to infer it—that bag's not big enough for all of Makoto—and have it "made real" by that final shot of Kotonoha pressing the severed head into her chest on the boat. The memes were more right than they knew: "Nice boat."

Overall, I think School Days extends a lot of empathy towards its female characters. Or, if nothing else, it takes care to give them complex and distinctive internality, which is more than I can say for a lot of anime. Kotonoha initially represses her feelings for Makoto, and then when she feels pressured into reciprocating his intimacy, she soon gets turned into a social pariah for it. Early on, there's this eye-roll-inducing scene where Kotonoha is like "the other girls used to make fun of me because of my huge boobs", and from Makoto's perspective it's like "great, you've got huge boobs!", but then from Kotonoha's perspective, she spends the whole show getting slut-shamed, doesn't she? As a coping mechanism, she builds up elaborate delusions around Makoto—Makoto wouldn't let this happen to her, would he!?—which make it impossible for her to see how he's harming Sekai at the same time, culminating in the "I think you've made up your pregnancy for attention" beat. Their own internalised misogyny prevents the girls from identifying their common enemy.

If I'm being totally blunt, I feel like I can pretty safely put most of the comments regarding School Days I've seen online into a big bucket labelled "HAS NEVER HAD MORE THAN ONE GIRL INTERESTED IN HIM AT ONCE". Like, "I can't believe this Makoto guy! Why doesn't he just dump Kotonoha and date Sekai, who he's obviously more compatible with?" Bucket. "Makoto is so spineless and needs to stop letting these girls manipulate him!" Bucket. "There's no way the teachers would let him get away with this!" Bucket. "What do these girls see in Makoto anyway?" Bucket. "Sekai is such a bitch!" A new, bigger bucket labelled "NO BITCHES".

What I'm interested in is takes from School Days haters who aren't brainpoisoned anime fans, who might even nod along to all my analysis of the show's themes here, but who nevertheless think it's a bad show that deserves to be reviled. What part didn't you like? Is it the part in the OP where you see every female character naked one after the other? Yeah that part's pretty bad. Is it that windowpane-shattering digital transition that gets used once or twice? Is it the utter self-seriousness with which it tackles its ludicrous melodrama? I can see how, if you don't let yourself start to think "oh, those poor girls!", if you don't have that emotional buy-in, the whole thing might just feel comically edgy, sophomoric. I don't think there's any level on which School Days is fun to watch, and I'm not saying it's a secret masterpiece either, but I guess it more-or-less landed for me.

[dbphantom]

maybe i should have gone into practical effects instead of computer science...

[sampilled]

bullet to my brain!!!!!!!! im so weird and unlikable sorry to anyone i have ever spoken to :)

[theriverdalereviewer]

just finished reading this book called the list by siobhan vivian and you know what I recommend even though I found the ending to be lackluster

[horse-shit]

okay so fun fact i was redoing some stuff lightwork style for a story idea i had that im mostly saving for artfight since i know having to draw all of what ive described for the setting will KILL ME and im doing the same for graffitti world but hush not the point currently sadly

i was also in my rewatch/doodling of gravity falls and i noticed one of my characters wouldve fit pretty well into the gravity falls characters, and then i went 'haha what if i gave stan and my oc a mini relationship so its old people in love, they have the same level of eccentricity, and he should have a nice little crush since i think he needs a break. the oc also fits aesthetically with the usual characters stan is shipped with'

and then it had kept snowballing and she got her own mini gravity falls au spin off whatever, and their sister was added for fun, but it's mostly oc x stan, and the two siblings {ford and eve} who are both suspicious of stan even though he's just having a nice/sweet/innocent summer crush before being kicked out/the rest of the story happens.

anyway i wanna draw the 'this is for charity' bill and ford thing with my oc and stan since i think it'd be funny. she would genuinely believe it was just for charity {and not a set-up by mabel/me in this specific instance} AND be holding stan's wrinkly face. i love my lilith and i love my eve <2

[save-mohamed-family]

My campaign is verified and added to the Gaza Donations page with number 192.

