#he would play the music for people ALL THE TIME from everything id seen

[calliecat93]

RIP Richard Sherman

[shelovesosa]

EVERYTHING IS GREY, HIS HAIR, HIS SMOKE, HIS DREAMS.

PAIRING: addicted!Ren X F!Reader!

CONTAINS: Drug usage, dealing with addiction, healing.

summary!! In the midst of college life’s chaos, Y/N finds herself drawn to Ren Honjo — a talented but troubled musician battling the demons of addiction and emotional pain. When Ren’s world unravels under the weight of his past and his reliance on drugs, he reaches a breaking point, desperate for connection and redemption.

a/n: trying different characters :)

The first time you saw Ren Honjo, he was bathed in blue.

Not metaphorically—literally. A single, sputtering LED stage light flickered above him, cold and electric, staining his skin in shades of ocean and dusk. He stood half-leaning into the mic, lips parted like he’d just exhaled something poisonous, eyes hooded beneath his bangs as the music bled through his guitar strings and into the floor.

He didn’t play like it was rehearsed. He played like it hurt. And for a moment, as your friend screamed beside you in the crowd, you forgot your own name. All you could think was: That’s what sadness would sound like if it had hands.

You weren’t supposed to be there, you were still 19. The bar had an age limit. Your ID was fake, borrowed from a cousin who hadn’t even noticed it missing. You told yourself you were just being supportive—your best friend had a crush on the drummer, and this was her third time dragging you to one of Trapnest’s underground sets.

You hadn’t expected much. You didn’t even like rock music that much.

But then there was Ren. And suddenly, you did.

He didn’t look at the crowd. He didn’t need to. His presence filled the room like smoke—slow, creeping, intoxicating. Every chord he struck landed like a bruise you wouldn’t mind explaining. Every flick of his fingers against the strings felt personal, like a story you almost remembered.

And then he looked up. Not at the crowd. Not at your friend. At you. Just for a second.

A flicker of eye contact, sharp and unexpected, like being hit with cold water in the dark. His lips curled—not quite a smile, not quite a smirk—and something in your chest did a strange little flip.

He looked at you like he’d seen something familiar. Like he’d been expecting you. And you’d never been looked at like that before.

After the show, you lingered. Pretended not to. Pretended to look for your phone, your wallet, your friend—anything to justify how your feet stayed planted outside the venue door long after the last song ended.

And then— He was there. In the alley.

Leaning against the wall, cigarette between his lips, the flame of his lighter briefly illuminating the sharp angle of his jaw. He was thinner up close, a little older, with a tiredness in his face that no stage light could hide.

He looked at you like he already knew your story.

“You’re not from here,” he said, exhaling smoke through his nose.

You blinked. “What makes you say that?”

“You look like you still believe people mean what they say.”

You weren’t sure if he was insulting you.

He flicked ash off the tip of his cigarette. His fingers were long. Pretty. Rough at the knuckles.

“What’s your name?”

You told him. And then—he smiled. Not the practiced grin from onstage. Not the lazy smirk he’d flashed while playing.

Something softer. Quieter. Something just for you.

“Figures,” he said. “You look like trouble dressed like innocence.”

Your stomach tightened. Not in fear—something else. Something that would haunt you later.

The sky above the alley had turned dark. City lights bled out in the distance. Your friend was yelling your name from around the corner, but you didn’t move. Neither did he.

You didn’t ask for a picture. You didn’t beg for an autograph. And maybe that’s why he remembered you.

That night, when you finally got home, you sat in the dark with the TV off. The city noise pressed against the windows like waves. You touched your lips. You hadn’t kissed him. You barely knew him.

And yet, something had shifted. You didn’t know it yet, but that was the moment the colors started to bleed.

He was blue, electric and fading. And you—
You were red. And soon, you’d be purple.

But he wasn’t the kind of boy who stayed in purple. He was already turning to grey.

For days after that first meeting, nothing changed. And yet—everything felt different.

You still went to school. Still listened when your friends spoke. Still helped your father with his work papers and still folded your laundry on Sundays.

But it was all stained by the memory of him—
That low voice. That cigarette. That unreadable smile. It felt like being touched by static: invisible, quiet, and constant.

You didn’t look for Ren. But you stopped avoiding the parts of the city where you might see him.

You told yourself it was coincidence when your feet carried you past the same record shop on a Tuesday. You told yourself you just happened to like that side street in Shibuya, even if it reeked of spilled beer and burnt takoyaki.

The first time you saw him again, it was raining.

He was outside a shuttered guitar store with a cigarette in one hand and a takeaway coffee in the other. Black hoodie. Low beanie. The kind of face that looked like it belonged in a film from the 1970s—soft and wild and tired, all at once.

You paused under the awning, debating whether to say anything.

But Ren saw you first. He didn’t smile. He didn’t wave. He just tipped his head, lazily, like he’d been expecting you.

“Hey… Blue.”

You wanted to correct him. Say your name. Remind him. But something in the way he said it—like he knew exactly who you were—kept your mouth shut.

He held out his coffee, still hot.

“Want it?”

You hesitated.

“I haven’t touched it,” he added. “Too sweet for me.”

You took it. Just to have something in your hands. Just to hide the way yours were trembling.

“Thanks.”

He leaned against the wall, half-shielded from the rain.

“You like the band, or just got dragged there?”

You looked up. “Do you want the real answer?”

He chuckled, low. “Only if it’ll hurt my feelings.”

You didn’t speak. Just sipped the coffee.

He didn’t ask why you were out.
Didn’t ask your age, your job, your favorite color. He just talked. Random things. Things that didn’t go together.

“My mom used to paint her nails silver every Sunday.”
“I hate the way guitars smell after rain.”
“I used to think if you bit your tongue during a thunderstorm, you’d get electrocuted.”

You didn’t understand. But you listened anyway. Because for once, someone wasn’t trying to get inside your head—they were offering a glimpse into theirs.

And it felt rare. And it felt like more than enough.

At home, Your room was still the same.
Pastel walls. Folded sheets. A calendar with neat checkmarks on each day.

But now, it felt too quiet.

You started playing his music through headphones at night. Not Trapnest—the older stuff. The unreleased tracks that floated online like ghosts. Scratchy demos. Wordless guitar riffs. Him humming in the background, as if he’d forgotten the mic was still on.

You started writing in the margins of your notebooks again. Not poetry. Not anything clever. Just small things he’d said, tiny moments that kept rewinding in your head.

“You smell like hotel soap.”

“You look like someone who misses people before they leave.”

“You’re blue.”

Two weeks later he he invited you to watch the band rehearse, he didn’t do it in a special way.

“You free Thursday?”
“Come sit in. Might be boring.”

That was it. No grand gesture. No promise of attention. But you said yes anyway. Of course you did.

Backstage smelt like sweat, beer, and reverb. The studio was low-lit, with battered couches and cords snaking across the floor like veins. Ren didn’t introduce you. No one asked who you were.

You just sat in the corner, next to a cracked amp, and watched. And the moment he picked up his guitar—he disappeared.

Not physically. But spiritually. It was like he was gone somewhere far away, someplace only he could reach.

You didn’t know it yet, but this would become a pattern.

He’d come close. Say something that felt like a secret. And then, just as easily—he’d vanish.

That night, after rehearsal, he walked you to the train station. Not because you asked. Because he didn’t want you to walk alone. Neither of you spoke much.

But at the crossing, when the red light hit his face just right, you noticed something.

He looked grey. Still beautiful. Still haunting. But... faded.

Like something important had been drained from him over time. And you suddenly ached to give it back—whatever it was.

You didn’t kiss him. You didn’t even brush his arm.

But when he looked at you, half-lidded and unreadable, you wondered what it would feel like to be the last soft thing he ever touched before he shattered.

And the scariest part was: You wanted to be that thing.

You started lying.

Not big lies—small ones. Quiet, easy ones.
The kind that sounded just enough like truth to slip out unnoticed.

“I’m staying late for study group.”
“I’m helping a friend prep for her exam.”
“There’s a new coffee shop downtown I like.”

And just like that, the lies stacked like postcards from a life you weren’t really living.

But you were seeing him. Again. And again.

Ren would call you "blue" like it was a name only he knew, and you’d go. Even if it was midnight. Even if you had class in six hours. Even if your father asked why you smelled like cigarette smoke and subway metal.

You told yourself you weren’t obsessed.
That you were just… curious. But you knew better.

Your family didn’t notice at first.

You were always the “good one.” The girl who colored inside the lines.
The one who folded dinner napkins. Who sorted the mail. Who never once stayed out past curfew.

So when you started forgetting things— Leaving your coffee on the bus stop bench, showing up late to school, skipping lunch entirely—they noticed. But they didn’t understand.

Your father stopped you one night in the hallway. He looked tired. Worried.

“You seem… different.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

Because the truth was, you were.
You were changing. Fading into something unrecognizable, like paint peeling away from old wallpaper.

“Is it a boy?” he asked softly.

Your silence was answer enough. He sighed. Left it alone. But his eyes lingered. Like maybe he knew what kind of boy could make a daughter unravel this quietly.

It took three weeks for him to invite you over.

“It’s nothing special,” he’d said. “Might smell like sweat and string rust.”

You hadn’t cared.

It was a third-floor walk-up in a building that looked like it was mourning something. The hallway light buzzed overhead. The lock stuck twice before turning. He let you in with a shoulder shrug.

“Welcome to the pit.”

The living room was half-furnished. Mattress on the floor. Coffee table made of milk crates. One ashtray, overflowing. A dusty amp in the corner with a tangle of cords snaked beneath it like veins.

But the strangest thing? It was quiet. No music. No TV. Just silence. And him.

He tossed his hoodie onto the couch. Sat on the windowsill. Lit a cigarette without asking if it bothered you.

“Don’t act like you didn’t expect it to be worse,” he said with a smirk.

You didn’t answer. Just took in the space. The Polaroids taped to the wall. The guitar picks scattered like loose change. The empty liquor bottles stuffed with dried flowers.

And in the middle of it all—Ren. Like a hurricane that had already passed through himself.

You found an old photo on the counter.

It was him—maybe sixteen. Younger. Softer. A silver chain around his neck and bright eyes, the kind that hadn’t dulled yet. You touched it without thinking.

“That’s not me anymore,” he said, not even looking.

You turned to him. “What happened to him?”

He laughed without smiling. “He thought music would save him.”

And then, quieter:

“He was wrong.”

You didn’t know what to say. So you did what he hated most. You stayed silent.

You laid on the floor beside his mattress, watching shadows move across his ceiling. He didn’t try to kiss you. Didn’t even reach for your hand. He just talked until he was too tired to keep his eyes open.

About music. About the way his band didn’t listen anymore. About pills that numbed too much and nights that never ended.

And for the first time, you saw it: Ren was disappearing. Slowly, like a smudge in the rain.

And you wanted—desperately—to be the thing that made him stay.

At school, you fell behind. Assignments went unfinished. Friends stopped asking if you were coming to lunch.

You missed your cousin’s birthday. Snapped at your mother over breakfast. Forgot your keys, your wallet, your name.

Because all you could think about was: Him. And how he looked when he was sleeping.
And how he said your name like it didn’t taste like regret. And how, when you left his apartment that morning, he called after you—

“You’re the only color I haven’t ruined yet.”

You didn’t know what he meant. But you knew what it felt like. Like the edge of something soft before it turned sharp. Like falling in love with a ghost who still had a pulse.

Like watching yourself disappear into someone who barely believes in staying.

You weren’t home when your father found it.

A cassette tape. No label. Just your name written in black ink—not your full name, just the nickname Ren had started using. The soft one. The private one.

