#i know the b reel exists i want it now

[janetsnakehole02]

every note on this post is a signature for my petition for netflix to show us the deleted scenes of ben trying to put devi’s sari back on her while watching the youtube tutorial

[cosyvelvetorchid]

‘Death Becomes Them’ chapter 1 is up!

Read on ao3 or below

**********

Rated: E (not this chapter)

Words: 3,111

TW: death, homophobic language.

Summary:

A month after Tommy devastates Buck by breaking up with him, Tommy’s dad dies and he find himself at Bucks door searching for comfort.

Although Buck is still reeling (and baking) from the break up, he can’t find it in him to leave Tommy to deal with his grief alone and agrees to accompany Tommy back to his childhood home while he deals with the arrangements.

Spending a few days together, with Tommy finally opening up about his past, makes them both reevaluate things and share some truths.

**********

Buck stood staring at the inside of his full to the brim fridge wondering where hell he was going to put the latest offering, a six-layer chocolate cake.

It’s was fine. He’d take out the banana loaf and walnut cake and take them to the B-shift on his day off tomorrow. He was in the middle of trying to squeeze it into the fridge when a loud knock on the door came out of nowhere and he almost dropped it.

“God damnit!” He swore before putting it back down on the counter and walking to the door.

He opened it and every breath seemed to leave his body.

“T-Tommy.”

His heart swung like a pendulum between utter joy at seeing his face again and raging anger that he’d just shown up out of the blue.

He knew they’d run into each other eventually but figured it would be on the job. He thought he’d have more time to prepare for seeing those eyes again. Those same eyes that had looked into his whilst opening up his chest cavity and ripping out his heart by hand.

However, something was different about Tommy’s eyes. They weren’t the bright blue ones he was used to (and missed) seeing. They were dull and unfocused.

“What are you doing here?” He asked.

Tommy’s eyes took a few seconds to focus on Buck before he spoke. His voice was not one Buck had ever heard from him before. It wasn’t the deep, confident one that comforted him after a bad call or whispered beautiful commands into his ear when naked and tangled up together in bed.

It was meek and fragile; his tone giving away that even he himself was surprised by what he was about to say:

“My dad died.”

The half of Buck heart that still existed solely for Tommy, cracked. He stepped aside to allow Tommy to enter and he took a few slow steps into Bucks apartment. He stood almost perfectly in between the door and the kitchen island just staring ahead.

Buck had the fight the instinct to wrap his arms around him. He couldn’t do that. Not now. He didn’t have the right—he wasn’t Tommy’s boyfriend anymore.

“Are.. are you okay?” He asked instead, rounding the island and standing at the other end. Tommys eyes continued to stare forward, not meeting his.

“I don’t.. I don’t know. We hadn’t talked in.. 10 years. I..”

Tommy had occasionally mentioned vaguely that he didn’t talk to his dad; compared him to Gerrard once, but that was about it. Buck hadn’t want to pry so didn’t asked about him.

Buck was uncertain about asking the question; terrified he’d scare Tommy away. But he’d never seen Tommy like this in the entire time they were together.

His shoulders were slumped; arms hanging loosely by his side—hands not on his hips or in his pockets like he’d usually stand. He was every bit not the Tommy he’d knew.

“Do you.. do you want to talk about it?”

Tommy’s eyes finally focused on Bucks and he could see the shiny emotion glazed across the surface that Tommy was trying to keep at bay.

Tommy nodded silently.

“Okay.” Buck said softly. “You go and sit on the couch and I’ll make us some tea.” Tommy didn’t respond but did as Buck asked and aimlessly walked over to the couch.

Buck opened a cabinet and slid a few things aside until the box of double bergamot tea came into view. It was Tommy’s favourite and Buck hadn’t thrown it away. Truthfully, he hadn’t gotten rid of anything that belonged to Tommy. Not his toothbrush, not his protein bars and not his pretentious tea.

Getting rid of Tommy’s things, even if they were just stupid unimportant things like his favourite snacks, meant getting rid of Tommy. Buck wasn’t ready for that. Instead he shoved Tommys toothbrush into the bathroom cabinet, hid the protein bars in the back of his pantry and his tea behind cans of soup.

He placed two mugs of steaming tea onto the coffee table and took at seat on the opposite side of the couch.

“Thanks.” Tommy said quietly.

“Can.. can I ask what happened?” Buck asked.

“Uh, doctors think it was a heart attack. The kid that delivered his newspaper every morning called the police when he hadn’t picked it up from the yard yesterday.” Tommy told him.

“How did he know something was wrong that soon?”

Tommy let out a small laugh but it was cold and empty. “Because he knew my dad wouldn’t leave it out longer than a few minutes. You so much as bend a blade of his grass in the wrong direction and you’d know about it.”

Resentment oozed from the word “his”. Along with the weight of a story Buck wasn’t privy to.

“He was.. he was particular about his front yard?”

“He was particular about everything. Everything had to be perfect. The perfect yard in front of the perfect house with the perfect family inside. Superficially anyway. But behind that front door..” he shook his head a swallowed. “..it was hell.”

There were a thousand questions Buck had in his desperation to know more about Tommy. But none he felt comfortable asking. He wasn’t talking about past relationships or old jobs—he was talking about his childhood. One that, judging by Tommy’s tone and his body language, wasn’t one he spoken about much before. If ever.

Buck was still struck by the difference in Tommy’s presence. He was sat on Bucks couch with his hands in his lap; fingers picking at his nails. His posture wasn’t upright and confident, instead he was almost curled down into himself.

Tommy reached forward and held the mug of tea in both hands without taking a sip, as though he were trying to preoccupy his hands.

“When I a kid, like 6 or something, my dad got a job in this warehouse doing night shifts. I’d help my mom cook dinner. Mostly by badly stirring stuff. But it was the only time it got to be just me and her.” A somber smile flashed across his face at the memory. “One night, my dad came home early; had a fight with the Forman and got fired. He was angry as hell when he walked in but when he saw me helping mom..” He blew out a breath. “He yanked me to him by my collar and screamed in my face that.. that only fags and women cook. I.. I was 6–I didn’t know what that word meant, but I knew it was a bad thing.”

Buck’s heart broke at Tommy’s confession. He had his own issues with his parents but at worst they were emotionally neglectful— they were never intentionally cruel or abusive. He couldn’t imagine being in an environment like Tommy’s.

“That was his go to insult for everything that was remotely feminine, or he thought was feminine. Unless you cried. That got you beaten into silence.”

Buck instinctively reached out and placed a hand on Tommy’s forearm.

“They need me to, uh.. identify is body formally tomorrow.” Tommy said stopping to take a breath. “I know that I don’t have the right to ask anything of you, but-“

“What time do we need to be there?” Buck interrupted. It was a no brainer to him to go with Tommy.

His feelings for the man—including the anger—were still deeply situated inside of him, and simply being in Tommy’s presence made it feel as though his heart was in a vice. But he’d take that pain for Tommy’s sake, if it could provide him even the smallest amount of comfort.

“Are you sure?” He asked finally looking at Buck. “I you don’t have to..”

Without thinking he reached up and held Tommy’s face with his hand. “I want to.” He said softly. Tommy closed his eyes for a second, tilting his head into Bucks hand.

For a fraction of a moment it felt like before. Like neither of them had had their hearts broken. The familiar feeling of Tommy’s unshaven jaw in Bucks hand, and the comforting feeling of Bucks palm on Tommy’s face.

Tommy pulled away from Bucks had with an awkward cough.

“I said I’d meet the coroner at the hospital at 1 o’clock. So, we should leave around 8am.” He said.

“Okay.”

Tommy put his half empty mug on the coffee table and stood up. “Thanks for the tea. I should go home.”

“No!” Buck replied louder and quicker than he had anticipated.

“Buck.” Tommy argued and Buck swallowed away the pain at hearing Tommy call him that. “That’s not-.”

“I mean you can stay on the couch.” Tommy opened his mouth to argue but Buck carried on. “I just.. I don’t think it’s safe for you to drive like this.”

Tommy looked as though he wanted to argue but didn’t.

“Okay.” He eventually conceded.

“I-I’ll get you a blanket.” Buck said leaving for his bedroom.

He opened his linen closet and stood behind it for a second to take a few breaths. His heart had been racing since the moment Tommy knocked on the door. So many conflicting feelings were bouncing around in his head and heart he was in danger of spinning out.

Torn between wanting to scream in Tommys face, letting him know in gory and intimate detail how he’d destroyed Bucks heart when he unceremoniously dumped him in the middle of his kitchen and walked out, and also wanting to tell Tommy he still loved him and beg him to take him back.

He blew out a last heavy breath and pulled out a blanket and pillow before walking back down the stairs.

Tommy took it from him and noticed the tag still attached at one of the corners. “New blanket?”

“Oh. Sorry.” Buck pulled off the tag. “Yeah I, uh.. bought it after you stayed on the couch when I dislocated my shoulder. That old one barely covered you.” He huffed a small laugh.

Tommy looked as though he wanted to say something and Buck looked back in anticipation. Instead Tommy turned away to lay the pillow on the other end of the couch.

“If you need anything I’ll be upstairs.” Buck walked to the stairs and climbed the first step.

“Thank you, Evan.”

His heart flickered at hearing his name spoken again from Tommy’s mouth. “You’re welcome, Tommy.”

*

Bucks sleep was patchy at best.

Tommy fucking Kinard, the man who helped to unlock the door to a hidden galaxy of feelings within himself; his ex boyfriend; the man who tore his heart to pieces ventricle by ventricle; the man who his ventricle-less heart still searched for to find its natural rhythm, was laying 6 feet beneath him.

How was he supposed to sleep soundly with that?!

Around 6:30am he got out of bed, bleary-eyed, and crept downstairs as quietly as possible to shower. He hoped that the steaming hot water that cascaded over his body would also wash away the apprehension he was feeling.

It did not.

After getting out and drying off he opened the cabinet under the sink to retrieve Tommy’s stupidly expensive (in Buck’s humble opinion) shower gel, along with his shampoo and put them both back in the shower, then put his toothbrush back into the holder in front of the mirror.

They looked like they belonged there. They did belong there. His bathroom had somehow looked entirely different for the last month having only a couple of things removed and hidden away. Every time Buck entered the room, a room he’d entered probably thousands of times in the years he’d lived there, without Tommy’s possessions dotted around, it looked empty.

As quietly as a he could he left the bathroom and put on the coffee. He was going to need caffeine today. And carbs. Lots of carbs. He eyed up the banana loaf that was still on the counter from last night and decided it was the perfect breakfast.

