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rachthepoet · 7 months ago

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Keep Driving Analysis

Oh my, oh my. Keep Driving renders domesticity with vague tableaus, from the mundane to the utterly surreal, counting off on his fingers a new twist on the grocery list. Ahem, well, to me anyhow. It tacks together a collage, one representative of a dreamy relationship. Romantic, but showing simultaneous unsteadiness. It's a masterclass in delicate deception and extended metaphor, one of those songs I'd personally pull to illustrate just how beautiful Harry has a hold on his art lyrically and musically.

Maybe I'm a bit biased, I'll be so frank, due to the utilization of the stream-of-consciousness poetic style. The intentional lack of organization is such a willful move on the artist's part. A bold and unusual form to be brought into song lyrics due to how off-putting it can come off to the listener, but Harry takes that possibility into ownership and uses it to strengthen his work. The inclination to seek solace while in perpetual motion. Impeccably, may I add.

Here's a deep dive (or should I dare to say drive?) into Harry Styles' Keep Driving, from a poet.

Harry S. & Paul M. 🚗

Something that hit me on the first listen, and persistent in all the listens to follow, is the striking similarity between this song of Harry's and Paul McCartney's Junk. The Beatles and Paul himself have been ingrained in my livelihood since I was small, on car rides with my mother who took my conversion to Beatles fan very seriously. So, maybe it's too natural for me to find any association between the two, but I promise there's a direction to my madness. First, for context's sake, let's talk about McCartney's song, Junk.

Junk is a contemplative piece delving into themes of materialism, nostalgia, and the passage of time. The way I hear this song, it stands against the concept of "letting material things go" with a focus on keeping close to the heart old material things that hold the sentiments — but, parallel, it also opposes consumerism and frowns upon just how fast the economy wants people to live their lives. There's this encompassing of the transient nature of life itself, with a rattling list of items becoming metaphors. Acknowledging, though, the tendency for once-cherished items to turn forgotten & obsolete.

Keep Driving could be illustrating something similar, I suppose. Well, not suppose, I believe it, actually. The constant change of scenery in the song, very reminiscent of McCartney's, can illustrate this transient nature, and even a haunting sense of impermanence lingering underfoot. The narrator and subject drive a faulty car, passing memories and new technologies along the way. "Something old and something new", as Paul himself would say, and does so in Junk. Despite all this change, one thing is blatantly stated as permanent: I will always love you, a favorite part of the song for my hopeless romantic heart. Anywho. Despite the faults in the engine and the brake — all a metaphor, of course — this sense of adoration and devotion courses through his veins for his companion. And there's confidence that'll never change for him, despite the transient nature around them. Or, even, the transient nature that has seeped into their own dynamic, closing in. I find it quite romantic, this proclamation of love in the midst of it all, but I better save my yapping on that for now.

Lyric Pull Apart 🚗

[VERSE 1] Black-and-white film camera Yellow sunglasses Ash tray, swimming pool Hot wax, jump off the roof

The scenery has been set into motion, utilizing that writing technique I tried to sneak into your head before. Yes, stream-of-consciousness. Here, we're given a hint into the structure of the song lyrically: the verses will be chronicling and reminisicing on memories shared between the couple, while the chorus will be a constant that the song circles back to, a stark contrast between fantasy/nostalgia vs. reality. With this importance of the structure, each verse and further sections will be kept intact visually, like above. Okay, shall we get on with it?

Black-and-white film camera: This as the opening lyric is something so genius to me, as I'm accompanied by the visual of the clicking noses of an old camera before you go to watch back memories you've captured. Which, I believe, sets the tone for the rest of the verse — and then for the second verse and bridge to come — in terms of the whole piece's structure solidified. This also gives us a look into the two characters in our narrative I believe. The film camera leans into nostalgia, as both of them tend to lean heavily into memories. This feels like a bit of foreshadowing to the core conflict, the tendency to trick oneself into hiding in the pleasures of what has been instead of focusing on what is now.

Yellow sunglasses: I think there are two ways one could go with interpretations of this detail. Well, three, if you could that it could just be the color of the frame of the sunglasses he's noticed they always wear. So, yeah, correct that to three. The first perspective ties back to my ramble regarding memories and nostalgia. In films, yellow is used as a memory haze coloring, which further amplifies the conceptualization of memories being remembered.