It was buried in your backpack. Tucked inside your psychology notes, the one you hadn’t touched in weeks. You’d forgotten it was even there. He must’ve opened it looking for something else—maybe a bill, maybe just proof that he hadn’t imagined your sudden absence from family dinners, your eyes half-there during conversations, your slow retreat from the daughter he thought he knew.

He played it. Of course he did. And the voice that filled the speakers was not yours. It was his.

You came home late again. The hallway light was off. You tried to slip in quiet, to toe past the front door like a whisper.

But your father was waiting at the table. Hands folded. Tape in front of him like a weapon. The lamp overhead buzzed in that quiet, angry way lightbulbs do when something’s wrong.

You froze.

“Sit.”

You did.

“Who is he?”

Your throat dried up. You opened your mouth, but no sound came out.

“The boy on this tape,” he continued, voice even. “The one calling you Blue. Who is he?”

You stared at the cassette. Suddenly, it felt radioactive. Your entire secret world trapped in a two-inch rectangle of plastic.

You could’ve lied. Said it was a class project. Said it was nothing.

But you didn’t.

“His name’s Ren,” you said quietly.

Your father sat back in his chair. Eyes narrow.

“How old is he?”

You hesitated.

“Too old,” he said for you. “Too quiet. Too… wrong.”

Your chest tightened. “You don’t even know him.”

“I don’t need to know him,” he snapped. “I know you. And I know you’re different. Distant. You’ve stopped eating. You’ve stopped showing up to your own life. And now I know why.”

You could’ve yelled. You could’ve cried.
But you just sat there. Let it all land like hail against a windshield. Because deep down—you knew he was right. But he was also wrong.

Ren wasn’t making you fade. You were fading toward him.

“He’s in a band, isn’t he?”

You flinched.

“I looked him up,” your father said. “He’s not just some boy. He’s famous. At least… underground. He’s got records. Arrests. Rumors.”

You bit your lip hard enough to bleed.

“You’re not in love with him,” he said, quieter now. “You’re chasing something you think he has. Something broken. Something poetic.”

And that—hurt. Because maybe it was true.

Maybe you did love the cracks more than the person. Maybe Ren was a mirror for all the things you didn’t want to admit about yourself.

But that didn’t make it any less real.

“He calls you Blue, like it’s a joke,” your father said, almost a whisper now. “And you’re letting him drain the rest of your colors without even noticing.”

You stood up. Not to yell. Not to defend him.
Just because you couldn’t sit in that chair a second longer.

“You’re wrong,” you said.

Not loud. But firm.

“He sees me,” you added. “Not just what I’m supposed to be. Not just the perfect daughter. The college-bound girl. He sees me. Even the parts I hate.”

Your father’s face softened—but only for a moment.

“Sweetheart,” he said. “What if the parts he sees are the parts that can’t survive him?”

That landed like glass in your stomach.

You didn’t speak the rest of the night. You left the tape on the table. Closed the door behind you. Climbed the stairs in the dark.

And in your room, you sat on the floor beside your bed. Not crying. Not shaking.

Just… breathing.

Just remembering the way Ren’s hand lingered on your wrist last time. The way he said,

“You don’t have to be perfect here. Just real.”

And you knew—even if your father never forgave you for it— you were going back. You didn’t text him first. Didn’t call. Didn’t ask if you were still welcome.

You just showed up.

The sky was slate-colored. Cold, even though it hadn’t rained. You climbed the three flights to his apartment without pausing, each step pulling you deeper into whatever this was becoming.

You didn’t know what you expected. But it wasn’t this.

The door clicked shut behind you both, shutting out the relentless rain and the world’s noise.

Ren’s apartment was small and dim, the kind of place where shadows felt heavy and memories hung thick in the air. The faint smell of cigarette smoke mixed with something sharp and chemical — the scent of his restless nights.

He moved without speaking, closing the door and leaning against it for a moment, eyes closed. You watched him, heart aching.

He pulled a small bag from his jacket pocket, the crumpled plastic glinting under the low light. A few white pills and a crushed-up line of something powdered on the table.

Ren’s hands trembled as he reached for them.

“I’m sorry you have to see this,” he whispered.

His voice was raw — brittle. Like the drugs had already started eating at him.

You stepped closer, hesitating.

“Ren, you don’t have to—”

“I do,” he interrupted, eyes dark. “Without this, I’m drowning.”

You watched as he took the pills first — his movements practiced but shaky — then, with a ragged breath, snorted the powder.

His face twisted for a moment, pain mixed with the rush.

The effect was immediate. His breathing grew shallow, pupils dilated, and his jaw clenched like he was fighting something inside.

“It’s supposed to calm me,” he said, voice distant. “But sometimes it just makes the noise louder.”

You reached out, fingers brushing against his arm, trying to ground him. He winced, then closed his eyes.

The minutes stretched thin.

You saw his hands twitch, the way his body jerked involuntarily. The colors on the walls seemed to flicker and pulse with his heartbeat.

His breath hitched, like he was somewhere far away, lost in a storm only he could see.

“Ren,” you whispered, “talk to me.”

His eyes fluttered open, glassy but searching.

“I hate this,” he confessed. “I hate what it does to me. To us.”

He swallowed hard, voice cracking.

“But without it, the memories, the guilt—they crush me.”

You wrapped your arms around him, feeling the tremble beneath your touch.

“You’re not alone. Not anymore.”

He leaned into you, a fragile, desperate weight.

“I want to believe that,” he said. “But I’m scared I’ll just pull you under.”

You pressed a kiss to his temple, steady and sure.

“Then we fight it together.”

The night stretched on, heavy and raw.mBut for once, the drugs didn’t silence him completely.

They only whispered in the background as you held onto the man behind the chaos — the one who still wanted to heal.

You sat with him for hours. No music. No conversation. Just... breath and shadow. The quiet hum of the city outside. The warmth of being near someone without the pressure to fill every silence.

Eventually, his head tipped onto your shoulder. And you let it.

Even when your arm went numb. Even when the sky outside turned black. Even when you started to realize that loving someone like Ren wasn’t a rescue.

It was a ritual. And you were already deep inside it.

You didn’t plan to stay. But the night didn’t ask for your plans. It simply crept in, soft and uninvited, wrapping itself around the both of you.

Ren hadn’t said much since you came in. He didn’t need to. Sometimes silence is the loudest thing between two people. And tonight, the silence said: don’t leave.

The mattress was still on the floor. The sheets smelled faintly of cigarettes and something soft, like old shampoo or lavender sprayed on a pillow long ago. A half-finished song was scrawled across a napkin beside the bed—ink bled, lines crossed out, one phrase circled three times:

“You can’t save the drowning if you’re still holding your breath.”

You didn’t ask him what it meant.

Instead, you pulled your knees to your chest as he sat on the edge of the mattress, shirt clinging to his back from sweat, head lowered like he was listening for a sound only he could hear.

“You’re not scared?” he asked suddenly.

You looked at him. “Of what?”

“Of this.” He motioned to the apartment. To himself. “Of me.”

You considered the question.

“Should I be?”

He laughed once. Not a happy sound. “Probably.”

You didn’t look away. “But I’m not.”

He crawled back onto the mattress, collapsed onto his side with a groan.

You sat there a while longer. Watching. Listening to his breathing even out into something less tense. He turned toward the wall. Back to you.

But then, after a moment:

“Stay.”

You barely heard it. Just one word, carried on a breath like regret.

“You sure?” you asked softly.

“No.”

“Okay.” Still, you stayed.

You lay down beside him. Careful not to touch. Careful not to cross an invisible line. The room was cold. His body radiated heat, like a storm that had barely passed.

“You always this warm?” you whispered.

“You always ask this many questions?”

You smiled into the dark. “Only when I care.”

He didn’t answer.

But after a moment, you felt it— His hand finding yours beneath the covers. Not laced. Just there. Touching.

It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t some perfect scene with string music and soft light. It was human.

And then, quietly:

“My mom used to hum when she folded laundry.”

You blinked. Turned slightly.

“She’s gone now,” Ren added, eyes still closed. “It’s weird what you remember.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

He kept going.

“I stopped going to school after she died. Tried to OD once but I didn’t have the stomach for it. Literally threw everything up before it kicked in.”

He said it like it was just part of the weather.

And you laid there, still and breathing and heavy, your heart cracking in slow motion.

“I’m not telling you this so you’ll feel bad,” he added. “Just… you should know. Before you get any more ideas.”

“What ideas do you think I have?”

“That I’m fixable.”

You squeezed his fingers.

“I never said you were broken.”

That’s when he finally turned toward you.

Face inches from yours. Eyes bloodshot. Voice low.

“I don’t sleep. I forget to eat. I cancel shows just to lie in bed for two days straight. I lie to people who love me and I push away the ones who don’t yet. And I never—ever—say what I mean until it’s too late.”

You swallowed hard. But you didn’t look away.

“I still don’t think you’re broken.”

He stared at you like he wanted to believe that.
Like maybe some small, leftover part of him did.

“You’re the only person who talks to me like I’m still a person.”

“Because you are.”

Silence again.

This time, it wasn’t heavy.
It was soft. Like a blanket. Like a question answered by touch.

He reached up. Brushed a piece of hair from your face. Not flirtatious. Not suggestive. Just… gentle.

That night, he didn’t kiss you. He didn’t even hold you. He just fell asleep with his hand still wrapped around yours. And for the first time in a long, long while—
you both stayed.

The light woke you first. It spilled in through the open window like it had been waiting all night to find you. Gold and soft. A hush in the air that only happens between 6 and 7 a.m., when the city’s still yawning.

Ren was still asleep. One arm over his face. Barely breathing, like his body was afraid any movement might make you leave.

His hand still held yours.

You studied him for a moment. The dried-out pink of his lips. The faint bruise under one eye. His lashes resting against his cheek. He looked younger like this. Almost safe.

And then— A sound at the door. A key turning.
The knob clicking. You sat up just as the door swung open.

“Ren?”

The voice was quiet, confused—but not cold.
Standing in the doorway was Takumi, his tall, slender frame wrapped in a simple, dark sweater that hung effortlessly over his lean shoulders. His soft black hair fell just over his eyes, slightly tousled as if he’d just run a hand through it absentmindedly.

He looked at you. Then at Ren. Then back again. And something changed in his expression—tightened.

“Seriously?”

Ren groaned, not lifting his head. “Taku…”

“You said you were sick.”

Ren blinked up at the ceiling. “I am.”

“You don’t look sick. You look like you’re playing house with someone who doesn’t know what she’s getting into.”

You sat up straighter, heart pounding.

“I’m not a stranger,” you said. Quiet, but firm.

Takumi glanced at you. “No, but you’re not from his world either.”

“Taku, knock it off,” Ren muttered, sitting up finally. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like?” Takumi shot back. “Because all I see is a girl with no idea how messy you are sleeping in the same bed you haven’t touched since—”

Ren’s voice snapped.

“Don’t bring her up.”

Takumi froze. Silence cut through the room like a cold wind.

“You think I’m mad you’re seeing someone?” Takumi said, quieter now. “I’m not. I’m mad you’re hiding again. Mad you’re pretending this is healing instead of another distraction.”

Ren stood slowly. “She’s not a distraction.”

“Then what is she?”

“She’s the only thing that’s felt real in months.”

The words made something in Takumi’s face fall—something that looked like sadness. Or fear. Or both. He looked at you.

“You care about him?”

You nodded.

“Then don’t let him drown you, too.”

You swallowed hard. “I’m not here to fix him.”

“No. But you’ll try. People always do.”

Takumi didn’t yell. He didn’t slam the door. He just left the food on the table, turned without another word, and stepped out quietly.

The soft click of the door was louder than anything he’d said.

Ren stood still for a while. His eyes dropped to the floor. Like he didn’t know whether to be angry or grateful.