Buck walked over to the couch to wake up Tommy but stopped for a moment to look at him. He was lying on his back, one leg straight, the other bent with just a slither of his bare knee poking out of the side of the blanket.

His face was slack; calm and devoid of any of the grief.

Beautiful.

“Tommy?” He said tapping his leg. He shifted in his position but didn’t wake. “Tommy?” Buck said a little louder.

“Mmm five’more m’nits baby.” He mumbled and god did that shoot what felt like another lightning bolt directly to Bucks heart.

“Tommy.” He said louder and gave his knee a rougher shake. Tommy’s eyes shot open and he leaned up quickly scanning his surroundings before his eyes met Bucks. His body relaxed a little when he realised where he was.

“Sorry.” Buck said quietly. “It’s almost 7. I thought you might want to have a shower and some coffee before we left.”

Tommy rubbed his eyes and blinked a few times in an attempt to wake himself as he sat up.

“Uh, thanks.”

“There’s coffee in the kitchen and fresh towels in the bathroom. Help yourself.” He said. And god did it feel weird.

Informing him of fresh towels and beverages like it was a fucking hotel. He hadn’t had to do that in so long. From the moment they started dating Tommy had slid into place in Bucks apartment as though he’d always been there. They’d move in sync around the place whilst getting ready for the day or winding down for bedtime.

Tommy knew where the towels were kept and the wash cloths. He knew which shelf Buck preferred to keep his milk and where he’d keep his extra stack of dish sponges. Extra pillows, batteries for the TV remote and the secret stash of ice cream in the back of the freezer Buck always denied the existence of—Tommy knew it all.

And now Buck was forced to treat him like a temporary guest.

Tommy sat up fully and stretched before removing the blanket. Of course the first thing Buck noticed was Tommy was only wearing boxers on his lower half. He knew Tommy didn’t like wearing sweats or pyjamas to bed and yet he hadn’t prepared his eyes to catch sight of him like this again.

He bit back a sound and quickly turned on his heels and made for his bedroom closet returning a minute later with clothes in his arms and hoping Tommy had had the sense to put his sweats back on.

He had thankfully.

Buck placed the clothes on the table. “Some fresh clothes.”

“You didn’t have to-“

“They’re, uh, yours.” Buck said feeling a flush of embarrassment slither through him.

“Oh.” Tommy said looking at the washed out jeans and navy hoodie that he knew would have “LAFD Harbor Station” logo on its breast. “I thought you’d have thrown them out.” He sounded surprised.

“I wouldn’t just throw them away—they belonged to you.” He walked over to the coffee pot; a sudden need to turn away from Tommy’s face. “I wasn’t ready to get rid of them yet.”

If Tommy wanted to say something, he kept it hidden. Buck poured two mugs of coffee and turned back to hand one to Tommy.

Without thinking Tommy walked to the fridge—something he always did before—to retrieve the milk.

“Jesus.” He said being suddenly face to face with some serious competition to the Great British Bake Off.”

Buck flushed with embarrassment once more. “Yeah, I-I’ve been baking.”

“I can see that.” Tommy replied not being able to look away from the baked goods.

“Uh, here.” Buck moved a few things out of the way to get to the milk that had been pushed to back.

His shoulder brushed up against Tommy’s and his stomach twisted at the familiar touch. He ached to stand there body to body; basking in Tommy’s familiar smell and warmth. Instead he moved away to shove a mouthful of banana bread into his mouth to distract himself.

“I’m gonna take that shower.” Tommy told him and disappeared into the bathroom.

*

The drive up to Tommy’s old town was mostly quiet. Buck had tried arguing that Tommy didn’t have to drive but he insisted. He’d asked about the 118 and Buck had told him what they’d be up to (aside from Maddie being pregnant), and how Denny was recovering. Buck had asked about Lucy and Melton and the others at the Harbor and Tommy had filled him in about Meltons anniversary and Lucy’s latest dating debacle.

They didn’t talk about them—as an ex couple or individually. Neither asked what the other had been up to or how each of them was and both seemed to be content with that for now. Just driving the open road towards Tommy’s past.

Buck wasn’t new to seeing a dead body; the sad reality of his job. But there was something entirely different about peering through a window in a hospital corridor and seeing someone lying still and pale on a gurney with a sheet draped up to the chest.

The clinical nature of the moment gave Buck an uncomfortable feeling. His eyes took in Thomas Kinard Sr’s features and he tried to connect them to Thomas Jr’s. He definitely had his father’s nose and those cheek bones were definitely from the Kinard family gene pool. Everything else he must have gotten from his mother. Bucks mind drifted to what she would look like.

He was pulled back to reality when Tommys hand grabbed onto his for stability.

“Yeah. Yeah that’s him. Thomas Kinard.”

After signing a few forms, the hospital were happy with Tommy’s formal identification and sent him on his way with information about a local funeral home and a clear plastic bag with his fathers wallet and keys inside that had been on his body when he was brought into the hospital.

25 minutes. That’s how long it took to walk into a hospital, identity your father’s dead body, sign some forms and walk out.

They got back into Tommys truck and he blew out a deep breath.

“You okay? That.. that was hard, I know.”

“Yeah. I’m.. I’m okay.” Tommy answered. Buck wasn’t sure whether to believe him. He seemed okay but Buck was well aware how good Tommy was at keeping things to himself.

“What do you want to do now?” Buck asked.

“I think.. I think I want to go home.”

“Okay. But I’m driving this time. And no argument, Tommy, you-“

“No.” Tommy interrupted. “My dad’s house.”

[breathlessasphyxia]

Tags: Boyfriend!Nanami x Academic Achiever Reader comfort, fluff, no beta, we die like sukuna

ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧

Your heart was palpitating with this heavy feeling that felt foreign to you; and in your clammy hands, your report card. Your eyes desperately scanned the paper for the nth time, hoping that by doing so, it will somehow change the written results.

So many things are going through your mind right now: Where did you mess up? Did you not put in enough effort? Was your performance this school year unsatisfactory? In the center of it all, the C in three if your subjects stood, emboldened.

Your head was so preoccupied that you failed to notice your lover's arrival. With a slumped head in hand, you struggled to maintain your composure; only wanting nothing more than to just embrace the feeling of solitude from your room and hope to every god in existence that your mother may never lay her eyes on your card.

Seeing your obviously distressed state and the familiar white paper in your hand–Kento knew something was up. Slowly, he approached your trembling form. And with a soft voice, he called out your name.

"love, what's wrong?"

Now, to others, you may look ungrateful or obnoxious to react so strongly to decent grades. And it may truly be a punch in the gut for the others who got lower results. But Kento knew you. He knows and he understands just how much you cared about your card results.

You went through countless sleepless nights, doing nothing but studying. Of course, Kento never took it personally. In fact, he was always so supportive of you! He would often buy you snacks, stay by your side and caress you softly until you finally fell asleep on his chest. So seeing you so disheartened truly broke him to pieces.

Just hearing his voice made you want to physically recoil. It should be illegal how much warmth his voice gave you. It was as if a switch had been pulled: like a lullaby was slowly coaxing your muscles to just let it go. With glossy eyes, you turned your head up to look at him.

There he was, hazel eyes filled with worry looked at you lovingly. He carefully placed his hand on your shoulder, testing the waters if you were comfortable with physical touch while being in such a vulnerable state.

And like always, his touch gave you almost instant relief. Like a hot bath that eased your aching body. You instinctively leaned closer against him, body seeking solace after such a stressful mental breakdown.

"it's just.." You paused. Your mind reeled once more, suddenly put out of focus by the sudden question: would he be disappointed? He would be. After all, he has helped you through so much and you can't even repay him with your grades? What if he gets angry at you? What if he b–

You were snapped out of your trance when a familiar pair of warm hands cupped your face, gently steering you to his direction.

"hey, hey, hey, you're fine–you're fine love. I'm here, tell me what's bothering you, hm?"

His eyes were just resonating with so much love and care. It was like someone hand sucker punched you in the guts, you back to your senses to get your shut together.

"I.. promise me that you won't be mad–dissapointed?"

"I have never felt those emotions towards you, and I am highly confident that I will never feel those emotions directed to you ever."

His thumb softly caressed the underside of your cheek, eyes focused and unwavering as it stared directly at you. Daring you to look if there is even one ounce of lie in his words; there's none.

With a shaky breath, you told him everything. From how you had always been a gifted child and how much your mother expected from you, but ever since you stepped into highschool, it was as if your frontal lobe slowly started deteriorating.

Kento listened. He had his full attention all on you, his hands gently clasping yours; his way of showing support. After you finished telling him your tale, a small smile formed on his lips.

ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧

Part Two:

This drabble was written on impulse because our card day got me actin like ts and I had no Nanami to comfort me XPP

[chockfullofsecrets]

Spiderverse: Smile Log

(Read on AO3)

Rating: Gen

Summary: “Okay, we got the time your baby kicked you in the face and you thought you’d broken your nose. Nice, classic slapstick.” “Lyla-” “And then that time an anomaly accidentally tickled him-” “Lyla, no-”

Peter B. asks an unexpected question and gets some information he really shouldn't have.

Wordcount: 1478

--

Oh, Miguel is fully aware of what the other Spiders think of him. Feral this, stick in the mud cabrón that - but for putting up with extended exposure to the Earth-616 version of Spider-Man for the six months that his little experimental society has existed? They should be calling him a shocking saint.

The Peter in question continues to hang off his shoulder, where he’s been since he swanned into the monitoring room ten whole minutes ago without an invitation. “-stay with me on this, I’m building to a point here - hello? Earth to Miguel?”

“What,” he snaps.

Peter pouts, an expression that he honestly didn’t think grown men were capable of until meeting this guy. “Did you hear anything I said?”

Easy. “No.”

And anyone who was, you know, sane, might take that as the insult he means it to be, but Peter just laughs and jostles his shoulder companionably. “You really are a grump sometimes, you know that? You gotta lighten up, you’re gonna give yourself a heart attack one of these days.”

“Tell me about it,” Lyla says from his other shoulder. She likes Peter, talks to him directly more than any of the other Spiders, and she’s programmed to gather information that she thinks he wants, which means - yeah, he’s going to go ahead and ignore the implications of that one.

Peter makes a thoughtful noise. Concerning. “Hey, Lyla, you’re around this guy twenty-four-seven, right - does he ever relax? When’s the last time he, I don’t know, smiled?”

Miguel expects a snarky reply, not Lyla’s glasses flashing opaque the way they do when she’s looking something up. “Hm, let me check. Pulling up a smile log…”

He’s focused on the latest multiverse model, like everyone else should be, so it takes him just a bit too long to realize that they’re ganging up on him. “Wait. Lyla, belay that-”

“Okay, we got the time your baby kicked you in the face and you thought you’d broken your nose. Nice, classic slapstick.”