Thank you for documenting my campaign from the following accounts:

@sar-soor @heba-20 @el-shab-hussein @90-ghost @soon-palestine@ibtisams @marnota @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @i-am-aprl @northgazaupdates @fallahifag @fairuzfan

I love you all 🙏🙏♥️🌹

I am Mohammed Almanasra, 32 years old, married, and a father of three children: Abdulrahman, 6 years old, Sarah, 4 years old, and Lina, 3 years old.

My story began with the loss of my parents and four of my sisters, who were bombed and lost their lives along with their children after the events of October 7 and the severe war on Gaza. Now, I am facing a severe injury to my leg, which is at risk of amputation if I do not receive the necessary treatment. My wife, children, and I are displaced, without parents or siblings, and my wife is also suffering from uterine cancer.

Recently, I moved to the south of the Gaza Strip, fearing for the lives of my children. We left behind our memories and our new home, for which we had not finished paying the installments, in addition to losing my job. Currently, I live in a tent that does not protect me from the heat of summer or the cold of winter, and without the minimum necessary livinng basics including water, food medical care, clothe and even bedding .

I suffer from a chronic asthma and severe attacks from tightness and an extreme allergy in the ear and I need medicine that are not available, or very expensive .

Under these difficult circumstances, after five attempts at displacement and narrowly escaping death from the bombing, I am trying with all my might to protect my family, the most precious thing I have.

My dreams were shattered, and my house was destroyed, and I found myself living in a tent no larger than 4 square metres. My work turned from a tailor to a street vendor in order to barely buy a few crumbs of bread to feed my children.

Look at what happened to my children because of the intense heat and the insects that thrive in the summer season. Every day, I take them to the hospital to treat them due to poisonous insect bites. I implore every kind-hearted soul to help me protect my children.

My son, Abdul Rahman, has a deep passion for playing football and is a devoted fan of Real Madrid. He always dreamed of playing football at his school, but the war prevented this dream from coming true.

Where are you, Real Madrid fans ?

Help Abdul Rahman achieve his dream.

Every donation will make an enormous difference in helping me save my family.

I feel very sad and embarrassed to ask for help, but I have no other options left. I know that this request is difficult, but I also know that there is still humanity and living consciences and I believe in miracles.

Your support during this extremely difficult time will give us hope in the midst of devastation and despair.

If you have any inquiries or questions, feel free to ask me, please!

To everyone with a compassionate heart,

To all who understand the essence of humanity,

This is a message from my innocent children, who trust that their words will reach everyone who truly understands the meaning of childhood.

We cry out to you, asking you to feel our sorrow and pain, and to extend a helping hand to us in this time when we are in desperate need of your mercy and compassion.

My name is being repeatedly added to many public and private donation campaigns. Please, be a support for me in this difficult situation.

https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/u/0/d/1yYkNp5U3ANwILl2MknJi9G7ArY4uVTEEQ1CVfzR8Ioo/htmlview

Sincere greetings & thanks

Mohammed & the family

[yellow-kudzu]

I'm sick and bored. I once had an art teacher that didn't like me. Like smiled at everyone else except me. Never gave me a good grade even though I tried my best and did the work. (I would like to point out that I was not even supposed to be in that class. The councilor forgot to put me in grade appropriate courses so I had to take courses that were two levels too high for me because there wasn't space for me in my grade. My mom who worked there was PISSED.) So I started deliberately creating insane art to piss this teacher off more. She liked classical art, but I wanted the antithesis of this. You want an animal study? Okay it's a multi colored-blocked giraffe eating cupcakes growing off a tree. Nature study? A woman is skydiving directly into an active volcano and there are tornadoes in the background. Linocut block print? It's a kiwi bird with the body of a strawberry.

To add further dismay to the teacher, I won my grade's junior duck stamp submission for the school. Wanna know why? Because I was the only 7th grader taking a 9th grade level art class. There were no other 7th graders that submitted. Keep in mind I wasn't there because I was super good at art, I was there due to a clerical error the school didn't bother to fix. So the teacher had to give me an award on stage.