“He’s not wrong,” Ren said finally.

“He’s not right either,” you replied.

He looked at you then—tired, but present.

“You still want to stay?”

“Yes.”

“Even now?”

“Especially now.”

And so, you stayed. Not because it was easy.
Not because it made sense. But because Ren Honjo, for all his chaos and damage and shut doors, was letting you stand in the one place no one else had been allowed in a very long time. Beside him.

It was already raining when you stepped out of your evening seminar, the sky cracked open in deep gray streaks. Students hurried past with umbrellas and hoods, laughter echoing under fluorescent lamps and wet pavement.

You didn’t see him at first. But something made you look left. And there he was.

Soaked. Standing by the campus gate like he had no idea it was raining. His black hoodie clung to his skin, hair plastered to his forehead, dark jeans stuck to his legs like they were drowning with him.

Ren. He didn’t move when he saw you. Just stared. And for a second, so did you.

You dropped your pace and walked toward him, your steps quickening, heartbeat racing.

“Ren—what the hell are you doing? You’re soaked.”

He blinked, slowly, like he’d forgotten how to speak.

“I didn’t know where else to go.”

Your heart squeezed. He sounded hoarse. Lost. Like he’d walked through the entire city in the rain and only just found oxygen when he saw you.

“I needed to see you,” he said, voice cracking. “I needed to know you still wanted to see me.”

You stepped closer. “Of course I—”

“No. Don’t just say it.”

He ran a shaky hand through his wet hair.

“I’ve ruined everything else I’ve touched, and I swear I’m trying to be better, but I can’t think straight when you’re not around. You’re the only thing that keeps me from jumping off the edge.”

The words hit you like thunder. Raw, desperate, unfiltered.

He stepped closer, rain dripping from his eyelashes.

“I don’t sleep. I don’t eat. I keep replaying everything I never said to you, every second I wasted pretending I didn’t care.”

You didn’t care about the rain anymore. You stepped forward until you were right in front of him.

He searched your eyes like he was looking for a reason not to fall apart.

“Tell me I haven’t lost you,” he whispered.

You reached for his face, fingers cold, but steady.

“You haven’t.”

And for a moment, he leaned into your hand like it was the only thing keeping him from dissolving into the storm.

The rain poured around you like a storm meant to wash away everything — pain, fear, silence.

Ren’s breath hitched as your fingers lingered on his cheek, tracing the sharp line of his jaw.

His eyes searched yours, wide and trembling, as if begging for permission.

Without another word, he closed the distance.

His lips were cold from the rain, trembling but certain as they pressed against yours.

The world dissolved. The sounds of the campus, the rain, even your pounding heart—faded into the background.

There was only the heat of the kiss, fierce and trembling, like he was trying to hold onto you so tightly he’d never let go.

His hands found your waist, pulling you closer, as if he was afraid you’d disappear if he didn’t.

You melted into him, your own arms wrapping around his neck, letting all the hurt and doubt fall away, if only for this moment.

When you finally pulled apart, breathless, the rain was still falling — but something fragile and new was growing between you, stronger than the storm.

Ren rested his forehead against yours, voice rough but steady.

“Stay with me.”

The morning sun filtered weakly through the blinds, casting soft lines across Ren’s apartment. The air smelled faintly of rain and something fresher—hope, maybe, or the quiet beginning of healing.

You sat beside him on the worn couch, your fingers interlaced with his, grounding him in the calm after the storm.

Ren’s eyes were heavy, shadows lingering beneath them, but there was something new there—a fragile light struggling to grow.

“I don’t want to keep running from myself,” he murmured, voice rough but honest.

You squeezed his hand, voice steady.

“You don’t have to run anymore. We’ll take this one day at a time.”

He swallowed, nodding slowly.

“It won’t be easy.”

“I know,” you said softly. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

For the first time in a long time, Ren let himself lean into that truth.

You watched as the tension in his shoulders eased, even if just a little.

Because healing wasn’t about forgetting the past — it was about choosing to move forward. Together.

You pulled him into a gentle embrace, rain still lingering in your hair and hearts, but now mixed with something stronger: hope.

The storm wasn’t over. Maybe it never would be. But with you by his side, Ren was ready to face whatever came next.

[grotessquerie]

(ignore this) Reasons for me to stay alive

trying 2 not kms gets harder day by day so ^_^ some may be triggering so be careful <3 hidden under cut because its kinda long

all the canes i could eat if i didn't die...

my friend is either gonna buy me a 12 pack of a&w zero sugar root beer OR a three finger combo from canes when he gets the money

my ex (for multiple reasons, most of which revolving around "he could love me again one day")

my friends who come to me when somethings wrong/they just wanna hang out bc they feel down

adding on to reason 4, those friends would have basically no one to talk to about their problems because You know they come to me for a reason (their other friends don't take it seriously, don't seem to care, dont listen/dont give good advice, their friends jst dont like talking abt stuff like that, et cetera yk)

i like masturbating idk

i like to look at my body sometimes like i love my boobs i love my hipbones and my ribs and my collarbone

sometimes i do think im pretty

i wanna dye my hair all the colors someday (maybe all at once or maybe not, but i WOULD like to know what its like to have blue hair and pronouns)

i wanna get a diagnosis for (or to confirm that i don't have) whatever could be wrong with me and ill have to be 18 to be diagnosed with two of the possible disorders (which im NOT)

i wanna read all the books i think look interesting

i wanna write all the stories i think would be cool

i gotta outlive my great grandpa

i wanna make new friends like me and show them that they are capable of being loved and that someone actually does care about them

i wouldn't be able to play the games i like if i died

i wouldn't be able to doomscroll

id never be able to talk about myself again

i don't wanna fail and then wake up with terrible fucking stomach cramps like i did last time

id lose my 800 almost 900 day snapstreak with my dad (YES i use snap and YES i keep my streak w my dad going like its life or death)

i wanna be able to cut myself elsewhere on my body and NOT have it limited to just one ankle

i wanna get better at rhythm games

i need to finish all the shows i started and never finished (and find new ones to watch)

i need to finish reading the manga i never finished (and find new ones to read)

i wanna make a drawing that's so good that im proud of

i need to make more bracelets and kandi and charms

i like to collect trinkets and if i died i wouldn't be able to

my baby blanket

my stuffed bunny (unnamed)

i actually love big red zero sugar :drool: so good

i still need to try all the different kinds of macaroni

i need to become fluent/conversational in other languages besides English and german

if i ever do move on from my ex, i wanna experience falling in love again and ill do it right this time

i still have so much love to give and so many tears to cry

i need to be nicole dollangangers #1 fan

i wanna listen to all the music and find new artists i like and new songs and everything

my momma :(

the little kitty thing i keep on my laptop (she js sits there, isnt connected or anything)

i wanna find more cute clothes to wear

i love jokes i love to laugh

i either wanna be able to see myself lose more weight or recover from my ed

i wanna be clean from sh someday

i wanna find new hobbies that i love

i NEED to read the entirety of The Meg series (yes this is separate from finding new books to read)

i NEED to rewatch The Meg and The Meg 2 until I've seen them both 100 times (i LOVE the meg)

the poptart flavors I've never tried

the zero sugar drinks I've never tried

the people i could meet in the future

the pets i could own in the future

giving myself a chance at recovery for everything (Ik i said it already but its alright)

i like naps

[stonedragonisnthere]

HHN icon headcanons!!!

(Part 1)

Blue - Unserious hc

Red - Serious hc

(These are not related to shipping or ships but are rather personality/lore traits I’m assigning each character. These hcs also do not mind canon much. )

~~🤡🎁~~

• believe it or not, Jack is one of the best people to go to for dating advice! He knows how to control a massive crime gang and how to get and keep bitches!

• Jack is polysexual + Panromantic

• Jack and Eddie are mixed (American + Singaporean). Their parents weren’t married when Eddie and Jack were born and their father left their mother

• Jack sort of picked up certain eating habits from Dr.Oddfellow, however he does have some knowledge on cooking basic meals, think of those four ingredient “lazy mom” recipes you’d see on TikTok from time to time.

• Jack does care about his brother, he doesn’t bring it up much but has offered help to Eddie in the past

• Jack has ADHD but has found ways to help him focus on certain things

• Jack has been seen without his clown makeup by the icons so rarely that when he did, the icons tried to kill him because they thought he was a victim Adaru put in the lantern.

• Jack and Chance are both insane clown posse enjoyers

• Jack is more than willing to shoot Chance and anyone else he likes out of a canon (it’s his way of affection/very lh)

~~✂️🎩~~

•Albert Caine had brown hair when he was younger

• Albert’s way larger underneath his professional wear. After a day at work it’s a relief taking off his corset and relaxing for the night.

•Albert’s wife who he had Cindy with passed away after she was born. He chose not to date after and focused on his morgue and raising his daughter.

•He is one of the more polite icons, he is willing to talk in interrogations or explain what the icons are to people (Mostly his murder victims before their death)

• Albert secretly enjoys the carebears, his favorite care bear is Take Care Bear.

• Jack and Albert are fishing buddies

~~🎥🕷️~~

• Paulo is surprisingly durable for being only a guy, he’s survived everything from snake bites to full on getting blown up. However he does have stitches through out his whole body.

• He is very much a film snob, Definitely a gatekeeper on how much of a horror fan someone is but doesn’t move the goal point much, he’ll respect you if you say certain movies are good

• Paulo has OCD, and even through his trashy workspace, he has all of his filming equipment in specific areas made for each tool and accessory he uses and does get angry at the other icons whenever someone places something of his in the wrong place

• Billy Skorrski was one of his 6 to 7 fake IDs he has used while in Singapore

• The most Paulo is able to cook is some cup noodles and a monster energy as a drink. Whenever anybody does cook for him he wolfs his plate down then goes back to whatever he’s working on for that day.

• Paulo believes himself to be an “Alpha male” and Jack dogs on him for his beliefs

•He also gets into fights with people on subreddits

~~📖🔪~~

• Elsa is the walking Swiss Army knife of the group. She always seems to have some tool or weapon useful to the situation happening to the icons.

• Some of her favorite books are Grim’s fairytales and murder mysteries, Elsa does like when the murderer gets away in them though :)

• Her and Julian hang out from time to time. (Elsa likes the old timey movies the palace theatre plays and Julian sometimes sits down with Elsa for some tea and to listen to music)

• Elsa is a lesbian but has no interest for anyone in the lantern.

• She is willing to read tamer books depending on who’s asking (She reads to Cindy sometimes when she needs to go to bed)

• Elsa despises Dr.Oddfellow just as much as Jack does. She has her own beef with Fellow that I’ll get into in another post

• Elsa would make a booktok person bite the curb

• Nobody knows what she does with her victims tongues

[orrr49]

I translated my Squid Game fanfic into English bc of I need any feedback, haha

“The Time Loop”

Characters: Seong Gihun, mentioned Cho Sangwoo

Marks: angst, canonical character death, mention of cruelty and $ui$ide

Every time.

Every time Gihun wakes up with the realization that everything has started all over again, he is tormented by the same question.

What did he do wrong?

He has asked himself this question dozens of times already. At first, he kept score; it seemed to him that he might go crazy, and the score created the illusion of control. But at some point he got too tired and lost his way. Each time, he woke up the day before the second game. For some reason, he felt that as soon as he realized what exactly he had done wrong, he would wake up at the very beginning — before playing “red light, green light”.

Nineteen times he started crying after waking up. He didn't even need to open his eyes to realize where—or rather, when—he was. Classical music playing from loudspeakers was enough for him. If he gets out of here one day, he will hardly be able to quickly get rid of the chilling associations that this music brings.

