can't stop thinking abt this post from user @werewolfenthusiast
so all morning I have just been coming up with more and more examples I can't help it
"jeff's not a good person!! he literally describes himself as an 'exceptional narcissist'!!" yeah. this is nbc community. you know the bad person show
"britta's not a good person!! she says she's a feminist but she doesn't even vote!!" yeah. this is nbc community. you know the bad person show
"troy's not a good person!! look what he said about his best friend in pillows and blankets!!" yeah. this is nbc community. you know the bad person show
"abed's not a good person!! look what he said about his best friend in pillows and blankets!!" yeah. this is nbc community. yk the bad person show
"shirley's not a good person!! she tried to secretly baptize annie when she found out she was jewish!!" yeah. this is community. yk the bad person show
"pierce's not a good person!!"y. tinbcc. yktbps
"the dean's not a good person!! he's just a caricature of the predatory gay stereotype!!" y. tinbcc. yktbps
"señor chang's not a good person!! he's a power-hungry dictator who committed felony kidnapping!!" y. tinbcc. yktbps.
"hickey's not a good person!! he chained someone to a filing cabinet indefinitely over an accidental spill!!" y tinbcc yktbps
"duncan's not a good person!! he manipulated his therapeutic and personal relationships just to sleep with britta!!" y tinbcc yktbps
"frankie's not a good person!! she can't even help herself from being cruel to the dean when she tries to!!" ytinbccyktbps
"elroy's not a good person!! he made weird anatomically correct models of annie and britta!!" ytinbccyktbps
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tw angst
I think if Satoru was capable of falling in love during his school days, he’d get married way too early than he should. He’d be 21, getting down on his knees in your block of a college apartment, asking you to spend eternity with him.
It’s a big ask, and your hands tremble, but you say yes. Of course, you do — he’s Gojo Satoru, he’d blink his lashes, his pretty blue eyes peering into your own and ask you to rob a bank and you’d be inclined to agree.
So you get married. It’s nothing too grand, as much as he insisted. You celebrate with a bunch of your friends with dinner at his apartment, which eventually ends with the two of you kissing at the corner of a dingy neon glazed club.
And it’s all sunshines and shots until university ends and then, you get a job you like and he’s taken over his family business as he always expected. You’re both coming home from work to get cooped under a fuzzy blanket. You have a glass in hand as you sip on some chilled wine, and he watches the blue of the sky from your new apartment. And you’re both so happy and in love.
And years pass and things seem the same.
Maybe too much the same and things get tiring, and maybe a bit too predictable.
Lying under the same blanket always ends with you passing out too early. Your head lolling against his sagging shoulder as the blue from your window seems a little too dull, a little less star filled for Satoru's liking.
And soon after, you feel your muscles growing tired too early into the day. You’re still young but you’re so tired, so you find solace in reaching for your bed than his arms.
And frankly, Satoru's tired too. He thinks it would take a special type of person — his wife — to suck the spark from his eyes.
He feels like he’s been trying this for far too long. With the company, with your heart, with your stupid cat — it’s all too much so he’s resigned from work for a bit and he’s designated most of his time to the couch.
He lives in the living room now, more or less — the thought of your bedroom makes him frown. It feels like time has stopped moving in there, with the picture frames — dustless and in tact, and your books sitting right alongside his eyes drops and shades.
He hates the rest of this house too. He does. It’s far too small for him, it always has been. He loved it at first, but then he longed for longer walks from the living room to the kitchen to the bedroom, but that’s just the way you preferred things. That's just how you are. You make him small so he can stand beside you. Maybe that’s a rude thing to say, or even think, but that’s just how he feels sometimes.
Divorce. His father has been suggesting it since the day he took over the company but lately, he's been thinking about it too. He’s thought about it a lot actually, but you're all he's known. It would end him, he thinks. But he’s sure of it... he’s sure he doesn’t love you anymore.
But then there are days. God, there are days. They’re not even special days, just ordinary days where you’re smeared with sweat after work. You barge into the living room, as you often do, loosening your tie as you open up the big window, letting the sharp cold air hit against his skin. You reach for the vinyl player, the one only you use, putting on a random record — usually some form of soft jazz. Then you merely resign to a chair by the window, munching on some Digestives. And he thinks, he’d be a fool to leave this house with you in it.
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I think not nearly enough people comprehend just how messed up Rika's and V's relationships truly was, actually. It is so easy to get hyperfocused on the big climax of their toxic obsession: the cult, the physical violence, and the secrets. But, like... You ever actually sit down and think about the sheer fact that V looked at Rika: a hurt, traumatized girl, terrified of being her true self, desperate for love she didn't even have a clear idea of in her own mind, safe for some very vague feeling she deemed to be 'love', and... He saw beauty in it. He was never malicious about it, nor did he even realize it fully, not until MC came into his life and pushed him into reevaluating his own worth as well as his views on what love truly is. But, at the time, he saw all that hidden pain and trauma in her, and he saw beauty in it. He was intrigued by it. It fascinated him. He desired to transform it into something even more stunning with his own two hands, analogous to an artist fixing his next big masterpiece. And she was his masterpiece. One he would paint and bend and mold into something he knew he wanted to achieve. It wasn't even a want, it was a craving. Not really knowing that he was just so racked with guilt and self-hatred after his mother's death, that he was merely trying to prove himself to no one but his own troubled and scared mind. To prove to himself that he could be an artist, and that he really could love like the sun. That he could save someone this time around, instead of losing them. Because, truth is, he could never be an artist, not in the way his soul truly longed for.
Rika was both his muse and his creation at the same time.
That's why he never encouraged her to get the help she desperately needed if she didn't want to do it herself. That's why he never got involved in any extreme ways until it became far too difficult for him to handle. That's why he told her time and time again that she was beautiful and perfect just the way she is, even when she herself would doubt and be deeply disturbed by his eager willingness to sink into the deepest of lows for her.
In a way, neither of them truly knew each other. It's a fact that they cared for each other at one point in time. But they didn't see each other as equal individuals to grow and change alongside. For Rika, V was her sun she adored and loathed all the same. He was not a person, he was just an anchor that kept her steady and a cruel reminder of all she could never be. For V, Rika was his canvas to pour his locked away feelings onto. She was not a person, she was a living proof of his ability to create and love in a way he desperately craved.
And in the end, that destroyed and scarred both of them. Not only them, but also many completely innocent individuals who were caught in the crossfire.
What a big, complicated, and horrible mess these two are.
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