#i've always thought it so important to be considerate to others

[ugliestfawn]

realizing that communication actually doesnt matter as much as ppl say it does, bc most ppl glorify it and see it as a magical solution when in fact communicating your feelings/wants/needs only work if other ppl are receptible to it. which... most ppl arent, both bc many dont want to bc it requires too much effort of them and it's easier to shift blame on others not "communicating", but also bc many many ppl just have brains that arent wired to understand others, or other viewpoints and perspectives. thus, no level of communication will make someone who isnt capable of receiving it hear you. most efforts to "communicate" are completely wasted. and it's frustrating, but what can u do?

[birdantlers]

A heartfelt and grievously expanded-upon update to this—please, please read the whole thing if you can. reblogs much appreciated.

(DISCLAIMER, for all who are saying reasons like abusive parents/legal stuff/toxic ex/triggering memories/page got deleted/job/stalkers/bullying/[[insert any other shitty life thing]], This is not concerning that—personal safety & health ALWAYS comes first, and is worth more than any media ever could be. This is my biggest reason for defending that autonomy. I would be a hypocrite to say I hadn’t deleted triggering posts of mine or ones that got me in trouble with my family.)

it genuinely makes me sad and kinda upset when someone purges all their old art off the internet like. barring harmful content what if someone liked that. What if someone would have. And now nobody will ever know and it's just gone. even people's old invader zim askblogs or whatever getting deleted feels like a micro alexandria to me and that's just something I made up. I wasn't even thinking of a specific one it just stresses me out. Is this the autism I don't get why nobody else seems to freak internally abt it like I do. I see artists whose blogs I've never even looked at go like "man so glad I deleted all my old stuff it's so clean" or saying they throw out art from when they were kids I'm like. how are you not hurling. How is that not distressing that is literally your tree rings why would you do that. I want to see what's out there. people want to see it I promise someone out there likes it

...don't they??? Does everyone get quietly irrationally upset by this as me, or is this just hyperfixation/autism/some amalgam of the two. I'm not a hoarder or obsessive compulsive or anything like that so i wonder..

Anyways. reblog if you had a favorite amateur youtube animator in your childhood whose channel got nuked without a trace one day that you still think about.

I wanted to attach this video because it condenses my point very well. A TLDR of sorts. Please watch the whole thing, it genuinely changed the entire way I think about art as a concept.

(2nd vid is "Subjectivity in Art")

“The moment your art touches an audience, the ownership shifts in an irreversible way. [They're] not having an art experience with you and your intentions. They're having an art experience with the art object.

“You can't just burn your past; it's not even your past to burn anymore. It's other people's history as well. Whether or not you like it, that art is already bonded to somebody's soul, and if you rip the art away, you're ripping a bit of the soul that has adhesive contact to it.”

The digital age makes it very easy to distance or detach yourself from the impact your work has—be it art, fanfic, videos, even memes. Online content is as important to people now as any other media, if not more. But it's also by far the easiest, fastest, and most effective form of it to erase from public access. Media so unbelievably important to people and in general. Yes, you—with the 2010s purple sparkle dog speedpaint. I still think about that speedpaint all the time, because it was the first time i learned that you could draw on a computer, and I thought it was cool as hell. I still do.

I do wish there was a stronger culture of preservation and consideration for this, because every time I see people talk about snuffing their stuff because it doesn't personally resonate with them anymore, I just think ...what about all the people it did?

I've seen lots of people saying "get over it, it doesn't even matter," but it fucking does. It does matter. Even if I didn’t make it, even if I don’t have to deal with being the one who made it, even if I'm naturally inclined to be distressed by it—It still matters. And there’s nothing you could ever say to suddenly make it not matter, because there’s nothing you could ever say to make it not matter to me.

Don't devalue the act of creation. Don't dismiss something you made. It's out there, in people's thoughts and hearts and souls, and that is real. Even if you don't know it. Especially if you don't know it. Especially in a world where physical media is being snuffed out, the internet is constantly dying without any physical remains to recover, social isolation is rampant, and simply because independently produced content online is still media.

Fanfiction can hold equal or greater significance to someone as a book, but you can’t unpublish a book. Authors don’t have a button that can vaporize every copy of their work across all time, but fanfiction authors do. I’m not counting people who download fics either—when you buy a book, that transaction is over. But online, you have the power of unending transaction that can be terminated instantly at your will. The process of publishing fanfic vs. publishing a book may be different, but people’s connection to the art is the same intensity.

So yeah. I do get depressed about the Internet being a constant Alexandria, but the times I get the most depressed is when I click someone's page and see that all their work is gone because they're ‘curating a new aesthetic’ for their page or some shit. Or weeding out all the "ugly" art. Or just went on whatever the hell 'thrill deleting' is, because they just get a kick out of it.

Fuck it—yeah! It upsets me! I’m not wrong to say that. I’m saying it!

Under the cut, because it got long as shit! Also don’t worry the ending is way sappier and more ‘beauty of human nature’ vibe so it’s not all doom and gloom lol

What if that was someone's favorite art of that character. What if someone read that 'cringe oneshot' on the worst day of their life. What if that Warriors meme vid is still burned into a college student’s mind despite being gone for 10 years. What if it's actually not just you and the ones and zeros you rent out to the world—secure in knowing the original will always be on your computer for you to do whatever you want with it.

I really, deeply wish there was more of a general awareness of this, because even though social media can be used like a diary, that’s functionally the opposite of what it is. It’s social media. When you post, it’s no longer in a vacuum, even though you can’t see the real humans that content touches—often deeply.

Media is history. You shouldn’t burn that history just because you personally believe it isn’t worth saving.

Because it’s no longer just your personal opinion. It’s no longer just your personal work. it’s. history. Memory of media is not a suitable replacement for the media itself. If it was, we wouldn’t save anything at all. Nostalgia is an agent of that. The definition of nostalgia is grief for moments of the past that are inaccessible, and the biggest balm for that pain is accessing a physical reminder of those moments. That opinion of yours is no longer personal. It’s weighed against uncountable people across all time that your thing is ALSO personal to. People who would, and will mourn its absence.

How many times have you joined an older fandom only to discover that some of its most popular works are gone? How many times have you routed through random blogs looking for scraps people hopefully reblogged? how many times have you used Wayback machine desperately praying that a fan fiction or a YouTube video will be there? How many times do you look up crunchy old vines or YouTube videos or anime AMV‘s? How many times do you remember old fanfic.net sex that impacted you in middle school, only to shake your head and go ‘probably no point even looking.’

i mourn the absence. No, people can’t and shouldn’t have their agency over what they post revoked, but they should be conscious of that weight. If you’re reading this and getting extremely annoyed, and you’re not in the pink text above,,,, good.

I honestly do hope it gets under your skin. I hope it sits with you. I hope you feel it every time you hit that button, and whether or not you do hit that button—if you hesitate, if you remember this, even spitefully, I’ve done my job. I am howling into the void. And I may not want an answer, but I do want my anguish to be heard and remembered. Because it isn’t me just being melodramatic.

I know I sound that way writing so much, but if my favorite writing YouTuber can drop trow this week and go, "yeah, sorry, all my video essays from less than a year ago that you listen to in the car all the time? I'm "rebranding" my content so i deleted them. besides, my personal views don't really agree align with the analyses i did, or the techniques i taught in them anyway. Sorry if some of the literal tens of thousands of you used them, but I don't want to feel shackled to having youtuber "classics" tied to me”

….then i guess I'm just going to have to sound dramatic! That fucking sucks! Hours of work and knowledge gone! This was a new channel too. It’s very likely there’s no archive of any kind, because who would think someone who worked hard enough to write, record, and edit hour-long videos, would just turn around and nuke it all? I definitely didn’t see it coming, but I did just start a new screenwriting class a few weeks ago, so I’ll tell you at least one person is REALLY missing those fucking videos right now. Because a lot of them were about specifically screenwriting, which I know jack shit about. and that specific person’s pace, editing, and style of breaking down information was the best suited style I found that I could focus on and absorb. There’s no replacement for that. No alternative for his individual perspective. his jokes. his opinions.

No, they may not resonate with him now, but in this decision, he’s put up a big middle finger to everyone who might have. And he has like 100k subscribers! Those are confirmed supporters! Imagine how many silent and untethered observers are feeling this loss right now. Imagine how many will not have it in the future.

If he never posted them at all, we wouldn’t know we had it. It wouldn’t be a loss. But we did. We did have it. Until he decided that no, we didn’t, because he just happens to be the one out of millions of individuals holding the button to burn it in a hundredth of a second.

His personal work, the attachment I had to it, and the ways that it helped me are now just ripped away. I am one person out of millions, literal MILLIONS of people who saw and liked this content before it vanished. The soul has been ripped, the access severed, and by CJ’s (and my) definition, the art is functionally dead. Not for the YouTuber or anyone else lucky enough to save a link or download, but everyone else. From this point until the end of time, even if people even two weeks from now don’t know it. Even if someone who stumbles upon his channel today, doesn’t know it.

We only mourn the concept of Alexandria because we had some kind of scope for what was inside. Yes, maybe you got self-conscious and deleted your 12 year old deviant art account. Do you know who else is doing that?? THOUSANDS AND THOUSANDS of other twenty somethings who ALSO feel self-conscious about their old socials. Art. Fanfic. One direction fan videos. anything.

Suddenly, an unquantifiable amount of information from your age group—an entire age group in 2012, is. gone. And we will NEVER know what’s been erased from that history. We will NEVER know what could have been significant to us ten years from now. Twenty years from now. A hundred years. A thousand.

You could have deleted a fanfic that would have been someone else’s new go-to panic attack distraction tomorrow. You could have deleted a video someone used to laugh at with their friend who died yesterday. When you delete something, you risk tearing a hole in unknowable personal histories.

The Internet isn’t just a big library of Alexandria. It’s a library containing libraries. And those libraries have their own libraries in those libraries have their own as well. libraries inside libraries, inside libraries, ad infinitum. To conceive the amount of destroyed history on the Internet is crushing.

And I just can’t help but I ask myself how in gods name people can choose to contribute to that, instead of reposting everything to trash heap alts titled “hall of shame” or some shit.

You can offload to alts. Put up disclaimers. Make password locked blogs, or dropboxes, or anonymous imgur dumps. Anonymous reuploads. Orphan fics. Make a playlist or linktree of unlisted videos. Cut off the watermarks. Delete all references to it on your main. Make a dedicated unlisted playlist. make a google drive. Make new portfolio sites. Delete any questions you get about it. Change pen names. Pretend it never existed.

Give a heads up.

Something.

But don’t. kill. the media.

The knowledge that our stuff is going to forever be tied to us is a cross we have to bear, but the responsibility that comes with putting it out there in the first place, can’t be ignored.

Anyway. I'm not trying to start conflict. This is not a bash on anyone, nor a call for witch hunts. Or anon hate, or blocks and unfollows or anything of that nature. I'm not wishing ramifications or hate of any kind on anyone who does wants to do any of this.

I'm also not guilt tripping— I am not saying that you should feel bad. I AM saying why it makes me feel bad. That’s not guilting, it’s a dialogue. One I personally feel is long overdue.