Thirty-nine times he chose a triangle in a dalgona game. In thirteen cases, the triangle figure cracked.

Three times Sangwoo and Ali did not have time to help him during the night massacre, and some man, whose face Gihun had never seen, apparently managed to beat him to death. Before waking up at the beginning of the loop, Gihun lost consciousness.

Twenty-two times he failed to stay on the platform during the tug of war, and fell down, dragging nine more people with him.

Six times he went as far as playing marbles and suggested to his friends that the instruction to split up into pairs was a setup. In five cases, he was listened to.

He survived the glass bridge game four times.

He fell asleep once the night before the finals. Accidentally. He passed out from exhaustion with a knife in his hand.

Once, he was pushed out of the squid figure.

He fought Sangwoo like a mad dog once. He even bit him. That day, he was sure, he didn't care if he killed Sangwoo with his own hands. He reached the triangle that signified the squid's head — victory, and heard a shot behind him. The words "player 218 is out" were drowned out by the rainfall.

But after he fell asleep in the car before heading home, he woke up again in the common room.

For the last time, he turned around a step away from the squid's head. He tried to persuade Sangwoo to vote for the termination of the game, reaching out to him, but — deep down — not believing that Sangwoo would reach out in return.

Sangwoo stabs himself in the neck with a knife. One sharp movement. The knife enters his neck as easily as butter. Gihun feels a lump rise in his throat. He's either gonna throw up from fear, or he's gonna scream.

Gihun passes out from exhaustion in the common room, which, strictly speaking, could no longer be called a common room. An inscription was displayed on the electronic board:

NUMBER OF PLAYERS: 1

 

It was his room now.

***

He wakes up to classical music. The room is shared again, and the light is on. It didn't work out for him again... but for some reason it's harder to breathe here this time. The air is stale, as if there isn't enough for everyone, and the clothes they've been given are so hot that the T-shirt sticks to his body due to sweat.

He barely opens his eyes and stares in front of him.

Will you notice that something has changed if you look at a room that you've seen dozens of times?

Before the second game, there were 187 of them. But the number 456 was on the electronic board.

He thought that the time loop would break if he became the winner. But he knows — he seems to know — why he woke up in the beginning this time. He woke up with the opportunity to save four hundred and fifty-five people from death. And himself along with them.

Because the last time, standing over Sangwoo lying on the ground and holding out his hand, he really wanted to stop the game for the first time.

[sailorsenshishitposter]

Kinji Hakari x Reader

⚠️Spoilers for chapter 238 kind of?

Kinji Hakari:

Your favorite movie is fight club, you love femboys or you just have a strong passion for dancing.

First Date:

You were out of money as usual and had heard rumors of an underground fighting ring. "It may not be legal but bills need to be payed. Besides, taxation is basically theft anyway so it evens out." You made your way towards the Gachinko venue, taking note of the other contestants. "This will be easy!"

You were now standing against your first opponent, a large, muscular man. "Hmpf. What are you supposed to be?" he sneered. You grinned. "My pronouns are they/them/causing mayhem!" You then struck him in the face, feeling his nose crunch under your knuckles. You only lasted a few more rounds, the rest of the guests being too scared to fight you.

As you were counting your earnings, a boy hung his arm around your shoulder. "Can you take my temperature?" You stumbled back awkwardly and tried to put some distance between the two of you. "...Why?..." The boy got right in your face. "Because you're giving me a massive fever babe!"

"..."

He took your silence as a okay to continue. "My name's Hakari and I think we can help each other out. I'll help you get some cash in exchange for hanging out with me and my crew for a day." You were already suspicious. "Crew?"

"Yeah, I have a harem of femboys. We wouldn't be dating though as I'm already together with Kirara and would need to ask them if they would be alright with being in a polyamorus relationship." The nerve of this guy to assume that you were already about to leap at the idea of going out with him! "I'm pretty good at gambling and I can get you some sweet cash from those earnings of yours. What do you say?" You shook his hand without hesitation. "All right, but you better not fail or your ass is grass and I'm going to mow it!"

Hakari introduced you to the gang and then took you to the local casino. "Stay here, I just need to make a quick stop!" It was now ten minutes later. "How good are you at baby sitting #######?" You noticed something behind him. "What the fuck is that?!" Standing there was an elderly man with teal hair. Damn, Hatsune Miku got old. "This is the old man. I can't leave him by himself and he needs an occasional walk every now and then."

Did he take some poor stray dog/old man to play house with? "This isn't what we agreed upon!" Hakari put his hands up in self defense. "I know, I know. Don't worry, I'll get you your money, you just have to make sure he doesn't sneak off. He's got a habit of getting into fights with people."

"Ugh, fine!" You eventually made it to the casino. You were worried that you would need ID but luckily the old man was able to "chaperone" the two of you. "Here's what we'll do. We split the money in half and then meet again in two hours." You then went your separate ways. You weren't really sure where to start so you went to one of the pinball machines. "Seems easy enough"

You were starting to get the hang of it when your ball hit a snag. "Huh?" You managed to open up a slot of some kind. "Three in a row. Well, here goes nothing!" You hit three times and were surprised that you didn't see bells or fruit. You had a match but you had never seen this before. Suddenly the words "FINAL EGGMAN" popped up and you then got a game over, losing everything that you had.

You kicked the machine. "Screw this game, I give up!" The old man then pipped up. "That's how losers think!" Whatever! You were off to find Hakari. By the time you found him you knew you regretted your decision. The boy was shirtless and yelling something about a "pure love train". You didn't see what all the fuss was about. After all, it's just pachinko.Wait, why was there music now? Shit. He was getting turnt up. "Hakari, stop!" But it was too late, for the next four minutes and eleven seconds, he was immortal. No one could stop him now. He ran out of the building and then used his femboy radar.

"I see one! The only problem is the giant meat head." Hakari then grabbed you and the old man. He threw a bag your way. "Here's the money. Now distract that guy over there for me while I go put on some smooth moves!" Ew. You were definitely never dealing with this guy again. "C'mon old man, let's get this over with."

Hakari had run up towards the stranger. "I'M BURNING UP FOR YOU BABY!" They grimaced. "I don't know who you think you are but let me help you cool off!" They raised a hand and an icicle pierced through Hakari's brain stem. "That takes care of that. Wait a minute. Where is my lord!?"

The two of you were going up to distract the random guy as Hakari had tasked you with but you weren't really sure on a plan on how to stall him. Then the old man began clutching his chest. "Hey! You're not having a heart attack are you!?" What came out of his lips wasn't something you had expected to hear. "He's so beautiful!"

"Huh?"

"Move out of my way, I need to see him!" The old man began to run off and honestly you couldn't really care. You were just glad that you could finally go home now. The old man was now in front of his target. "How can you connect with others?" The man raised a brow. "How can you love those beneath you... While knowing nothing of weakness?" Just before he could respond, the old man fell over.

"It seems he died of a heart attack." He looked down at his stomach which was frowning. "I should see if Uraume can get some use from this corpse and fashion me some waffles for breakfast."

[desire-mona]

dps boys (and keating's) favourite songs (aka me projecting because i love music) (also modern au because you cannot limit me to music before 1960 you just cant)

i made a playlist of all these songs in case you wanna give em a listen, you can find it here. if you totally disagree with me or wanna add more then absolutely let me know!

neil: talia - ride the cyclone (the musical)

yes i KNOW it's obvious to choose a song from a musical BUT. ride the cyclone is special, i think he'd really like the lack of an ensemble and enjoy the dark premise despite the comedic nature of a vast majority of the show. also i totally think his favourite performance would be by gus halper bc of the use of the projector. mischa or noel is definitely a dream role of his.

todd: vincent - james blake ('s cover, og by don mclean)

don mcleans lyricism is like catnip to poets and it has gone unacknowledged for far too long. a lyrically gorgeous, vaguely queer sounding song about a tortured artist, covered by someone with an ANGELIC voice. can you name anything more todd? not to mention the piano is so far beyond moving, nothing short of a masterpiece.

charlie: dear prudence - siouxsie and the banshees (again - a cover, og by the beatles)

firm believer that charlie was an avid beatles hater for a WHILE until eleanor rigby grew on him, much to his dismay. is now a casual beatles enjoyer, only due to the fact that their vocals annoy him. so a cover by siouxsie sioux (whom he most definitely has a crush on) is basically a blessing in disguise. loves the instrumentals, loves the vocals, loves all of it. insists that its better than the original and will ultimately die (correct) on that hill.

meeks: love on the line (call now) - her's

as much as i love and adore meeks, i have been loyal to my headcanon that he is an annoying music snob since day one. of course, this culminates in his favourite song being by THE indie pop/rock band that pretentious people love to bring up the death of. he is no exception, any time the band is mentioned he will without fail go "did you know that they died in a car crash?" either way, id be lying if i said this was a bad pick. the upbeat vibe mixed with the actual meaning of the song being about a guy wasting all his money on a sex hotline? it makes the whole song so fun, and thats right up his alley! super danceable too, which plays a huge part.

pitts: bad fruit - jean dawson

will mona ever shut up about jean dawson? signs point to no. anywho, if you've followed along with my pittsie musings then you KNOW that i consider pitts to be the most well versed music guy to ever step on welton academy campus. realistically, im sure his favourite song changes on a day to day basis, but he always comes back to this. jean dawson makes art that ive seen few do similarly, everything he brings to the table i find so incredibly unique and well crafted. definitely pitts' biggest music crush.

cameron: '39 - queen

absolutely, 100%, without a doubt, an extremely guilty pleasure. i take his parents as the type to ban queen in their household (for reasons that im sure youre able to pick up on) but i ALSO take cameron as a sucker for classic rock, match made in hell. of course, since brian may does the vocals on this song instead of freddie, he can listen on the dl and be fine. also, the concept of time travel in music is SO!!! INTERESTING!! would absolutely go on a 10 minute long tangent about the story and meaning of the song, which only mittsie would actually listen to.

knox: lavender buds - MF DOOM

fine, FINE. i'll give knox a proper headcanon, but i wont be happy about it. i think i would listen to MF DOOM a lot more if i was a former bully, but thats not actually based off anything so dont take that as an insult, avid listeners. honestly i dont really have an in depth explanation for this one, just look at the lyrics and youll understand.

(this repeats 3 times)

i also take him to be a big r&b/ blues enjoyer, also based off nothing at all, so the sample probably appeals to some sense of nostalgia.

keating: clair de lune - claude debussy

yes, even modern keating's fav song would be classical, you can rip that from my cold, dead hands. this song was based off the poem by the same title by paul verlaine, which i'll include because it is just so damn beautiful.

Your soul is a select landscape

Where charming masqueraders and bergamaskers go

Playing the lute and dancing and almost

Sad beneath their fantastic disguises.

All sing in a minor key

Of victorious love and the opportune life,

They do not seem to believe in their happiness

And their song mingles with the moonlight,

With the still moonlight, sad and beautiful,

That sets the birds dreaming in the trees

And the fountains sobbing in ecstasy,

The tall slender fountains among marble statues.

Paul Verlaine, 1869 (originally written in french, so this is a rough english translation)

now the song itself does SUCH a good job at capturing the beauty and moving parts of this poem, and it fits perfectly with a plethora of different emotions. i know without a shadow of a doubt that its his kryptonite. is that me projecting because i love this song and i love keating? absolutely, but i still think its true either way.

