#i do not have either explainations or excuses | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sunfairiess · 2 days ago

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𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝, 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 | 𝐣𝐣 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤

pairing: jj maybank x fem!reader

tropes: 3rd person narration | soft boy jj | best friends to lovers | comfort | fluff

synopsis: reader’s battling against anxiety and during one of her anxiety attacks, jj’s there to help her.

warnings: heavy depiction of anxiety, anxiety attack.

wc: 2.1k

writing this as someone who suffers from anxiety and deals with it on her own, was really emotional; if you find yourself in this position too, please don’t be afraid to ask for help. mental health matters <3

song rec: breathin - ariana grande ♡

everyone fights their own monsters, some are physically visible, others are perceived. some people have to fight against their families, some against their friends. but one of the biggest and worst challenges, was to fight against your own head.

everyone is tormented by their own monsters. hers is called anxiety, the beast who had ruined her life.

at school, her grades started to drop because she was just so tired all the time she couldn’t even bring herself to open the textbook; half of the foods she used to love were cut out of her daily routine because she would get constant heartburn and stomach problems to the point where she wasn’t able to consume a full meal for days.

when it came to sleeping, she couldn’t fall asleep because her mind was always racing with awful thoughts. what if i don’t wake up tomorrow? do my friends hate me because i didn’t go out with them today? is my heart supposed to beat so fast? my back is hurting, is this a health condition? am i going to be alone forever? usually she would go on for hours, reaching three or four in the morning, until she either cried herself to sleep or she almost passed out because of how tired she was.

going out of the house became hard. she became afraid of taking public transportation because what if someone tried to rob her or kidnap her. she couldn’t take long walks anymore because what if something happens and i’m alone. she even had to stop going to parties because she couldn’t stand big and loud crowds of people anymore.

her mental pain became physical: constantly having back problems, her chest and throat always felt too tight to breathe, her body tingling out of nowhere all the time.

it would’ve been a lie to say all of this didn’t reflected onto her relationship with others; she never told anyone about her own problems, not that they could help anyway. so when she started to hang out less with her friends, she always had to lie. i’m grounded, i can’t go out. sorry, i have too much homework to do. i have the flu, i can’t come. my dad needs my help, i’ll come next time. eventually though, she would run out of excuses, and that’s how she ended up for the first time in a month at the château, surrounded by her best friends.

“girl, we haven’t see you in forever, i almost forgot your face.” kiara joked, nudging her a bit with her elbow.

“i know, i’m so sorry guys. past month has been crazy.” which wasn’t a lie per se, she had spent the last weeks having constant anxiety and panic attacks. in the morning, in the afternoon, at night. and every single time she felt like she was about to die, the impending fear of doom creeping inside her. it really started to become unbearable, to the point where she didn’t even notice how many days would go by.

“well you’re here now, that’s what matters.” pope chimed in, giving her a smile. somehow that made her feel a little bit more lighter, knowing that her friends didn’t actually hated her. anxiety made her overthink every little detail of her life.

even though she tried to appear relaxed the whole night, she still felt like she was being chocked by an imaginary hand, pressing harder every time she breathed. she was grateful that none of her friends noticed the stiffness in her body, it would’ve been to hard to explain everything.

at least she thought no one noticed. jj noticed, he always did. he would observe every little detail about her. and from the moment she stepped into the château he hadn’t been able to keep his gaze off of her, not even for a second. he missed her. he hadn’t seen her in weeks and he had become restless. day and night he would think about her, what she was doing, if she missed him, if she too dreamed about him like he did about her. that’s how it felt being in love with your best friend.

jj knew something was up with her. she was always full of joy and energy, but bow it seemed like she had lost her spark. he knew there was something wrong, especially when he saw her fidgeting with her rings, gazing anxiously around her. he knew something was wrong when she got up, excusing herself from the conversation, and almost running to the bathroom.

following her wasn’t probably too good of an idea, but jj was impulsive, so he did it anyway. amen to that, he would’ve dealt with the consequences later, like his confused friends asking him what the heck was going on.

as he entered the bathroom, she was sat on the toilet. her face so pale you would think she was about to pass out.

he sees her as she stares into the wall, her eyes fixed in front of her, full of fear. he notices as she bring her right hand to her throat, sliding slowly down her chest and pressing hard. he hears her breathing going faster and heavier, like she couldn’t catch a full breath. her hands shaking as she tries to ground herself and not slip into the arms of her anxiety.

jj had no idea of what an anxiety attack looked like, he had been fortunate enough to never had one, but he always thought they had to feel awful for whoever got them. but seeing her, his sweet little sunshine, shaking all over the place and being surrounded by a cloud of darkness around her, made his heart break into a thousand millions pieces. he wanted to help her, but he didn’t know how to do it in the right way. he just wanted to do something, and so he did.

“sunshine, hey. baby, look at me. c’mon lemme see your pretty eyes.” he kneeled in front of her, placing both of his hands on her knees and gently rubbing his thumbs against them.

everything was spinning around her, thoughts racing with all the emotions she bottled up and all the fears she always had. she couldn’t stop them, it felt like she was going to be swallowed up by a black vortex. but then she heard his voice, it was like hearing an angel talking. her gaze slowly shifted from the white wall to his eyes, his gorgeous blue eyes, usually shining like stars when they looked at her, but now they were the depiction of concern. she felt a sharp feeling of guiltiness running through her your veins, because the last thing she wanted was to make him sad.

“that’s it, baby. you are so pretty, my pretty girl.” he gave her a soft smile, slowly moving his hands from her knees to her thighs. he wanted to pull her close and hug her, but one time— and thank god for him and the one time jj actually listened to what he said— pope told him that when people had anxiety or panic attacks, most of the time they didn’t wanted to be touched. so, instead of being the usual impulsive jj he was with everyone, he took baby steps with her, not wanting to scare her or make her even more anxious.

her breath was slowly calming down, but the aching in your chest and the lump in her throat were still there, still feeling like she was going to suffocate any moment now, but jj pulled her out of her thoughts again.

“alright pretty girl, i need you to do something for me, ‘kay? i need you to take deep breaths with me, i know it’s hard but i’m here. you’re safe, i won’t let anything happen to you. breathe with me, baby.” his voice was so sweet and gentle, she actually thought she was going to cry because of how soft he was speaking to her and how he was trying to handle the situation. she nodded slightly, following his example as he took one deep breath and then exhaled. one deep breath and exhaled. inhale and exhale. and they went on, and on, until the tension she felt before started to leave her body, making her shoulders and back relax and her hands stop shaking.

jj didn’t say anything this time, he just looked as she regained consciousness of her surroundings. even though the attack was gone, it usually took hours before she could actually calm down completely. it was hard and she always handled them alone, but this time having him with her felt like a blessing from heaven.

feeling like she had just been pulled out of a dark hole, she launched herself into his arms, wrapping hers around his neck. he let out a sigh as soon as he felt her flesh touch his own, his arms reaching for her hips and his face buried deep into the crook of her neck. they stayed like this for a almost twenty minutes. he only pulled her in tighter, not wanting to let go of her because he knew as long as she was into his arms, she was safe.

30 minutes later they were laying next to each other in the hammock, her head resting on his chest, the sound of his heart beating calming her, like a lullaby. his hands were both placed on her back, rubbing small circles against the thin fabric of her shirt.

jj really didn’t want to break the peacefulness that surrounded them, but he had to ask her why she never told him anything. he felt like he was failing at being her best friend. “why did you never tell me?” his voice was low, sounding almost like a whisper.

“i- i don’t know. i didn’t want to bother anyone, didn’t want to be a burden.” jj stopped moving his hands on her back, instantly lifting his head to look at her.

“okay, know that i’m not mad, but, firstly, i’m not anyone. i’m your best friend, you would never be a burden to me.” his hands moved to her cheeks, lifting her face. “i’ve been through hell and back these past weeks. not seeing you, not talking to you for more than 5 minutes on the phone, not touching you. it nearly killed me, y/n. i was always on the edge of a breakdown, constantly snapping at everyone because i didn’t know how you were doing. were you safe? were you alright? not knowing made me go insane.”

he stopped for a moment to catch his breath. he was pouring his heart out, which he never do, but he just felt like he had to do it now. “and i’m not saying this to make you feel guilty, that’s the last thing i want. i just wish for you to know how much you mean to me. you’re the most important person in my life, you’re my best friend, my ride or die, my partner in crime. you- you’re my first love, and hopefully you’ll be my last one too.”

her eyes went wide at his words, and honestly she thought she heard him wrong. “jj, what- what are you saying?”