“Lyla-”

“And then that time an anomaly accidentally tickled him-”

“Lyla, no-”

“And - aw, this one’s cute! - after a mission he helped a girl get her runaway balloon and she hugged him-”

“Lyla!” he snaps, slamming a fist onto his desk, and she finally stops. “Por dios, would you quit that? Why do you even remember that stuff, it’s a waste of storage space!”

She sticks her tongue out at him. “My data, my business.”

“Yeah, yeah, can’t you just run the scans like I asked you to and stop causing trouble?”

They keep bickering over the new extrapolation methods, and Peter -

Okay, look. Miguel doesn’t have a “spider sense” or whatever seems to warn the rest of the Spiders before anything happens, so he has to rely on his own judgment. And with Peter being around all the time, Miguel’s learned to more or less tune him out, figures it’s the only way he’s ever going to get any work done.

Which is more or less why he doesn’t notice that Peter’s still there until someone’s hands shove their way under Miguel’s arms and start tickling, because that’s when his brain decides to turn on the instant reactions. “Jammit - hAh-”

He clamps his arms down automatically, reeling backwards into Peter’s chest just in time for the attack to stop. “Wait - did you just laugh?” Peter demands. “Shit, I didn’t think that was actually going to work, do it again!”

Peter’s fingers start wriggling back into hypersensitive flesh, trapped in his armpits, and Miguel barely manages to keep his mouth shut as more embarrassing sounds start knocking loose inside his chest. Get away, he yells to himself, hit him, move, just fucking move - he can’t remember the last time his reflexes have been anything but overprotective, but right now every fiber of his body insists he has to stay exactly where his is because granting Peter’s hands even a millimetre more of freedom is going to be the death of him.

He refuses to think about the way his mouth is spasming at the corners entirely without his permission even as the rest of him locks in place. Lyla can record that one, if she wants. See if he cares, it doesn’t count. This is fine. All he has to do is stand here until Peter gets bored - the way he acts, the other man might not even know what an attention span is.

Peter sighs, proving his point. “I’m not asking for much, just one laugh,” he laments dramatically, though Miguel can hear the stupid big grin he gets in his voice. “Do I need to be more annoying? I can be more annoying.”

Miguel sincerely doubts it - at least, until Peter flips one hand around from where it’s pressed up against the top of his ribcage, locks onto his elbow, and starts trying to lever his right arm away from his body. “Geez, would you lay off with the triceps? I’m gonna give myself carpal tunnel over here.”

If Peter would just stop tickling for one shocking second, he’d tell him that he sincerely hopes his stupid fingers break off and die. Instead, he wraps his arms around himself in a motion that’s definitely defiant and not at all panicked, getting as far as opening his mouth before the part of his brain that’s being lit up by every twitch of sensation decides to take over. “Nngh - no, nohoho, mierda!”

His entire face burns red as strangled snorts of laughter keep leaking out of him, has to fold over and brace one of his hands against his jaw to regain any kind of dignity - not that it helps, with Peter changing his hold to adapt to even that small bit of movement and using it to finally pry his arm up.

It’s really, really not fair that the most irritating Spider-Man is one of the most competent ones too. Miguel’s pretty sure luck hates Spiders in general, but it seems to love messing with him in particular.

“You know,” Peter starts conversationally, like he’s not wrapped around Miguel and taking half his weight because he’s shaking too hard to do it himself. “I think this is gonna be a good experience for us. Like, ah, coworker bonding. What’d you say we do this every week until you figure out how to loosen up like a normal person?”

Miguel’s going to kick his ass. He’s going to take his watch and ban him from Nueva York in perpetuity, as soon as he can stand up again. Earth-616 has other superheroes, they’ll survive their Spider-Man losing an arm or two.

Peter dodges the frantic headbutts and kicks he attempts and laughs, light and easy - it makes Miguel feel even stupider, twisted up on himself in desperation to avoid just that. “Hey, if it doesn’t work with your schedule you could just say so! I’ll pencil you in for biweekly, then.”

Idiota. Culero. Miguel doesn’t know if he’s cursing himself or Peter out anymore. He’s properly trapped now, sandwiched up against his own desk with one of Peter’s hands keeping his arm pinned and the other wiggling threateningly over a defenseless armpit. “Well? You gonna say something, or do I have to go full supervillain? I do a great Doc Ock impression, let me tell you.”

Miguel painstakingly loosens his death grip on his own jaw and opens his mouth just enough to wheeze out a heartfelt declaration of his undying hatred. Coughs before he can start, his throat raw from attempting to keep his laughter contained. There’s a movement out of the corner of his eye, and he turns his head to find Peter looking down at him with something between amusement and genuine concern.

Fine. Fine. “Can you just. Stop. Before I pass out?”

Peter laughs again, landing firmly in amusement and on Miguel’s list of dimensional threats. “Yeah. Yeah, fine, I’ll let you off easy this time.” He lets go, hovering for a moment and then swooping back in to pull Miguel upright when he can’t quite manage it himself. “Okay, super ticklish and super repressed. I can work with that.”

“Don’t,” Miguel growls, leaning on Peter’s shoulder entirely against his own will as he starts to walk both of them out of the office. Where are they even going? The cafeteria? It’s only been-

Oh. He hasn’t eaten in twelve hours. No wonder Lyla had decided to mess with him. But Peter wouldn’t have known that.

“Nope, too late, I’m invested now. Wasn’t kidding about the biweekly thing, by the way.”

Lyla perks up from behind a screen. “I’ll put it on his calendar.”

“Oye, I’m locking you both out of the monitor room.”

The two of them start talking over his head, planning some kind of break in. Miguel turns his head away so Lyla won’t see him smile.

[fangaminghell]

Erin: Hey Flynn-

Flynn: ( jumps a little) O-oh! E-Erin! Hey!

Erin: ..... Actually, nevermind-

Flynn: Oh, no, wait wait wait- d-did you need something,I'm sorry-

Erin: Stop apologizing, you- ( sighs) You're still so jumpy around me. If you don't want to be around me, just say it.

Flynn: N-no! That's- that's not what's going on at all!

Erin: Then what? We've known each other since we were kids-

Flynn: A-and that's what makes it so weird!

Erin: .....What.

Flynn: Y-you can't tell me all of this is weird, right? We- we used t-to just exist a-around each other! W-we never really talked o-or anything or really knew each other and-

Flynn: A-and now we're in this new space where we- we a-aren't the same a-as we used to be you know? E-everything has c-changed so quickly...I'm still reeling....

Erin: .....

Erin: ( turns away) So you want to go back to how things were. Is that what you're saying?

Flynn: .....I don't know. Being brave....is so hard. E-even now but- ( she takes a deep breath) I-I want to be a person who can at least try to be! S-so.....so!

Flynn: ( takes a step toward, taking Erin's hand) I want to get to know you, Erin!

Erin: ?!

Flynn: I-I always thought that- that being your friend was just some far off dream.

Erin: ....You really thought that?

Flynn: Y-yeah! Y-you were always so cool....a-and a little scary but....you were still always there. I-I would imagine t-talking to you, b-but never had the courage too.

Erin: ( shrugs) Eh. No offense, but I doubt I'd let you in, back then ( looks down at her hand in Flynn's) ......You really want to know me?

Flynn: ( nods, eyes brimming with determination) Y-yes!

Erin: .....Heh.( takes Flynn's hand, and grips it a little tighter. She smiles a little) The name's Erin. Nice to meet you.

Flynn: ( smiles with confidence that she thought would never exist) My name is Flynn! I hope we get along well!

[recoveringdreamer]

TIMING: current LOCATION: felix's boiler room PARTIES: @mayihaveyournameplease & @recoveringdreamer SUMMARY: felix gets a visit from their good friend beau in the boiler room. things go about as well as one might assume. CONTENT WARNINGS: none!

Beau had really taken to watching Felix fight. He got an intense pleasure watching the cat whose little claws had torn up his abdomen take a beating. Felix’s sad little eyes made it so much better. Suffer little kitty, Beau would laugh sitting in the very important people section of the fight. That’s right, he’d started betting real big money. After all, all the money he had wasn’t from his stash. It was from a collection of names stolen. He could spend as much money at the pit as he wanted without losing a thing. Anything to become an important player in little Felix’s life. Eventually, the rumor hit his ears that Felix was living in the boiler room. Beau had to check it out. 

“Hello my little pussy,” Beau said in way of greeting as he pushed past Felix and entered the boiler room. It was way more depressing in there than anything he could have dreamed off. Beau let out a reeling giggle. “Oh, my bestie, I know I haven’t seen you in a while. You understand. I’ve been scared since you almost killed me. That was traumatic, wasn’t it, Felix? All I’ve ever wanted was to be your friend and you tried to kill me.” He was laying it on thick, but Felix was thicker. It was probably all the blows to the head the cat had taken. “But I heard you got a new place and I just knew I had to come see my wittle witten.” 

—

When they’d had an apartment to go home to, it had been easy to separate Felix from Wildcat. Wildcat existed within the walls of the Grit Pit. Wildcat was an animal on a leash, meant to be ordered and paraded around. Felix lived in an apartment. Felix went home at night and sat with their cat and watched movies with their roommate. It had been easy to build a wall between the two entities then, to pretend that they were different even if the blood Wildcat spilled still got stuck under Felix’s fingernails. They existed in different places. That made it easier.

It wasn’t easy anymore. Now, Felix and Wildcat shared the same space. Wildcat finished in the ring, and Felix didn’t leave the building. They returned to the boiler room and they stared at the same walls that held the animal on the leash and they wondered if the chain was ever really removed from around their throat. They stood in the doorway of the boiler room for… they weren’t sure how long. It didn’t matter much, anyway. The doorway, the mattress on the floor, the sink in the corner, it was all the Grit Pit. It was all a cage.

A voice from behind them shook them from their thoughts, a force pushing past them and into the boiler room. Seeing Beau always filled Felix with… complicated emotions. It wasn’t fair to feel uncomfortable around him, and they knew it. Beau had never been anything but nice to them, even after Felix’s claws tore through his stomach. Still, the discomfort swirled as he entered the boiler room, and the guilt swirled right alongside it. “Hey, Beau,” they said quietly, trying to stifle it. They didn’t want Beau in the boiler room, but only because they didn’t want anyone in the boiler room. “I — I’m so —” Sorry. How many times had they said it now? It would never be enough. They knew that. “Um, it’s not really… I mean, clearly… It’s not a great place for… visitors.”