[mileshehimwhite]

ok i know this is played out but i wanna touch on how music is generally seen as one of the most socially acceptable art forms. it is impossible to live as a human and escape music, its everywhere. however, that really doesnt mean that music is upheld as an art worth discussing.

id say its pretty fair to point out poetry and music are fairly similar mediums. they cross over all the time, and the distinction of the two is more of a matter of subjective taste than concrete lines. something interesting ive found with poetry is that its not as easily accessible by the masses as music - why not? much of poetry is melodic or could be easily transformed into song. the iambic pentameter is infamous for its specificity when it comes to syllables, very akin to how lyrics in music must conform to certain tempos or become a noisy cacophony.

the kendrick vs drake beef has brought the idea of music being poetic back into the mainstream. i say "back into" but any kendrick fan can tell you that hes always incorporated poetic devices into his lyrics and instrumentals to illustrate the theme of his song/album better. its fun! its a way for him to showcase his skills while also making the music a participatory act for the audience. almost like a scavenger hunt, you know everything is THERE, its up to you to find WHERE. however, the beef has far surpassed kendrick and drake fans, hiphop/rap fans, and has become a discussion point for those who have absolutely no background in these mediums. this is not a diss, its an acknowledgement that for those of us who have and do revere music as an artform, a lot of the talking points can come off as very beginner - because they are, they're made by beginners who are finding their foothold in this new world, just like we all did at one time whether we were 5 or 50 when we first started.

disclaimers aside, my grievances aren't with the people intrigued by accusations. i mean, i dont like 2010 pop very much but if katy perry called pink a pedophile you bet your ass id have tuned the fuck in. im not even sure if thats a comparable accusation, as i think katy perry was more popular than pink? i dont know, you get my point. the accusations are more indicative of the system they're both existing in than kendrick saying this one guy sucks and if we get rid of him and his groupies hollywood will be rainbows sunshine and happiness forever. like, we should still get rid of him, but the systems in place that let drake rise to the level hes at and profit so widely from the communities he claims to represent wont disappear with him, they'll just find the next drake, or taylor swift, or james corden, literally fucking whoever fits the mold they need them to fit into, and if they dont, then adapt to the mold assigned to them. the system continues, the gears keep turning.

i dont even want to talk about the beef necessarily, though i do want to talk about the two songs meet the grahams and Not Like Us. meet the grahams was the heavy-hitter. the one that got everyone talking. Not Like Us was the chaser. a sweeter mixture to dull out the bitterness in the audience's mouth. there's been more controversy about the lyricism in Not Like Us than meet the grahams, and i find that it comes from a lack of understanding of what artforms really are - communicative devices. they're not trying to TELL you something, as something like a report or spreadsheet would with its analysis of sourced data, but it's trying to make you EXPERIENCE something. you can hear the sentence "Treat others the way you want to be treated." all your life, but if you've never experienced a situation where you need others to treat you with the same humanity they hold for themselves, it's a lot less impactful.

Not Like Us showcases exactly what kendrick lamar has already shown us repeatedly: he not only understands people, but he knows how to get through to them. meet the grahams will inevitably go down as one of the most vicious disstracks of all times, yes, but who's bumping that shit? nobody. its not supposed to be bumped. people discuss how it sounds very eerie and frightening, and its SUPPOSED. TO. BE. the instrumentals weren't picked for no reason. the unintelligible yelling in the background? purposeful. the vocals of kendrick going in and out of rage, of him simultaneously saying he wants drake dead and also that he wants him to improve himself by going through ego dissolution? purposeful. this is not just kendrick showing his own emotions regarding the scenario, he's priming the audience to be on his side by proactively aligning himself with their emotions - which leads me to Not Like Us.

okay. like, even the title you see it clearly. Not Like Us. kendrick, even before the song begins, has the audience creating an Us VS Them dichotomy with drake and his crew. kendrick also doesnt define a clear 'us' within the song - he does directly call out drake's culture vulturism in his music, but notice how deliberate he is with it. kendrick points out how drake uses "the people" to get himself a larger paycheque. that is, purposefully, relatable to every working class person regardless of race or location. he uses specific black people in his examples because of drake's anti-blackness, and while he mentions drake being half white in a few of his songs his criticism is always very carefully cushioned by the fact that kendrick DEFENDS drake's white half. he says hes a culture vulture for profiting off of such an important artform made by and for black america, yes, but he also points out that the inauthenticity towards his mother's side of the family and his nationality as canadian is pathetic and disloyal. he SPECIFICALLY MENTIONS how drake lied about his religious views not because kendrick hates the jews secretly but because DRAKE CAN'T PROFIT OFF OF BEING JEWISH THE SAME WAY HE CAN BEING BLACK. that's why he doesn't claim being jewish as hard as he does being black, if the inverse was true i doubt drake would EVER try to 'fit in' to the hip-hop crowd, in the same way he rarely if ever mentions his upbringing in a jewish household.

this is very important and VERY strategic of kendrick. he CANNOT be making enemies in this stage. kendrick has been banking on this reaching far past hip-hop/rap crowds. drake is fluid and, to the core, mainstream. therefore, kendrick NEEDS his lyricism to be just as easily approachable. think about the difference between kendrick's double entendres. "Tryna strike a chord and it's probably A Minor" has been a joke since, probably literally the day we quantified the concept of chords in music theory. some people criticize the line because of that, accusing kendrick of being a hack for using such an easy joke. what they dont understand is, THE JOKE HAD TO BE EASY. it had to simultaneously be easy to access for the general public and also still somewhat biting. kendrick already planted the seeds of drake being a pedophile in meet the grahams, and he's reaping his harvest by dropping that line and "Certified Loverboy, Certified Pedophile". they not only dont have to be clever, THEY CAN'T BE. they can't be more clever than what the layman would gather with one listen, they're his hooks in the song.

some people use Not Like Us as kendrick stepping up to the dick measuring contest on drake's terms. "oh, you think you so good cause you can write something that'll get em jumping? not only can i do that, i can do it BETTER." and i do agree with them! Not Like Us was incredibly well thought-out. it gives us basically no new information, but it doesnt need to, Not Like Us owes its purpose to beating people over the head with a few of the concepts addressed in euphoria. and meet the grahams, yes, and also to prime the audience against drake, yes, and also to show the audience that anything drake does you can get somewhere else and done better, YES! even the beat is produced by DJ Mustard, whose works are both familiar to rap fans, and widely loved. DJ Mustard producing it reinforces the Us VS Them. i mean, even casual listeners of rap have heard the notorious tag "Mustard on the beat, ho!".

im not going to claim this hasnt been pointed out before, i havent seen it, but im sure it has. kendricks discography has primed old fans to indulge in every lyric to make sure no nuance is missed. i dont think kendricks artistry has been in doubt once the entire time this beef has been widely popular. so it seems a little silly then, to start this goddamn dissertation off with a criticism of how music isnt treated with the same consideration by its fans like how a similar artform, poetry, is. and thats because... well, 1: music is way more popular than poetry, like i said. and that leads into 2: people dont recognize music as... important.

some music is. that's true. i mean, remember during the pandemic when celebrities were singing john lennon's Imagine from their mansions while the working class were dying from completely preventable causes? we can say what we will about that era, and oh boy do i have a lot to say, but it does prove that we on some level acknowledge the impact of music. why else choose a song? why not literally just say the words, or words to that impact? because music is better? well, no. people say impactful shit everyday - sans music. Inspirational speeches are a type of communication basically always devoid of music and yet they serve very similar purposes. so, no. music isnt always better. in fact, during the situation i outlined above, i could not think of anything WORSE than breaking into a little tune and jig. there is some tact necessary.

music, however, does excel in one thing inspirational speeches don't: community. this may make little sense, because inspirational speeches are notorious for being purposeful in their bonding of individuals into one united movement. but i want you to consider this: what role does the speaker hold? in inspirational speeches, they're on the same side as the crowd, yes, but they tend to hold some position above or differing from them. a figurehead or trusted authority figure to a movement. they're fighting for the same thing, but they're in a unique position to the crowd.

think about music in that same concept. the singer doesnt tend to hold that same difference. how could it? the audience sings along, the audience dances, the audience taps their foot or bobs their head, whatever participation is included, its necessary. kendrick's Not Like Us, no matter how eloquently reworked, would have NEVER gained the same traction as an inspirational speech. it would make kendrick seem too different from the masses. it would remind us that... he's a celebrity too. he isn't working class. he isn't the one getting affected most by drake's culture vulturism, misogyny, or alleged pedophilia. which would then ask the question: well... why didnt he point this out earlier?

some people are still asking that question, which i think does hold merit. kendrick lamar is not our friend. he has done amazing things for his community and black americans at large and we absolutely cannot discredit that, but kendrick lamar could personally fund my lifestyle forever and that still wouldn't mean i know him or his mindset. he is much more impactful to me because a lot of his songs about growing up in poverty or in crime-ridden environments resonate with my own upbringing, and hearing his experiences heightens that level of relatability because kendrick DID experience what he's writing about, unlike drake, but i also know me. i know people from my block, people who died or got on drugs. im aware that it isnt a black and white scenario, that someone could do amazing things in one area and hurt people in another, and that both are true simultaneously. kendrick himself is obviously aware of this, he addresses it routinely in his music.

i truly believe that kendrick lamar showcases an incredible wisdom of people in his music. i believe that is more necessary to contributing to music than having a good ear for what sounds right. music is a communicative tool, and kendrick knows exactly what to say, how to say it, and when, to elicit the response he wants. THAT is why the people who thought drake would ever win the beef were, at the very best, not paying close enough attention. roasts are not just insults, they're insights to another person's flaws. a metaphorical airing of dirty laundry to the public to initiate change. kendrick can get away with outright admitting he hates shit about drake for no reason and not be seen as petty because he articulates it in a way that has the audience agreeing with him. sometimes you hate somebody for a reason you can't pinpoint - and the funniest part is that kendrick CAN pinpoint exactly why he hates, for example, when drake says the n word. he literally goes on to say why! very explicitly! but now he's made it more comfortable for people to start bashing on drake for any given reason because "the vibes are off".

TLDR; be careful what you listen to, because theyre definitely listening to you.

[robertaaron]

I deeply apologize, because you didn't make that post and now I'm dumping all my thoughts about it on you, but I saw it on your blog and I love you, so that's why.

anyway, I think about that a lot. like, sometimes I really doubt pete and patrick are as close as we think they are. pete is so aware of how people perceive him, especially in the early days, and I think a big aspect of his interactions with patrick back then were performative, bc he knew how much fans love it.

but then I think there's something else there. in the pandemic, patrick was composing. he was happy. he loves composing. pete talked about how he wasn't sure he wanted to make another album, that he became insulated. but patrick pulled him out, made him excited. when patrick wrote that letter saying he was giving up on music during the hiatus, pete reached out. pete writes so many songs that reflect themes of twin souls, twin skeletons, soul mates, pieces of ourselves in others. and you can argue its about lovers (and I'm sure it is sometimes). but p2 also talk about swimming together, making up one member of the band, being each other's other half. there's something there that I think that's deeper than music, that's deeper than any of us know.