It's me yelling into the void: please consider the real people on the other side of the screen before you hit that button. Realize and know that whatever you're about to erase from history could be the most important thing in the world to someone.

Art is an experience. It's why we revisit it. If art and history simply lived in the matter and code of media, we would only need to look at it once. We wouldn’t put things in museums. We wouldn’t build libraries. We wouldn’t look up vine compilations.

If you're able, consider (and I do mean consider, this is not a call to action) not destroying that. And don’t shrug it off as some pretentious asshole venting on Tumblr. You only need to look in the notes and tags to see that it isn’t just me. it’s never just me, or you, or the pixels.

And even if you do shrug it off, then at least recognize that what you make matters. Whatever you think about it, if it’s out there, that's not your discretion anymore. If a tree falls in the woods and even one person is around to see it, it fucking mattered. Because it happened. Don’t mulch your tree rings if you don’t have to. Because if enough people do it, a whole forest is gone. Media is history, no matter whether you think it’s worth putting in a museum, or only has 30 notes.

Thousands of years ago, a child named onfim doodled on his homework. They’re crude, and everyone has the wrong amount of fingers, and they’re also priceless archaeological artifacts recognizable throughout the world.

the only thing separating Onfim’s doodles and your MS paint Pokémon doodles is time. The only thing separating your old MS paint Pokémon doodles from being a priceless artifacts, thousands of years in the future is time. Your creations are already priceless artifacts. No matter what you do, don't ever, ever deny that. It isn’t blowing up your own ass, it’s artistic and anthropological fact.

The mundane and the supposedly unworthy are often the first things lost to time, and that’s why they’re so precious. That’s why artists who were before their time are scorned first only to be celebrated later. Do you think they knew that was going to happen?? What if they nuked it? Many probably did! But now that’s happening exponentially and instantaneously everywhere, WITHOUT the artist having to destroy their only copy—which makes it way easier and more dismissable.

Sometimes, If you’re revolutionary enough, people will make an effort to preserve your work, but recognized and thoroughly recorded work is rare compared to unrecognized and thoroughly recorded work.

Sometimes something is beloved enough that it would be impossible for it not to go down in history, but even then it isnt a guarantee, and it’s rare. But if van Gogh burned all of his paintings in a fit of despair before his death, we would have no van Gogh. Because he wasn’t respected as an artist in his time, but that wasn’t what defined the worth of his art. The people after him did, because his art was still there for them.

If you rip the art away, you're ripping a bit of the soul that has adhesive contact to it. If you belittle your art, you belittle the very real relationships and emotions and revisitations people have with the media. You defy the inherent worth and weight of a creation. you created. That's effort. It's passion. No matter how flippant or unskilled or worthless you think it is, it matters. Because at the end of the day, you could have chosen to make nothing at all, and you didn't.

•

Muting notifs

[theonottsbxtch]

THE COME DOWN PT 2 | LN4

an: i'd like to preface this by saying this is not everyone's cup of tea and warn you ahead of time this faces the topic of substance abuse and overdose, so if you're not comfy reading this, step back now! if you or anyone you know needs help, please feel free to talk to me or here are links for who to talk to: united kingdom, united states, canada, europe. these are some of the links i've found, if you need help searching for one, my inbox is always open!

wc: 3.8k

warnings: substance abuse, overdose and mentions of death

part one

The flat was quiet, save for the occasional creak of the old pipes and the distant hum of traffic outside. She sat cross-legged on Oscar’s bed, wearing one of his oversized hoodies that smelled faintly of cedar and something else distinctly him. Her bag sat untouched in the corner; she hadn’t bothered unpacking, too afraid that settling in even slightly would mean acknowledging the enormity of what she’d done. Leaving Lando. Leaving everything behind.

Oscar was in the kitchen. She could hear the clatter of mugs and the low hiss of the kettle as he made tea, always keeping his hands busy to avoid saying too much. He had a way of filling silence that was considerate, like he understood she needed time and space but couldn’t leave her to drown in her thoughts.

Her phone buzzed on the bedside table. She ignored it. It wasn’t as though anyone important would be calling her, and she couldn’t stomach the idea of hearing Lando’s voice, slurred or otherwise. The last time still replayed in her mind, a cacophony of anger, confusion, and shame. She pulled the sleeves of the hoodie over her hands and pressed her fists to her temples, willing the memory away.

Oscar appeared in the doorway, balancing two steaming mugs. His face was a study in quiet concern, his dark eyes scanning her as though trying to decipher what she wasn’t saying.

“Chamomile,” he said, setting a mug on the bedside table. “It’s good for relaxing. Not that I think you need it,” he added quickly, scratching the back of his neck. “But, you know, just in case.”

She offered him a small smile. “Thanks, Osc.”

He stood there for a moment, uncertain, before finally retreating to the sofa in the other room. He hadn’t asked her why exactly she called him three nights ago looking like a ghost of herself. He didn’t need to. Oscar had always been like that—a safe harbour. Dependable. Steady. A friend.

She leaned back against the pillows, clutching the mug in her hands and letting the warmth seep into her fingers. The flat was so different from Lando’s. No art on the walls, no clutter, no hint of chaos or indulgence. It was simple and unpretentious, much like Oscar himself. For the first time in what felt like years, she felt like she could breathe.

But the guilt lingered, gnawing at her. She’d left Lando. Not just walked out, but abandoned him when he was at his lowest. The memory of his eyes, wide and red-rimmed, flashed through her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut. She wasn’t going to cry again. Not now.

The days at Oscar’s flat passed in a blur of silence and borrowed familiarity. She didn’t do much—couldn’t, really. Her thoughts were too loud, her energy sapped by the constant cycle of guilt, anger, and self-recrimination. Most of her time was spent curled up in Oscar’s bed, surrounded by the faint smell of his laundry detergent, trying not to think too hard about anything. It was a losing battle.

Oscar gave her space, which she appreciated. He didn’t hover or press her for answers, but he was always there, lingering at the edges of her solitude, ready if she needed him. Sometimes she found him at the small dining table in the corner of the living room, a book in one hand and a cup of tea in the other.

Tonight was one of those nights. She wandered out of his room with the cup of tea he’d given her. He glanced up when she padded into the living room but didn’t say anything, just offered a small, welcoming smile before returning to his book. She sat down opposite him, curling her legs beneath her, and watched him in the soft glow of the table lamp.

The book must have been gripping because his brow furrowed slightly, and he turned the pages with an almost reverent care. She noticed the way his fingers brushed the edges, like he didn’t want to crease them. She hadn’t seen him this still in years. But then again, she rarely ever saw Oscar now.

“Good book?” she asked eventually, her voice breaking the comfortable quiet.

He looked up, startled for a second, before the smile returned. “Yeah. Bit dense, though. I’m not sure I actually understand half of it.”

She huffed a small laugh, the first real one in days, and it surprised her. He noticed, too. For a moment, he just looked at her, like he wanted to say something, but then he shook his head and glanced back at the page.

The silence stretched on, but it wasn’t oppressive. She stared at the mug in her hands and her mind wandered—back to Lando, inevitably. To his voice, slurred and sharp; to the way he used to be, before everything went wrong. She wondered if he’d even noticed she was gone.

Oscar’s voice cut through the fog of her thoughts. “You don’t have to stay cooped up in there, you know.”

She blinked at him. “What?”

“In the bedroom,” he said, nodding towards the closed door behind her. “You’re welcome out here, anytime. Even if it’s just to sit.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Thanks.”

They sat together like that for a while longer, him reading and her lost in thought. It was strange how easy it was to be with Oscar, even with all the mess she’d brought into his life. She wanted to thank him, to say something to convey just how much it meant that he’d opened his door to her without question. But the words felt too heavy, so she stayed quiet.

Later, when the weight of the day became too much, she retreated to his bed again. She pulled the covers up to her chin, staring at the ceiling, but sleep didn’t come easily. She kept seeing Lando’s face, hearing his voice. Over and over, the same thought clawed at her—I left him.

The phone call came in the early hours of the morning, jolting her awake. She fumbled for the phone on the bedside table, her heart already racing as she answered it.

“Hello?”

The voice on the other end was barely a whisper, but she recognised it instantly.

“It’s me,” Lando said, his voice cracking.

Her stomach twisted. “Lando? What’s wrong?”

“I… I don’t know what to do,” he mumbled, his words slurring together. Then the line went silent.

“Lando?” she said, louder this time, her voice thick with fear. “Lando, are you there?”

Nothing.

She sat up, her chest heaving as she tried to steady her breathing. She knew something was wrong. Her body knew it before her mind caught up. She stumbled out of bed and into the living room, where Oscar was sprawled on the sofa, asleep under a thin blanket. She shook him awake, her urgency spilling over.

“Osc, wake up,” she said, her voice shaking.

He groaned and sat up, rubbing his eyes. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Lando. I think something’s happened. We need to go. Now.”

Oscar blinked himself awake, shaking off the haze of sleep as he sat up on the sofa. The urgency in her voice jolted him fully alert. “What’s going on?” he asked, his voice low but sharp with concern.

“It’s Lando,” she said, pacing in frantic, uneven steps across the room. Her hands were shaking. “He called me, and something’s wrong. I don’t know what, but we have to go. Now, Osc. Please.”

Oscar frowned, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. “Wait, slow down. What did he say?”

“He didn’t—he barely said anything. But I know him. Something’s wrong.” Her voice cracked on the last word, and she stopped pacing, fixing him with a desperate look. “Please, Osc. We can’t waste time.”

He didn’t ask any more questions. He grabbed his keys from the table and pulled on his jacket. “Let’s go.”

The drive was a blur of adrenaline and recklessness. Oscar’s McLaren roared through the city streets, the tyres screeching as he ignored red lights and zipped through gaps in traffic that barely existed. She sat rigid in the passenger seat, clutching the edge of the seat with white-knuckled hands, her eyes fixed on the road ahead as though willing them to go faster.

“What’s his flat number again?” Oscar asked, his voice tight.

“Four. Top floor.”

When they reached the building, she was out of the car before he’d even fully stopped. She tore up the stairs two at a time, her breath coming in gasps, the blood pounding in her ears. Oscar was right behind her, keeping pace as she reached the fourth floor and darted to Lando’s door. She banged on it with both fists.

“Lando!” she shouted, her voice echoing down the empty hallway. “Open the door! It’s me!”

Nothing.

“Lando!” She banged harder, the sound reverberating through her skull. The silence on the other side of the door was deafening.

Oscar caught her arm gently, his expression grim. “Move,” he said.

Before she could argue, he planted a foot against the doorframe and slammed his shoulder into the wood. The first hit made it shudder; the second sent it crashing open.

The smell hit them first—a sharp, acrid scent that made her stomach turn. She rushed inside, her eyes darting around the dimly lit flat. “Lando?”

The bathroom door was ajar, and she spotted his legs sprawled on the tiled floor. Her heart stopped. “Oh, God.”

She ran to him, dropping to her knees beside his lifeless form. He was slumped against the tub, his head lolling to the side, his skin pale and clammy. An empty syringe lay on the floor next to him, and his breathing was shallow, barely there.

“Lando,” she whispered, her hands trembling as she cupped his face. “Lando, wake up. Please.”