—

Beau blinked his big beautiful eyes at Felix as his kitten tried to talk. Of course, the disappointment couldn’t manage another apology. It really was failure after failure with this one. Beau was truly so benevolent for allowing Felix the pleasure of his company. The cat would probably be so lonely without him. “I’m just a visitor?” Beau put the pout on. It was a big pout. It really played to Beau being the victim, after all, wasn’t he? The victim of Felix’s brutal attack. The victim of his name being stolen. The victim of multiple fae women who broke his heart. “I thought I was more to you than just a visitor.” 

Beau let his eyes roam around the room. “Felix. You don’t have a bed frame.” Beau lowered his voice as if the boiler would care what they had to say. “Felix, you can’t get bitches if you don’t have a bed frame. They’ll make fun of you.” His eyes roamed up and down their body, as if they weren’t more jacked than Beau’s photoshopped profile picture. “That’s really sad, Felix.” He reached out a hand as if he was about to place a comforting palm on Felix’s arm. Beau changed his mind. He made a disgusted face before wiping his hand on a handkerchief he pulled out of his pocket. Despite the fact he never touched anything. “So, tell me about the new digs.” He stopped in front of the most horrific painting he’d ever seen. “A monster? You like monster art?” That was weird, and it gave him the strangest vibes that whoever painted this would have hated him. “You should throw that out.” 

—

Guilt ate through Felix’s gut like acid, burning through their stomach to the point that they were sure there must be a hole in their flesh somewhere. They didn’t want to make Beau feel bad, but… Well, it was a really bad time, wasn’t it? This was the least convenient time for visitors, even without the boiler room of it all. Felix shifted their weight, swallowing. “No, of course you’re more than that. You’re my friend, in fact. And — and you were attacked. I feel bad about that.” This was going poorly. It always seemed to go poorly with Beau, no matter how much Felix tried to salvage things. You couldn’t un-claw someone’s gut into pieces, could you? 

They swallowed as Beau inspected the space, already knowing it wouldn’t be up to his standards. It wasn’t even up to Felix’s standards, and Felix’s standards were pretty low. “I know,” they said, chewing their lip uncomfortably. “There’s… not a lot I can do about it, though.” They didn’t comment on Beau’s concern for their ability to get ‘bitches.’ Felix didn’t really like calling people bitches, but they worried Beau would be upset if they said so. And, beyond that, they weren’t really looking to hook up with anyone. They watched Beau wander around the room instead, pausing when he came to the painting Thea’s friend had gifted Felix. “Oh, um… someone gave it to me, so I thought I should put it where people could see.” The painting was a little creepy, but Felix was so touched that a stranger had gifted him her art — her art, that she made! — that they couldn’t fathom the idea of not displaying it.

—

There was something strange about the way Felix was talking. Something at the tip of Beau’s pointed ears. Something his long gangly unglamoured fingers might have been able to point out, but not his glamoured fingers. It made his horns twitch. What was wrong with the way Felix was speaking? “Best friend.” Beau corrected. It wasn’t a lie, because Beau was the best friend Felix had. No one else in Felix’s life could possibly compete. Look at how they lived. In a boiler room. They were lucky Beau would even talk to them. “Felix, can I be honest? I’m going to be honest. It’s so cute that you’re so passionate about your job that you never want to leave. But this is weird. This isn’t helping me with the idea that you’re a serial killer. The only reason you probably haven’t killed me is because you promised to do anything I asked. You remember you promised that right, very thoughtful. Good promise.” 

“Anyway, the first thing you could do is get a bed frame. It’ll give you a chance at getting bitches, and I think you deserve some bitches, Felix. You’re….” Beau tilted his head while once again elevator-eyeing Felix. “Passable. After that you should paint. Maybe not blue. That would just remind everyone how sad you are. Which is…sad.” Beau was being so helpful. He was going to treat himself to something nice tonight. Being charitable might become one of his passions. “Get better art. Better yourself. Then it’ll be… passable in here. Oh. And a place to sit. It’s rude that you’re making me stand.” Beau started rubbing his abdomen, that way he could imply with his next statement that it had to do with the attack. He would have said it out loud if it wasn’t a lie. “I get pain, sometimes, you know.”

—

Felix nodded, because if Beau wanted to be their best friend, they probably owed it to them to do so. They had other people who, if they were being brutally honest, they might like a little more. Thea was nicer, Mona understood them a little better, Anita stood up for them. But Felix hadn’t dragged their claws through any of them, and that meant Beau probably had to take priority. “Yeah, I remember. Of course I do. But even without that, Beau, I wouldn’t kill you. I’m not a serial killer. They just… want me to stick around more, because I guess I’m a heavy hitter.” It felt wrong to say. A lot of what Felix was saying now felt wrong, but they didn’t really know how to stop talking. Beau probably wouldn’t like the silence much, anyway.

They watched as he continued to circle around the small space, offering a small smile as he referred to them as ‘passable.’ It was forced, but they thought they probably owed him at least some acknowledgment of the compliment. “I have been trying,” they said, a little defensive. “It’s just… I mean, what you’re implying…” They trailed off, not sure how to finish. It didn’t matter. Guilt washed over them again as Beau admitted that he still hurt, where Felix had gotten him with their claws. “You’re right. Let me find you a seat — I’m not being very polite.” They scrambled, nearly knocking the orange egg thing they’d bought from Leila off the boiler with how quickly they moved behind it to grab the flimsy wooden chair they’d dragged in from outside. “Um, here you go! If you need anything else, just… let me know.”

—

Felix was spouting some nonsense about being a heavy hitter. What did heavy hitting have to do with living in the Grit Pit boiler room? Beau wished Felix would make sense. Beau did so much to go out of his way and be there for this little weirdo, and Felix couldn’t extend the effort to be better? Be more? Beau let out a long-suffering sigh. “Okay, but serial killers live like this Felix. Look around. This place is the home of a serial killer.” Beau’s arm gestures flew everywhere. There were too many things to point at to prove his point. “You probably have dead bodies in the wall. That would explain the smell.” 

“You haven’t been.” Beau agreed. At least Felix was finally starting to think. Felix really was a pet. In need of constant attention and direction to get anything done. How did Felix get anything done without their best Beau hold their hand? “You must have been so lonely since I’ve been gone. I’ll admit it. I was struggling with seeing you. I’m a little less scared of you. I can help you more. Like with this.” Beau grabbed at the ugliest orange egg he’d ever seen in his life. “You almost knocked this over. That would have done a number. Is this your grandma’s remains? It’s ugly, it probably gives her afterpains.” Beau carefully put the egg back, sitting down in the chair finally offered to him. “Do you have anything to drink? You don’t even have a sink.” 

—

“Oh, come on, I don’t know about that. This place isn’t really serial killers, Beau, it’s, like… combat.” Wasn’t that what you’d call the Grit Pit’s goings-on? The matches in the ring, the back and forth between two fighters… Combat was probably the best word for it, really. Felix didn’t want to think about whether or not serial killer might be similarly applicable, didn’t want to live in a world where that word might encompass them. The idea of dead bodies in the wall made them shrink back, discomfort clawing at their gut. But that was deserved, too, wasn’t it? After all, no amount of discomfort could ever claw them as thoroughly as their jaguar had clawed Beau. 

They tried to attend to what they thought Beau might need as he spoke, the guilt crawling up their spine as they hastily grabbed a bottle of water from the mini fridge they’d stuffed into the corner near the only available outlet in the room, offering it to him. With their back turned, they didn’t see Beau pick up the egg. When they turned to find him holding it, they felt a sense of unease they couldn’t explain. “I got it at a thrift shop,” they said, trying to entice Beau to trade the egg for the bottle of water. “I think it’s some kind of prop? I’ve been trying to brighten up the place. But… I know it’s still kind of a disgrace.”

—

Beau delighted in Felix’s uncomfort. They shrunk back, a kicked kitten. Beau held all the power between them, and that was the only reason Felix had anything interesting to offer. Well, they had their name. But Felix was a dumb name. It reminded Beau of that old black cat cartoon. Huh. Dots were connecting. Felix’s parents must have known how pathetic they were going to be when they named Felix after that cat. Beau crossed his legs in the chair, looking primly at Felix. A king in his peasants domain. Wasn’t he gracious? Wasn’t he kind? “Violence is for serial killers, it’s in all the thrillers. Combat in the grit pit is just the first bit. Cause you’re always clawing while the crowd is applauding at all of your brawling and when you go sprawling so soon you’ll start crawling your way into marauding and honestly it's appalling. That’s serial killer behavior.” Beau had meant to stop the statement there, but he couldn’t, just couldn’t let that be the last word. “And that’s a bad flavor.”

Suddenly Felix was desperate to be a good host. They waved a bottle in front of him, trying to get Beau to hand over a thrifted egg. “It’s hideous, you’re so oblivious. I’m trying to help, this thing would get a one on yelp.” Beau tossed the egg at Felix, without a care if their cat-like reflexes were good enough to catch the flying orange disgrace. “I don’t know why you persist, when I’m trying to assist.” Beau said mournfully. He liked the sound of his own voice, there was something especially pleasing about it today. “You’ll want to trash it or maybe smash it.”

—

Everything Beau was saying was the truth, and Felix knew it. In a way, it was almost a relief. So many people made excuses for the things they did in the Grit Pit, assured them that it wasn’t their fault or that they were a good person despite. Wasn’t it better to have someone be honest? Beau was a good friend, wasn’t he? Refusing to lie to them, refusing to enable them. Felix should be grateful towards them for their honesty. No one was ever honest with them anymore, if they ever had been at all. It stung, but that was okay. That was just how the truth was, sometimes. 

They swallowed as Beau continued to grip the egg, fumbling when he tossed it towards them. They managed to catch it before it hit the ground, and they thought that was a good thing. They wouldn’t want the egg to shatter, even if they didn’t think it was the best decorative piece they’d picked up. “I’m sorry, Beau,” they sighed, placing the egg carefully on a shelf where it could look down upon the dingy room. “You’re a good friend, I know. I’ve been having a hard time lately, but I appreciate you greatly.” They kept staring at the egg, watching Beau’s reflection in it rather than looking at him directly. It was easier that way, sometimes. “I don’t want to break it, though. I spent money on it, you know? And… it must have been important to someone, once. The least I could do is hold onto it for a couple of months.”