(I am so sorry for all this!!)

oh definitely, there was a chunk of pre-h that A LOT of p2 stuff was fluffed up cause... thats just how media reacted in that time i feel like van days/tttyg/cork tree and early ioh was authentic as possible when theres cameras watching you but then late ioh and folie a lot was what was expected of them as their roles in the band, which included this Best Friend quota but i think thats what makes seeing and hearing about the hiatus and then srar to now so fucking insane because... slowly but surely we have seen them start to act like they did back in their roots, nothing flashy, but always joking around and knowing what the others going to say, even amounts of physical affection from both sides, having the others back, pulling each other out of dark holes and having the weirdest inside jokes ever. like i always say that stardust era especially (but id honestly include abap/mania era in this too) that stardust is like early days peteandpatrick but... healthy and i think they only could have got here by enduring this played up best friend thing in esp folie era, and then losing literally All of it and then having to build it back up again but this time knowing what is fake, knowing what is real, what they appreciated from each other and what they didnt (we can kinda see the remnants of folie in srar era when pete especially is trying to feel out what they should be doing in the public eye, but then it all but evaporates by abap era where theyre just. so much more mellow but a new type of insane cause theyre more comfortable with each other and at ease yknow?) and they may not be best friends in the Usual sense but, honestly the guy from good charlotte who had that podcast with pete a few months back put it perfectly where the Best best friends are the type where you can go weeks without talking but still know they would put it all on the line for you, and when you talk again after some time, its as easy as breathing to be around them and i think thats Exactly what peteandpatrick is. they arent the Doing everything together best friends they once were in the early days, but they know each other better than anyone in the world. they are good buddies, and theyre kinda the other's other half, too

[onmymasa22]

What makes someone the complete opposite of a perfectionist. Thats just my personality. I have so much fun with it. Because if its not fun, then im not gonna do it. I enjoy it. I have fun with. I like the process. I dont care about mistakes because its always fixable. The canvas takes away my inhibitions. Im not scared to speak up. And the canvas reacts to every single thing i do. Its the best listener.

Theres this one picture that sums up my childhood. For some reason i thought that a tutu goes on my head.

I want to make a garden for little me to play in. I want paintings of myself when i was little. Photographs black and white. Of members of my family as kids just being silly. A healing garden that feels like a hug. With trees and light and safety.

I want to ask women what their happy place is, where they feel calm.

What we planned: yah so im gonna walk over to the Mediterranean sea in greece from the airbnb with coffee, paints, silk, and just chill there painting the waves

Reality: heat on, bra off, covers undone, waterbottle filled, and watching gilmore girls.

U know whats interesting abkut food. If its not losher, its

Planned to sit at the beach... but were tired and cold. So we snuggle instead.

sit by the sea in greece with a cup of coffee and paint silk

Reality:

Im not always the "life of the party". I have moods. Sometimes a room revolves around me, sometimes i dont want it to, so im a quieter, sweeter version of myself. Not the entainer. I read a room, see what's needed. And sometimes i dont, because im exhausted. But the complements i live off of arent- "oh, i remember you from the party, u had so much energy, like a big ball of fire". My favorite compliments were "oh, i remember you, u were the nicest one there" at the bonfire. In my early 20s i was a dance till the sun came up kinda girl. But now, given the choice between dancing all night, or sitting next to the guy or girl looking at the fire and talk about life, or existentialism, or ideas. Id rather do that. No, im not gonna be or insert myself into every photo, thats just not me. Im the nice one. The one who will spend time making ppl feel like they're important, seen, like they are the most important thing in my world.

I work very hard to

U know a weird hobby? To see what jewelry people decide to wear on flights. Because most ppl dont want to pack it so going on a flight is kind of like a jewelry catelog where everyone's wearing their nicest stuff and i love that crap. Like ive always wanted a simcha spot but instead of a pic of the couple, a pic of the rings. Like did she get a lab diamond, a normal cut, a art deco vintage, something padt down in the family, who cares what her name is, i want carot.

I dont know what the deal is, but part of my journey is that i cry way more than i used to. I never used to cry about anything and would laugh at ppl who are so emotional about everything. And i guess one of the things about realizing how close you were to dying is that it makes you emotional. It makes me cry everytime i leave home, cry when my friends or family is in pain, cry from beautiful music, from tv shows, from movies, from a story. And not one two tears. We're talking the drowned rat look.

הי דליה, את יכולה להרשם. בטופס הרשמה פשוט תסמני מכללה אחרת ובהערות למטה תכתבי שאת לומדת באמונה ושאת דתלשית שמנסה לחזור. בהצלחה!

He insults. And insulting is the poorest argument. If an argument goes to name calling, they are weak, and the language of the poor

He speaks pooly. And i dont mean bad, i mean he speaks like a poor person. Because if a debater is at the point of insulting or name calling, then its obvious he doesnt have a good argument. Because smart people dont resort to name calling or insults, its below them. Smart people and not smart people show who they are by how they speak.

When someone and their followers speak like poor street people, i find them not suitable to run the country.

[httpiastri]

hi again (kind of)!!! i think this is the longest it’s ever taken me to draft out a reply but trust me this one is so worth it because you’ve now touched upon two of the topics i never ever ever shut up about so now there are two very very long asks in your inbox (including this one, but you just can’t post that because my username’s shown 😭🙏)

note: i realise i really did spiral with this one and this is almost no pepe at all but still important-ish?? i think 😭😭

spirituality and synchronicities… i think you’ve probably seen my vv long ask by now? and that’s literally just synchronicities with one person. i could draft out all the weird invisible string moments ive had with people and it would honestly span pages (especially in my new course, where literally everyone is connected, some in the weirdest and most unnatural ways ever) and like this might be a little weird but you posted about your friend angelica/angie and like omg its so weird mentioning someone i have no connection to whatsoever but i used to know a girl named jacquelyne (spelt differently from your name, but still) and her middle name was angelica so like ?? even that is something vv notable i think and like… the thing about thoughts coming true? i completely get what you mean. i think ive always had more spiritual experiences as a child but during my school transition break i worked part time at this retail place where i would experiment with manifestation for fun and it would always happen?? like id manifest compliments for very specific things, or very specific free food items, or even customers pushing to give me money for specific reasons (i couldnt accept it but i did it just because i could) and that’s just like… the tip of the iceberg…

anyway i realised that we all manifest in completely different ways and i realised mine is most prominent with words or speech or thoughts so ive become so unbelievably mindful of the things i say and do so i completely understand and relate to your cases of unintentional manifestation!! like thats the way mine used to always play out before i started becoming super intentional with what i did (and maybe this is very extreme but manifesting is instant and like once you really build your faith in it you’ll realise things can happen instantly or overnight… i won’t say anything too specific but you could literally wake up with changes to basically anything and everything you desire so 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️)

but i also did intentionally manifest that pepe only vid from the barcelona race weekend last year simply because… he won and i wanted a pepe exclusive video (can you blame me? i’m a girl with desires)

BUT IM SO LIKE INSANELY (?? happy?? excited?? shocked/surprised but happy by it both??) with regards to your lotus stories? LIKE THATS SO CRAZY because what are the odds omg😭😭 i chose the lotus because im super spiritual and i have like certain things in my life linked to the lotus and like if you know about the lotus, the most prominent thing about it is that it grows from the very bottom of muddy waters, but always makes it out to the top, still beautiful and pure and seemingly untouched by the dirtiness around it but most importantly, it is so so strong and like i think everything else is self explanatory but to have that in your name is so cute like omg ❤️❤️ id never stop bringing it up if i were you (on a completely unrelated note… lotus biscoff biscuits also exist and they are so good so that is another reason to be proud of your name)

but like music especially?? LIKE WITH ☄️ anons playlist and all, i think it’s actually like (okay ik i keep using the word insane but i really don’t have any other options) insane magical how everything and everyone is so perfectly connected with each other?? you had your baby i song and i was connected to the halsey song they used in their edit 😵‍💫😵‍💫 and it’s still so unbelievable to me how everything just falls into place so neatly and the fact that id never know this if you never shared?? but even if you never shared it’s still something existing and it wouldn’t have changed the fact that everything is interconnected, only that i would’ve never known about any of it at all

- 🪷

hi sweets !!!! thank u sm for the asks, i loved reading all of them 😚 i will be answering your other asks privately hehe

omg jacquelyne and angelica ?!?! that's so 😦 and like it's not surprising that someone somewhere has those two names but the fact that u knew her!!! alsoooo the more i think about it, im like... remembering and realizing more stuff..... i had this thing where after school when i was like ages 11-13, i would always go straight home and put on nickelodeon because starting from 16:35, they always showed one ep of victorious, big time rush, and icarly (idk what order but u get me). and i had this thing where i could sense what episode of the shows that would play..... either i had a dream about it, or i just felt "hm i would love if this specific episode came on today", or i would be blasting "worldwide" by big time rush in my headphones all day because my crush was transferring to another school and then which ep came on?? the ep with worldwide 😶 (yes 11-year-old jack learned about heartbreak early) idk if any of that made any sense to you LMAO but the point is i used to know what episodes would be on and i got it right several times every week... and no one in my life has believed this when ive told them but its true 😭 and it used to just be a thing i joked about but im realizing that like......... it's kinda odd (in a cool way)

but wowww thats so cool !!!! i'll have to learn from you i think because i wanna get more into it 🥺 and you manifesting pepe vid !! y e s !!!!!!!!! as you should 😚 (also just gonna put it here that if manifesting is what ive been doing so far with the like lando win and f3 wins then i have been unintentionally manifesting that paul will win the feature this weekend since FEBRUARY because ive written that in my story 🤭 so if that actually happens.............................)

i agree!!! it's such a weird coincidence that's not rlly a coincidence.... i didn't fully realize it all before i answered your last ask when i was like "!!!! wait a damn minute!!!!!" 😭 the lotus is such a pretty flower but also the meaning of it 💗💗💗 in like middle school i actually changed my name so that everyone in school called me by lotus instead of jack (but then i switched back lol) but now it feels kinda icky when ppl call me it ?? idk :(( but omfg lotus biscoff biscuits are SO GOOD it's unfair 🫠🫠 wish i was named after them tbh

insane is a good word bcs thats how it feels 🥰 but yes omg music especially, it's so..... in that playlist they also have ONE kpop song and guess which group ??? the one i used to obsess over for like seven years, of course 🫠🫠 it's actually so so cool that it can all be connected like this 🥺 and im so thankful that you've shared all of this because it really made my thoughts get going and otherwise i would've probs never come to these conclusions aaaaa

[astral-athame]

His comment made her crack a grin. "You'd think," She answered back, her tone carrying just a hint of playfulness to it. Okay, so 'pretty good' was an understatement, at least for what Pietro could do. But she'd never seen them live, and live performances separated the "pretty good" from the "fucking great", at least in her opinion. As for whether she was good or not- she wasn't sure if he meant that to be a jab or if he was actually just curious. She wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, though. She tried not to assume the worst of people. "I think I am. Though I don't have super speed, so..." No doubt he could outplay the best of the best with as fast as he could move. Still, though, her band, despite being just "up and coming", so to speak, tended to turn heads, and her skills had been praised plenty, even by the occasional music critic (or those who thought of themselves as music critics). She didn't like to brag, but she'd put a lot of time into learning how to play and her dedication and passion for the art showed. It was the one thing she felt especially confident in.

Unfortunately, one of the places she fell short in was reading people. She wasn't entirely sure what to think of Pietro, honestly. He was arrogant, obviously, but he'd still been kind enough to come to her aid. That single act of kindness deserved plenty of praise on its own. Again, she tried not to assume the worst. He didn't seem to have any ill intent, at least... Then again, she'd picked up on how rapid fire his thoughts were even just from brushing the surface of it. Even if she'd wanted to read more into what he was thinking, she'd never be able to keep pace. She just had to hope for the best here.

Don't get used to it. Oh, she wouldn't. In fact, she was already trying to run through plans in her head on what to do next, fully assuming he'd cut and leave soon enough. Then she'd be on her own. At least now, though, she'd know that they were after her. She wouldn't let them take her by surprise again. Hopefully. She looked back at Pietro when he mentioned her home probably wasn't safe and offered him a nod in agreement. He'd picked up on the fact that it was more than just a simple mugging and she wasn't going to deny it, either. Their whole aim had been to drag her off somewhere they could kill her and dispose of her body.