Oscar appeared in the doorway, his face ashen. “Is he—?”

“Call an ambulance!” she cried, her voice breaking. “Right now, Osc!”

Oscar pulled out his phone, his fingers fumbling as he dialled. She turned back to Lando, tears streaming down her face. She shook him gently, her voice rising in desperation. “You don’t get to do this, Lando. You hear me? You don’t get to give up like this.”

The operator’s voice buzzed faintly from Oscar’s phone as he relayed their location. He crouched beside her, his free hand resting on her shoulder, trying to steady her as she broke down.

“Come on,” she pleaded, her forehead pressed against Lando’s. “You’re not allowed to leave me. Not like this.”

The sound of distant sirens filled the air, growing louder with each passing second. Oscar stayed silent, his grip firm but gentle, grounding her as she crumbled.

In that moment, a bitter realisation struck him—a knife twisting in his chest. No matter how much he wanted to, he could never truly have her. Her heart was still tethered to Lando, even in its shattered, battered state. And as he watched her hold the man who had hurt her in so many ways, he knew it would always be that way.

She, meanwhile, was drowning in her own spiral of guilt. She’d left him. She’d abandoned him when he needed her most. And now, seeing him like this, all she could think was, I’m the reason he’s here. I’m the reason this happened.

The paramedics burst through the door, their presence swift and efficient, but she didn’t move until Oscar gently pulled her away to let them work. She stood frozen, clutching the edge of the sink as they checked Lando’s pulse and prepared a stretcher.

“Will he be okay?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

One of the paramedics glanced at her with a professional calm. “We’re stabilising him. He’s got a chance.”

As they wheeled him out, Oscar stayed close to her side, his arm hovering protectively near her back. They followed the stretcher down the stairs, out into the crisp night air. She couldn’t stop trembling, her mind replaying the scene over and over.

For Oscar, the sight of her clinging to Lando’s hand as he was loaded into the ambulance was a final confirmation of what he’d already known deep down. He would always be the one standing on the sidelines, watching as her heart belonged to someone else.

“Come on,” he said gently, guiding her away from the flashing lights. “Let’s go.”

The ambulance doors slammed shut with a finality that echoed in the pit of her stomach. She stood on the pavement, watching as the vehicle sped away into the night, its siren cutting through the heavy silence. Her arms hung limply at her sides, her chest tight with the weight of too many emotions to name.

Oscar stood a step behind her, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, the tension in his body radiating outwards. He wanted to say something, anything, but he knew better. She needed space, and he wasn’t sure he had the words to make this better, even if she’d let him try.

Finally, she turned to him, her face pale and streaked with tears. Her voice was a whisper, barely audible over the hum of the city. “I can’t believe I left him.”

Oscar frowned. “This isn’t your fault.”

Her eyes snapped to his, the raw guilt blazing in them making him wince. “Isn’t it? I walked out, Osc. I left him. I knew he was falling apart, and I still…” Her voice broke, and she pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes. “What kind of person does that?”

“The kind of person who couldn’t set herself on fire to keep someone else warm,” he said softly.

She stared at him, her breath hitching, but the words didn’t seem to sink in. She shook her head, taking a step back. “You don’t understand. You don’t know what it’s like to see someone you love destroy themselves, to feel like you’re all they have, and then to just… leave.”

Oscar’s jaw tightened. “You think I don’t know?” His voice was quiet but firm. “I’ve been watching you do it. For too long. Staying with him, breaking yourself to pieces trying to save him.”

Her lips parted, but no words came. She just looked at him, stunned, as though the weight of what he’d said was pressing down on her all at once.

“I’m not saying it to hurt you,” Oscar continued, his tone gentler now. “But you need to stop blaming yourself. Lando made his choices. You didn’t make him drink, or use, or…” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair. “You didn’t make him do this.”

She turned away, wrapping her arms around herself as though trying to hold the pieces together. “I just keep thinking… if I’d stayed, maybe—”

“Maybe you’d have ended up in that ambulance too,” Oscar interrupted, stepping closer. He hesitated, then placed a hand on her shoulder. “You did what you had to do. For yourself. That doesn’t make you a bad person. It makes you human.”

The tears came then, silent and unrelenting. She leaned into his touch, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her like she was something fragile and precious. She buried her face in his chest, her sobs muffled by the fabric of his jacket.

For a moment, Oscar allowed himself to close his eyes and just be there for her. It wasn’t enough—not for her, and not for him—but it was all he could offer.

When she finally pulled away, her face was blotchy, her eyes red-rimmed, but there was a flicker of determination in her expression.

“I need to go to the hospital,” she said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands.

Oscar nodded. “I’ll take you.”

The drive to the hospital was quieter, the urgency replaced by a heavy solemnity. She stared out of the window, her mind miles away, while Oscar focused on the road.

When they arrived, the harsh fluorescent lights of the A&E waiting room made everything feel colder. She checked in with the nurse at the desk, explaining who she was there for, and was told to wait.

Minutes turned into hours, and still, they hadn’t heard anything. Oscar sat beside her, his knee bouncing impatiently. She sat perfectly still, staring at the floor, her hands clenched in her lap.

Finally, a doctor emerged, her expression neutral but kind. “Are you here for Lando?”

She shot to her feet. “Yes. How is he?”

The doctor glanced at the clipboard in her hands. “We’ve stabilised him. He was lucky you got to him when you did. Another half an hour, and we might have been having a very different conversation.”

Her knees nearly gave out, and Oscar steadied her with a hand on her arm. “Can I see him?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“He’s still unconscious,” the doctor said. “But you’re welcome to sit with him.”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and followed the doctor down the stark, sterile corridor. Oscar stayed behind, giving her space.

Inside the room, Lando looked small against the backdrop of wires and monitors. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor was a stark reminder of how close he’d come to losing the fight. She sank into the chair beside his bed, her hands trembling as she reached out to brush a strand of hair from his face.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I shouldn’t have left you.”

But as the words left her mouth, a small voice in the back of her mind whispered something else: You couldn’t have saved him alone.

She sat there for what felt like hours, holding his hand and staring at the fragile rise and fall of his chest. In the doorway, Oscar watched her silently, his face unreadable.

For her, it was a moment of reckoning. For Oscar, it was a moment of heartbreak.

The steady beep of the heart monitor filled the silence of the hospital room. She sat by Lando’s bedside, her hands trembling as they clutched his limp, lifeless one. He looked fragile under the harsh fluorescent light, a hollow shadow of the man he used to be.

She didn’t know how long she’d been there when his fingers twitched weakly in hers.

“Lando?” she whispered, leaning forward.

He stirred, his eyelids fluttering before slowly cracking open. His eyes were bloodshot, unfocused, but after a moment, they found her. Confusion flitted across his face, followed by something darker. Shame.

“You shouldn’t… be here,” he rasped, his voice thin and raw.

Her breath hitched. “Lando, don’t say that. I was terrified. I thought—” She swallowed hard. “I thought I’d lost you.”

A bitter laugh escaped him, jagged and broken. “Why do you care? You left, remember?” His words cut, even though his voice barely carried above a whisper.

Her lips parted, but she couldn’t find the words. She squeezed his hand instead, her own shaking. “I care because you called me. You called me, Lando. You could’ve called anyone else, but you didn’t.”

He looked away, his expression crumpling. “Should’ve called no one. Let it… end.”

“Don’t you dare,” she snapped, her voice cracking. “Don’t you dare say that. You don’t get to give up like that. Not when there are people who still care about you.”

Lando’s gaze drifted past her, to the doorway where Oscar leaned against the frame, arms crossed over his chest. His expression was unreadable, but there was a tension in his stance, a sharpness in his eyes.

Lando scoffed. “Even him? What, are you here for moral support, Oscar? Come to gloat?”

Oscar’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t rise to the bait. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m here for her, not you.”

The venom in Lando’s glare was palpable. “Course you are. That’s what you do, isn’t it? Sweep in like a knight in shining armour, acting like you’re better than everyone else.”

“I don’t have to act,” Oscar replied coolly.

“Stop it, both of you,” she snapped, looking between them. “This isn’t about whatever history you two have. Lando, you’re in a hospital bed because you nearly died. Oscar, I didn’t ask you to be here so you could fight with him. This is bigger than that.”

Lando’s gaze flicked back to her, and the defiance faded, replaced by something brittle. He closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling unsteadily. “I didn’t want you to see me like this,” he murmured. “I didn’t want anyone to.”

“Then stop putting yourself here,” she said, her voice breaking. “Lando, please. You have to get help. You can’t keep doing this.”

He didn’t respond, his face turned away. She felt her throat tighten, but she pushed on, her voice softer now. “I left because I couldn’t keep watching you destroy yourself. I didn’t want to, but I had to. For me. But that doesn’t mean I’ve stopped caring. And it doesn’t mean you can’t fix this.”

Lando turned his head slowly, his bloodshot eyes locking with hers. “What if I don’t know how?”

Her heart broke at the quiet, vulnerable question. She squeezed his hand, her tears falling freely now. “Then let someone help you. Let me help you. But you have to try, Lando. Promise me you’ll try.”

Lando’s lips quivered, and after a long moment, he nodded weakly. “I’ll try,” he whispered.

Behind her, Oscar exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. But when Lando’s gaze shifted back to him, the bitterness returned.

“Bet you’ve been waiting for this,” Lando muttered. “The great Oscar Piastri, saving the day again. Must feel nice, huh?”

Oscar stepped forward, his expression hardening. “This isn’t about you, Lando. It stopped being about you the day you threw it all away. The career. The friendship. The team. I stopped caring about you a long time ago. The only reason I’m here is her.”

Lando flinched, and she bristled, turning to Oscar. “That’s enough, Osc.”

But Oscar didn’t back down. “No, he needs to hear it. You’re not my responsibility, Lando. You never were. But you made her yours, and you dragged her down with you. That ends now.”

Lando’s face crumpled, his shoulders shaking as he pressed his hand over his eyes. The sound of his muffled sobs broke something inside her.

“Oscar, stop,” she said firmly, standing. She faced him, her eyes filled with anger and hurt. “I know you’re angry, but this isn’t the time.”

Oscar’s jaw worked, but he nodded curtly, stepping back. “Fine. I’ll be outside.” He walked out without another word.

When she turned back to Lando, his face was wet with tears. “He hates me,” Lando muttered.

She sat down again, taking his hand in hers. “Maybe he does. But I don’t. And that’s why I’m asking you to fight. Not for him. Not even for me. For you.”

Lando didn’t answer, but the faintest nod of his head gave her hope.

In the hallway, Oscar leaned against the wall, staring blankly at the floor. His heart ached with frustration and unspoken words. When she finally emerged, her face pale and drawn, he straightened.

“Is he—”

“He’ll be okay,” she said quietly. “He promised he’d try.”

Oscar nodded, his expression unreadable.

He didn't know how this was going to go, but he wasn't ready to mourn the loss of another friendship because of his old teammate's reckless decisions.

the end.

taglist: @waytooobsessedwithlife@iimplicitt

[mikeypubes]

'*•.¸♡ ishigami senku as a boyfriend ♡¸.•*'

.•° ✿ °•.