—

That was it! Felix was rhyming. And it was annoying. Beau had to refrain from rolling his eyes in the most exaggerated and painful motion. He really was rising above. God what a pretentious little freak to start rhyming. With a serious face? “You think you’re all that, but you’re just a wet cat.” The words slipped out. Which was really quite rude because Felix had just called Beau a good friend, while apologizing. God. It was hard rising above. But his voice was really nice today. It felt like everything that came out of his mouth was meaningful, and held weight. Beau always liked the way he sounded, vain little creature that he was, but right now he felt better than ever. 

Beau braced himself trying to find the right words to fix this, while not lying. Damn the fae curse of words. “Listen, Felix, what if it’s like a phoenix. Put it in motion and once it’s broken maybe the commotion will make it open and then that devotion to that ugly token will be frozen. You could move on to something improved on. Just like this hard time could become a fun time. It’s all in the mindset as long as you reset and don’t let this orange egg control your legs.” Beau nodded. Hands on hips, smile plastered to his face. This was surely enough amazing advice to get Felix back on their feet, and make them forgive him for his little slip of the tongue. But really, if they didn’t want to be insulted they shouldn’t be such a pathetic wet cat. 

—

Felix flinched again at Beau’s statement, wanting desperately to protest. They didn’t think they were all that. They knew exactly what they were and how little they were worth. But it seemed rude to argue with Beau, too, so Felix did what they did best and shrunk into themself just a little more, made themself smaller and smaller. “I… I didn’t mean to,” they said quietly, though they really weren’t sure what they were apologizing for anymore. And wasn’t that, too, a sign of how shitty they really were? A better person would at least know what they’d done wrong, would recognize it. “I wasn’t trying to… upset you.” 

Still, they didn’t want to break the egg. It seemed rude to toss something against the concrete floor of the boiler room just to do it, seemed unkind to break something on the off chance that it might turn into something a little more useful to you. Felix didn’t like the idea of it, and they shook their head quickly. “I just don’t think it’s necessary,” they said. “Phoenixes are kind of legendary. I’ve never heard of one coming from something like this. And, you know, I think we’d be able to tell if something like that was amiss.”

—

“It’s fine,” Beau said it with his smile. “That wasn’t very kind, but I just had to speak my mind.” Beau slapped his hands against his pants, a gesture that said, and that’s done and everything is all well and good. At least now Felix knew the truth about themselves, and wasn’t the kindest thing that Beau could have done? Beau had come here and bestowed so much upon them. The truth about their horrible living situation, the truth about the kind of person they were, and most importantly the truth about that ugly orange egg. 

And after everything. After all the thoughtful advice, the truth, the forgiveness for what they had done, Felix still didn’t listen to Beau. And that hurt. This world was full of people who overlooked Beau. Because he was short. Because he worked for the BMV. Because he wasn’t cool enough to hang out with them at the lake on skip school day at the aos sí because ‘to be honest Beau, you’re weird and everyone thinks it’s uncomfortable when you hang out with us.’ What had he ever done to those little kids? Beau sat imitating the boiler, steam coming out of his ears with anger. “Well. I think we can both agree this didn’t go swell. Maybe I walked on shells too long around you as well. I should have known that was a hard sell. Now all I have to say is farewell.”  

—

Beau didn’t seem angry, but Felix didn’t unshrink, didn’t look any less apologetic. They remained quiet, remained uncertain, remained sorry. They weren’t sure there was any hope of ever really making things up to Beau. After all, how could you apologize for something that happened when you weren’t yourself and mean it? How could you say sorry for a thing knowing, without a doubt, that you’d do it over again in the same situation? Beau deserved more than something so empty, and Felix knew it. But they didn’t have anything more to give him, didn’t have any way of making things right. So, the silence hung over them, thick and heavy. They hated the way it tasted.

Like a switch was flipped, Beau was angry again and Felix made themself smaller to get away from it. He didn’t raise his voice, at least, and there was some relief in that. Every time a man raised his voice, Felix was a teenager again, or they were in the apartment they’d shared with Leo. And it was unfair to assign either of those identities to Beau, who had never done anything to Felix at all. “I’m really sorry about everything,” Felix said, sounding as small as they felt. “Um, I can swing by the BMV with lunch sometime soon if you want to tell me what to bring?” We’re still friends, right? They wanted to ask, but the words felt stuck. They wrung their hands together, looking at the floor. “I’ll see you around, okay? You don’t have to stay.”

—

Beau was doing public service by making sure this sniveling cat had a friend, and someone to talk to. Beau was really good at being kind, and the reward for that was Beau got to feel proud of himself, but it was hard when Felix wouldn’t listen to him. It was hard to not yell louder to make his voice become heard clearly. Beau’s cheeks burned from the forced smile he was bestowing upon them. “It’s fine. We’ll dine.” Beau let out a hefty sigh. Of course Felix was asking him what he wanted. Because Felix wasn’t capable of making decisions for themselves. That was cute, kinda, but also annoying. It was like, get a clue? You’re an adult. Grow up. Do something good and stop wasting space. Beau forced his smile even wider. “You’re so kind, I don’t mind what you decide will be fine.”

It was true that Beau didn’t have to stay. The boiler room was stuffy, Felix wouldn’t stop talking in rhymes, and Beau was just generally annoyed by the lack of reception all his great advice was getting. Wasn’t he eloquent? When he spoke, shouldn’t the world turn its spot lights on him and praise him for his brilliance? “Yeah, yeah, I’m aware. You don’t want me in your lair, I’ll go get some air. I’ll go ahead and get out of your hair.” Was it never enough that Beau just wanted to help? He knew exactly how everyone should live their lives around him, and every time they didn’t listen. Beau had to fight tooth and nail just for Felix to acknowledge him as their best friend, and the best BMV employee. Another day, another disappointment. Beau left, without so much as a backwards glance. The sad part was, Beau knew, he wasn’t done trying to help Felix. The cycle would repeat, and Beau would always be the poor sad victim. The abused and ignored guy who tried his hardest. Wasn’t that just tragic? 

—

Maybe all wasn’t lost after all. Beau, at least, seemed open to the idea of having lunch sometime, and wasn’t that all Felix could ask for? Wasn’t that more than they deserved, after all the trouble they’d caused him? They’d tried to take a chunk out of his midsection while shifted; to say Beau owed them nothing was a massive understatement, wasn’t it? But here he was, letting Felix meet him for lunch. So why was Felix always so uneasy around him? What was that faint prickling that made the hairs on the back of their neck stand up straight? They couldn’t put their finger on it, couldn’t quite figure it out. They didn’t think it was fair. They knew it wasn’t kind. “I’ll come by sometime,” they said with a small smile. “It’ll be sublime.”

Did Felix ever say the right thing? They offered to let Beau leave, but maybe he’d wanted to stay. Maybe he felt like they’d kicked him out, maybe his feelings were hurt. Guilt swirled in the balam’s chest, and they wanted to take it back. They wanted to ask him to stay, but wouldn’t he know they were only trying to mend what they’d dented? Wouldn’t that be an insult, too? “I’ll see you soon,” he said. “We’ll make it an afternoon! We can go to the park. Hang out until dark!” But as Beau disappeared, they wondered if they were offering too little. They sat in the stillness of the boiler room for a moment, swallowing around the lump in their throat.

Then, after a moment, they spoke to the empty room: “Wait, was he rhyming?” 

[thehubby]

If you still have the opportunity, go see Godzilla Minus One in the theaters. Right now, most theaters are playing it are showing the Minus Color version of the movie, which is an added bonus. Reasons you should see this:

• It's a good movie. This isn't just a good Godzilla movie, it's a good movie overall. You could swap Godzilla out with an invading army, a natural disaster, or some other sort of applicable crisis and it would still be good watching. There's a real plot here with real people who have real problems outside of just a big monster. They are often flawed, especially our protagonist (who demonstrates PTSD in an uncomfortably believable way), but they're trying and they are generally likable. I wanted almost every human in King of the Monsters to die; they were that stupid and arrogant and unrelatable that it made humanity seem like it deserved extinction. Here, you want the characters to overcome their own problems -- and not all of them do. It's not a perfect plot, and I think the movie fumbles the ball at literally the very end, but it's a good story, and for a giant monster movie? This is a great story.

• Godzilla is terrifying. This may be the scariest Godzilla we've ever seen. Even if he's not as bizarre as Shin Godzilla or possibly not as strong as the Godzilla of the Monsterverse, his presence and strength compared to the world he exists in is overwhelming. Remember the opening of Evangelion with the third angel, Sachiel, an unstoppable, incomprehensible force attacking Tokyo-3, a city built to fight its kind with Evangelions in reserve and a confident military? Remember how that went? (It went very badly.) Now imagine that a creature like it instead attacks a Japan still reeling from its defeat during World War II, with a neutered military and a public with no shelters to flee to, no safety protocols. This Godzilla is massive, strong, resilient, and its breath weapon literally causes miniature atomic explosions to occur. In many Godzilla movies of the past 30-40 years, people are scared of Godzilla, sure, but here they are panicked, with good reason.

• The filmmakers understand less is more. Remember when Jedi were cool because they were rare and mysterious, and lightsabers only came out when stuff was really about to go down? Or how in the first movie Jaws only showed up occasionally and that's when it hit the fan? That's how it is here. Unlike in recent times, Godzilla is only a small portion of the film, an occasional force of nature that shows up, wrecks house and is then driven off or leaves. You don't get a chance to become tired of him or inured to his presence as a result. This sets up a palpable tension as you have no idea when Godzilla will next appear, and I admit I was somewhat false-started a few times from a thudding sound in the theater next to me that I thought could have been it approaching.

• It's practical and understandable. Modern Godzilla movies often use pseudo-futuristic technology like genetic cross-manipulation of alien species, cybernetic mind-transplanation, vocal analysis replication, oxygen destroyer bombs and other such nonsense to fight the giant monsters. The people of post-WWII Japan use real equipment and techniques to battle -- conventional weapons like guns and bombs, known gases like freon and carbon dioxide, underwater speakers. They use human ingenuity to form tactics that match the known science of the time and seem like rational leaps to make. They don't know if it's going to work! They are just desperate. The ships and planes featured are authentic and real. The suspension of disbelief is very easy to achieve here, which only accentuates how scary it would be to fight Godzilla when you don't have, like, military grade nuclear powered lasers or something.

• The Minus Color version looks astounding. Don't get me wrong, the color version looks great too (although like most modern kaiju movies, the color especially during energy and breath attacks is oversaturated), but they really put in an extra effort to give it the feel of the early black and white Godzilla movies. The resolution is toned down ever so slightly instead of the crispness of 4k; the light and dark contrast is balanced properly. You get more clarity into what you're watching and the subdued tones really match the despair and fear that people are going through. It really feels like, if we filmed the very first Godzilla movie in 1954 with modern cinematic techniques and CGI but black and white film, this is what we would have ended up with.