The second perspective is how it very well could be a nod to the common cliche, seeing the world through rose-colored glasses. Yellow is a color commonly associated with happiness and buoyancy. The suggestion here, I think, could be that his vision of the relationship is more optimistic than realistic, and doesn't necessarily want to face how tings might be falling apart, even though there's already a small concern. That can so quickly turn into a big concern.

Both perspectives can coexist, and, truly, they help flesh out each other. And both are applicable to the core themes of the song, so, really, all of these thoughts can be true and working in cohesion.

Ash tray, swimming pool / Hot wax, jump off the roof: Bringing in the rest of the verse, and looking at the first verse altogether. To the listener, everything seems like a mishmash of words with no correlation to each other. But not to the two of them, and that integrates the smallest detail, but has the biggest implications attached. These are moments, summarizations, associations connected back to the speaker and his partner. Therefore, they're uninterpretable by anybody else. It radiates a sense of established intimacy, which, when we bring in the rift, it now holds so much more emphasis. A harder hit, because we get the taste of sweetness before the punch of the sour.

[1ST CHORUS] A small concern with how the engine sounds We held darkness in withheld clouds I would ask, "Should we just keep driving?"

He snaps back to the current day, the reality vs. the fantasy, thrown out of the yellow haze of nostalgia, face-to-face with the issue with the two of them, the quote-en-quote "engine" in this extending metaphor. The vehicle is symbolic of their relationship, therefore the engine is representative of the health of their bond. This is the metaphor one has to remember in order to envelop oneself in the true beauty of the song.

A small concern with how the engine sounds: The chord played in companionship with this line is a shock to the ear, pulling the listener out of the laidback groove. It amplifies the shift of the speaker, the reality vs. the fantasy. This is our first implication in the lyrics that something is off, something is in trouble. But the interest in the details is low — he aches to continue wading into the impressions left in his head, the memories he doesn't want to abandon to face reality, whether it's the relationship with this other or something that extends beyond.

A sprite of concern saying, "The engine's making a funny noise that could impact the car's health" evolves, then, to a sprite of concern saying, "There's this issue between us that could impact the relationship's health". At its very best, it will only make for a minor bump in the road. At its very worst, the damage will be far beyond repair.

We held darkness in withheld clouds: This is a bit of a juxtaposition here, but that in no way negates its value in extending the listener's understanding. It's a beautiful and poignant phrase and is one of my favorite lines ever penned at his hand. We've solidified that the speaker is aware of the troubling turbulence, now taking the form of rain clouds. He knew that storms were brewing under their noses, but decided to keep moving along in hopes they would go. He repressed them. Because he didn't just say clouds, but rather coupled it with the term withheld — to keep something back and not share it. And, a little detail in this line I find interesting is the use of past tense. We held darkness in withheld clouds, with the past tense informing that they were no longer in the situation. But he could be looking back with a tinge of regret, in this inner conflict with himself. Trying to work out if he should stick in his ways, in his unhealthy coping tactics, to continue his emotional coasting.

I would ask, "Should we just keep driving?": Is it avoidance? Is it acceptance? Complacency? Apathy? All of it? I'm partial to the last one. He knows something isn't quite right in the engine, but chose those yellow sunglasses of optimistic haze anyway. He wants to ignore the negative parts of their relationship like an inexperienced driver wants to ignore a weird engine sound they don't want to deal with. This common feeling that maybe things will be okay if they wait it out enough. But, still accompanied with I would ask, which I feels like has an undertone of uncertainty of his choice a bit, in the way the chorus ends.

All three of these lines working together makes the chorus intriguing and draws one in, even if kept in such a small package. There's an acknowledgment, concern, then avoidance masked as acceptance. It's such a great chorus, can you tell I love this chorus?

[VERSE 2] Maple syrup, coffee Pancakes for two Hash brown, egg yolk I will always love you

Full disclosure, this verse makes me blush and giggle whenever I hear it. His voice is the softest he has sounded in this piece, which makes sense because it's the softest moment in the song. It's so fairytale-esque and dreamy in the ear. Also, the simplicity of it is saccharine sweet, a beautiful love letter to domesticity that rocks juxtaposition in comparison to the first verse. A constant routine he's reciting because it means so much to him.

Maple syrup, coffee: What's on the table in mornings spent together...