SFW

For starters, I will not write anything pre-relationship cause even I don't know how you can get into a relationship with this dude

You'd have to know him for a long ass time, though, because he needs to know you in and out to actually like you

And liking someone and having a relationship are two separate things for Senku

You best start learning how to lucid dream about him giving you affection because he will show affection maybe once a light year

ESPECIALLY not in front of other people

His love language is probably quality time and acts of service (for him, he wants hard labor, and for you, he shows his love by making small things for you)

Sometimes, he can show his love through gift-giving, too

If it's a really emotional moment, he might accept a hug or maybe even a kiss... MAYBE so don't get your hopes up 😍

He won't initiate any "romantic" physical contact, especially hugs, but he'll accept them most of the time, especially if you two are in private

Kisses might be a bit easier for him to give because it's just a light peck and he can go back to his work

That being said, he's surprisingly gentle with you if you two are dating

I've seen so many head canons of him being so... "daddy" guys... he's really not.

Hates cheesy/cliche romantic stuff, and will never try to do them to impress you.

Maybe he'll impress you with a scientific invention but that's about it

The only nicknames you'll get from him are maybe "dumbass" and "idiot" (which goes to show he's not gonna be cheesy)

Okay but he would remember every single detail about you and all the important dates/events

He'll never miss your birthday and he's always gonna get you something nice, like a plushie or a necklace, whatever stuff you're into

He remembers your likes, dislikes, anything about your past, etc.

He really likes having you in his lab and explaining science to you, even if you don't understand jack shit

He has 0.01℅ more patience when it comes to you than with other people 👍

Sometimes he'll pause and think about how illogical he's become

He would never admit it, but he'd genuinely risk his whole life for you

Sorry guys he will not introduce you as his girlfriend

Not because he wants to hide it or anything, he just doesn't go around telling everyone that you're his girlfriend and whatnot

He doesn't tell you anything about his true true feelings (or many personal facts, like his favorite foods, etc.) but after time, you can kinda tell, it's just a thing you two share

You and Gen had to work miracles to figure out his birthday lmfao 💀

So you don't have to tell him how you're feeling, 9 times outta 10, he already knows

Though he thinks it's troublesome, he'll be considerate if some stuff make you jealous or uncomfortable

You're still not exempt from physical labor though so chop chop get to work 👏

Good luck trying to make him jealous though 💀���

The only semi-particle of jealousy he'd show is slight distrust

Like if a guy was acting too friendly with you, he'd just kinda treat him the way he treated Tsukasa at first

He's not doing it because he's afraid of losing you though LOL

On that note, a big part of a relationship for Senku is trust, so if he's dating you, he trusts you 100% and expects the same from you, so jealousy from your end can sometimes annoy him

He also doesn't get jealous for that same reason (although he's mainly just not a jealous guy)

Since he's not big on physical affection, the first couple of months you guys were dating, you had more than one instance where you seriously thought you hallucinated him accepting your confession

You genuinely doubted he liked you because he NEVER says it

But then, slowly, you came to notice that there's small things he does for you that he doesn't do for other people

For example, he always stands super close to you, or tries his best to explain things simply to you because he loves sharing his hobbies with you, or even listening to you rant about whatever the hell, even though he wouldn't be that tolerant to other people

They're not really "affectionate" things but they became special to you so that's that

Since you two don't show physical affection in front of everyone, no one knew you two were dating until like months later, when you mentioned it casually, and to say they were shocked is an understatement

NSFW

I'm not really gonna get too deep into this because I might do a whole other post for it

But in general, I think Senku would be very casual with the concept of sex

Like you guys would be months into the relationship, maybe even a year, and you still would have no clue if he even wants to do it because he'll never ever bring it up

It's not that big of a deal for him, he can survive without it lmfao

He also hates rushing things when it comes to a serious relationship

He's not dumb, though, he knows that relationships include sex and it's not that he's never thought of it, he just won't openly discuss it with you

Mainly because you two are way too busy

But if it were to happen, it would be one of two cases:

You bring it up and talk to him about it

Or it literally just happens out of nowhere (this being more likely)

So if you two were in a private place, and I guess you were smooching, one thing would lead to another, there would be no words exchanged, just him occasionally making sure you're fine

Also on that note, even though he knows everything about everything, keep in mind he's a teenage boy who's never been in a relationship before, so technically, he knows what to do, but he also doesn't... If that makes sense?

Like he knows it might hurt, so he'll be super slow and he'll make sure you're 100% okay

He doesn't know how to be super intimate, he just knows the technical part of it

Either way, he doesn't have a high libido, so sex isn't a big thing for him, it just comes naturally when you two are in the mood

(PHEW THAT WAS LONG AS SHIT)

°•. ✿ .•°

[drama-glob]

Okay, I've been seeing some Ozzie hate/criticism for a while now that mainly pertains to "Ozzie's" and "Oops," namely his interactions with Stolas/Stolas and Blitz with three points being brought up the most. I can concede to agree with one of the points, but what I don't like is that there is then no consideration for Ozzie's perspective on the matter in regards to "Ozzie's;" as for the other two points, they just make me want to pinch the bridge of my nose because I feel they are overlooking some very important stuff/factors. >_< So, hopefully I can get my points across on what I saw/heard in these situations and give at least some people pause for thought and if not, well, at least I got it off my chest. :/

First off, the point I concede on is that yes, Ozzie should apologize to Stolas for what happened at Ozzie's.

Stolas did not ask to get spotlighted and made into an example for all of Ozzie's to see, and bringing up Octavia is always going to be a sensitive subject, especially with how the divorce is affecting her.

Now for the perspective taking:

For Ozzie, he is seeing a consenting, adult couple out looking for some lusty, kinky fun; they are at Ozzie's after all. He doesn't know the circumstances that led to Stolas and Blitz winding up here. Ozzie likely even assumes that Stolas brought Blitz here given that he used his status to get into the club without a reservation. How is Ozzie supposed to know that Blitz was the one who brought him as a ploy to spy on Moxxie and Millie (so not a real date) as well as know the problems that are in the Stolitz relationship such as Stolas talking down to Blitz or that Blitz is using him too?

Also, it just irks me how people can come to understand Fizz's attitude towards Blitz in "Ozzie's" now that we know about the fire and believing that he was left for dead by Blitz, but see that it's Ozzie's fault for not knowing everything that's going on in Stolas's life (such as the trouble between him and his daughter arising from the divorce). True, Stolas does not have to tell Ozzie about his trauma/problems and that's completely fair, but then it's not right to go around and criticize Ozzie for not knowing that it's a sensitive subject. Stolas has been hiding so much from Octavia and likely everyone else because of multiple factors, but his main concern being Octavia learning secondhand about the abuse, depression and/or his drinking.

I know Ozzie's saying this about Fizz's trauma and he loves him, but it's clear he respects that he shouldn't tell Stolas about it/setting boundaries for personal information, so had he known though about Stolas's case, I highly doubt he would have made a spectacle of him cheating, especially considering the subject of abuse. Plus, wouldn't you think if Ozzie knew that Stolas had been physically and sexually abused by Stella, he'd be adamant to tear Stella a new one or see that she was punished, especially given his values on consent? >:(

In addition, all Ozzie had to say about Stella was that she's hot, so he likely has hardly ever met her enough to speak ill of her/know what she's really like; Stella's attitude towards imps alone would tick him off. >:( Anyway, Stella is not going to the Goetia meetings where they could have chatted and I doubt if he talked with Stolas, he'd say anything revealing or maybe even just chalk it up to Stolas not being satisfied by Stella. I also highly doubt Ozzie is going to waste his time going to Stella's parties when he has a ring and business to run along with wanting to spend time with Fizz. Plus, he'd likely favor either his own party or one thrown by Bee. ;)

Something to note too is just how happy Ozzie is that Stolas was with Blitz because besides him and Bee, to have a royal publicly display that they find someone of lower class attractive and wants to be lustful with is a big deal; Andrealphus even mentioned there hasn't been a Goetia like Stolas, although I can believe some Goetias doing the act of sleeping with those deemed the lower class in private. -_- Ozzie thinks the hierarchy is bunk or at the very least, you should treat people fairly and not act superior to them. So, by highlighting Stolas and Blitz, in addition to getting the performance back on track, he's showing lust is not bound be class differences and that giving into pleasure should matter more than saying, "Oh it can't work between us because you're an imp and I'm a Sinner" or one's an imp and one's a prince in Stolas and Blitz's case.

Ozzie's line "Now that's the spirit of lust" is also cause to see why he's so happy since he's seeing Stolas trade everything else in his life for the thing he desires most: to be with Blitz, or in the case of seeing the two of them at his club, inferring it was to have sex with Blitz; it certainly was some first class demonstration of lust, that's for sure.

Also:

There's also a decent chance he didn't see Stolas do this since he was back onstage immediately after, but if he had and with how observant he is, he likely would have had some questions for Stolas since Ozzie's isn't the place to be ashamed about what turns you on, so him doing this would have made him wonder what's up. :/ (Of course, now we know that the Stella part didn't matter to him, but that he was doing this at the expense of his daughter's happiness that Stolas felt ashamed and not for being seen with Blitz, but this moment still unfortunately sent us to the place we are now along with a slew of other problems contributing to it :/ ).

*Also, to nip it in the bud, it was Fizz and Verosika really doing all the Blitz bashing, not Ozzie, with him mainly just letting Fizz vent all his anger since as he put it to Blitz, "You've lived rent-free in Fizz's head for years," so this was supportive BF/husband stuff in hopes that it might help him heal since it seems Fizz and Blitz haven't had contact in those 15years to talk/work it out.

So long story short/just to recap, while Ozzie didn't do what happened at Ozzie's with malice and the fact that intentions do matter, he still did it and the damage was done, which is why I concede to him needing to apologize; until he knows everything though, he likely won't, so please don't see it as a flaw of his character that he hasn't until such time. :/

On to point two: I've been seeing it be said ever since "Oops" came out that Ozzie doesn't actually believe in helping Stolas and Blitz and only did it because Fizz told him he could. -_- Okay, well:

Ozzie is saying right here that he sympathizes with Stolas and why wouldn't he?! He flipping knows exactly what it's like to be in love with someone deeply and wanting to give them something that makes them happy! Yes, the reason he didn't give Stolas the crystal right then and there was because of Fizz, but that's because doing so would be an act of betrayal to Fizz, not that he doesn't see Stolas's side in this or understand why he wants this. Until the end of the episode, Fizz had hated Blitz and had clearly been verbal about it in the ~10yrs Ozzie and him have known each other, so going behind his back to help someone Fizz sees as his enemy is certainly grounds for relationship trouble and they'd lose so much of the trust that we see Fizz and Ozzie have. :(

The last thing that I've been seeing is people saying that Ozzie finds Stolas annoying or that Ozzie may even hate him because they heard him groan during this statement:

For me though, Ozzie groaned the whole sentence and not just Stolas's name, so it was not singling him out or if anything had a sighing aspect to it because it had been a long day, but more importantly, Ozzie's time with Stolas was mostly a flipping 12HR HOSTAGE NEGOTIATION!!!

That is not going to be a fun time no matter who Ozzie was with, okay?!