Ultimately, this is easily my favorite Godzilla reboot, and probably my favorite Godzilla movie. The original Godzilla of 1954 has a special place in my heart, and just as people should still appreciate Pac-Man even though Ms. Pac-Man made it obsolete, we should still appreciate that first movie. I just think this is, frankly, better in just about every way (although they deviate from the original creature design in a couple ways I'm not thrilled on). If you must have monster-on-monster action, then either Destroy All Monsters from 1968 or King of the Monsters from 2019 are what you're looking for, but you'll have to sit through ridiculous plots (and sometimes infuriating people) in both cases to get your fix. I'll hope for a sequel from these folks.

[nepheia]

05 ∙ bonus: whenceforth do the night walkers go? screens as a means of travel

[ ✼ part 5 of the self is not me, but us series ]

confessions of a night walker really stood out to me on first listen because a) it's xz's gorgeous, tinkling voice; b) i love night walks!; c) i could look at it through an academic lens.

so, as a nerdy little bonus before we move on...

the song reads at first like a wistful critique of modern society: we've become creatures of connection, largely through the feedback loops (SEE, IT'S HERE TOO) on our screens. there is an almost perverse beauty to the fact that the internet never sleeps, that you only need to reach out and there will be a community somewhere to be a part of. but at what cost — and is this a husk of what human connection should be?

❝ drawing oxygen from the wireless network ❞

❝ those who walk at night never turn off their lights allowing the night to be completely resplendent ❞

�� a sacrifice for loneliness a complement for darkness looking for someone who is the same ❞

as if on cue, my media theory major reared her ugly head and asked: if 夜行人 literally means someone who goes around at night — fellow travellers at night — then isn't there a fun contrast between physical travel and the imagined travel through a screen?

margaret morse talks about this in one of my favourite media theories ever: the ontologies of everyday distraction.

the theory mostly explores the concept of imagined mobility (the feeling of travelling even if you're not) and re-imagining mobility (challenging the notion that travelling must be a physical movement of the body). she says these three things are all mediums of travel: the freeway (i.e. the roads), the mall, and the television.

everyone knows freeways take you to places physically, a stretch of road longer than most others to evoke satisfaction for having travelled a long way.

but the mall — or in this case, "online shopping with more abandon" — brings places to you. the infinite products available for sale makes your little shopping app this utopia of consumption, a litany of the world's offerings in your palm. you no longer have to be in the same place as the thing you want to buy: you can buy japanese matcha from your local department store in sydney, or from your too-small apartment in new york.

this shopping experience is similar to the 'travel' you get from screens — the television, the phone, the computer. 

even after you retreat back into the private space of your home, your screens give you the ability to 'interact' with things outside the home: commodities, people, stories that belong to others (film, news, etc). this has been the case for all screens — even dating back to the radio/newspapers, really — where they have always been a way of escapism. filling the human void for new sensations, a curious hunger for things you would otherwise never be able to see.

❝ treat the unfamiliar with sincerity treat the familiar with cruelty ❞

we do this because we're all constantly looking for something new to ✨ Spark Joy ✨. we tire of the same things too quickly, our attention spans shorter and shorter, flicking through reels and pictures and channels on the hunt for something to satiate our desire for the new.

❝ the further the distance the more complete a person ❞

the mall and the television (and our screens now) all acquaint people with this imagined mobility: going places in our minds even though we aren't going anywhere physically. it taps into the same part of our brain that finds satisfaction — or at least fascination — in learning about world news, because it makes us seem well-read or well-travelled.

⎯⎯ ୨୧ ⎯⎯

OKAY ENOUGH CHELS what does this have to do with xz or this album?!?!?!?!

the overall theme of the album, and a focal point of drifting especially, is that we exist at the intersection between two realms. whether that's dreams vs. reality, the singular self vs. the plural self, or inner sphere vs. outer world, every single song has touched on this in some way or the other.

and i found it an interesting parallel with morse's conclusion in the book: that "everyday distraction" doesn't mean that a singular realm is being interrupted. just because your screens give you access to the public sphere while you're at home doesn't make your home any less private. it just means that we're capable of inhabiting multiple realms at once.

xz's multiplicity of the self, right?

consider also: the fact that xz's profession revolves around being seen on screen(s). every time he steps onto a stage or into a role, he exists at the intersection of two spaces: the world of the character he's trying to play, and how little or how much of himself he should be bringing to the portrayal.

consider also 2.0: he's said before that being an actor enables him to live entirely different lives and experience things he would otherwise never be able to experience as xiao zhan. oh hey, isn't that imagined mobility? :)

sorry im a big nerd i will shut up now

for readers who aren't interested in the cp portion of this analysis, this is a great place to turn back! thank you for reading this far, and i hope you enjoyed the stay ♡

⋆

←  prev ┊ part 4: why i say this album is xiao zhan in a bottle →  next ┊ part 6: the elephant in the room: reading this album as a cpf

[dirtyoldmanhole]

so i started reading the Fates manga late last night after learning it exists, and this was the best decision ever for characterization/meta learning, omg.

tl;dr of the manga is it's a take on Revelations' story, but from Leo's perspective, so a lot of the early material is much-needed worldbuilding on Nohr social life.

leo is genuinely cool. dude. i want to write that guy now. literal only shota protagonist i like, since his guile is refreshing, and so so much less annoying than corrin's naivety. he's got his heart in the right place but boy does that guy know crystal clear what it takes to survive. seeing how he works with niles is so refreshing.

it's so pretty. i'm shallow enough as an artist i need some top-tier art to reel me into manga. i love how it communicates so much of the body language and the harshness of Nohr life without even needing many words (the cold dark spires in the gloom, empty corridors with many hostile eyes, jumping to orders b/c there's an executioners axe right behind it )-- the contrast between the scarcity (physical and emotional) versus everyone trying to be upbeat and chipper is upsettingly well done here.

also seeing how like - cloistered? dystopian? Nohr life is with class differences. you only see the caretakers (jakob/felicia/fiora/gunter) once or twice and always on the margins. (man, no wonder gunter is genuinely shocked if/when femui hits on him. so much of this manga is retroactively making me go 'ooooooooh..... that's why (random character) was like That.' there's a heavy militaristic/authoritarian tone/contrast that i cannot wait to start really weaving into these fics. especially with gunter being an embodiment of that old order.)

jokingly, i'm not saying nohr is fashkink coded, but -

i've been talking with @damoselcastel about Marx and how he reads so different than the EN Xander in the base Fates script itself, and i LOVE how the Fates manga clearly takes after the JP characterizations, and how shell-shocked he still is from the concubine wars. you definitely get the sense the other nohr sibs don't quite trust him because everyone knows he will be their executioner if they step out of line.

See, after rereading all of gunter's fates (conquest) scripts + support last night a bunch of times before picking this up, it always felt so disjointed. the JP<>EN difference didn't help but it felt like he was several characters in one, from the strict disciplinarian of femui's upbringing, to what i'm calling "off the clock" relaxed gunter with her supports. i couldn't bridge the tonal clash those two, but now -

(this is helping me write that decidedly tasteless nsfw spanking fic with him and young!femui - because now i understand that streak of barely hidden resentment he has towards her between the class angle and his backstory with Garon, and how it'd be ripe for some nasty sexual undertones (that i am totally taking advantage of b/c i m trashy l m a o )

and yet, yet - i'm building a headcanon that when he fell down into the bottomless canyon he had a.... not a change of heart, per se, but after talking to azura, something close to like the only honest conversation he's had given his near death experience. about what he's fighting (and living for) and comes back with priorities rearranged.

also this is really hammering home how uncomfortably naive corrin is. i thought a few of her quirks in the EN fates script was just, classic cringy JRPG 'i fwight for mah fwiendsss' writing, but, sheesh, i don't even have to age her down for that sort of jarringly 'wow, damn you have no life experience with social politics and this is going to hit in some interesting ways w/this ship' vibe.

like the only scene gunter has in the manga he briskly approaches Marx while escorting femui back to krakengard, and starts talking (logistics of oncoming famines etc), and everyone else shushes both of them because "it isn't appropriate to mention such nasty things in front of femui! ^w^;;;" like, whew, there's a lot of emotional mileage for playing with neglect, how lack of transparency can lead to all kinds of abuse, how, almost, cripplingly reliant the nohr sibs are on their underclass of retainers/servants..... and on and on....

aaaa this is so tasty

[ceeroosa]

ohhhh lord the straights are poking me today. i must rant.

OK. So. Your husband not magically knowing the exact perfect way to do a thing is NOT WEAPONIZED INCOMPETANCE.

firstly, you have a problem with perfectionism. it's not a cute quirk, it's a trait that causes you A LOT OF GRIEF and disappointment. The solution is not to require everyone around you to also have your unattainably high standards.

The solution is to practice sitting with the discomfort/fear/shame/whatever that arises when something isn't perfect, and eventually seeing the beauty of imperfection.

secondly - let's say you have no interest in dealing with any of what i just said; you like your standards and want to keep them. That's fine, but you still do not have the right to require those around you to a) magically know what your standards are and b) always meet them, especially if they don't have the same standards as you. (many don't)

The solution here is to not ask people to do things unless you're willing to either: explain and show in detail what your standard is and verbally request it be done that way or simply have it not be perfect.

that's it. stop setting your spouse and children (and yourSELF) up for failure by just expecting them to guess and do it perfectly every time. stop demanding that other people have the same expectations as you.

Stop making tiktoks and reels and posts published to the entire world where you shame and insult your husband or child for not being perfect, and allowing others to label them as abusive because they didn't put the stamps or the sheets on the "right way" and how you shouldn't have to ask or tell him how to do it /your way/ (which is not automatically correct) because he should just know.

does weaponized incompetance exist? yes! and it does not fucking look like your spouse just having different standards than you.

it looks like consistently failing to keep track of when your license expires, not renewing it, and then getting tickets so often that your wife just schedules and drives you to get your license renewed every time, so you dont have to worry about it.

it looks like not showing up to pick up your child from school for HOURS, leaving them and the teachers sitting there waiting, over and over again until the SCHOOL ITSELF SAYS "the dad cant pick the kid up anymore, banned, only the other parent because this is awful and not OK" and now you never have to do the school run ever again

it looks like not bathing or changing or supervising your children for the entire week you are their sole carer, so they show up at the family dinner absolutely filthy, and then everyone decides you can't ever be left alone with them again so you never have to be fully responsible for your kids again (but still demand emotional availability from them cuz ur so useless and sad)

it looks like going on a bender and getting so horrifically drunk and acting suicidal ANYTIME someone tries to hold you accountable for anything so that no one ever does because of what you might do

these are all real examples from my real childhood. THIS WAS MY FATHER. HE ACTED LIKE A PATHETIC BABY AND IT EFFECTIVELY REMOVED ALL RESPONSIBILITY IN HIS LIFE, WITHOUT LOSING FREEDOM TO DO THE THINGS HE WANTED TO DO. (until he fought the law and the law beat the absolute shit out of him)

THAT is weaponized incompetance. THAT is emotional abuse.