Pancakes for two / Hash brown, egg yolk: Sharing breakfast and sleepy, still-waking-up conversations...

I will always love you: Breakfast, breakfast, and suddenly, a love declaration. It's arguably the most blatant he's been in a romantic song, not hidden behind flowery language or poetry. Though, it does have a poetic flow and intention, but I'll get into that soon. Anywho, through the verses we see him chronicling memories held onto, all the sweetness before the turbulence set in. The memories of mornings spent together in the sickeningly sweet domestic atmosphere, and those are the kind of things he wants to grasp onto as they hit these rough patches. But this line is a stark outlier and disrupts the flow a bit, demandin your attention to be drawn to it, and I believe strongly that it's all in smart design. A full senence of his feelings rather than the expection to continue chronicling what's tangibly in front of him.

In breaking the pattern, it feels like he just couldn't hold it in any longer, that those three little words had to come out then and there. Here are our memories [through the black-and-white film camera], and I loved you all during them. Let's keep driving, I love you still, love you now. Here's our favorite breakfast to have together, remember that? I want to love you for so long.

Before we move past this though, gotta poetry geek out for a moment. This verse is the only one of the song to follow a meter — 4/6, with four syllables in the first and third lines and six syllables in the second and fourth lines — and a rhyme — ABCB — which in turn creates a stable feel and flow to it. Though it's not a concrete rule, often, this is something used very purposeful in poetry and leans more coincidental when it comes to songwriting. But, no matter the medium, whenever a singular section of a piece is set to break the pattern of the rest, it draws attention, and that's more than likely intentional on the artist's part. And I don't underestimate Harry ever. So, I will be proceeding on with the assumption that it wasn't just coincidental.

With this understanding, the second verse becomes even sweeter as it implies stability, which means a lot in a verse that reads as a love letter/romanticization to the domestic life. Saying that those things will always remain stable, even with the metaphorical engine problems and the pent-up darkness in their withheld clouds. Among all, these are our constants I'll keep drawing us back to. The breakfast we like to share, and the fact that "I will always love you". The use of the word always adds a prominent subtext of confidence, even if it's through yellow colored sunglasses.

[2ND CHORUS] A small concern with how the engine sounds We held darkness in withheld clouds I would ask, "Should we just keep driving?" Should we just keep driving?

There's not much difference between this second chorus and the first rendition, except one thing. The repetition of the core conflict of the piece, and I find this significant because of the order of the song up until now. In the first verse, he thought about their exciting memories, ones that embodied fun but also fleeting. When facing the inner conflict the first time around in the first chorus, there's this admittance of a problem at hand, a reflection of how it was handled before, and then this wondering if the two should keep repressing the issue. The question still lingers as he's asking it, with an uncertainty of it being the next step to be taken, though it's presented as a substantial one.

In the second verse, we're also in a reminiscence stage, but this time with memories embodying the heart and a sense of routine, in turn, stability. Remembering love and domesticity in its wholesome glory, and a sense of permanence in its final line. Then, we're back to where we are currently, with the second rendition of the chorus, the inner conflict is revisited, and the core question is repeated without the I would ask preceding it. Which gives off a sense that he's made up his mind. He wishes to keep emotionally coasting with his partner, to pick the optimistic view, having remembered the constant feeling of love by the end of the second verse.

[BRIDGE] Passports in foot wells Kiss her and don't tells Wine glass, puff pass Tea with cyborgs Riot America Science and edibles Life hacks going viral in the bathroom Cocaine, side boob Choke her with a sea view Toothache, bad move Just act normal Moka pot Monday It's all good Hey, you

I call this the everything but the kitchen sink bridge. But, seriously, this bridge works so well in its chaos, and I'll explain. After the second verse, the natural assumption would be for the song to increase its intimacy and domesticity. But, rather, this bridge veers in the opposite direction, becoming less intimate, less domestic. This is all a part of their relationship, assumed, but it's not as specific to them as earlier in the song. And as we lose that intimacy, the grasp on the nostalgia over reality as they mesh into one another, the song's feel changes.