*I've also seen a comment about it being Stolas is a nerd compared to him when it's like, "Hello! Ozzie is a nerd too! He's literally a mechanical engineer who designs complicated robotic parts and sex toys! That takes a lot of math and physics!" Plus, I could see that being a point of interest for Stolas and Ozzie since calculating orbits, stars, eclipses, prophecies, etc. uses math and physics as well as Stolas would likely be fascinated with Ozzie's crystals.

The other thing people seem to forget is that Ozzie was also stuck with this guy:

The sleazy, asshole lawyer with a power kink, who sat in Ozzie's chair, talked down to him, pulled that move with the first contract so that they really had no choice but to thoroughly vet the bigger one with a fine-tooth comb, and kept delaying everything until the deadline literally came! >:(

Also, for people thinking about Ozzie being happy that he said no to giving Stolas his crystal:

This was him trying to cheer Fizz up, to let him know that although the day was undeniably terrible, Ozzie still respected his partner's wishes and knew that he wouldn't have wanted Blitz to have one of his crystals. Ozzie was even partially laughing while he said it in a "Oh, you're just going to love what happened babe!" or "You are not going to believe this Fizz!" kind of way in that maybe they could laugh about it sounding ridiculous for Blitz to have a crystal with how much Fizz hated him up to that point.

I know people may still think or feel how they want without budging by the end of this, but this is just what's been on my mind and I wanted to give my two cents on it. Also, part of the reason this is so long too is because I already analyzed the "Ozzie's" stuff for a fan fiction I wrote about it a year ago where Ozzie realizes he made some assumptions that night and was wrong. :/ Anyway, thanks for reading this giant thing. <3<3<3

[gffa]

Here's why I enjoyed this scene so much: there is so much mutual respect going on here. There's teasing that is good-natured and makes people laugh, there's consideration and compliments being made, but most of all, everyone is listening to each other. They might rebut a point here or there, they discuss it a bit, but they're honestly and genuinely listening. This scene also comes with the context that, even though it's Qui-Gon who issues a "challenge" (and ultimately the scene where Qui-Gon explicitly admits that he did it to prod the Jedi Council members into taking a vacation), it's the Council themselves who come up with the idea to go to Kwen and have an outreach celebration on a personal level. This scene comes with the context of how an earlier scene had a callback to mentioning that Qui-Gon was asked to join the Council, a plot point from Master and Apprentice where they directly said they wanted him for his different point of view on things. But mostly it's a scene where both the members of the Council and Qui-Gon very clearly respect and like each other. The Qui-Gon of this book, the Council of this book, point out that they are thinking about others, just on a bigger scale, and that that's important. That that is helping the galaxy be better, lighter, more balanced. That this isn't about the Council not caring, it's about the Council being so busy saving entire planets that they don't have time to do something smaller scale for themselves. And that it's not about a lack of care or that Qui-Gon cares more, just the direction of that care. I can vibe with a Jedi who had gotten caught up in helping people on a galactic scale (that it's better to help a thousand people than just one person, if you can) because that's what this is. Not a lack of care, just a gentle reminder to get back to one-on-one helping, not because it's somehow "better" for the galaxy, but because both are good. Honestly, I've always been on the hill of, "one of the Jedi's biggest problems is that they believed their actions would speak for themselves and thus had absolutely terrible PR because they thought people would look into the truth of the situation" and I think that's one facet of what's going on here, it's about PR and getting the stories of their good work out, more than it is saying that the Jedi weren't doing good work. Of course they were, but this was a nudge towards spreading the word of that. This scene felt honestly good faith addressing that to me. It took care with understanding why each side's motivations were valid and important, along with making it clear that this was coming from a place of community and love, that Qui-Gon respects his Jedi family and they respect him. So I was totally down with this. (Star Wars: The Living Force | John Jackson Miller)

[ordowrites]

cw: mdni, no pronouns used, light fluff, sfw, kissing. (ask to tag)

"Hey." He acts like he doesn't want to be with you as he sits down next to you - the lively city below. "I've been looking for you."

"Sorry," you say without sounding sorry. Because you aren't. "Just...needed a breather."

The wanderer makes a little noise as he looks at the same skyline as you. Liyue is a city that glitters, even at night - it's always busy and even moreso now that it's a festival.

"Heard they imported fireworks from Inazuma." he says, out of the blue. "Among other things."

"So we're in for a good show." you answer.

"I never took you for an introvert." You have to give it to him - he's trying.

"I thought you hated small talk."

"I do." The puppet answers, bluntly. "I just hate you being quiet more." You smile at bit at that. "Whatever." He glances at something else and draws in a breath. It's unlike him to be nervous.

Before the Wanderer could think more or you could think of the near future consequence, you kiss him.

As soon as the fireworks go off, close to midnight, he cups your face between his hands - cold and feels nice against your warm skin - and kisses you.

It's a bit uncomfortable at first, but after a moment or two, it starts to feel nice. And the two of you stay like this until there is a chiming of bells and finally, the two of you break apart. Because you need air.

Fingers touch your lips briefly and there is a consideration - a thought in his ever rushing brain.

"Feel better?" he asks after you pull away again. The Wanderer has a hunger in his eyes now and you - you feel something strange in you.

"I think I'll need another kiss." you murmur.

"More?"

"Mhmm."

And this is how you spend your night, in his lap, arms wrapped around his shoulders. The rest of the world unaware.

[sailorstar9]

Running Into The Ex-girlfriend At The School Reunion

“Hyoma...” Shika Sotomi, Chigiri's girlfriend for three months, sang. “Let's go together. Aw man, we're gonna be in different classes in 3rd Year. I'm so sad.”

“We're in the same school.” Chigiri reminded, the couple was walking to the Rajitsu Tech soccer club. “We can see each other any time.”

“That's not what I'm trying to say.” Shika pouted. “You're the school's top player, you're gonna go pro when you're older.”

“Sorry, Hyoma.” Shika called out after school some time later. “I promised to hang with a friend today. I can't go home with you.”

“Got it.” Chigiri waved her apologies off and headed off for soccer practice.

“Sorry, I've got a new boyfriend.” Shika called Chigiri out shortly after he tore his ASL. “Let's break up.”

“Boyfriend?” the redhead was taken aback. “You 'have' one, even though we haven't even broken up?”

“Keisuke-kun asked me to go out with me yesterday.” Shika shrugged. “I didn't wanna let him get away because he's got more potential than you. Anyway, now that you're injured, I have no use for you anymore.”

Time passes, in the Manshine City soccer team hostel...

25-year-old Chigiri received an email on his personal laptop, an invitation to the upcoming high school reunion.

After much consideration and discussion with the older Wanima twin, he accepted the invitation.

On the day of the school reunion...

“Chigiri, I didn't think you'll come to things like this, so I'm surprised.” one of Chigiri's former female classmates greeted. “Long time.”

“Listen and be shocked.” Wanima Junichi piped in. “Both Chigiri and myself are players in the Manshine City soccer team.”

“That's amazing.” the women gushed. “I knew you two were great at soccer and I thought you'd become something great.”

“So, are you single now?” one of the braver women pressed. “I'm currently looking for a boyfriend.”

“I also broke up with my boyfriend last year.” another woman added. “Are you free tonight?”

“Hyoma!” Shika called out and everyone turned around.

“I didn't see Sotomi's name on the invite list.” Junichi was confused as everyone took in Shika's rather unstylish outfit.

“I came to see you.” Shika spoke. “I want to talk.”

“We can talk here.” Chigiri stood his ground.

“That's okay.” Shika stammered. “That's great. You're a professional soccer player? You were always great at soccer.”

“How do you know that?” Chigiri asked.

“Junichi-san is always in contact with his younger brother, so I confirmed it with Keisuke-kun." Shika answered. "Hyoma, let's start over.”

“What?” Chigiri echoed in disbelief. “Now, with me? You were the one who said Wanima Keisuke had more potential than me.”

“Sorry, I was wrong.” Shika wailed. “I learned that it means nothing to just have potential in high school.”

“So, it's all about money?” the other women realized that it was all about.

“I didn't say that.” Shika protested.

“Didn't your last boyfriend see you only as an ATM? He made you spend money on him and then tossed you away after he drained you dry and leaving you with all his debt.” a female classmate explained. “Money is indeed important, but it's a little too good to be true to change your mind about a person you made fun of right after they make money.”

“You were saying that?” Junichi snapped. “Now you want to get back together because you have no money. It's too coincidental.” he moved the entire party to another table. “Shika still hasn't gone home yet.” he noticed the lone Shika drinking in the corner. “She hasn't given up on you yet.”

“I'm going to the restroom.” Chigiri excused himself.

“Hyoma.” Shika cornered the speedster outside the men's toilet. “You were in front of everyone else, so you couldn't say how you really felt, right?” she snuggled up to Chigiri. “I know you well. That's why I wanted to talk alone. You still like me, right? I'll go out with you. You've always been relaxed, so your feelings aren't obvious.” she continued, despite Chigiri slapping her off him. “But in high school, I felt that you liked me. You just can't express how you feel, right? It's okay. I get you.”

“I struggle to understand why you think I still like you.” Chigiri retorted. “First of all...”

“Hyo-kun.” F/N called out, a two-year-old toddler in her arms.

“You just came?” Chigiri walked over. “How did you know I was here?”

“Keiichi woke up from his jet-lag and started wailing for his daddy.” F/N replied. “Wanima-kun told me you were in the restroom. And that Satomi-san had chased after you.”

“Hyoma?” Shika splattered, seeing Chigiri's arm around F/N's waist

“I'm already married to F/N.” Chigiri explained. “And as you can see, we have a son.”

“What?” Shika exclaimed. “What's so good about that plain wallflower? I'm... my skin is a little dry right now, but if I go back to my normal lifestyle and work on myself, I'm beautiful. I'm so much better than her.”

“You still talk like that.” Chigiri sighed. “Before she went for that Germany scholarship after I tore my ASL, she made me a senbazuru; there's no way you can beat F/N. She wrote an encouraging quote in each and every origami paper. Also, I don't choose people based on looks. When we were going out, I liked you because you were honest. But, you changed. Those who can only look at people's qualifications will attract the same type. You brought this upon yourself. We're leaving.”

“So cute...” returning the reunion table, all the women cooed over Keiichi. “I knew F/N had all of us beat when she left that senbazuru to Chigiri.”