“i know the night wasn’t perfect, but please just lemme say this now because i don’t know when i’ll get the same courage again. i love you, y/n. i love everything about you. i love that weird sound you make when you laugh too much, i love how your eyes shine when you’re talking about things you like, i love how after surfing your hair become all curly. hell, i love even the things you do that should piss me off, like when you throw away my joint because i’ve been smoking too much or when you scream at me because i got in a fight with some kooks again. i love you so much it physically hurts.”

her eyes were watery now, tears threatening to coming out in flows. she didn’t know what to say. because seriously, what do you say to someone who sees you as the most incredible human being, when you can’t even love a quarter of yourself?

you say nothing. but you can do something.

that’s why, in the quietness of the night, under the stars and while she was feeling at peace for the first time in weeks, she closed her eyes and pressed her lips against it.

she wasn’t magically healed, she still had things to deal with. but now, she wasn’t on her own anymore.

#outer banks #jj obx #obx #obx1 #obx4 #jj maybank #jj outer banks #obx season 4 #jj x y/n #jj maybank obx #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank x you #jj maybank x reader #jj x you #jj x reader

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silentscrying · 1 day ago

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🎸 out of my mind ! 💿 track three: something about a beat

guitarist!ino x drummer!reader

summary: it's the annual battle of the bands at the fix, your college campus's iconic live music bar, and this year you're taking the stage as the drummer for indie rock group cursed technique. you know the competition is strong, but no part of you is ready for lead singer and guitarist takuma ino. you lock eyes at the edge of the stage, and something starts—something that might make you feel alive even more than the beat of the drums.

warnings: language, hopeless stupid pining, alcohol, mentions of deceased parent, maki is Fed Up, anxiety, unbearably cute dogs. || sfw. 9k words.

“OKAY, IT’S UP,” Nobara says, grinning at you over her laptop. You’re sprawled across the living room at Takuma’s place, surrounded by a random combination of your band and his while others are in classes. After spending last night mixing the single, Takuma helped Nobara set up an artist profile for the band, and now your music is available on streaming services. Just like that.

“That’s so weird,” you say, grinning as you pull up Spotify on your phone. Next Fix by Cursed Technique. Strange to see your face on there, a photo taken of all of you by some freshman when you last performed at The Fix. Nobara sends the link in your group chat, and Toge responds within seconds.

freak no. 1: FAME freak no. 1: FORTUNE freak no. 1: wait it’s not opening freak no. 1: nvm i’m just stupid

“Does he ever pay attention in class?” Nobara mutters. Maki snorts.

Yuta is also in class, but that means he’s locked in, all his devices on Do Not Disturb. You don’t think Toge’s turned DND on a single time in his life.

“I’m going to Kinji’s!” Kirara shouts from the front entryway, and Yuji leaps to his feet and disappears down the hall, barreling back out of his room seconds later.

“Wait! Can you give this to Panda while you’re there?” He hands her a drive, and Kirara rolls her eyes and takes it.

“You need to slow down every once in a while,” she says, ruffling Yuji’s hair. “Okay, bye. I’ll be back in a few hours.” The dogs follow her to the door and return the living room when she’s gone, curling up on either side of Megumi, who’s busy writing some paper in the corner.

“What was that?” Nobara asks.

“Demo drive for the radio station,” Takuma says. “Panda plays our stuff sometimes. I bet he’d play yours, too.”

“That’d be sick,” Nobara says approvingly. She turns to bother Megumi, poking at him until he takes his headphones off and talks to her, and Yuji strolls into the room and flops down directly on the floor.

“Comfy?” you ask, poking him with a socked foot.

“Mm. Yeah.”

“Ah, look what you did, Kugisaki,” Megumi says, and you look up to see Shiro trotting toward you with her tail wagging, having abandoned her post at her owner’s side.

“That was not my fault! You’re the one who moved.”

“Because you kept poking me!”

You immediately slide off the couch onto the floor, letting Shiro sit in your lap. “Um, excuse me,” Takuma says, offended. You crane your neck to look up at him behind you on the couch. His face is lit up by his computer as he works on a string of code he tried (and failed) to explain to you, and there’s laughter in his eyes despite the affronted tone of his voice.

“Favorite,” you inform him with a wide, cheeky smile. He very maturely sticks his tongue out at you.

“Toge message,” Nobara informs you all, reading off her phone. “He says omg we have four listeners do you think they’re writing slutty fanfiction about us already.” She glances at you. “Petition to remove him from the chat—oh, look, he started sending the wolf memes again.”

Hanging out like this has become natural so quickly you almost forget you haven’t been friends with Shibuya Incident for ages. You feel almost as much at home in the tapestry-covered living room here as you do in the plant-filled kitchen of your own house down the street.

Maki checks her watch, sighing. “We should get going soon. The guys will be back in half an hour.” Then you have rehearsal, even though you’re not one of the three bands performing tomorrow night. When you do take the stage next week, you want to be ready.

Nobara is trying to read Megumi’s texts over his shoulder, which isn’t working out well for her, and he tells Maki, “Yes, please, take your invasive little gremlin home.” He puts his hand right on Nobara’s face and pushes her away, and she screeches and tries to tackle him, but he’s already sitting in a beanbag chair in the corner, so it doesn’t really do much except make Kuro jump on top of them both.

You glance up at Takuma again, still stroking Shiro’s fur while the others start to stand, ready to head home. “You rehearsing today too?”

“I’d hope so,” he shrugs.

“Yes, dipshit, in two hours. If you ever read the group chat,” Megumi says.

Takuma doesn’t seem fazed by Megumi’s irritation and just shrugs. “We have a new song for tomorrow.”

“You didn’t tell me!” You poke at his knee in retribution for his secrecy. “I wanna hear it!”

“You will,” he says. “Tomorrow.”

“Skipper, help, I don’t wanna walk our gremlin home by myself,” Maki calls from the door, and you reluctantly pat Shiro on the head and stand. She follows you to the entryway and sniffs at you while you cram your feet into your sneakers.

“Maki Zenin.” Nobara turns up her nose and crosses her arms over her chest. “If you hated me so much, why didn’t you just say so?”

“Bye!” Yuji shouts from the living room, and you all call out varying goodbyes and noncommittal sounds before making your way out the door and down the block, the afternoon air chilly against your cheeks.

Nobara waits all of ten seconds before spinning around and walking backward, grinning at you mischievously. “I bet Ino wrote a song about you.”

“Oh my god. Shut up,” you laugh. “He didn’t.” You can’t imagine you’ve given him all that much to work with. What would he write, that you like coffee and drums and Megumi’s dogs?

“Why else wouldn’t he show you? Don’t you guys text each other song lyrics like the little romantic fucks you are?” Your face is flaming, and you’re suddenly very grateful for the cool of the wind against your skin. The idea of him writing a song about you plants something weird in your gut—not something bad, just something unexpected and warm and blooming.

You try not to show it and your friends see right through you, Nobara turning back to skip up the drive with a satisfied grin and Maki rolling her eyes at the both of you.

“I’m gonna write a song, too,” Nobara declares, unlocking the door and pushing her way inside. “Skipper and Ino, sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S—”

This time, you and Maki speak in tandem. “Shut up!”

—

“There’s a joke here,” Gojo says, tapping both of his index fingers together while he thinks. “About being a drummer and a journalist. Something about a beat.”

You laugh, jotting another note on the lined paper of your small spiral notebook. “I hate to tell you, but I’ve heard that one before.”

You’re not sure features qualifies as a specific beat, more of a broad category, but your staff isn’t nearly large enough to assign people to smaller specialties. Plus, it’s a college publication, designed for experimentation and growth. Nobody wants to be boxed in yet. That’ll come later, out in the monotony of the real world, and you’ll be confined to some hyperspecific beat like neighborhood crime or high school basketball.

“No!” Gojo cries, dragging his hands down his face like it’s the end of the world. “I can’t believe somebody plagiarized me before I even said it.”

“That’s not how that works,” Utahime cuts in dryly, sliding three shots across the counter to the waiting group of sophomores and then effortlessly throwing together another cocktail.

Gojo leans toward you, shadowing out your notes, and stage-whispers, “You see what I have to put up with?”

You do, actually, see what Utahime has to put up with. She long ago put down a line of blue painter’s tape to divide her side of the bar from Gojo’s, and she preaches frequently that there will be dire consequences if he crosses it.

Of course, he crosses it at every opportunity, and here he is, still.

It’s also just how the two bartenders split up the work, the customers, and you write that down too, that it’s an effective division of labor. “Don’t read my notes,” you tell Gojo as he squints at your writing upside down. “It’ll wreck the journalistic integrity.” He sticks out his bottom lip in a pout that reminds you violently of Toge, who’s taking photos of Utahime as she works.

You glance over to the stage, where Angel is performing the last number of her set, a bouncy, belty song that you recognize from a video she posted earlier this week. The crowd loves it, dancing around and singing along, but still, you think she’ll have a tougher time making it through as the only solo artist remaining in the competition.

You whoop and cheer as she hits her last note, holding it for an ungodly amount of time, and Gojo eventually has to abandon his teasing to do his job. When Toge thinks he’s got enough photos, the two of you slip back into the crowd, Panda commentating on the change of artist as you catch up to your friends.

“And now, here’s your alt rock duo, your boys, the Kamos,” he says as you come to a stop beside Yuta. “Give it up!”