She shook her head to clear her mind of the thought- he was right that her home wasn't safe, and she didn't have any plans to go there, anyway. He'd caught her in a bit of a lie, it seemed. Unless he really thought her dumb enough to just... go home after all this. "Truth told, I'm not really sure where is safe," But she'd figure something out. She didn't have much choice. "I've been warned about people like them all my life, but never thought something like this would actually happen..." She all but muttered the words, speaking more to herself than to Pietro. She'd have to contact her dad, be sure he was safe, too. After all, if they had found her, they were only one step off from finding him. He was a hell of a lot stronger than her, though. He could likely take care of himself. Yet that didn't stop her from worrying.

She didn't hesitate to let him take the phone from her. He'd helped her this far and, though it might be naive of her to trust him this quickly, she felt like she didn't have many other options. She was as good as dead without him. At least with his help, if he was really offering it, she stood a chance. Even so, she hesitated for a second before she tucked everything back into the wallet. He didn't have much else on him. Well, except a handful of concealed weapons that he'd never even had a chance to unsheathe. "I don't know what I'd do with any of it, anyway. So..." She offered the wallet over to him. "If you know someone who could help, I'm not gonna turn down the offer. He's got 4 different IDs in there. All fake. His real name is Jacob Carlisle. Age 36. Born in Moab, Utah on April 17th. Currently lives on the outskirts of Jasper, Arkansas. He's married with two kids. One is 8. The other's barely a year old." She had plenty more on him than just that, but something about him being a father of two young kids and still being willing to come out here and murder someone else's child settled ill with her. It also made her not want to see him killed, even if it might be better if he was. That was as close, for the moment, as she was gonna get to telling him what she was or what she could do. She didn't want him to know everything, after all. She still didn't entirely trust him. "He's been following me for months. I don't know how I didn't notice..." She'd been blissfully off in her own world, she supposed. And he was plain enough that he fit right into the crowd without raising any suspicion. Considering she'd never had a run in like this before, she hadn't even known what she should have been looking out for... or to look out for it at all.

"I'm gonna go check on the other two. Um... he's still pretty well loaded with weapons, by the way," She warned Pietro. Not that the guy could do anything with them now, but, even so she wanted to be sure he knew. No doubt he could find and gather them all off the unconscious body faster than she could have. And with that, she moved on to the next, following the same routine, though without bothering to search him for his belongings- again, Pietro could do that faster than she could, and she was just gonna hand it all over to him, anyway. She focused, instead, on carefully running through his mind and cutting or changes memories where she could with a brush of her fingertips against his forehead. Then she wove nightmares for him, too. The last of the men got the same treatment, though by the time she was through with him she felt like a mess. The other two had had plenty of fucked up thoughts. His, though, had shaken her so terribly she felt sick. Still, she tried not to make it too obvious. She was desperately trying to play it cool, calm, and collected. The last thing she needed was to lose focus or to burden Pietro more by dissolving into a sobbing mess, even if every last nerve was nearing frayed. She never condoned murder. And yet a part of her was aching to kill him for the horrible things he'd done, for the horrible things he'd planned to do.

Still seated on her knees in the snow beside the last of the unconscious bodies, she didn't feel like she could stand up just yet. She pressed her eyes closed tight and took a deep breath, then focused back on Pietro. "So, uh... I don't really know what to do next..." She admitted. She'd never been put in this position before, clearly. She didn't have a clue where to go or what she should be doing. Hell, she was still mostly just internally panicking over the whole situation. She looked fairly calm on the outside, but her heart was racing so fast she felt a bit dizzy. "Any suggestions?"

"You would think saving your life would get me something more than 'pretty good'." It had been a long time since he had done something dangerous like this. Not that it was any sort of challenge for him, but it still got his blood and ego pumping more than they normally would. And that was already a rather massive ego.

Pietro didn't really know how to talk to her, or someone who had just been through what she had. She mainly seemed put together about being attacked, not curled up in some ball crying her eyes out. Or ask him questions about his powers or how he did what he did. If she had trauma and was a mess, she did a good job of hiding it.

"Are you any good?" That was a loaded question. He didn't mean it as one or for it to come off as rude as it probably sounded, but to him it was small talk. She was a musician like himself. Maybe he wouldn't be so quick to run off if he had a connection like that. But really the whole situation would keep his attention on her, a good deal of him wanted to know why she was being hunted.

It made him think of the mutants he had saved before. In another life. A life he was supposed to have left behind.

His training would kick in again, knowing if a group like this could track her down on the street, he home probably wasn't safe. Would she take up any offer for Pietro to give her a safe place? She had just seen him take down her attackers in the time it took for her to blink. She had seen him catch a bullet out of the air. He was infinitely more dangerous than they were.

Insert a witty and clever line about how he was just in the area. Or something about how he is actually always in the area. Because, you know, super speed. Or something about how he moves faster than his music. Anything would be good. "Don't get used to it." Anything but that would have been a good thing to say. But he just had to play up the asshole angle. "Your home probably isn't safe. Unless I'm looking at this wrong, and it really is just a simple mugging where they didn't try to get your money and looked like they just wanted you put down." Like an animal. Like a mutant.

He watched her as she rooted around, leaning against the wall to finish off his cigarette. The part that intrigued him was what she was doing with her hand on their foreheads. That wasn't normal. Maybe there was something hiding underneath for her. Something he would need to know if he was going to try and help her.

Pietro dashed over to snatch it out of her hand, looking at it momentarily before pocketing it, "I have someone to help. That is if you're willing to trust me enough to hand over the rest of the things you got from them." Mystique was good at things like that, but it would mean he would owe her a favor. That was something he wanted. At all. The girl would be worth taking on that burden.

[royalwriteroftheuniverse]

You used to be mine

You used to me mine/he used to be mine I wrote this in like 10 min...so yea

Purse angst writing is like my therapy now lol 18+ just in case mention if fluf just angst.

You used to be mine is a song from the musical waitress but I got that phrase itself got stuck in my head for more than one reason I feel like I should turn it into a song

You used to be mine. We were happy. The little kisses the holding hands the shared laughes and my giggles as you for some god unknown reason tried to tickle me. The spark in your eyes,

You used to be mine.

We used to be awake at night talking. I'd struggle to stay up on days where I was so very tired and I knew you had days that were the same. And you comming back was such a a happy joyus time. From the deep kisses one would think you just came back from war. And in a way you had. Now its a mix of sadness and joy because I diny know if things had mm of you slipping away but still.. id give anything to get them back again because you used to be mine.

I honestly don't know what day things changed I wish I could pinpoint it but I do remeber the day when I went its diffrent. You had flown in and I went to you hurriedly to hug like always like a repeate but you you didnt I barely got a hug it was like something was holding you back like you couldn't smile. I wrote it off to a long day, a bad day pushing everything else in the back of my mind like how you'd still look at me diffrent happier, relaxed even on days you were tired and could barely keep your eyes open. I used to be your source of comfort on days where you were pissed off. But then again you used to be mine.

Things slowly slipped unit was too much for me to bear or too little and I cried I mourned our relationship but it made me wonder if we had one at all was it dead long before I noticed. Did you...did yiu play me was I just some pawn to keep you warm on lonely nights. Your demeanor had changed everything about you had changed. I know people grow but this it was too sudden it was too much. Like it pained you to look at me but I wasnt going to let go without.... without you doing it first no, no I wasnt going to be the one to blame for thr fall because, somewhere one time youreally were I know it in my heart even if my mind is wondering I know you used to be mine.

Holding on my a thread was an overstatement. It was like we were going through the motions that were lifeless zombies dont even fit the bill. But still I loved your presence and I was going to hold on as much as I could for as long as I could. And I did whatever I could.

Because you used to be mine

Maybe you could remember

One day the last day of your visit "hey come on sit doen," you had said with just softness and Monessen such love like you had before I saw the love. For a brief flash I had seen love but there was sadness in your eyes after. I knew it was coming and at least you had t he heart by to do it in person. I know it wasnt only because you were a good person but because I was yours and you used to be mine.

I wasnt going to pretend to be strong and not cry. I did you just held me. You had no words just your arms and a sniffle or two. Yiu had said it was nothing I did. Nothing I could've done better. Or diffrent I had been perfect thst I was perfect. But it just things change. They do he was right he changed.

And thats who my tears were for the man you used to be... the man he used to be. It was like he died I don't know why . But the man in front of me wasn't the one I had a relationship with he wasn't mine. He wasn't my human or my person. He was just something else.

But then there were ds softly spoken barely heard words.. sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so sorry. On repeate diffrrnt mixes of first s third but by hey were there there. He had stayed that night. I'll never understand why. He had left in the morning. He had held me and for a bit it was like it was when he used to be mine

I had woken up and just watched him sleep knowing it would be th last time. Then I had fallen back asleep I had always wondered if he had done the same. Il don't think ill ever have an answer. That morning I had woken before he left but I know he did know. He had bent down moved hair from my face. Whispering as long as the (thought) hd could without "waking" me

"I never wanted to hurt you."

He continues

"You'll see its better for you."

I didnt move a muscle. I needed to know everything

"I live for you. I love you"

He kissed me

"You'll always have my heart."

"I'll always be yours."

I wonder if that man is somewhere still out there alive or if the man he is now is just a holle a shell of mystery, a shell of himself. a puppet of the man who used to be mine

That man I'll always love though the man who used to be mine.

Epilogue: I will never believe that the man never was mine

Tag list

@nana1000night @sapphire-rogers @hawkeyes-queen @patzammit @sparklybarbarianninja

[in-my-feels-probably]

Can I get a HOTD or GOT match up? I’m cool with whichever. Romantic ship, please. For physical appearance, I’m 5’4 and while I don’t have a *lot* of upper body strength, I have pretty strong legs (thanks to fencing). I have slightly longer than shoulder length reddish brown hair that, when not in a braid or ponytail, somehow manages to expand and make me look like some kind of witch. I have grey blue eyes and big ol glasses. My pronouns are She/Her and bi, so any gender is good with me.

Personality wise, I’m nerdy, the *mom* friend, quote and observant when I first meet people until I get to know them, but once I get to know someone I let loose and like to have fun. I’m more on the introverted side, but am pretty good at navigating and dealing with/in social situations. I tend to put others needs and wants before my own and am a slightly chronic people pleaser. I’m the friend everyone’s parents love and I’m a bit of a teachers pet. I like doing things for others and I think I’m kind of touch starved.

Hobbies and Likes: I love cats, tea, and reading. As I mentioned above, I do fencing and am the Vice President (soon to be president) of my colleges Fencing Club. I play DnD with my friends and am a part time theatre kid. I love curling up with a cup of tea and a good book (preferably fantasy) and getting lost in the world. I’m a psych major with an interest in social psychology/epidemiology and health psychology and I’m getting a minor in history. I LOVE learning random facts about any and everything and doing trivia. If not stopped, I could go on for hours describing the history of different diseases. As for music, I like musicals/showtunes, songs that sound like something a bard would sing, Jack White, foreign language songs (i.e. Shum by Go_A). I love going to renfests and creating outfits/costumes.

Congrats on the followers and I love your work! ❤️❤️

hi! thank you for participating :)

i know you said both GOT and HOTD, so i’m gonna do GOT for this, but also tell you who id ship you with from HOTD too. i ship you with alicent :)

i ship you with jon!

jon would think it’s so cool that you fence. he wouldn’t know very many ladies who know their way around a sword, and he’d think it’s really cool you know how to use one. i don’t think he has much of a physical type, he just likes people for people. but it would help that he thought you were really cool, on top of being pretty.

jon needs a mom friend/girlfriend. as we’ve seen, he’s not the best in social situations. he’d be comfortable around you, but rely on you a little bit to help him every once in a while. but knowing that you’re both a little introverted, he’d probably be content to just stick with you on your own together. you’d bring out the more lively and carefree side of him, you’d make him smile. people would notice he wasn’t brooding around you as much as he normally did. i think he’d recognize how much you do to make him and other people comfortable. he’d appreciate all that you do to make people happy, but he wouldn’t let anyone walk all over you.

overall, i think he’d love you because of how much you remind him of home. your fencing would remind him of arya, and something about you liking the theater and creating costumes would remind him of sansa. random things you did or liked would remind him of home, and he’d associate you with good memories. and you’d create new memories together.

i think he’d love listening to you talk. i don’t think he reads much, but after a long day, he’d ask you to read to him. he’d never understand why it interested you so much, but it still made him smile to see you so passionate.