[bethanydelleman]

I've never thought that Anne was not ill or that it was secretly Lady Catherine's fault, for many reasons, but mainly because Jane Austen tends to be very clear when someone is a hypochondriac. There are a ton of them in Austen's novels and the narrator always makes a snide remark or just informs us outright:

Mrs. Bennet: When she was discontented, she fancied herself nervous (at this time that meant a disorder of the nervous system, not "anxious)

Mr. Woodhouse: The evil of the actual disparity in their ages (and Mr. Woodhouse had not married early) was much increased by his constitution and habits; for having been a valetudinarian all his life, without activity of mind or body, he was a much older man in ways than in years (noun: a person who is unduly anxious about their health)

Mary Musgrove: While well, and happy, and properly attended to, she had great good humour and excellent spirits; but any indisposition sunk her completely. She had no resources for solitude; and inheriting a considerable share of the Elliot self-importance, was very prone to add to every other distress that of fancying herself neglected and ill-used. (and the following conversation with Anne quickly reveals that she is exaggerating her illness for attention and can't even keep track of what times she was "ill")

Lady Bertram: From about the time of her entering the family, Lady Bertram, in consequence of a little ill-health, and a great deal of indolence, gave up the house in town, which she had been used to occupy every spring, and remained wholly in the country

I could probably go on, especially in the fragment of Sanditon. Now yes, Jane Austen may have been ignoring mental health problems that she couldn't have known about, but it's pretty clear she thinks these people are being silly. But not for Anne de Bourgh! I cannot find this sort of remark about "fancying" or anything. Instead, we have Maria and Elizabeth shocked at how small and sickly Anne looks"

"Only look at her. She is quite a little creature. Who would have thought she could be so thin and small!” (Maria Lucas)

Miss de Bourgh was pale and sickly: her features, though not plain, were insignificant; and she spoke very little, except in a low voice... (Elizabeth)

It's played straight! Anne is just sickly.

[batsandbugs]

THE CONTINUATION OF THE IKEA VERSE

Okay, so this isn't quite an actual update yet, but I've been gone for a while and I wanted to let y'all know what's going on.

The last chapter of Classification System has been fighting me. Bruce and Damian's confrontation is important, but, up until now, I had no clue how it needed to go, or wanted it to end. After all, this story never had a planned plot, and was rather more a chaotic amalgamation of vibes that grew legs and dragged me along for the ride. While that worked well for the first story, the second wanted to veer into serious territory, which is maybe why it was fighting me so hard. I have serious stories, but IKEA Verse has never really been one of them.

So I started thinking of a third installment, hoping this inspiration would drive me to find the proper course for how Bruce and Damian's confrontation should unfold. So I put on my thinking cap, and thought, "hmmm... how am I going to bring back the fun and excitement and hilarity of the first installment, while still continuing Damian and Marinette's relationship?"

And my evil brain responded with...

"~Bigger is better, and better is bigger, a little bit is never enough, no, no, no!~"

So, ladies, gents, and others I now present to you the third installment of The IKEA VERSE:

THE GREAT GOTHAM SEWER RACE

CALLING ALL RACERS! Underneath Gotham lay miles of caverns, lava pools, zombie hordes, interdimensional racing tracks, funhouse hallways, a maze full of doors that do not open and lead into a never ending madness, a mysterious banked fog, submerged waterways, ancient temples, and more! Come try your hand at claiming the ultimate prize which lay hidden at the finish line.

If you survive...

Coming 2024!

So... yeah, IKEA Game Verse is getting a third installment. The last chapter of Classification System, should be out sometime within the next month or two, now that I have proper motivation to get it finished. And starting the new year I'll be posting the Great Gotham Sewer Race! Hope this makes up for the months of radio silence (although I have posted a few chapters of my Marvel fic, so I haven't been totally silent).

As always, all comments, suggestions, and ideas are welcome! The bigger and crazier the better and if it's good, there's a high likelihood it'll end up in the story (after all the knowledge of IKEA stores with ball pits was given via comment, and we all know how that panned out.) Think Hanabarbara Wacky Races! If anyone still remembers that show. Tell me who you want to see! ANYONE IN DC is open for consideration, other fandoms are also encouraged (the caverns beneath Gotham are interdimensional and inter-universal!) Tell me if there's any challenge, or obstacle, or event you want to see! I'm open anything and everything.

I hope this sparks excitement for y'all as it has done for me. See you soon!

[tuulikki]

I really appreciate that in your response to the Spotify wrapped post, you didn’t just put, “you are not immune to propaganda”, but actually followed that up with thought-provoking questions that help clarify what that propaganda can look like. That’s really helpful and considerate and I really appreciate how kind and thoughtful your response was. It really helped me recontextualize my experience of and reaction to the misinformation post when it went around. Thank you so much

You're so, so welcome. I'm really glad it helped. If you ever have any follow-up questions or just wanna chat, hit me up

I've fallen for misinformation, propaganda, and conspiratorial thinking in my life. Probably everyone has, to some degree. But I've also been kinda obsessed with the study and analysis of it ever since, so I feel like I'm obligated to try to help people to the degree I can.

I will say, it also "helps" that I have the privilege of not being in anyone's crosshairs and not having a personal connection to the issues, other than the basic moral concerns any decent human being would have. A lot of people don't have that luxury. When people are scared and hurting, it's inhuman to demand that they overcome that and put more energy into fact-checking than do those of us with less pain.

So I guess I'll try to condense some key ideas:

Reblogging ("keep talking about this!") is harmful if it isn't accurate. Inaccuracy contributes to the fog of war, causes agony to people directly involved (they see you on social media: the internet is global!), and discredits the legitimacy of a movement.

Misinformation/disinformation blends truth with lies. Seeing one thing you know to be true next to an unverified statement will make you trust that statement.

Crises make us feel helpless and small. But it is privileging your discomfort over the pain of victims if you shy away from tackling complexity.

Sometimes it feels like a betrayal to reserve a space in yourself for doubt. But disinformation trivializes important issues. If something really matters to you, then you will want it to be accurate.

People will make good-faith inaccuracies. I will. You will. Governments/organizations will. People on the ground will. No one is omniscient. Don't double-down in support of the mistake and don't let one mistake discredit a good source.

People in pain will be duped, lie, or exaggerate. Many are seeking meaning with a greater need than you are. You must find compassion for them.

Our best instincts (justice) and worst instincts (self-righteousness) will be manipulated.

Responsibility for fact-checking falls on those of us whose distress is moral, rather than personal.

Everyone is biased. Humans always care for some people more than others. Find two opposing sources and read both: you'll find the truth somewhere between them.

Truth is a hill worth dying on.

Sorry this is a long post and maybe it's useless but I thought it was important to try

[pinkgy]

PB is fucking things up, but there's hope, and here's why

During the past hours i've gave different opinions about this whole mess that's going on with What in Hell is Bad, but this is my final opinion.

Please, don’t attack me for “justifying” PrettyBusy, because I’m not, I already expect bad reactions because of this post.

I decided to write this because moments ago I checked the game's Reddit page and well, i already knew that many people has been quitting the game for various reasons, like the constant bugs and the lack of new content, but within the past hours this number increased significantly and almost every player of What in Hell is Bad that has some kind of presence in social media related to the game has spoken up about this, and i'm glad this is happening. For change to happen people needs to speak up, but i think that by know, PrettyBusy already knows it. I talked about this in a reblog i did some weeks ago, but i'll say this again, PrettyBusy is a business, a small one, but a business, and they have and can keep track of many things that are going on in the game, and by now, they probably noticed that they are losing players even without having to check what's going on in different social medias, and my hypothesis is that there's some internal issue going on for them to have so many unfulfilled promises and so many things that are lacking in the game. But i don't mean to say that we should be considerate, that's something that's up to every singular person.

They know about what's going on, and if you ask me, i believe that by the end of the day we will have an update from them explaining everything, Prettybusy may be fucking up many things right now, but they are really receptive and i think many of us have noticed that with the past issues, the last one being when they deleted the mission that involved using Nightmare coins during the past Nightmare Pass when many of us started to complain about it, they had no need to fix that because it wasn't an impossible mission, really hard i must admit, but not impossible, but they still did and compensated us later. And no, i'm not excusing PrettyBusy, I’m just trying to see the positive side out of this. PrettyBusy is being greedy, not event the biggest dating games have 40$ cards, or even content that is worth that amount of money, and for a game that doesn't even have a year since it's release that is absolutely inconsiderate, my theory is that they noticed that those overly expensive cards were actually being sold by players so they thought that if they released others, the same would happen and the F2P players would just ignore it and keep playing, and they ended up making a mistake by saturating the game with paid content and neglecting those parts of the game that are actually important, the Main Story and the Organic Players. And surprisingly, this is a common mistake many companies do, but they usually end up fixing it, because at the end of the day, us, Organic Players of What in Hell is Bad are the best promotion for the game, or any game in question since this example can be used for many other situations, a singer can have the biggest billboards, the best music, the most expensive commercials, but the fans are always going to remain as the best promotion they could have EVER, and if they don't have fans, they won't be successful. And if me, a normal 19 year old college student can realize this, i'm sure a COMPANY, a BUSINESS, can definitely do it way better and quicker too. No game wants to lose players, yes, they're earning 40$ for selling those cards, but they’re losing waaaaay more by losing F2P players, and summarizing the last tho paragraphs, PrettyBusy needs us because we are money.

It makes me really sad to see many players lose interest in the game, and if any of you care, I'm not leaving, at least not for the time being, i know it sounds dumb to see the positive side of everything that's going on (Because it's definitely not positive at all) but i will keep doing it, I like the game but that doesn't mean I'm going to justify what PrettyBusy is doing, and I think that's a valid opinion.

To conclude this, I’m going to gaslight myself into thinking that PrettyBusy isn't dumb and they do know that what they're doing it's wrong, and they will search for a way to fix this as soon as possible, and if you think this is impossible, read again this post because that's the whole purpose of it. I hope I'm right, but if I'm not, then I’ll try to stay optimistic until they fuck it up again.

If you want to mail PrettyBusy complaining about this, I'm really glad you are! I'm working on a mail too, I recommend you read THIS post before you do it, and please, remain respectful.

Thank you so much for reading this long-ass post! I'll gladly accept any addition to this post or any comment, but please remain respectful, and remember, this is a personal opinion, I'm also a F2P player, and believe me when I say that I'm as mad as you are about this but I just have my own point of view of it.

[mirai-e-jump]

Animage December 2023 Issue ft. Yuzuki Hirakawa Interview (translation below)

Publication: November 10, 2023 (between episodes 35-36)

"Remain Immovable"

Rita Kaniska, who rules the absolutely neutral country of Gokkan, is both the king and chief judge who passes down judgment on international criminals.

"The Law is the spear that pierces kings. The Law is the shield that protects man. For this reason, Gokkan will remain immovable."

Rita never wavers in their convictions at any time, and judges fairly according to the law.

However, just like anyone else, Rita also has a heart. They get angry at those who resell goods based on their beloved animated character "Moffun," and when their emotions get out of control, they scream in public.

When they tried to seal Grodie with the "Ice Seal," a secret sacrificial technique that's possessed within their right eye, they felt the fear of death. Still, Rita's strength lies in their determination to remain neutral and immovable as the king of Gokkan.

It must have been a positive thing for Rita to have friends who understood their way of living, were concerned about them, and tried to help them.

The current mission of the Royal Sentai, is to reclaim the countries of Chikyu that have been conquered by the Uchu Five Jesters. Goma, who rules Gokkan, is a difficult opponent, once messing around with the kings using a technique that switches bodies. What awaits Rita in the upcoming battle to reclaim Gokkan?

-I want to make use of the sword fighting skills I learned from Hachisuka-san-

"As the story progressed, the number of kings working together increased, but is there anything you're conscious of when expressing these relationships?"