Nobara very loudly gives it up.

“Hi.” Yuta nudges you. “How’s the reporting going?”

“Good.” Noritoshi and Choso settle in on stage, tuning their guitar and bass and making girls swoon in the front row but somehow remaining entirely oblivious to it. “You’re not going home tomorrow, right?”

Yuta shakes his head. This weekend is fall break, which just means that there were no classes today. You spent the first day of your three-day weekend cramming for midterms.

Toge’s heading out after this and Nobara will leave early in the morning, but Maki and Yuta will be here for the weekend. You wonder about Takuma and his band, but you can’t ask right now—they’re all backstage, waiting to go on after the Kamos.

The boys in question, when they’re not doing covers, have incredibly nonsensical song names that have little to nothing to do with their lyrics. The first track of theirs you ever heard was called Song About the Time My Dog Got Lost for Three Hours.

“Okay,” Choso says after their cover of a song by The Smiths. “This one’s called Please Don’t Tell Your Mom I Was At Your House Past Curfew.”

He and Noritoshi then proceed to play the most upbeat, energizing alt rock shit you’ve ever heard. You love these guys, and the crowd does too, the way they don’t take themselves too seriously but they’re genuinely talented. But it’s making you nervous for Takuma and his band, because only one group goes on tonight. Only one.

No, you think, shrugging it off. They got this.

When Shibuya Incident finally walks on stage, the ensuing roar of applause before they even do anything eases whatever worries you might have had. They were slotted at the end of tonight’s set for a reason. Everyone loves them.

Without prelude, they launch into a song you recognize from their EP, a fast-paced track with a pretty simple chord progression that gets entirely flipped on its head in the bridge. You let Yuta spin you around as you dance with the rest of the crowd, the lights and sound washing over you. Yuji’s in his element, Kirara is fucking killing it, and Megumi—as always—is the rock the band stands on, unerring tempo and steady presence keeping everyone on track.

After the song finishes with a crazy riff from Kirara, and the crowd takes a minute to freak out and then slowly wind down, Takuma grabs the mic to address the audience.

“Hi again,” he says, scanning the clusters of people from his place on the low stage. His gaze lands on you and your friends, and he smiles a little wider. “That was Godspeed. We’re gonna slow it down a bit for our next song. It’s a new one. We’re calling it Curious.”

Nobara practically launches herself over Toge to get to you and shake you by the shoulders. “What did I say?” she hisses.

“Oh my god,” you say, shoving her off. “They haven’t even started yet.” But you look back at Takuma to find he hasn’t stopped looking at you.

To your surprise, the instrumentals don’t start first. Most of Shibuya Incident’s music opens with a riff or a fill or at least four bars of introduction. But this time, Takuma leans into the mic and starts singing, just a low “ooooh,” and the rest of the band comes in one by one—Megumi, then Kirara, then Yuji. Kirara’s harmonizing on a higher note, and the effect is a slow, dissonant build that makes you lock in, all anticipation.

Then Takuma tugs the mic from the stand and sings,“I see your eyes, curious, curious, you wanna know why the sky’s so goddamn blue. I hear your voice, curious, curious, you’re asking me if I’d ever fall for you.”

And as you listen, Nobara’s smile just gets wider and wider, and Takuma keeps making fleeting eye contact with you, and you realize abruptly that she was right.

This song is about you.

Takuma’s said it to you before, in passing, how he likes the way you look at the world—through a journalist’s lens, curious about how everything works, always searching for unseen answers.

“Wish I could see my life like you do,” he and Kirara sing in unison. “Wish I could walk the streets each night… wonderin’ if the full moon sees you, but I just keep lookin’, lookin’ down at the time.”

You’re transfixed, just like the first night you saw Takuma perform live, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the stage if you tried. Someone should write a story about him, you think. This man could be on the cover of Rolling Stone and you wouldn’t question it.

God, you’re so far gone, aren’t you?

When the set is over, the last song finishing with a long, drawn-out chord, Takuma thanks the crowd and hands the mic off to Panda to take over. As the band disappears one by one into the backstage area, he lays out the voting process.

“The voting period will last ten minutes, assuming no technical difficulties,” he says. “QR codes, as usual, are posted around the bar. If you’re a competitor, you can’t vote. Make sure you’re logged into your .edu accounts or you won’t be able to access the form…”

Your fingers are tapping nervously at your thighs, the crowd around you already glued to their phone screens. The band isn’t back out on the floor yet—Panda will call all three artists up at the end of the voting period and announce the finalist live.

Sweat is starting to pool in the palms of your clammy hands, and you wipe it on your jeans, anxious. To you, there’s no question. But it’s not up to you.

“Relax,” Yuta says, putting a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “It won’t even be close, Skip.”

After the longest ten minutes of your life, Hana Kurusu, the Kamos, and Shibuya Incident join Panda back on stage, a dramatic spotlight bouncing between each artist as Panda draws out the announcement. “And the artist from tonight moving on to the finals in two weeks is…”

“Just say it,” Maki huffs beside you, and Yuta chuckles and nudges her with a shoulder. She tries to hide the slight upturn of her lips, but that’s not going to slide past you.

You’ll tease her later. For now—

“Shibuya Incident!”

The reaction is explosive, both on the floor and the stage. Yuji practically leaps onto Kirara’s back, and Takuma’s face goes slack in surprise before a shy smile works its way across his spotlit features, Megumi being his nonchalant, unaffected self in the midst of it all. Nobara is screaming, and you’re yelling at the top of your lungs, Toge whooping and snapping photos as the Kamos and Hana crowd the band, congratulating them on the victory.

Takuma looks out into the crowd again and you wave, smiling unabashedly, so fucking proud and excited and thinking maybe, maybe, if you make it too, you’ll be facing off against each other, and wouldn’t that be something?

Maybe you shouldn’t be so thrilled. He’s the competition, after all.

But if he wins for going up there and singing curious, curious with his eyes locked on yours, you suppose it wouldn’t be all that bad.

—

Most of Saturday passes in a barrage of classwork and inconsistent, snacky meals in between, the diet of a harried college student, ramen and chips and whatever actual food Yuta leaves for you in the fridge. He’s back from work by three, and Maki wraps up her own work around the same time you do, late afternoon creeping into evening. The three of you are curled up in the living room, the TV on while Yuta and Maki try to pretend they’re not looking at each other.

You need to get them alone.

you: are you busy takuma: not at all takuma: what’s up? you: mind if i crash your house?

You glance up and swear Yuta has somehow, in the last two seconds, moved closer to Maki on the couch.

you: i think yuta and maki need some ~ALONE TIME~ takuma: TEA takuma: sorry kirara told me to stop saying that in response to everything that happens ever takuma: it’s fun tho

“I’m going to Takuma’s,” you announce, and Maki raises a brow at you.

“Again?”

“Sue me for having friends.”

Yuta’s brows crease a bit at the word friends, but he doesn’t comment. With a furtive glance back, you grab your shoes and slip out the door, successfully leaving Maki and Yuta alone in the house for an indeterminate amount of time.

Please, you think. One of them has to make a fucking move soon.

Takuma answers the door before you can knock. “Hey.”

“No pups today?” you ask as you step past him into the entryway, kicking off your shoes.

“Sadly,” Takuma says. “Fushiguro took ‘em with him, wherever he went. Ah, man. Did you only come over for them?” His tone is teasing as he closes the front door behind you, trading the October cold for the warmth of the house. “Afraid I’m a letdown.”

“Takuma,” you scold at his self-deprecation. “You’re basically an excited puppy yourself, so—”

“Hey!” he squawks, and then thinks about it and tilts his head, conceding. “Fine. Maybe. Yeah, okay.”

“What have you been up to?” you ask as the two of you make your way to the living room.

“Procrastination. Guitar instead of homework, mostly. You?”

“Same,” you sigh. “Well, not the guitar part. But I should have been way further ahead on my homework by now.” You shrug. You’ll get it done; you always do.

You settle in easily on the couch, and the two of you boot up the Wii and play a few rounds of Mario Kart because someone left the disc in. And when you’ve both beaten each other enough times to lose count, Takuma mentions something about your single and you realize you haven’t checked the stats.

“You can see more on a computer,” he says, and you follow him up to his room, where he cedes control of the device to you. You pull up the artist profile and grin at the steady upward climb of listeners. It’s not a ton, but this only went up on Thursday.

“We haven’t even done anything to promote this,” you admit, spinning in Takuma’s desk chair to face him. “I don’t even know how people are finding it.”

He immediately looks down, which means he knows something. You nudge him with your foot. “What? What does that face mean? Takuma.”

“I maybe gave Panda a drive of the mix,” he shrugs, talking fast like the meaning of the words might elude you if he mumbles enough. “And he maybe played it at the radio station earlier today. Several times.”

A wave of affection crashes into you so fast that you jump up and throw your arms around him without thinking, laughing into his shoulder. “You didn’t have to do that!” You pull back, grinning. “That was really sweet. Thank you. Seriously.”