“you do realize you’ve been telling me about grayscale for ten minutes, right?”

you’d quirk a brow, grinning at him. “are you not entertained?”

he’d smile, grabbing and squeezing your hand. “i am, love. please, continue.”

[when-worlds-end-archive]

Make Me Sway

A/N - Okay, so... Peter showed up on my page again and I decided that I should give another Spidey a try. This time, I’m going with Tom Holland. This story messes around with the plot line of the MCU by pushing it 5 years back, Peter who was originally 15 in Civil War, is now 20 in this fic (just works better for this story and where I want to take it).

Day 5 of Writer’s Block Challenge

Pairing(s) : Peter Parker TH x Magic Reader RENEGADE (in the future)

Summary : You’ve been on the run from H.Y.D.R.A. and S.H.E.I.L.D. for a while now, stripped of your identity and branded falsely as a murdered, and during your attempt to flee off the grid, you’re stopped by the Spider-Man. Surprisingly enough, he’s willing to listen to your side of the story.

Warning(s) : One swear word, that’s really it.

Word Count : 1,844

You take a deep breath, stepping into position as your partner did the same. You’d rehearsed this dance a million times, you just had to preform it once. Once the performance was done, you would move again, disappearing off the radar for hopefully good.

You’d been living here for 8 years. 6 wonderful years that you’d spent making friends, spent writing in the flower garden you’d planted when you’d first moved in, and most importantly, spent mainly without using magic.

But that was how it used to be, how it used to be before Hydra had come. 2 years ago, they came with their tanks and their weapons and their technology under the guise of S.H.E.I.L.D., and they found you.

You’d spent 2 years, two horrible years, being twisted, broken, and bruised within that cage. 2 years where you meant nothing, were worth nothing. Things like that change a person, not normally for the better.

You’d only escaped months ago, slaying ever single person in that prison. You made them feel only a fraction of the pain you had felt, something you considered to be merciful.

The rest of the world didn’t see it that way however.

When marimba rhythms start to play Dance with me, make me sway Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore Hold me close, sway me more

When the music started, you began moving. The people around the stage “oooooh”ed and “ahhhhh”d, cheering with each new move, each new twist, each new turn, but you were still lost to your thoughts. Thoughts of how the world had retaliated.

You’d been placed on every watch list of S.H.E.I.L.D., branded as a murderer, to be killed on sight. You'd been chased all across the country, seen people slip inconspicuous out of the crowd to pursue you, and you’d tried absolutely everything to evade them and get home.

You’d tried wigs, you’d tried colored contacts, you’d tried quick changes, and it didn’t matter in the end. They always chase you, they always find you, they always hunt you down.

It was a cruel joke played by the world, taking the victim and turning them into the villain. They took you, an 18 year old who was experimented upon and tortured, and they turned you into the bad guy.

Like a flower bending in the breeze Bend with me, sway with ease When we dance, you have a way with me Stay with me, sway with me Now, you were just tying up loose ends. 

You were smart enough to know that they’d eventually catch on to how you always stayed within 50 miles of the same place and you had some things to do, some things to grab, and some people to say goodbye to before they did.

Today, you’d said goodbye to all your neighbors, all your friends, and shoved every you could carry into the trunk of your car that was parked halfway across town in an alleyway. You’d left all your furniture behind, listing it on eBay for payment and pickup.

The few things you had left out of the trunk that you were still taking, were the photos and fake IDs you tucked snugly into your dashboard and the sleeping back you’d unrolled in the back seat.

You’d finished up everything you needed to besides this performance. It was your last one. It was your last hurrah, your last achievement in this small little town that you loved so dearly.

Other dancers may be on the floor Dear, but my eyes will see only you Only you have that magic technique When we sway, I go weak

You finally let the flow of the music overtake you and pull you from your thoughts as your partner guided you with ease into each dip and each spin. Your practice had come in handy. You hadn’t planned to be thrusted back into the past right before the curtains were opened.

As you continue to dance, you notice a young man staring in your direction. He’s roughly your age, handsome, fluffy brown hair, black rim glasses, and a well-fitted suit. Nothing made him stand out from the crowd, nothing but the way he was looking at you.

He was staring a you like you were a goddess, like you were the most beautiful woman on Earth, like you were something more than just human. 

When your partner dipped you down at the end of your routine, his eyes caught yours. Chocolate brown meeting your beautiful E/C.

I can hear the sounds of violins Long before it begins Make me thrill as only you know how Sway me smooth, sway me now

Even when you stop dancing, the music continues to play in your ears, the lovely melody following you as you step off the stage, weaving through the crowd, accepting compliments and roses in your wake. Your destination was the door but you felt yourself drawn towards the man that continued to stare at you.

You send him a soft smile as you began to make your way towards him, wanting to know his name at the very least before you left. But before you reach him, you notice a flash of red in the crowd, a flash of red that doesn’t belong.

It’s a flash of red that you’ve come to know very well these past few months, red that belong to none other than the notorious and deadly Black Widow, the infamous Natasha Romanoff.

Other dancers may be on the floor Dear, but my eyes will see only you Only you have that magic technique When we sway, I go weak

S.H.E.I.L.D. was here.

They’d found you. 

You had to leave. 

Now.

I can hear the sounds of violins Long before it begins Make me thrill as only you know how Sway me smooth, sway me now

With that realization, you immediately turned away from the man and begin making your way quickly to the exit. If you just make it through the doors, you could use magic to launch yourself all way across town to your car. 

Using magic would be faster than any of their men on the ground and it would be faster than the bike the Black Widow would often used to chase you. You just had to make it through the doors. Then you’d be able to get away.

When marimba rhythms start to play Dance with me, make me sway Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore Hold me close, sway me more

You feel the bite of the night air against your face as you shove open the doors, breaking into a sprint and using magic to launch yourself into the sky the second the doors slam shut.

It used to be something you enjoyed doing, flying, late at night when the entire town was asleep. You’d drive far out into the surrounding woods and spend hours yelling with jubilation as you blasted yourself to and fro. But now, it had been reduced to just a means of escape.

Just another thing the world had stolen from you.

Like a flower bending in the breeze Bend with me, sway with ease When we dance you have a way with me Stay with me, sway with me

You make it hallways to your car before you hear someone following you, someone quick enough to keep up with your magic.

When you turn around, you recognize the suit, the signature red and blue giving away who it was. It was the newest Avenger, another spiderling, the Spider-Man.

Shit.

When marimbas start to play Hold me close, make me sway Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore Hold me close, sway me more

You knew it was futile but you still tried to make it to your car before him, your hand getting stuck to the handle with webbing before you could open it. As you struggle against the sticky substance, preparing for a fight you didn't feel like fighting, you could hear him approaching quickly.

His movements were fast when he finally reached you, webbing your hands together and pulling you to his chest to stop you from running.

“Don’t even try, Renegade,” he spoke, his chest rising and falling against yours, “you won't be escaping this time.”

“My name’s Y/N,” you hiss at his mask, “not Renegade.”

You were sick of being called the name given to you by Hydra. It wasn't who you were. All it was was a reminder of your time with them, of the things they’d done, the things they made you do.

To call you Renegade, was the insult you.

“You can’t trick me,” he states, convinced that you were just lying, “you look exactly like your posters.”

“I never said I wasn’t who I am,” you bite, “just that my name isn’t Renegade.”

“So you don’t identify that?” He asks, to which you scowl.

“I never did.” You state, looking down before cursing yourself for showing weakness.

“Why don’t you?” The curiosity that’s in his voice compels you to answer. After all, he was the first person to ever give you the chance to explain anything, choosing to let you talk before firing off a shot.

“Because that’s not who I am. That’s who they made me. And I will never, ever, be locked in a cage by those people again.” At those words, he shakes his head.

“No,” he continues to shake his head, “No. I’m not going this.”

Then, in one fluid motion, he yanks off his mask, revealing the handsome man who’d been watching you.

Like a flower bending in the breeze Bend with me, sway with ease When we dance, you have a way with me Stay with me, sway with me

You stand there in shock, “why?”

“I know your identity and now you know mine,” he explains, “I can’t let you go to jail with my enemies when you could tell them exactly who I am.”

With those words, you finally come to the realization that he was helping you, that he knew the truth and was choosing to help you. Despite the fact that he worked for S.H.E.I.L.D., despite the fact that he worked with the people hunting you, despite that what you said was against everything he probably knew about the organization, he was still choosing you let you go.

“Why?” You ask again.

“Because I think you’re telling the truth. And if you are, you’re just like me. You just didn’t get to choose whether you had this life or not. It was chosen for you.” He explains once more, an answer that brings a small smile to your face as he undos the webbing keeping you from your freedom.

“Thank you,” is the last thing you say to him as you drive away.

You almost feel bad about leaving him standing there with his mask in hand, a lot of questions and conflict in his mind, and a team he need as excuse to tell, but you make a promise to make it up to him someday.

[strangesoulmates]

tag people you want to get to know better

tagged by the lovely @polarnachtsblog

Three ships:

Yalex from Alex Rider - My current hyper fixation. I love this ship so much. It has everything I love and then some. Hero and villain with complicated past and a deep connection. Snarky smartass who puns in the face of danger and an assassin who would sell you to satan for one corn chip but would kill everyone in this room and then himself for alex. Jaded asshole who has seen it all and the only person left who can surprise and impress him. Just perfect. And the deep, plotty character fic is just as satisfying as the dark, kinky id-fic stuff and both feel in character. Everything I could want in a ship and more 10/10

Tomarry - Villain who is OBESSED with the hero to the point of insanity and neglecting everything else. Man who thinks he is all powerful meeting his equal. Prophecies. Common experiences only the other can understand. HE LITERALLY HAS A PIECE OF HIS SOUL INSIDE HIM.

Now for something completely different, Fem Ryder/Jaal from Mass Effect: Andromeda. I am doing my first play through at the moment and I am obsessed with them. I mean, I need to actually finish the game, and I will to playthrough to romance just about everyone at some point, but I can feel that this is where I'll probably end up. And I've been reading fic for it off and on when I get far enough to stop worrying about spoilers for certain parts.

First Ship - (oops forgot this one) Usagi and Mamoru from sailor moon, and like, holy shit I love them so much and always will.

Last song: Cover Up -Trapt. It's on my Yalex playlist. Yet another reason I love this ship - most of my angsty highschool music works

Last movie: Glass Onion

Currently reading: Snakehead by Anthony Horowitz

Currently watching: In an odd coincidence, also Burn Notice, though it is my first time through. Alternating between that and the simpsons when I need something short and light. And a friend and I are slowly working through the Clone Wars TV show

Currently consuming: Gfuel, to my minor shame. I am indeed a fake gamer girl. But in reality I get bored of flavors for caffeine pretty fast and it's better and easier to deal with than having 12 billion cans of something (I am an energy drink girl at heart, but I do like tea when I have the patience for it)

Currently craving: The fries from the local pizza join next to my house

Tagging @wynnefic, @concerned-astronomer, @suzie-shooter, @corolune, @too-many-rooks and @rirren and anyone else who wants to play! (and no pressure to those who don't!)

(there are lots of others I also want to get to know, but they've already been tagged, so I thought I'd keep it to people who haven't been).