Hirakawa: Basically, I try not to put my personal feelings into it, but after starting the second chapter, I feel like we're closer than ever. I'm not sure if a part of them that unconsciously feels at ease has emerged. However, I think Rita doesn't just think of them as their friends, rather, they're comrades that help protect Chikyu. When it comes to Hymeno, who is the closest to them, rather than being conscious of how I interact with her, I treat her naturally as Rita, reacting timidly to Hymeno's aggressive advances.

"We found it interesting that when they switched bodies with Yanma in episode 28, unlike the other kings, they didn't seem to become closer."

Hirakawa: Everyone else had good interactions, but we were in an interesting frame of, "Huh, what are we doing?" (laughs). In that episode, I also discussed with Director Kamihoriuchi Kazuya that among the kings, Yanma would probably enjoy being swapped the most, and that the most important thing was to enjoy the chaos of the situation. Also, I thought that if I went too hard in my approach, it would be too rough, or that it would come off as lame, so I decided to just do it naturally. The Director told me things like, "You don't have to try doing it like Yanma," so I felt like I played much more as myself

"Have you heard any feedback from Watanabe Aoto-san, who plays Yanma?"

Hirakawa: When we met up, he said, "It was alot of fun!" and "It was cool." But, Aoto's Rita was way too much (laughs). I don't really roll my eyes or cross my eyes or anything like that. "I" did that because I reached a state of maximum irritation due to the stress of being swapped…..if you think about it, could it be possible? When I saw the final cut and realized how he performed, I was surprised and asked myself, "I've been doing this?"

"What do you take into consideration when interacting with Morfonia, your retainer?"

Hirakawa: I try to be as "flat" as possible without being too overwhelming. Like in the kabedon scene in episode 25, when they want to convey their thoughts, I'm always conscious of conveying them clearly, even if it's in their own awkward way. No matter what Rita and Morfonia say to each other, they'll never leave each other, as they know that their relationship won't change, so I feel like they're not hesitant about it.

"Have you had any memorable interactions with Yuichi Hachisuka-san, PapillonOhger's Suit Actor?"

Hirakawa: We usually film separately from each other, so I share information with Hachisuka-san whenever we meet. He incorporates what I talk to him about into his actions after the transformation. When we're fighting unmasked, he's always by the camera man's side, giving me friendly and detailed advice. We also have alot of small talk that's unrelated to acting, so I'm very grateful that he's so open and friendly with me.

"In terms of unmasked action, we think that episodes 32 and 33 depicted some pretty intense action scenes."

Hirakawa: That's right. It was the first time in the second chapter that I had to fight unmasked, and there were quite alot of moves. Rita's fighting style is not to attack the enemy themself, but to cut them down as the enemies approach them, so sword fighting skills are important. It's important to have a sense of balance between stopping your movements and applying force, and Hachisuka-san taught me alot not only during action practice, but also on the set. I've always loved to move my body, and even before King-Ohger I participated in a few practice sessions for action scenes and became interested in it. Hachisuka-san taught me the basics of how to hold, swing, and draw out the sword, and I'd like to continue challenging myself even after King-Ohger is over.

-Overflowing emotions between my mission and fear-

"The cast members of King-Ohger are actively engaged on SNS, but we have the impression that Hirakawa-san especially has frequent opportunities to interact with the fans."

Hirakawa: I'm conscious of doing something on SNS every day. I belong to LDH, which is famous as an artist agency, and their artists have many opportunities to directly interact with their supporters at things such as live performances and release events. However, the acting team doesn't have many opportunities like that, so I wanted to create a place to interact with the fans, so I use the Twitter space to talk and stream on Instagram Live. Also, I wanted to give people a chance to get to know me through Rita. I'm glad that the fans enjoy the gap between me and Rita.

"I see. It sounds like you had some deep thoughts and were communicating them."

Hirakawa: Well, I've always liked talking, so when I'm home alone, I sometimes start saying, "I'm kinda bored," or "I'll talk for abit" (laughs). I feel that I've become better at speaking since I've started streaming, and that my thinking is faster than before. Up until now, I haven't had many opportunities to communicate with the fans, so when I read their comments, it was encouraging to realize that there were so many people who supported me.

"Other than Rita, if you had to name your favorite character, who would it be?"

Hirakawa: Since playing him in the body swap episode, I feel attached to Yanma. I've always wanted to play a role with that kind of cool feel and slightly rough tone. Also, I guess I'd say Gira. I think his charm lies in that he's straightforward, honest, and cute, but the anger he shows and the feelings he has for his friends is also appealing. His face is looking more and more like that of a king, and in episode 29, there's even an effect where lights rush from his eyes, which was super cool!

"Please tell us about some of the most memorable episodes so far."

Hirakawa: In episode 30, the secret of Rita's right eye was revealed, and the culprit behind the "Wrath of God" was revealed to be Grodie, which still leaves an impression on me. I didn't know about the secret of their right eye, so I was surprised when I read the script. Grodie is played by Amano Kousei-san, who is a senior at my agency, and he also performed in Kamen Rider (played Sakuya Tachibana/Kamen Rider Garren in Kamen Rider Blade), so I have fond memories of being able to co star with him.

"Shiono Akihisa-san, who plays Souji Rippukan (Kyoryu Green) in episodes 32 and 33, also comes from the same agency."

Hirakawa: Yes. Shortly after being chosen to play Rita, I happened to have the opportunity to meet Shiono-san in another production, where I told him that I would be appearing in Sentai. I was very happy to be able to work together in the collaboration episodes, with Shiono-san encouraging me with, "Do you best."

"Going back to episode 30, we think it was a major turning point from Rita's perspective."

Hirakawa: The relationship with Karras, the previous king, was explored in depth, and Rita's actions towards their mission and determination to protect their people was depicted, which I thought was cool to play. For the scenes where Rita's emotions were overflowing, I wanted to express them in advance, and wanted to express them within the atmosphere of the scene. The scene where Karras collapsed in front of my eyes was so powerful, that I was surprised at how much emotion I felt inside of me and how much it moved me. The scene where they use the "Ice Seal" on Grodie is especially emotional. It's a secret technique that seals away both yourself and your opponent, so using it will lead to Rita's death. Rita is conflicted between their duty as a king to protect their people, and their fear of dying. I played the role imagining those feelings, but since I had never experienced the loss of a loved one, it became so overwhelming, that I couldn't stop crying during filming, and had to be given time to calm down.

"You played the part with a great amount of emotion."

Hirakawa: When I read the script, I often write down what I'm thinking of at that moment, but for the scene where I use the secret technique, I wrote, "I leave the rest to you." Then, when it came time to perform, I imagined everyone's faces…..I thought, "I don't want to die," and "But" and I cried not only as Rita, but also as Yuzuki Hirakawa (laughs). By deciding to protect the lives of their people and the peace of Chikyu more than their own life, Rita was able to grow even more, and when Hymeno stopped them, I feel that they were able to firmly realize that they were not alone.

"Finally, please tell us about some future highlights."

Hirakawa: In episode 36, Rita will do some interesting things in the scenes regarding Hymeno's marriage matchmaking, but I think episode 38 will be the main highlight for Rita. Filming is about to begin (at the time of this interview), so I know I have to do my best......I really hope everyone will look forward to it (laughs). _

Question to Kaku So-san! (Kaguragi Dybowski's Actor)

Kaguragi often goes to different places alone, like infiltrating other places, without anyone noticing. I'm curious to know how he manages to stay out of everyone's sight with such a large body. I also want to know how he takes care of his long hair. If you look closely, Kaguragi's hair is quite smooth. It's actually a wig, but I'd like to hear Kaku-san's interpretation of how Kaguragi takes care of his smooth hair. (-Hirakawa)

Questions from Murakami Erica-san! (Hymeno Ran's Actor)

Q: What kind of food does Rita like? If you were to make a Gokkan coat for Hymeno, what would you propose?

I have a feeling that Rita likes sweet things. I personally like wagashi, so I think they'd appreciate that (laughs). A coat that's a dress with her legs showing would look cold, so it should be like a poncho and worn over the top. I think a long coat with a hood would be nice. A fluffy white ball (snowman) coat, or a kamikiri (mantis) coat! (-Hirakawa)

[runaway-dreamers]

An opportunity for Wally request has arrived!! Exited-exited!

Since im a tiny bit evil it would be fluff turned angst >:)

How about while Wally and Reader cuddle, Wally asks about our heartbeat, we answer explaining that its a sign of us being alive, as a consequence of that he learns about our mortality

Ty for your consideration 🌹

Hmm, I'm a little awkward here. I do hope you like it! Thank you, Anon!

🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

Here in deeper conversations, I find myself wishing to be folded into you.

The Everyday Life of Wally Darling

Word count: 1,116

🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

The sun dipped low in the cloudless sky. Shadows of buildings were slanted across the now empty roads, a deepening orange filled the spaces between. A breeze lifted the weightless blinds filling every corner of the room with the smell of late spring afternoons. The gently lifting and falling curtain cast its own shadow on the two sleeping bodies held close to one another. 

You were laying on your back with Wally's head resting on your chest. Your hand was gently combing through the soft blue waves of his hair. A comforting silence had built around you. Nothing was said as his hand pressed gently against their skin. It gave way, but remained taut against the pressure. What started off as helping a stranger turned into this.

During that time spent caring for each other things were thought of, but never asked. Questions weren't able to pass from their lips. There was a clear wall between the two. A wall that made conversation tough. They would converse about the general, but just as important, well being of one another. They would chat about Wally's new painting. You would ask about the different techniques he used this time around, and he would give them all the information he could offer. The two were close friends. 

There was a mutual understanding expressed in eyes half-looking as they passed by one another. They shared it when they said their goodbyes or see you later. They shared it when talking over morning coffee. A moment's grief made painfully acute by avoidance. They ignored it as much as they possibly could hoping that this was the correct path. 

It must have grown over time nurtured by him admiring you in the morning sun as they gazed into eyes still glittering from sleep. It may have been when you first saw him with his hair down watching the sun rise from the kitchen window. All you really knew was that this little pang of joy grew into a pulsating surge of longing. Without much words spoken the both of you had begun sharing a bed. Wally would go quiet first as he felt the tautness of your skin. His head would always rest on your chest. Your hand always traced along the fine stitches on his body. 

The first time Wally had his head on your chest, he had squeezed you so tight and pressed his ear as close as he could. You said nothing when he did this, but you could feel the racing of your heart. At some point you had slept and woke to him still listening. He never asked. You never offered.  

The growing weight of unspoken words would always become too heavy, and those questions must flow. Wally moved propping himself up on his elbow. His thick blue hair slipped from between your fingers. The movement roused you from your sleep, and you looked at him concerned. 

"Neighbor, I've been meaning to ask," His voice was low as he spoke, "What is this sound in your chest? Is it a crank? A voice box?"

Wally rested his hand on your chest, his fingers curled and his pointer gently tapping to the rhythm of your heart. His eyes held the same sweet look they always did. The same look you'd always seen when he offered you tea or a bite of his apple. His hair hung down to the side with strands caught in the golden hours glow, and you wanted to run your fingers through again. He looked like a dream, a fantasy. 

"That's my heart. It keeps the tempo of my life." 

Wally stopped tapping as you spoke, "Keeps the tempo of your life?"

His confusion was showing. The walls were slipping. The moon had risen and the night spread its deep blue glow. They stared at one another waiting to see what would happen next. Behind the silence tension had sprouted.