“Ah, it was nothin’.” He reaches up to scratch at the back of his neck, a gesture you’ve come to recognize as self-conscious.

“Not nothing,” you say softly. He smiles.

After a moment, he glances at the window and seems to come to a decision. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey yourself.”

“Wanna go out on the roof?”

You blink, processing the words, instinctively looking to his window. You’ve never really realized it before, but it opens out onto a flat expanse of shingles, a perfect lookout right outside Takuma’s bedroom.

Your grin is answer enough, and he unlatches the window and pulls it open. He glances back at you, up and down, and you feel yourself blush before you realize he’s taking in what you’re wearing. He grabs a thick jacket from the closet and tosses it to you, then shrugs one on himself and leads the way, gripping the window frame with one hand and pulling himself outside. After a moment of consideration, he reaches back in and grabs his acoustic guitar by the neck from its place against the wall, pulling it out with him.

When the window shuts behind you, you’re immediately grateful for the protection of the extra layer. Even with your hands balled in the sleeves of your hoodie, it’s chilly out here.

You’re surprised by how much of the campus you can see spread out in the distance. It’s early evening, but the days are getting shorter, the sun a misleading blaze of heat in the otherwise cold hour.

“This,” you say, “is fucking awesome.”

“Right? I called dibs on the room as soon as we toured. For this.” He grins, leaning back on his palms, legs spread out in front of him. You lie back on the roof, letting the cool surface seep through your hood, staring up at the sky.

“So Maki and Yuta,” he says, shaking his head fondly. “Are they finally a thing?”

“I don’t know, but if they’re gonna do anything about it, it’s not gonna be while anyone else is home.” You shrug, or at least do whatever approximation of shrugging you can when you’re bundled in a bulky hoodie and jacket and lying on a roof.

Honestly, Yuta and Maki are some of your favorite people on this planet, and you can’t imagine anyone else who really deserves them. They’re the de facto mom and dad of your group—as in, Yuta is the band mom and Maki’s the gruff father who won’t admit his affection for the pet he didn’t want to get but ended up loving anyway.

“Man, I’m glad I wasn’t around when Kirara and Hakari were in their pining phase,” Takuma chuckles. He pulls his legs in, sitting cross-legged, and picks up the guitar, idly tuning it as he speaks. “Then there’s Itadori, probably picks up girls everywhere he goes and has never once realized it.”

“What about Megumi?” You let your head loll to the side, looking at Takuma with the guitar settled in his lap.

“Fushiguro? I don’t know, man, he doesn’t tell us anything. He has like, resting yearning face. I’ve got no idea. I don’t even know where he is right now, just that he’s supposed to be back really late.”

“That means the dogs will be back?” you say hopefully.

Takuma shakes his head, strumming another chord, and another, fingers moving deftly across the frets. “I’m not enough for you, huh?”

“I said no such thing.”

He plucks out a happy little melody on the guitar, looking at you. “Wanna learn?”

You sit up, your hood falling back off your head in the process. “Really?”

In answer, he hands you the guitar, scooting closer to you to show you where to place your fingers. You’ve been around your bandmates enough to know the basics, but you let him teach you anyway, giggling a little when he guides you through a three-chord progression and says, “Damn, you’re a natural.”

He leans back and stares at the sky, listening to you play. Eventually you add a few other basic chords into the mix, varying your strumming patterns, already feeling the strain in your fingertips from the unfamiliar press of the strings.

“So,” you say, still idly messing around on a G chord. Takuma props himself up on his elbows, looking over at you. “What was the incident in Shibuya? Have you been to Shibuya?”

He snorts. “Nope. Honestly, it was more to make people ask the question. You know in the Marvel movies, how Hawkeye and Black Widow are always talking about Budapest?”

“And nobody knows what the hell happened there,” you say, laughing. “Ah. I see.”

“I’ve never even been to Japan,” Takuma admits. “Fushiguro has, though. Maybe he had an incident in Shibuya. Who knows?”

G, C, D. D, C, G. You play the chords over and over, strumming softly, slowly, letting your finger catch on each of the strings, then five of them, then four.

“This is a really nice guitar.”

“Yeah.” There’s a beat of silence that makes you glance up, weighted differently than the usual pauses in conversation. Takuma is sitting up now, knees pulled loosely to his chest. “Was my dad’s.”

“He taught you to play,” you remember aloud, recalling your conversation in the coffee shop. But now you’re hung up on that word: was. Part of you doesn’t want to ask, but part of you feels like his words are a sort of quiet invitation, like he wants to tell you, but doesn’t want to force it. “I… is he…?”

“He died when I was twelve,” Takuma admits, eyes fixed on the sky. “Uh, car accident. It was stupid, some issue with the other guy’s car. Couldn’t stop it.” You’ve never heard his voice like this before, taut, oddly thin. Carefully, gently, you set the guitar on the roof beside you, watching him.

“Were you…”

“In the car?” Takuma sniffs. “Ah. Yeah.”

“Oh,” you breathe, and that’s what it is, more of a breath than a word. “I—Takuma…”

When he laughs, there’s no humor in it. It’s a hollow kind of chuckle, one that says everything he can’t. “It’s why I learned to skate, actually,” he says quietly, not meeting your eyes. “I’d get everywhere that way. I didn’t—want to drive, I guess. Got my license late and everything. I think people thought I was just a slacker.”

Whatever words you might scrounge up feel inadequate for a grief this large. You don’t want to pity him, and you don’t want to dismiss him, and that’s always the problem with hard conversations, isn’t it? What a line to walk.

“You’re not a slacker,” you say eventually, and he raises a brow at you. “I mean, maybe you procrastinate coding projects to a worrying extent, but you always get it done.” You smile thinly. “You don’t give up in any way that matters, Takuma. I like that about you.”

He chuckles. “Nanami said something like that, once.” His eyes go far-away again, just for a second. “He’s kind of the closest thing… like… I don’t know. I’ve known Nanami for a really long time. He was my dad’s friend. And I guess he sort of became a father figure, after…”

He shrugs. “It’s probably a big part of why I decided to go here. That, and it’s not too far from my mom’s. I don’t know that she’d have been thrilled if I went somewhere farther.”

“You’re not home,” you say carefully, a question but not question. “For break?”

“She’s on a business trip,” he says. “So not much point. But I’ll see her at Christmas, at least.”

For a while the silence stretches out comfortably between you, like a weighted blanket. You can’t ignore it, but it isn’t unwelcome. At some point you scooted closer to him, and now you sit side by side, only the layers of your jackets separating you.

“Thank you for telling me,” you say eventually, soft, unwilling to break the quiet. He nods.

“You didn’t go home either,” he points out, an unspoken question in the spaces between words. “Is it just ‘cause you’re from so far away, or…”

“Yeah. A Friday off didn’t feel like enough of a break to warrant a flight back.” But that’s not all of it. His silence tells you he knows it, too. He’s been so candid with you all night. You can share this part of yourself, you decide.

There’s something about Takuma, anyway, that makes you want to tell him things. You want to know him, and you want him to know you—you now, here, at school, but also you there, home, in the past.

“I haven’t been home since July,” you admit, hugging your knees to your chest, mirroring him. “My town is… small. I liked it when I was little. But the older I got the more I started to feel, just—I don’t know, stifled?”

Your hometown used to feel huge, like you could explore it forever on your Razor scooter and never find all its secrets. But you grew, and the town didn’t grow with you, and suddenly you were standing outside your high school realizing you knew every corner of the self-proclaimed suburban city, every street and coffee shop and alley. You’ve always been curious. And at some point, there wasn’t anything left in that place for you to be curious about.

“I love my home. I love my parents. It’s just… I needed to get out. I don’t think they ever really understood that.”

It’s easier to admit things when you’re looking straight ahead like this, out over the lines and curves of buildings, picking out street lamps, watching a few stray cars make their way around slow corners.

“Is it what you wanted it to be?” he asks quietly. “Here, I mean.” He nods out to the vast stretch of campus, spread across the city. So many corners you’ve been here years and haven’t found them all.

Campus is weird on break, you muse, looking out over the darkness. A whole parallel world for you to explore, the shadowed version of the place. A video game map on single-player, a dead server. Hardly any lights on in the windows, no kids out on the street. Like a ghost town. But it still doesn’t feel empty to you. There’s so much promise in it.

“Yeah,” you answer after a moment, soft. “Yeah, I think it is.”

A ghost town that isn’t lonely, somehow. You could write a song about it, you think. Friends with all the dead in my ghost town. The phrase plays itself out in your head, and it sounds like something moodier than your band usually goes for. It sounds like Shibuya Incident.

You wonder if this is what it means to be in a relationship—not a romantic one, necessarily, but a friendship, or any kind of bond between two creative people. If it’s this, the sharing of intellectual property with another person to the extent that their voice and yours start to blend.