[projectpainterly]

⇒ List of all the weapons, I don't know why it becomes so compressed, it does not look this way in my files.

⇒ All of these will be drawn (Maybe not the already existing weapons,) and posted. Some weapons may be cut or added later, I'm just getting ideas out of my head right now.

⇒ The app I use is Obsidian Notes, I do recommend it (NOT SPONSORED.) I use the Canvas option.

Zoomed in below:

⇒ Lock-Down Splatlings is a new Subclass. It turns you into a turret with longer range and/or more damage. They are all based on Power washer Nozzels. The Colourful set has a traffic light on it and the Vintage set is old cameras and movie reels.

⇒ Non-One-Shot Rollers means when you roll over someone it doesn't splat them immediately.

⇒ I didn't want to add seperate sections for the scope types of chargers. Also Swab Charger is supposed to have a Scope, oopsies.

⇒ Stuck Brellas are just Brellas that don't launch. I could have eput Non-Launching Brellas, but I didn't.

⇒ Special Type Charge just means the dash is not vertical.

⇒ The way I sorted the Brushes I just kind of guessed. I don't play brushes much.

New Classes!

⇒ 2 New Classes with different abilities to them.

✦⇒ Hooks have a pull mechanic. They mostly work like Splatana's but if you hold the charge for longer it throws the Hook and can drag people towards you. This is to counter Anchors/Backliners. Originally they where called anchors but then I deemed that too similar to Project Splatoon 3's Inkhors.

✦⇒ Rhythmics are eventually going to have one for every class but that has not happened yet. Having issues with names and ideas. They add combos as their gimmick, a circle comes down on the reticle and you have to press ZR or B (I haven't decided,) and then it preforms an action.

[starjxsung]

Missing you all the time <333 We're all here for you Star - I can't imagine what it's like to go through something like that - please be kind to yourself as you recover and know that it's not your fault !! and even if things don't seem to be getting better or it's going slow, be patient with yourself and remember that we all love you so much regardless of how you feel youre doing and want you to take all the time you need <3 It really does suck that vile people exist and I pray that you stay safe <333 How is the rest of life? Work? Hobbies? Cat??? As for me... SUMMER YAAAAA and yesss making BANK!!! I have a bit of time off before the speech arts academy opens for summer and I'll be working two weeks full time in July!!! More money!!! (I need it cause I'm saving up for my first tattoos!!! I have enough saved up ... but like, it's always nice to have more money for security ... esp as a uni student...) and YES hehe South Africa... I had so much fun learning and birding and ID plants and collecting data - my prof is amazing and said I was one of the best students despite being the youngest hehe (a total ego boost) and im hoping to go back in the future with his support to do research on scholarship!!! and the hook up was certainly unexpected... it was mostly based on a deep emotional connection and being similar people despite having vastly different life experiences if that makes sense (but also, he's hot like 6ft and like alsjdfkjd idk how i managed to pull him but as he said himself... I got that 'tism rizz 😎). we probably wont be entering anything committed and probably reeling things back to a close friendship b/c our lives are pretty different. BUT hes a great person and im really glad I met him. (we're having a studio ghibli day this week!) WAHHH STAR ILY SOOOO MUCH thank YOU for being there and being such a light ✨🌟💖 I will continue to pop in every so often - however, summer is looking HECTIC with work and family trips... BUT I WILL UPDATE YOUUUUU!!! Please take care ily ily 💕💕💕 🌱

I love you I love you I am making mental note of your words and keeping them in all 4 chambers of my heart foreverrrrr 💓🤞👼

LIFE IS GOOD….. work has been insaaaaanely busy for me these past few weeks and I’m literally so exhausted I can barely even stay awake on my phone sometimes. so I either crash super early or stay up until like 5am. there’s no in between (it’s literally 5am right now RAHHH) hobbies are good TOO (spoiler alert it’s writing) and my cat is doing better than ever (just as spoiled and insane as ever) so things are feeling a little more back to normal !!! now that I’m back at my apartment I’m w my kpop stuff again and my family and everything feels good <3 I’m so excited to publish stuff again soon and get on main blog at some point

MY GOSHHHH YOUR SUMMER SOUNDS SO BUSY I AM SO EXCITED FOR U THO…… where are you working in July??? I hope it all goes well also UR FIRST TATTOOOOOOOS GASP I AM SO EXCITED TO SEE THEM EVENTUALLY

I’m so so so glad South Africa was so memorable and productive!! It sounds like you got so much done (in more ways than one LMAO) and I’m manifesting so hard you can go back for research on scholarship!!!! not surprised at all that you were the best student bc ofc you were. you lil smartie 🤓💓

Ahhhh I’m glad you guys seem to be going about it in such a healthy way!! It’s not easy to admit when you’re on a different path from somebody you’re super into but it sounds like you guys have great communication with each other and I’m glad you’re staying good friends 🫶 also studio ghibli day YESSSSSS I love all the ghibli themed dates in the summertime like it’s the most wholesome sneaky link activity out there

I LOVE YOU SOOOO SOSOSO MUCH I LOOK FORWARD TO MY UPDATES WHENEVER YOU CAN PROVIDE THEM RAHHH I LOVE YOU SWEET ANGEL 🤞💘💞🫶💓👼 take care of yourself !!!!!!!!!

[streetslost]

     HEAD NODDED, feet kicked from where she sat. attention wasn't on him, however, staring off into various directions where nothing of particular interest existed any which way. it felt weird to stare at a mask, because it was impossible to see where he was looking, so cat figured she could seek other areas to gaze. it really didn't make ANY of the situation more comfortable, but by that point in time, she figured it was as relaxed as it could be. after all, they had just survived a fight, and she wasn't cuffed, so she could say it was a win for her in the end. she even had her m o n e y... most of it. she had gotten paid up front, but was promised the additional amount upon completion of her work.

                 the street rat had long since stopped taking jobs without at least a partial payment from the get go. hence the reasoning she had seen the mysterious possible mob boss in person. the instructions, the initial payment... a bit of a downer she might not get the rest. it was hard to say, the relationship didn't really have a clear picture any more. even just pondering all this, her brows would knit uncertain expressions, and low hum would tickle the back of her throat like a growl. annoyance...

       at the reiteration of what she had said, she did nod, though now lost in her memories, she scratched her jeans even more. the tips of her fingers were b u r n i n g mildly from the friction against the fabric, but sometimes a bit of a jolt kept her from drifting too far into her wandering thoughts. the encounter hadn't been that long ago, so parts of the scene could still play in her mind; like watching an old vhs tape. not particularly clear, fuzzy, static audio, but there.

               "oh, uh. clean shaven, weirdly. kind of looked like he should have had a mustache or maybe once DID. there was stubble, so maybe he had shaved only recently?" was that any help? she didn't know. eye color was a complete mystery, and describing facial features weren't her forte. no tattoos that she had seen, no piercings. perhaps he had wanted to maintain a more ordinary appearance just for these sorts of situations. make himself a difficulty to explain.

        the question returned her to earlier ponderings, and she reeled back a bit with grimace painted now to her features. "ah, i dunno. i usually don't say no if the pay is good enough, but putting me in a situation where i may or may not have been the target of being killed has kind of put a damper on my willingness t'interact further with him. but if i know m'not going to die, well... i'd be lying if i said he hadn't given me reason t'take the job."

"Cautious, secretive. Either someone's been watching too many mob movies or he knows what he's doing." It'll be hard to say unless Damian can get in person to see Capo. ID'ing him in general will be an uphill battle. After all, he doesn't sound like the kind of man who seems especially enthused about being brought into the light. But criminals and their ilk rarely are. Damian, of course, is acutely aware of how this reflects on him.

She can run, if she wants. Right now, Damian doesn't have much of a reason to ultimately chase after her, much less get into another pursuit, not when this seems like the bigger catch. But he has to start somewhere, and right now, Cat is the only one of the pair who has seen Capo. Damian won't say it out loud (half because of his pride, half because there's no reason to), but he needs her help more than she'll need his. That makes this kind of dealing... difficult, to say the least.

Difficult, but far from impossible.

He knows that an eye-witness account is far from being reliable. People like to brag about their perfect memories but they're rarely up to snuff when the time calls for their so-called perfect recall. But it's a start. Already, he can piece together that Capo is a part of criminal spaces. That already gives him a few ideas of where to look. But his first stop will have to be the Iceberg Lounge. For as much as he hates that place, it has uses as a bed of information. Penguins don't sing, but Oswald Cobblepot can be pressed into a tune or two. But he has to be careful to not push too far. It has to be a give and a take, when all is said and done.

"Older man, around six foot, Italian accent, potentially greying dark hair, and nice dress shoes. Wears a nice watch and smells of both cigars and cigarettes." Robin repeats out loud, just to make sure he's not forgetting anything or to see if Cat has any corrections to make. It might be one of the old holdouts, if he's middle-aged. A lot of this isn't too much to go off of, but the watch... that's a lead. Assuming it's real. "I need you to be completely honest with me: do you plan on doing more business with Capo?"