"Yes. If it stops, well, it means the show's over." You tried to laugh away the uneasiness hoping the conversation would change quickly. 

Wally laughed montone and robotic, "Hahaha, what show would that be?" 

"The, uh, Y/N show." Your heart sank. 

He was confused, "How would I turn it back on?" 

"You can't. No one can, really. Maybe I'm not explaining it right," You sat up, "My heart is why I'm alive. When it stops beating I'll be.. not alive." 

Wally sat up and stared at you, his eyes never leaving yours. They widened as yours winced. 

"What happens when you're not alive, neighbor?" 

"I imagine it's us returning to the primordial soup, the creation of all things, but I don't know." 

"So when your heart stops, you'll no longer be here?" Wally's voice cracked as he struggled with the weight of what he just learned. The pieces were not clear and didn't fit well together, but from the jagged edges came an idea so startling it caused him to cry. You pulled him into a hug, rubbing his back and kissing the side of his head. Neither of you spoke as Wally clung to you listening once more to your heart.  

"That isn't right now. Right now I'm here with you still living, still with a beating heart. You can hear it whenever you need to. Imagine my heart beats for you, too." You spoke softly, your words barely a whisper in the dark. 

You sat there for a while just holding one another. It felt like new questions were waiting to pour out from the both of you. New conversations waiting to be explored. Things to understand and things meant to cause arguments. Why did it suddenly feel like these things now had an even tighter deadline? Like they might not ever be spoken of. The potential of you and I was a burden threatening to drag us under. 

With Wally's head against your chest and your hand absently rubbing his back, you could let yourself believe an ending was far off. This moment could last forever through the winding night, through the rising sun, and through the cool blue of daytime skies. If this was the anchor in the now uncertain ending then so be it. Assume for a second this is all there is. Being here together for a moment in a lifetime of change and hardship was more than enough.

"If.. You leave. That loss would change me. You'll have gone somewhere I can never go." Wally spoke next, his voice would shake and crack. 

"An eventual inevitability, but not right now. I promise I'll stay right where you can see me for as long as I possibly can." 

"I'll memorize the tempo of your life, Y/N."  

[cripplecharacters]

What are your thoughts on people making random characters albino (especially regardless of their race, even if they aren't black? Would it count as fetishizing under certain ways?

I've heard that albinism can appear in any race group, but I'd just like to know how you view just random characters casually having albinism (even without it being sexualized for fetishized)

Hi!

Casual representation is great! Not just albinism, but disability in general. You don't always have to go into complicated details of "how's it like to be disabled". But just because it isn't meant to be a work about a certain condition doesn't mean you shouldn't do your diligent research - if by making random characters have albinism you mean giving them the "aesthetic" and nothing besides that, it would be fetishization or at least just poor representation.

Also, for this answer I'll be talking about oculocutaneous albinism because I'm fairly sure that's what you were referring to, but please be aware that there are other types, like;

ocular albinism (has 3 different subtypes)

Heřmanský–Pudlák syndrome

Chédiak–Higashi syndrome

Griscelli syndrome

oculocutaneous albinism also has multiple (7) main subtypes, with some of them splitting further. You should take that into consideration as well when deciding on what kind of albinism your character(s) has :-) I'm not saying that you should write "X has oculocutaneous albinism, type OCA1b" in your book, but it will help to inform you what their needs and symptoms could be!

First thing I will mention is that the word "albino" is generally not the preferred term and you probably shouldn't use it unless you have albinism yourself. Here's a page on it by the National [USA] Organization for Albinism and Hypopigmentation or this post we reblogged recently.

To make sure that your representation works, you need to understand how albinism works. Even if it's a side or minor character, you should be aware of the symptoms other than just the lack of melanin. Prime example, the extreme majority of characters with albinism in media don't have any vision issues at all, which is not how it is in real life. If you make a character with albinism, you're making a character who is blind or low vision. It's important to research aids and assistive technology, as well as blindness tropes that your character could fall into. For a character that only shows up occasionally, it's still important to show things like a white cane, their light sensitivity, them having to avoid the sun.

If that's your approach to "making random characters be disabled" then you should be good. A lot of disabled characters end up boxed into specific tropes (for albinism: being evil, being emotionless, having magic powers, or being mystified because of their disability) so having e.g. a background character with albinism who has a regular job and shows up in the story from time to time would mitigate that. People with albinism are normal people.

It's true that a person of any race or ethnicity can have albinism! Some types of albinism are more common in certain demographics; for example, Heřmanský–Pudlák Syndrome appears much more frequently in Puerto Rico and OCA4 is almost exclusively seen in Japan, and oculocutaneous albinism is more common in sub-Saharan Africa as a whole (which is a giant area, but there's not much statistics about it). But your character could be of any background to have albinism in general.

In short, if the representation would end at "giving a character white skin, white hair and red eyes*" then it's more fetishistic than representative; that's just using the appearance but ignoring everything else. Keep in mind that it's a medical condition, not an aesthetic. If a character stops having albinism when they dye their hair, tan, and wear colored contacts, then that's just a character who happened to have light hair skin and eyes, not a person with albinism. Good representation of disability means showing the disabling parts of it - again, you don't have to go into detail about how it is to have albinism if the character shows up for two chapters, but show them navigating with a white cane!

*note - in real life, people with albinism don't have red eyes. I mention it because it shows up in media all the time. It just screams fetishization because it's not a thing - most people with albinism will have blue, hazel, or brown eyes.

I hope that this helps - if you have a more specific question, feel free to send another ask. I also recommend going through our #albinism representation tag, it might answer some of the questions you might have! :-)

mod Sasza

[pumpkinbxtch]

ok ok I know this is kinda random but I am a HUGE Octavian simp for literally no reason but honestly? I trust you to see this ask and do with it what you will <3

Octavian is My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys 100000000% he stole my tortured heart for no reason he's just an annoying lil guy

Can you do an Octavian x Daughter of Poseidon/Neptune!reader where they have a kinda off/on relationship? Totally ok if you don't want to though! I love your writing!

f.u.

— octavian x daughter of neptune

☆radiostar is playin': f.u. — little mix…!

warnings; angst, off-on realtionship, (more) mean octavian, language, octavian himself is a warning (lol) a/n; yep, absolutely, Octavian is annoying really, I HATE HIM but as my mother taylor said: it's the worst men i write the best. I've never said it but I love writing angst, bro someone commit me to the psychiatric. Anyway, THANKS, hope you like this. Love, María

—I swear I'm going to drown you in your sleep!— Each word made you grip the glass tighter until Octavian could hear the material creaking, on the verge of breaking. His eyes focused nervously on the glass, but all you got out of him was a defiant hum.

—Come on...— His gaze was as empty as the promises he always made, yet you felt his warm hand wrap around your wrist, forcing you to release the glass. He gently shook your hand twice until the glass fell into his free hand. You thought it was an act of consideration for your well-being until he smashed it on the floor himself.

That was him, always showing a vulnerable side only to shatter any sign of it later. He smirked mockingly.

— You’d never do that to me.— That arrogant glint in his eyes made your stomach turn.

He was a bastard.

Disgusting.

You hated him.

You were done.

But by standing still, you proved him right, and he finally let go, heading to the kitchen. His casual footsteps echoed in the dimly lit apartment, illuminated by nearly spent candles 'cause you had been waiting for hours, cooked your best, dressed nice for him, and Octavian just decided to make you wait for four hours.

When he returned, you were still in the same spot. He didn’t even bother to look at you because sweeping up the glass shards seemed more important than picking up your broken heart. He had hurt it too many times for it to matter anymore so yes, maybe the shattered glass was more urgent to clean up.

You watched him pick up the larger pieces with his hands, and then you saw it on the collar of his shirt, something small but enough to explain why he had been so late. A lipstick stain jumped out at you, mocking you.

— was that — you murmured. He sighed heavily, knowing exactly what you meant. It drove you crazy that he didn’t even try to hide it anymore.

—So? — he asked dryly, tossing the shards into a plastic bag to keep them from mixing with the regular trash. He thought that would keep you from getting hurt, how ironic.

You stayed silent, glaring at him with knitted brows. Tears of hatred started to well up, causing an effect only you could have on him, the reason you stayed in this on-again, off-again relationship: his self-pity and subsequent regret.

But even though you could make him feel something almost impossible for him, it was too weak against his ways because he still didn’t apologize; he just kept cleaning.

If you were realistic, you weren’t in a position to demand answers. The state of your relationship was as uncertain as ever, unstable. You didn’t even know what you were to each other at that moment, but you were too scared to say it out loud and break the thread. So you just sat there, watching him finish.

And as you did, you couldn’t remember the last time you laughed together or shared a good moment without fearing breaking the relationship. Where had the good times gone? You let out a sob and didn’t realize you were about to cry like a baby until that moment.

Octavian’s sickly blue eyes looked at you, but you were too deep in your sorrow to care even if he stayed or left. He sighed and sat beside you, only by taking a seat at the table did he become aware of what he had left behind: a cold lasagna, melted candles, and two empty plates. The perfect scene of something very messed up, turning a genuine act of love upside down. You were like the sun to him, illuminating him when he should have been the one doing it.

His long hands slid across the table to stroke your arm, and he began to murmur nonsense, the same things as always because that’s how he fixed things. You shook your head, hiding your face in your hands, fighting the sobs.

— Come on, baby— he insisted, and you kept shaking your head like a hurt child. — I didn’t mean to... You know you’re the only one.

You heard the chair scrape as he moved closer, one hand wrapping around your waist.

— Get out.

He shook his head, insistently kissing your shoulder and nuzzling your cheek, trying to get you to look at him like he was the stray, wounded dog.

— Please, can we talk?

— We’ve talked enough — your voice trembling, making a hollow form in his heart. He was surprised to realize he had one, and for your bad luck, it beat for you.

He leaned in and kissed your neck gently. That was dangerous, and you knew it, but you didn’t pull away.

—I was an idiot — he murmured, leaving a trail of kisses up to your jawline, where his lips tasted salty from your tears.

He moved your hands away from your face, you no longer resisting much. It was the first time he looked at your face since he arrived, and with that gaze of his, something in those cold eyes gave you enough warmth to keep looking at them. It wasn’t ideal, but it was just enough.

He tried to smile, but it came like a smirk. He kissed you, and you let him. His lips melded with yours as more tears fell, just like you had fallen again into his game.

— Things will be different — he murmured, not stopping the kisses or the hair-stroking that kept you dazed. He tightened his grip on your waist, slowly pulling you into his lap. —Things will work between us.

Empty promises with sweet affection. His hand moved to the edge of your dress, playing with the fabric near your knees. Your hand on his shoulder as you kept kissing slowly, or you might truly break.

You had lost count of how many times those words came from his mouth, how many times you had reconciled this way, but your desire for it to be true never diminished, only grew. You wanted to believe him this time, like all the times before, but he knew the truth and was too cowardly to admit it, to accept it because he had seen the future: You weren’t his, but he resisted letting you go.

No matter if it only broke you more, if you stopped being you, if he stopped being him.

You had to leave first, and what he didn’t know was that the next morning, after one last kiss, you would.