It’s in the way Nobara can finish your sentences when you’re throwing out potential verses, scrambling for rhymes. How Toge and Yuta can anticipate each other’s movements, match chord progressions without talking about them. How Maki slips into your tempo seamlessly, every single time.

And now your lyrics sound like something his band would play. Maybe Takuma’s songwriting will start sounding like yours, too.

You don’t think you’d mind.

“Can I tell you something?” Takuma murmurs after a moment, sounding hesitant.

You rest a cheek on your knees, hands clasped together in front of your shins, facing him. “Mhm.”

“That song last night,” he whispers, and he’s not looking at you, just staring out at the rapidly darkening campus. “It was about you. And how you—I don’t know, the way you look at things. Like they’re always so full of potential. I wish I could do that. You just see things and want to know more. I like… watching you, being curious.” He pauses for a beat and then quickly adds, “Not in like, a creepy way! Just—I don’t know.”

A chuckle slips through your lips against your will, the darkness hopefully hiding the color in your cheeks. Maybe you can blame it on the cold. “Watching?” you ask, teasing. “I can’t imagine I’m all that intriguing. There’s a lot of cool people around here, y’know.”

“Skip,” he murmurs, and now his eyes are locked on yours. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you.”

Every nerve in your body is hyperaware of his proximity, and his hand reaches up to cup your jaw, the touch ghosting over you, barely there, hesitant. A nonverbal question. Is this okay?

You lean into the warmth, letting his breath wash over you, mingling with your own in the space between your lips, smaller and smaller and smaller.

He’s watching you, closely, giving you a chance to pull away. So many words exchanged tonight, but you don’t need any for this.

You don’t pull away.

It’s slow at first, and soft, and hesitant. The shingles dig into the heel of your hand as you lean forward on one arm, a grainy feeling on your fingertips, in the grooved imprints left by the guitar strings. You find your free hand moving up to his shoulder, pushing, guiding him down until his back is pressed against the roof and you’re over him, lips locked with his. You look at him, and he’s so full of potential. You want to know everything about him, you want to know how he works, you want to ask questions. And you do, with your tongue along the seam of his lips, and your hand tangled in his hair, and his breath mixing with yours in the air. It’s near full dark now, feeling later than it really is, evening in autumn.

You’re not cold anymore.

He deepens the kiss, body coming up to meet yours, and you feel like maybe this roof is the top of the whole world, because how could you ever feel higher than this?

“Takuma,” you murmur, and you kiss him again, and you don’t think you’ve ever felt this way before, but you’ll do maybe anything in the world to feel this way again.

And then a sharp, deep sound makes you jump, scrambling to sit up on the shingles, breathing heavy from the kiss and the noise. Did that come from inside or out?

“What—”

“Oh, crap,” Takuma groans, pulling open the window. “Someone’s home.” He looks back at you, cheeks flushed from the cold or the kiss or both, looking a little helpless, a little apologetic, and you can’t help the small laugh that bursts from you at the absurdity of the situation. You feel like a teenager getting caught by your parents.

“We should…” He nods toward the window. You hand him the guitar, then crawl back over to the window and slip inside after him, the warmth a stark relief from the temperature you’ve gotten so used to. Your heart is a jackhammer, rapidly pecking away at the once-stable structure of yourself.

You kissed him.

You kissed Takuma.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you pull it out with still-cold hands.

utah: [1 Image Attachment] utah: dinner?

Admittedly, the pasta does look amazing, and your stomach grumbles as if on cue.

“I should go,” you say awkwardly, holding up the phone for Takuma to see.

“Uh, yeah, uh—for sure, no problem, I should go see what’s up down there anyway,” he says after a beat of hesitation. “I’ll see you, uh…?”

“Around?” you finish, laughing slightly.

“Yeah,” he echoes with an amused half-smile as you make your way down the stairs. “Around.”

—

You’re freaking out.

It’s 4:31 on Monday afternoon, you’ve been listening to the same song on repeat for an hour, and you’re freaking the fuck out.

After Saturday night, you didn’t talk about it. You kissed him on the roof and your heart turned into a hummingbird and you were warm all over, and then the front door slammed and you nearly jumped out of your skin, and Megumi was back early and Takuma had no idea why, and you pet the dogs and then slipped out, wanting to give them their space.

And you haven’t talked about it. You haven’t had time. Sunday was a mess of cramming for midterms and your housemates returning from break and you threw yourself into your studies and tried not to remember, but now…

The stupid fucking switch in the back of your brain has flipped itself on and you can’t turn it off, all worry and criticism and hypothetical worst-case scenarios and you’re giving too much too fast, Skipper, you know better than this!

How many people in your tiny town fell in love young and grew to resent each other? How many of your high school friends grew up with divorced parents? How many breakups have you seen in your two and a half years at this university, how many tears and shouting matches in public halls, how many friend groups falling apart because two people fell in and out of love?

The thing is, you know you’re panicking about nothing. Takuma hasn’t asked anything of you. It was just a kiss. He is not your boyfriend. This is not a contract.

But if you talk about it, it could be, and you don’t understand why that scares you so much. Do you have commitment issues? What the fuck is your problem?

You probably wouldn’t have a problem at all, if you’d just had the time Saturday night to figure out what the kiss meant. But now that a whole day has passed and you haven’t seen him and you don’t know for sure, your mind keeps wandering down paths it should have stayed away from.

What if it’s a friends with benefits situation and you’ve just read too much into it? Maybe this is all he wants, making out, spending late nights together getting physical. Maybe that’s all. A heated makeout session on a roof doesn’t mean he feels the way you do. And do you even know how you feel? Fucking hell.

It’s the anxiety talking, the more logical part of you says, the part that sounds an awful lot like Maki. Your friends aren’t around to tell you how stupid you’re being, so the only texts you and Takuma have sent since Saturday night are playlists and song lyrics skirting around whatever truths you’re trying and failing to articulate.

Do I Wanna Know floats from the speaker on your desk, your phone next to your head on the bed, facedown and dormant. Do I wanna know if this feeling goes both ways?

Your door slams open and you jump up, whirling around to find Maki with her arms crossed, leaning on the frame. “Alright,” she says. “That’s the tenth time I’ve heard that godforsaken song. What the fuck is up with you?”

When you don’t respond, she steps inside and closes the door behind her, pauses the music, and then makes herself comfortable on the edge of your bed. “Talk to me,” she says. “You’re driving yourself crazy.” The words stall in your throat, useless, stagnant things as you avoid her knowing stare, instead staring at the popcorn ceiling until it blurs.

Maki sighs and shifts entirely onto the bed, turning herself to face you.

“I didn’t know you were home,” you say lamely.

“You’re driving me crazy, Skip,” she tries, and she knows you so fucking well, because the guilt trip is exactly what dislodges all those words built up in the back of your mouth—she breaks the dam and you spill your soul onto the quilted comforter, rambling, a rush of truths and things you thought you’d hidden from yourself but you can’t anymore. And she just listens, not looking away once.

You tell her everything: that you know you catch feelings fast, too fast. That despite your bleeding heart, you haven’t really been in a long-term relationship since high school. That you think of the future, of all the places you want to go, all the things you want to do, and there’s no guy in those dreams, and the thought of restructuring the life you’ve planned out for yourself around a boy who might be temporary is too much to even fathom. That—

“I kissed him,” you say breathlessly, bordering on hysterical, and you feel so stupid, this worked up over something so small, something that should be good. “I kissed him and now it feels real and now I’m freaking out.”

“I can see that,” Maki says calmly. “Let me ask you something. What is the worst thing that could happen, if you date him and it doesn’t last?”

“I…” You chew on your bottom lip, mind spinning through every bad outcome. “He could end up hating me, Maki. I could get some crazy job and have to leave, or he would come with me and leave his whole life behind and then he’d grow to resent me and we’d just be in some kind of hellish limbo until one of us snapped. Or he could—he could leave me, or we could try long distance and he could fall in love with somebody else, or I could, or—or—”

You flounder for a second, realizing your biggest worry is the one most immediate, the one most central to your life as it exists right now.

You’ve been sitting here thinking about big-picture things that are so far out, trying to make the feeling curdling in your gut feel like a valid reaction to a major life event. But that’s not what this is.

You’re just really, stupidly, pathetically scared that Takuma kissed you and didn’t mean it.

“Or—I guess that’s not the issue. Not really,” you admit quietly, not looking at Maki. She probably already knows. She has a way of knowing exactly what’s bothering you and just asking the right questions, getting you to talk yourself out of whatever hole your anxious mind has dug.

“I—it was just a kiss. What if he doesn’t want something serious right now, and I like him this way and he just wants something casual? I can’t do casual, Maki,” you say, raking a hand through your hair. “And it could fuck up this thing we have going. Yuji and Toge get along so well, and Nobara and the boys and Kirara, and Megumi’s your cousin, and I don’t wanna cause some weird, awkward rift, you know what I mean?”

Because it’s been so good, getting to know them. You don’t want to fuck up the dynamic just because you caught feelings too fast.