[tayliii]

i love my friends so much like i have so much love for them i feel like exploding. i am currently far away from them since we go to our summer house. i love Z so so much she lives so so so far away from me but i thank everyday that i became friends with her, shes just perfect, so loevly and oh my god i dont understand how she cant love herself, if only she saw herself through my eyes she would realise how she is perfection in a human form and i hate her ex boyfriend and how she cries because of him because she doesnt deserve to be sad in any way, she should only feel happy and love herself so so much. i usually am great at writing ( at least i think so, or i am improving) but i just cant put into words how much i adore her, if she wanted me to i could write do many poems about her, enough for them to be a book and published i want everyone to know how much i cherish her and i love it when she told me that i make her feel good when she is sad, i literally giggled and kicked my feet like i made feel happy oh my god this is a blessing from god, i love making you making you happy please be so happy. and my love isn't romantic its just pure friendship love. i also really like A she is my only school friend like when everbody left me because of an argumwnt with a friends and ignored me she was still there for me. one week ago she told me that she liked a guy i was really close with and she was scared that i would hate her for it but of course not i love her so much to just hate her for that and its not like she did anything bad to me or talked behind my back and actually i was really happy that she trusted me so much to the point of telling me i really really also love her sometimes when we are hanging out i just feel like hugging and kissing her cheeks and even though she is bot the biggest fan of pyhscial concat she still lets me hug her and even sleep together, i spend most of my time with her and i am so gald to have her in my life if she was not with me i think i would feel so lonely and miserable, words cant explain how much i am grateful for her, like i saw a horror house reel and my first thought was we should totally go together i want to go together so much with her and then visit this new cafe i saw on the internet, i just really like hanging out with her and topics can go from gossiping with people to talking about our traumas and to why we exist then back to gossip. and i dont get how she can hate herself like oh my god why do people around me has to hate themselves when they are so fucking amazing and beautiful and i hate it when she looks in the mirror and says that she looks ugly like no you are one of the prettiest people in my eyes like you have a great body a great face and a great personality, like i know she can be an asshole and two faced at times but i know she wouldnt do that to me because she actually trusts me and even if she was satan himself i would still countine to love her because i have been around her enough to realise that she is one of the best people and i really apperciate her. i love B i have know her for like six year and we still go on and i am so happy with her too even though we havent been close the first two years we are very close right now like i know every shit she eats and her drama and she was the one who was beside me when i had no one to rely on if she wasnt then i really wpuld have been totally deprived of human concat in the quarintia, yes she talks too much abput boys and it can get annoyüng at times but i love how when i am with her i can just relax and sit back and listen of course i love to talk but i am a listener and its good to listen sometimes and i love how its not one side and i still can talk about my life to her i hope she still will be in my life in 10 year and more and more she is my only friend left from middle scholl and i really really love her.

[not-poignant]

Thinking about the post on media and film distribution I added to yesterday, what I forgot to add is simply that a lot of you now spend the hours that you would have once spent on cinema and television on Tiktok and Reels and (to a degree) YouTube. If you know you spend 1-3 hours on Tiktok each day, well, in the 90s, nothing like that existed. You only had books, cinema, television, radio. So people weren't hyping memes and random dances and Good Emu Person and Shitty Emu Person etc. and everything folks talked about - even on early internet - when it came to mass media, centred on those specific forms of mass media.

Cinema will never ever be the same again so long as people give 12+ hours of their week to Tiktok / Instagram and similar sites, instead of cinema and television. You can't cry out for a golden age that's gone when it's gone because the audiences moved on. The fact is, one of the most common media watching memes on places like Tumblr is a version of 'everyone is recommending shows or movies to me and I don't have the time / energy / inclination to watch them.'

I'm part of this, I spend a lot more time on Tiktok than I do watching television or cinema, and this obviously only applies to the folks who do spend huge chunks of time scrolling through short pieces on the internet. And there's also nothing wrong with that until you go 'omg why aren't we getting shows like we used to / why is fandom so different now / why aren't we having these experiences anymore.'

You took the time and investment away, and that's why. It's way easier to get rabidly hyped in a fandom if you don't have Tiktok, or YouTube, or Instagram**, because what's left over (film, television, etc.) is all you have. And that's a pretty huge and significant reason why a) the budgets for film and TV are smaller (overall, it's similarly extreme on the other end, re: Sandman and Marvel etc. But I'm including everything here) and b) fandoms aren't as huge or long-lasting as they used to be.

I'm still noodling on this, and obviously there are a lot of factors going on here (many of which I went into yesterday, it's so fucking opaque to say 'we don't have films like we used to' because like, we do, people just don't know where to find them anymore, what we don't have is indie films hitting the zeitgeist like they used to, which is a different issue and it's multifactorial, and some of it is that people are now screaming about Emmanuel the Emu instead of the latest indie movie that came out). But I do think where Tiktok is making billions off of people, those billions are not going to more 'classic' forms of mass media.

If you want it, you have to give it your time. It's that simple.

** (Obviously these things can also be used as tools for fandom, it's just so much of fandom has also now ported over to transformative works around real people (i.e. dueting / stitching / replying / remixing / meme-ing etc. are all a form of transformative work that take time and labour, they're just different to what we classically think of as transformative works) and/or Tiktok fandom moves really fast by the nature of the format).

[death-himself]

Immobile

Summary: Nico wakes up being unable to move, Will comes to help him out. This is my gift for @unhinged-corvid for the @rrversesummerbang gift exchange :) Prompt: Disabled/chronically ill Nico laying in bed, but then will shows up to care for him

Word Count: 1,278

Warnings: one mention of surgery and broken bones/injuries, multiple descriptions of pain

(AO3 Link)

Waking up to find that he was unable to move was not how Nico wanted to start his morning. As he laid there staring out at his empty cabin, he tried to lift his arm, just for a streak of searing hot pain to jolt through his muscles. He hissed through his teeth, allowing his body to go limp again.

He didn’t know exactly why this was happening, it had never happened before. Sure his body was in constant pain, but he could at least get around with a cane or crutches pretty easily. He’d never been immobile, and most of his pain was in his back and legs, not his arms, so he should still be able to use those at least, right?

Nico glanced over to his bedside table, eyeing the small prism sitting below his lamp, a few drachmas scattered haphazardly around it. If he angled it right, he could send an Iris Message to Will, or maybe Jason. He tried to lift his arm again, feeling like an idiot when he felt another shock of pain.

“I didn’t want to actually call anyone anyway.” He huffed, glaring around his cabin at nothing in particular. Well, guess he was trapped here with his thoughts. Alone. Until someone remembers he exists and comes to check on him. That’s not good.

Nico had his eyes closed in an attempt to go back to sleep when he heard the doors to his cabin swing open. “Okay, it’s almost 3 pm, I’m guessing you just wanna stay in bed all day, so I brought you some food.” Will shouted, his voice echoing slightly in the silence of the large cabin.

Nico opened his eyes slowly, turning his gaze to his boyfriend. “It’s 3 pm?”

“Yeah.” Will set the food tray on Nico’s bedside table, sitting at the foot of his bed. “I’ve been busy in the infirmary all day. Got a bit worried when I didn’t see you by lunch, but then I had to perform surgery on this new kid that got here this morning, one of his ribs broke and punctured his lung and ambrosia wasn’t cutting it so I had to go in and take care of it myself and it was a whole mess.” He let out a small tired sigh, picking at a spot of dried blood on his scrubs before turning to look back at Nico.

“Anyway how’s your day been?” Nico blinked, staring at him for a moment.

“Oh, you know. Good. Can’t move, but that’s fine.”

“You can’t move?”

“Yeah, I mean I can. But it hurts, you know? One of my muscles twitches and I blackout for a second, it’s no big deal.” As he spoke Will’s eyes widened with concern, his eyebrows scrunching together.

“That sounds like a big deal.”

“It’ll go away eventually.”

“If it’s your chronic pain being really bad today, then I guess kinda. But that’s not good.” Will paused for a moment, looking Nico over for a moment. “Are you in pain now? Or...more pain than usual, I mean.”

“It hurts like normal, but then when I move I feel like I’m gonna combust.” Will hummed, turning his gaze to the ground for a moment, his hand pulling at a loose thread in Nico’s blanket as he thought.

“Alright, well...you’ll still need to eat, and then I’ll run to the infirmary to grab some painkillers.” Will stood up, before pausing for a moment, glancing at the food on the table, then at Nico. “Can you sit up on your own or do you need—”

He had already begun sitting up, wincing as lights danced before his eyes almost mockingly, his blood rushing in his ears being all that he could hear. He felt something warm take hold of his arms and guide him up, leaning him against the wall. As the lights faded he realized it had been Will’s hands.

Will took a seat next to him, taking the plate of food and setting it on Nico’s lap. “What about eating on your own?”

He made no attempt to reach for the fork, his head still reeling just from sitting up. His cheeks began to burn. Can’t even feed himself, this is embarrassing.

Will seemed to read his expression, taking the fork and picking up some food. “It’s alright. I’m happy to help you.” Nico’s cheeks burned even hotter, but now he couldn’t discern what exactly they were burning from.

Roughly half an hour later, Will was running back from the infirmary, carrying two heating pads and a plastic bag full of a large variety of medications. He plopped down on Nico’s bed, having changed out of his scrubs into a t-shirt and shorts. “Alright, got the painkillers!”

“Will, did you just shove a bunch of unlabelled pills into a bag together?” Will shrugged.

“I know what all of them are. This one,” he pulled out a circular red pill, “is ibuprofen, which is what you’ll be taking now.” He pulled out a second and held them out, waiting for Nico to open his mouth to pop them in.

After Nico drank some water the two worked to pilot him back into a lying down position in as painless a way possible. He still saw the lights before his eyes, but they felt less mocking than before, so he took that as a good sign.

Will pulled his blanket off a bit, holding out the heating pads. “Now where does it hurt the most?”

“It hurts everywhere, Will, I don’t think some heating pads’ll help.” Will nodded, pursing his lips together.

“Yeah, I expected you to say that. Heat’s good for chronic pain though, or at least that’s what I’ve heard. I was only able to steal two of these, though, so we’re gonna have to make do.” Nico buried his head into his pillow a bit further, a twitch in his hand causing him to wince.

“Both under me on my back maybe?” Will quickly moved to do so, gently helping him lift himself up and placing the pads below him. Feeling the warmth course through his body did make him feel better. It felt almost like someone was holding him.

Will let out a yawn, stretching a bit. “Does that feel better?” Nico nodded.

“A lot better.” He looked over to Will, noticing the slight bags under his eyes. “You tired?” Will shrugged.

“A little. My siblings told me they’ll take care of any more patients today though, so that’s nice.”

“Cool. Do you...have anything to do today?” A grin spread across Will’s face.

“Sounds like you’re asking me to spend the day with you.”

“No! I was just—I just was wondering if you had anything to do. Is all.” Will opened the drawer of Nico’s bedside table, placing the pill bag inside before moving to stack the drachmas.

“Well no, I don’t. But,” he reached into his pocket, pulling out dramatically with two fingers a phone, “I snuck this into camp last time we went out to the city. And my mom uses the same password on every streaming platform she has. You know what that means?”

“What?”

“Since you can’t move, now’s the perfect time to introduce you to Star Wars.” Nico sighed.

“Oh gods.”

“The time has come!” Will laid down next to Nico on the bed, holding the phone up between the two of them.

“What is it with you and Star Wars?”

“It’s simply the best franchise ever, and you’ll come to realize that soon enough.”

“I doubt that.” Will smiled, turning and pecking a small kiss on Nico’s forehead.

“Keep doubting, Dark Lord.”