Maki leans back against your wall, humming as she thinks this over. “Okay. First of all, take a step back. Do you actually think you and Ino dating or not dating or whatever would mean I stop talking to my cousin? Or Nobara to the guys?” She raises a brow at you, unimpressed. “Seriously. I love you, Skipper, but you do not have that much power. These relationships existed before you knew Ino. Yuji is incapable of having conflict with anybody. And Toge doesn’t give a fuck about awkward relationship drama, he just wants to play Smash.”

As she speaks, you can feel your heart settling back into its home in your chest. Maki always knows what to say. Always.

“Second: Let me put it this way.” She levels you with a serious look. “You are so worked up about all these incredibly hypothetical situations. If you shut this down now, if you don’t act on what happened on Saturday, you’re still going to be worked up about hypotheticals. They’ll just be different ones. I know you, Skipper, you’re gonna drown yourself in what ifs. So you have to pick the lesser evil. There’s an unknown factor either way. Which one is gonna be worse?”

You groan, faceplanting into your bedspread. In the process, your forehead must hit play on your phone, because all of a sudden Arctic Monkeys blasts through the JBL again and Maki is grabbing your phone and saying, “Absolutely not. Nope. We are done with that.”

You look up at her helplessly. “Do I wanna know?” you choke out, half-laughing. “Because if I’m taking this out of proportion, if he doesn’t feel this way and I’m just another girl he kissed—”

“You’re not,” she says firmly. “Are you kidding me? Skip. That boy kisses the ground you walk on.” She shakes her head, some mix of fondness of exasperation flashing across her face. “You already know. The question isn’t if he likes you, or if you like him. It’s whether you’re gonna let it play out or shut it down before it has a chance to.”

Your door slams open, and Nobara strolls in and puts her hands on her hips. She glares at Maki and then at you.

“Please tell me I’m wrong,” she says, and you know you’re in for it, “but I believe you both had significant relationship developments this weekend and didn’t immediately call me? What the fuck? Spill.”

Abruptly, you feel like the worst friend in the world. Not necessarily because you haven’t filled Nobara in—she hasn’t been home—but because Maki is flushing pink, and you left her alone with Yuta on purpose, and it’s Monday, and you haven’t even asked what happened.

You look at Nobara. “Close the door.”

She does, but she doesn’t sit down, choosing instead to pace the room as she speaks. “Exhibit A: the plants have name tags and the handwriting is not Yuta’s. Exhibit B: I just came from down the street and Ino is acting weird as fuck.”

You sit straight up, suddenly on high alert. “Weird how? Did he say anything?”

“No. Like, the entire time. That’s the weird as fuck part.”

You turn to Maki, trying to read her. “Okay, what happened with Yuta? Was it when I left? Because if I wasn’t obvious enough—“

“You were very obvious, thank you,” Maki says, her blush deepening. “Uh, we made dinner. As you know.”

“It was good.”

Maki is pointedly looking everywhere but at you and Nobara, gaze darting from the ceiling to the bedspread to the door, as if she might escape the conversation. You hadn’t even noticed the plant name tags. That’s maybe the most sappy gesture that’s ever come from Maki Zenin.

“Mm. Yeah. Uh,” she says, eloquently. “We might have kissed. We might be… together.”

“Maki!” you and Nobara both scream, which results in Toge nearly breaking down your bedroom door five seconds later.

“What?” he demands. He clocks Maki’s bright red face and grins widely. “Aha! Yes. Good.”

“Wh—”

“Yuta won’t look me in the eyes, so I figured. You wanted to tell us all at once?”

Maki nods sheepishly.

“Too late!” Toge says cheerfully. “And he’s not home. So we can take this quality girls’ time to—”

“You are a man.”

“That’s the first time you’ve ever said that to me,” Toge tells Nobara, hand over his heart.

She swats at him in response and flops onto your floor, and Toge drops down beside her, you and Maki leaning over the edge of your bed to see them both.

"I ate your love pasta," you tell Maki, and she groans.

"This is why I don't tell you people things."

After the appropriate appoint of freaking out about Maki and Yuta (of course I knew, I always know, Nobara says), they make you go through the whole of Saturday night in detail.

You leave out the part about Takuma’s dad. That doesn’t feel like your story to tell.

When you get to I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you, Nobara blinks at you, and the innocent expression on her face means whatever she’s about to say is anything but. “So he told you you’re not like other girls?”

“Oh my god,” you groan, dragging your hands down your face.

“Oh, shit, Skipper!” Toge nearly shouts from the floor. “We have to go, like, two minutes ago.”

“Shit!” You scramble off the bed, shoving your laptop into your bag and weaving around Nobara, who has made no move to get off the floor. You and Toge have your usual Monday night class time to do field reporting, and you’re meeting up with Geto and Utahime.

The front door clicks open and closed, and you grin at Maki, who goes red. Yuta’s home. God, you wish you could stay for this.

“Hi, Yuta! Bye, Yuta!” you call on the way out the door, patting him on the head, and Toge follows suit with a much more aggressive motion that messes up Yuta’s hair.

“Oh, hi! Um. Bye?” Yuta’s startled laugh follows you out the door, and then you’re on your way.

You’re always on your way back to The Fix, eventually.

—

Utahime, notably a happier person in general when Gojo’s not around, lets Toge into the back to get some photos of the storeroom. That leaves you alone with Geto, back on the same stool as last time, phone on the counter as you watch him work, talking as he goes.

“Finished inventory,” he says, typing something rapidly on his laptop, “and now it’s budgeting. And yeah, that’s about what it looks like on the day to day. What else did you want to know?”

Geto is remarkably easy to talk to. He’s soft-spoken and articulate, a good listener, and you find yourself forgetting it’s an interview after a while, lost in conversation. You learn that he studied business in school, so opening an establishment like this wasn’t much of a stretch. He handles the finances and hiring, and he’s the one working with Panda on the Battle of the Bands. Gojo and Utahime bartend, Nanami is security, and Shoko handles everything else. It’s a small team, he says, but they work.

“I wanted to be able to be home for the girls when they were growing up, and this wound up being a great way to do that, schedule-wise,” he tells you. “And now they’re here, which is great. I wouldn’t say I ever saw myself opening a bar, back in college, but now that I’m here and Shoko and I have been running the place for a while, I’m not sure where else I ever could’ve ended up, y’know?”

You nod, head propped in your hand with your elbow on the counter. “So is this the dream? The endgame?” you ask. “Think you’ll stay a while?”

“Well,” he says, closing the laptop, “I think it comes down to doing something because you love it, not because other people love that you do it. Though right now, both of those things are true, which is fortunate for me." He leans on the bar counter, head tilted as he considers his words.

"If the work makes you happy, if the people there make you feel the same way, I think that’s worth hanging on to," he says. "If I ever stop loving the work, I suppose I’ll move on. I don’t see that happening, really, but if it does, I’ll roll with it. Whatever comes after.”

“That makes sense.” You sigh, leaning back in your chair. “Man, I wish the career thing was that clear-cut now. I know I have time, but it’s weird to think about.”

“Would you ever go further than this with the band, you think?” he asks, seeming genuinely curious. “Or is the journalism thing pretty much what your heart’s set on?”

You’ve thought about it. Drumming makes you feel alive like very few other things do, but you love writing, reporting, meeting people and telling their stories. You want to go for editor-in-chief next year when Tsumiki graduates, but the reality is that you won’t have so much time for the band if you get the job. And you love your band.

Not that it’ll be the same, anyway, without Maki and Yuta. That’s something you don’t love to think about.

“I don’t know,” you confess, sheepishly realizing you’re still recording, that you’re supposed to be the one asking the questions. “I don’t think… that the band is ever necessarily going to be a professional thing. Maki and Yuta have all these big career plans. And it’s like, how much do I invest in that now, knowing it’s not… forever? When the journalism thing, the career, might be? I don’t know.”

“You know, I don’t think it matters all that much whether it’s forever,” Geto shrugs. “If it gave you what you needed at the time, wouldn’t it be worth it?”

He glances up at you, taking in the lines of your face, the tapping of your fingers against your other arm. You kind of feel like he sees something you don’t.

“Here’s some unsolicited advice, kid. On the record. Maybe life is short, maybe not. But regardless, your heart is not a finite thing.” His eyes are soft but not sad, serious but with a sort of levity that’s wise and not regretful. You think, idly, that you would find it very hard not to trust him. “If you’ve got something, love it while you have it.”

Something tells you he’s not talking about the band anymore. Or maybe that’s just you, looking for answers where there aren’t any.

“Thanks, Geto,” you say, turning off the recording. “This has been really helpful.”

Your heart is not a finite thing. And you think you’ve made up your mind.

directory | prev.

jjk taglist open: just send me a message!

@shutuppeter @mikikkoo @reactwithjan @theclassbookworm @lilactaro @bisforbuse @risararelywrites @idkidk32 @gojodickbig @stargazing-with-choso @anonymity-222

a/n: what is this? setup for the megumi spinoff i'm writing after this? oo (sorry he was a cockblock it was for the plot, this one AND his, hehe)

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glitter-stained · 2 days ago

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Look, I'll say it: Zurr isn't a magical demon that took over Bruce's body, it's a vilifying, demonizing take on induced DID. I can't keep seeing people fight to defend Bruce's honour in Gotham War by saying "it wasn't actually him so it's not his fault", reject the Lazarus Pit Madness headcanon because "Jason and he alone did his crimes and he has no excuse", and then we're talking about how Bruce's or Dick's trauma is what made him a hero, one post later on my board it's "the lazarus pit madness headcanon is unnecessary because Jason's behaviour is completely explainable and logical if you just take in account that he has cptsd" (or bpd depending on the post) and then that fanfic I had to stop reading because a character literally was screaming at Jason "so what you died get over yourself but you weren't magically controlled by the pit so you have zero excuse and justification for being angry" and then a post about "wow why is Batman punching down on all these mentally ill people", and then in the replies "are you dumb it's because those crazies are bombing orphanages..."

I'm still thinking about that moment in "dumpster slasher" where Batman is like "the killer is still free while poor Elmore [a homeless guy with substance use disorder and major neurocognitive disorder] is being shipped off to Arkham... This doesn't sit right" yeah buddy I'm sure if you ponder that for a while, the reason why the fact the only mental health facility in your city is also a prison for dangerous criminals with no apparent mental illness doesn't sit right with you will appear to you eventually.

Maybe it's time to confront the fact that the difference between a hero and villain in dc is often whether their mental illness is demonized, glorified or minimized. Or the fact that attenuated circumstances and responsibility exists on a gradient and there is such thing as "altered responsibility due to mental illness" in a trial. Maybe it's not "oh it was this evil Zurr/Batman entity, not Bruce/Batman, so there is no responsibility to be taken and anyone condemning those actions as abuse is talking in bad faith" maybe it's "this is a terrible representation of something that exists and should be treated respectfully" and "I don't have to accept this terribly harmful rethoric and fucked up depiction into my conception of my fav's characterization in such a dislocated, often incoherent canon if I don't want to."

And also maybe it's "if we accept this event/depiction as canon it doesn't mean that we have to either bash the character completely or erase his mental illness into something vaguer/mystical that would somehow absolve him of his place in this situation".

And maybe it's "what does accountability for your harmful actions looks like when your judgement was heavily impaired by mental illness, and what judgement can be placed upon you and who decides where people are placed on that continuum of responsibility and how do we acknowledge and go forward into repairing things when severe harm/abuse was done under impaired judgement and also how do you reconcile all of this with your sense of self, (especially in conditions like bpd/cptsd and especially did where the sense of self is already so altered/complicated) with what your values are, what you want to be, what you are capable of doing and what you thought about yourself before the bad thing happened." I don't know any simple, correct, good answer, especially not a one size fits all. All I know is: the desire to be a good person, and be able to distinctively separate people between bad and good, is profoundly human and, at times when lines of responsibility get blurry, profoundly unhelpful. Most people who are going to hurt you aren't mentally ill. Most people who do terrible things aren't mentally ill, and sometimes people are mentally ill and hurt people and the two have nothing to do with eachother. But it is also a reality that sometimes judgement is impaired and behaviour is altered due to mental illness, and then you need to figure out where to go from there. Acknowledging this while also fighting stigmatisation is a complicated business. It's messy. Mental illness often is. I'm weary of any rethoric that pretends it's simple.

#batsalt #dc critical #dc comics #gotham war #batman zurr en arr #being a dc fan as someone who engages in media primarly through depiction of mental illness is.#an experience.#jason todd #red hood #talked about those two because they inspired the rant #but this applies to so many characters in dc #rant #also i don't know much about the fandom's take on two face #but the irony of dc's treatment of two face's villanized did VS bruce's villanized did sure is something #dc #batman #dc meta

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smilingformoney · 17 hours ago

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Rickmas Day 1: December Moon

Character: Elliott Marston (Quigley Down Under) Relationships: Elliott/Mary (OC) Warnings: None

Based on In Another Life

Read on Ao3 or below:

Mary had always loved Christmas, and although living in the Outback with Elliott was far different from London, the spirit of Christmas was still the same. She had thought long and hard about what to get her husband for their first Christmas together - her first thought had been to make him something, but she always made clothes for him, and she wanted to do something a little different for Christmas. So instead, during a trip into Perth, she excused herself from him to go shopping for a gift, one which she had to hide in a crate of fabrics she’d bought in order to avoid his finding it too early.

Knowing his love for the American West, she bought him a book on American ranching. She didn’t quite understand his fascination with American culture, but she knew he’d be delighted to learn more about how to emulate their culture.

He was indeed overjoyed to open the book on Christmas Day, so much so that he began reading it that very same day. On Boxing Day, Elliott disappeared after dinner, and when Mary went looking for him, she found him behind the house, fiddling with a rope.

“What on earth are you doing out here, El? It’s freezing!”

He looked up at her and smiled.

“I’m tying a lasso,” he explained holding up the rope, which he’d tied around in on itself.

“And am I supposed to know what that is?”

“I read about it in the book you bought me. Americans use it to capture cattle.”

“Ah, of course.” Mary smiled. She knew it wouldn’t be long before he found something in that book he wanted to emulate. “How does it work?”

Elliott explained it to her, showing her how the loop would tighten to hold its target. Mary didn’t quite understand how it was any better than his current methods of controlling his cattle, but she wasn’t about to question his work, just as he never questioned hers.

He tried to demonstrate it to her, but although he managed to land the loop over the haybale he was using as target practice, as soon as he tried to tighten the hold, the knot he’d tied fell apart.

Mary giggled. “Well, you’re halfway there, darling.”

“Quiet, you,” Elliott said warningly with a cheeky wink. “We don’t want my men thinking I’m no good at this, do we?”

He began pulling the rope back towards him.

“Ah, so that’s why you’re practising by moonlight! You do realise, of course, it’d be a lot easier in sunlight?”

“Perhaps. But where’s the fun in that?”

He looped the rope around again and began tying another knot, firmer this time, and Mary knew he’d not give up until he had it perfected.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it, darling. Don’t stay up too late, will you?”

“Of course not. I’ll be there to keep you warm, don’t you worry.”

Mary smiled, kissed her husband on the cheek, and went back inside, wondering if she ought to have a look at the book herself if there were any details of the American rancher’s fashion, so she might create something for Elliott to make him look the part he admired so much.

Elliott spent days working on his lasso technique. Every evening after dinner, when the sun had gone down, his men had finished their work, and Mary was either working on her tailoring or keeping her diary up to date, Elliott would go around the back and practise with his lasso.

On New Year’s Eve, everyone at the station gathered together to ring in the New Year. Mary mostly stayed by Elliott’s side, but when she became distracted playing a game with Tommy, she realised a little before midnight that she’d lost Elliott.

Not wanting to miss out on a midnight kiss with her husband, Mary went looking amongst the men for Elliott. Kelly pointed her to the barn, but he wasn’t there; O’Flynn suggested he might be in the cellar, where he kept his whisky, but he wasn’t there either. The gathered crowd began counting down to midnight, and Mary stepped glumly down from the porch, disappointed that she couldn’t find Elliott.

As the countdown reached twenty, Mary suddenly saw a length of rope cross her vision, and she found herself pulled aside by the waist; before she could fully comprehend what was happening, she was spinning into Elliott’s arms. He caught her, laughing as she found her footing.

“Well, hello there, little lady,” he said teasingly. “Seems I caught the prettiest girl in all Australia.”

Mary saw the rope in his hands, and realised what had happened - he’d caught her in his lasso.

“It seems you have,” she giggled. “I thought you wanted to lasso cattle, not women?”

“It’s multipurpose. Now, would you entrust your husband with a kiss to start the new year?”

“Of course I will!” Mary agreed enthusiastically. She leant up on her tiptoes, and as the gathered crowd cheered in the new year, Mary’s lips met Elliott’s, and 1865 begun as they intended it to go on - her, in his arms, safe and protected from harm.

#rickmas2024 #elliott marston #alan rickman #quigley down under #elliott x mary

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scenefox2003 · 21 hours ago

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THIS WHOLE POST. THIS WHOLE POST.

As an aroace person in this fandom it’s so devaluing and gross to see how ace characters are treated. To see all other identities being rightfully defended when they’re shipped against each other and not my own. With Alastor specifically, I was so excited to finally see a fully canon ace character that was “cool”, one that wasn’t shoved to the side and forgotten by the fandom. Alastor isn’t a soft-spoken antisocial hermit, he’s loud and outgoing and forms strong bonds with others, ones that are strictly platonic. He represents a type of asexual person that’s rarely talked about, the kind I more closely relate to. There are so many stories to be told with this character, both related to his sexuality and unrelated, yet the most common ones I come across are him spreading his legs for Lucifer or whoever else yall decide to ship him with this week. He’s so insanely oversexualized by the fandom that I’ve had people in real life assume I had a crush on him (I go to an art school, Hazbin is common knowledge there). I write fanfiction that usually centers on Alastor’s asexuality and get dozens of comments from ace and aro readers saying how happy they are to have found a fic that respects his identity. FOR A CHARACTER THIS INSANELY POPULAR THAT SHOULD NOT BE A RARITY. Most of my readers are ace or aro themselves, if not all. A large part of me loves that, representing my community and sharing its stories is a large reason why I write those fics. But the other part of me wonders why our stories seem to bore the rest of the queer community.

And now we have an asexual character who DOES show interest in romance, the very excuse you’ve been using to ship Alastor with everyone under the sun, and YOU IDIOTS CAN’T HANDLE THAT EITHER!!! We should not have to be explaining that some asexual people date in the year of our lord 2024!!! Did yall not watch Bojack Horseman?!! Or do you just space out whenever characters aren’t making out or swinging their dicks in front of the screen?? A fanbase that is this overwhelmingly queer and chronically online should not be this uneducated on asexuality. There is no excuse. It’s becoming increasingly obvious that a lot of you just don’t care.

Mammon is great ace representation: an essay on aphobia in the Hellaverse fandom

I’m seeing a lot of people be mad about Mammon having a thing for Leviathan. And I’m going to need the fandom to step back and examine these issues, because they are 100% rooted in aphobia. I have been out as an oriented aroace person for over 10 years if you want to doubt my credentials, rather than listen to my analysis, lived experience and reflect.

So. Tell me Hellaverse fandom; why, when it comes to Alastor, who is a character who very clearly has zero interest in others, it is always a chorus of people saying “aces can have sex”, “aces can enjoy sex”, “it’s not harmful to the ace community to use Alastor for shipping material, he isn’t real and asexuality and aromanticism is a huge spectrum”, “Aroace people can still date and have sex”?

But when it comes to Mammon, he is “bad asexual representation”, he “clearly experiences sexual attraction”, “he can’t be demisexual”, etc.

No genuinely, why is this? I want you to examine this, think on it from a place of neutral examination and come to your own conclusions. Because this is a worrisome double standard. This can for starters, be an instance of fat phobia. Because out of the two of them, Alastor is thin, and therefore closer to the beauty standard, which is hysterical considering that Alastor canonically has horrible hygiene, and I don’t think I know a single person who thinks that stank ass body and breath is attractive. Mammon, as seen from the slovenly way he eats, can potentially be assumed to have poor hygiene as well, but it has a very different connotation because of his weight. [Research the connection between thin privilege and body odor/hygiene. It’s very real].

I can spend a lot of time and energy going into the shipping dynamics between the shows, as well as how Alastor is a more “shippable” character in comparison to Mammon, but I honestly don’t find this as interesting or as compelling as to what I’m about to say next.

Because aphobia in the real world is still very alive and well today. In my 10+ years of being in the ace community, I have genuinely spent a lot of emotional energy, time, knowledge, experience, and compassion, just fighting for the right to even be acknowledged as queer. I have vivid memories from when I was first out of the closet at the age of 16, telling ace people across apps and forums that they were valid, that they weren’t broken, that they were deserving of love, respect, and a place in the queer community. I was telling people, younger, my age, and older that they shouldn’t kill themselves, that they had worth beyond what they could do in the bedroom for others. I had to convince people that they didn’t owe anyone sex, and that they were in fact being sexually abused by their partners. I was on the phone with people in tears. I spent HOURS of my life in these DMs at an age where I was a suffering, mentally ill queer child that was also being victimized by aphobia. Still to this day people think the “A” stands for ally. And still to this day people have discord about our community as a whole. I have had to sit and watch as people went from loudly proclaiming with their whole chest that asexual people didn’t exist, or at the very least weren’t queer. Then years went by and it became less and less okay to say things like that, because asexual people finally had fought long enough and had supported each other enough that we discovered our voices and began to use them. So people were finally facing the consequences of saying bigoted shit.

And now that they can’t say that asexuals aren’t queer, they moved on to another group. Demisexuals. Demisexuals by far have it roughest, because while there are many micro labels in our community to explain our diverse range of experiences, demisexual is probably the most well known one. And every handful of months or so I have to use my voice once again to stand up for my people, because an attack on one of us is an attack on all of us, and people on the internet have made it clear that they have no qualms of attacking us. The asexual and aromantic community have made extremely valuable contributions to the queer community that are entirely overlooked because we are not valued in it.

And this is why I have been an outspoken proponent of my displeasure over Alastor being a character that is the most shipped with others, and my disdain for the fanbase has grown even wider after Mammons appearance in Mastermind. It is a painful reminder of all the discrimination I’ve faced over the years, that my community still goes through. Because people are contrarians. Alastor is canonically asexual, and other aspects of his character are reflective of aromanticism as well. Well, the fanbase doesn’t like this so much. If you genuinely pay attention, you’ll notice this is a trend with a lot of other aroace characters. My favorite example is Peridot from Steven Universe, a canonical aroace character. In the show, Peridot goes through a lot of unlearning and growth. The scene where she tries to fuse with Garnet has massive implications for a few reasons. Because one, she is genuine in her desire to understand Garnet, and fusion better. And two, fusion while forbidden on Homeworld, is commonplace and normal in the Crystal Gems. As a Crystal Gem, she feels this is what is now expected of her. This is a major experience in the aspec community, as living in a cis heteronormative society means that sex, marriage and children are all things expected of each individual, which is dangerous and harmful ideology to everyone, asexual/aromantic people as well. Peridot couldn’t go through with the fusion, but that didn’t stop the fandom salivating, and foaming at the mouth over a potential Lapis/Peridot fusion. People were genuinely mad at Rebecca Sugar for never making that pairing canon, when they had absolutely no right to behave the way they did. Let’s not forget how the fans also misgendered Rebecca Sugar constantly. It was absolutely bigoted.

This is happening with Alastor. Fans feel entitled to ship him with whomever, an entitlement that is not seen with other characters. When people ship Vaggie with Angel, there is backlash, and for good reason. Because people understand that despite the fact that Vivienne Medrano said people can ship whatever, shipping a gay man with a woman and a gay woman with a man is…gross. It is wrong, it is disrespectful of their identities, and is forcing heteronormativity onto characters that are strict in their sexualities. Most people are able to recognize the thinly veiled homophobia. But Alastor does not receive the same treatment, and in fact receives the opposite treatment. I don’t know what I could say to convince you that the aroace coded character in a show being the #1 most shipped is thinly veiled aphobia the same way Vaggie x Angel is thinly veiled homophobia.

Now what does that have to do with Mammon? Mammon seems to not be aroace coded like Alastor, and for some reason, that has thoroughly pissed people off. Because Mammon is not the “acceptable” caricature of an asexual person. Most allosexual (non-asexual and/or aromantic people) view being asexual as being synonymous with being aromantic, which shows a painful lack of understanding and at times respect for the diversity of our community. Alastor fits this category, so he’s an “acceptable asexual”, while also essentially being a toy for shippers. But Mammon, with his clear attraction to Leviathan, is a “bastardization” of the asexual image. When we aren’t being viewed as broken, we’re often being viewed as chaste, virginal, and innocent with attachments to infantilization. But Mammon, with his aggressive and even icky approach to flirting with Leviathan, is seen as a subversion of this, which for people who don’t understand our community, hate. And these people are blaming Vivienne for having “terrible ace rep” when in actuality, having multiple ace characters having very little in common is actually fantastic rep. Because there are many labels in our community that Mammon can fit into as an asexual. To me, he looks like a sex-positive, high libido, demisexual. He’s known Leviathan for thousands of years, of course it makes sense that he would be into her, but not into anyone else which would explain why his “posse” are just female robots. This could also be because of his classism, but I genuinely think that he’s just demisexual. And you already know how people feel about demisexuals.

If you’ve read this far and have genuinely set aside your biases and personal feelings like I requested in the beginning, I appreciate that. Because from my own lived experience, the double standard between Alastor and Mammon doesn’t annoy me; it frightens me.

Because what the fandom is actually saying when they do these things is this:

“We see you as a homogenous group. Your voices go in one ear and out the other. If you don’t conform to our values and standards, we won’t give you the respect or recognition you deserve. If you don’t conform to my view of your group, you lose my “allyship”. We do not see your identity as a sexuality in its own right, but rather a literary device we can play with. I do not care to learn more about your community, your culture, or your struggles. I barely (if at all) acknowledge you as your own sexual minority and marginalized group. I barely acknowledge (if at all) that you are queer at all. I do not care about your feelings about societal biases that I might carry, I don’t care about how you’ve lived it, because it takes away my fun and fantasies. Because I devalue your group as a whole, your voices mean little. Your narrative is mine to do with as I please.”

I really hope you can see my perspective and understand the sincere place this comes from. Thanks for reading.

#hazbin hotel #helluva boss #helluva boss mammon #hazbin alastor #asexual

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