The writing style hasn't changed, but the intensity has. The music behind his voice swells, adding an underlying sense of urgency, trepidation, and apprehension when your focus goes to the instruments alone. Almost akin to a foot pressing on the gas, pushing the car engine too far, almost to the teetering line of complete engine failure. The chaotic nature of the bridge embodies the chaotic moments of the relationship. And, when the focus shifts to the chaos, the reality in opposition to the yellow-hazed memories he's been planting himself in, their bond suffers as felt in the rise of intensity of the instrumentals.

The bridge is significantly longer than the two verses before and is split into two chunks where he's allowed to take a breath. But, in no moment before the end does he stop to beg the question. He doesn't communicate as all this chaos finally rises to the surface, making it hard to ignore. I see this bridge as a moment of emotional release, as a result of the repression before, and it's only when everything is about to hit its peak that he leans back on how he's gotten through it before. Though unhealthy, he finally brings up the question again. The second he does, things return to the status quo -- the music mellows down to the same childlike glockenspiel, a laid-back sway the characters and listeners both fall back to. We have chosen the yellow sunglasses again, as the influx of chaos is too intense to face. We keep on driving, even if it's just a repression. We'll keep on emotional coasting.

[OUTRO] Should we just keep driving? Should we just keep driving? (Ooh) Should we just keep driving?

More repetition is added to the core conflict, to the core question, and the assumed conclusion is given: the choice is to keep on driving, to keep basking in the beauty of our bond instead of looking into the beasts, which will get us stuck in a rut I'm afraid we won't be able to find our way out of. By the outro, the question becomes superficial and redundant because he knows the answer, even before the question leaves his lips. He knows the cycle he's stuck in, the coping through delicate deception. He's stopped trying to bring up that the engine sounds a little off, but rather desperately tries to keep his quickening voice soft, creating a yellow haze in hopes that he won't have to face the chaos again.

I have an inkling this is one of those songs people either love or hate, but, if you couldn't tell by just how much I've been gushing, I love it so very much! It's a song that admits that life can be shitty at times, and that includes the relationships that were once filled with sugar-coated memories, but there's always a sense of permanence that gives the push to keep you driving. Finding the calm in the chaos but almost being chaos together, even in the darkest times. Though poetic, we aren't hiding behind poetry or prose or flowery language, but bringing in the rawness, the realness, the existing and beautiful, even at times our choices can vary into the bad. It's the shortest song on the album, but I don't think it needs to be longer, and think the more condensed feeling only aids. And, speaking from experience, Keep Driving is a whole Kodak memory-maker opportunity when screaming the song in the car. Windows down!

Thank you for reading, you're absolutely incredible! If there are any songs you'd like me to make an analysis of, please send your request to my inbox! along with any questions or insights you might have yourself!

#harry styles lyrics #harry styles lyric analysis #harry's house album #harry's house #keep driving #keep driving analysis #harry's house album analysis #lyric analysis #harry styles #keep driving lyric analysis #my posts #my analysis #opinion #commentary #discussion #theory #music #this song is so cute #I WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU such a cutie pie

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jvstheworld · 1 year ago

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The Buffy Re-watch: S1E7 (part 3)

Angel

Okay, last part of this episode. Hurray.

Buffy is now on the war path after believing that it was Angel who bit her mum. Which means we get to see the crossbow in action.

Darla talks about Buffy not wanting to see Angel's 'true' face, and while Buffy minds in this episode that he is a vampire, In 'What's my Line, part 1' Buffy will eventually not mind kissing him while in vamp mode.

Question for the audience: are vampires naturally kinky? Or do you get vanilla vampires?

Giles and Joyce together is sweet, they make a good pair, either as platonic co-parents to Buffy (and later Dawn) or as a one-off romantic couple.

How much leather did they use for the clothing of this show? Like every other episode has someone in leather. And then Spike comes in and it's every episode, but at least it's the same coat. We do get some iconic outfits from all the leather, but there's just so much.

Romani curse explanation time. I won't use the G-word because I know it is viewed as a slur. Even though it is used in the show, I will be respectful and not use it.

There are many philosophical debates about what a soul is. Despite my D in A-Level Religious Studies, I am not capable of talking about it. Essentially, the soul is supposed to be responsible for the conscience that a person has. It's Jiminy Cricket. When a person is sired they lose that, and have the capability to become a killing machine. Angel's curse restored his soul to him and now feels infinite remorse over all the carnage he caused as punishment for killing a Romani girl. That bit is clear. However, is the soul responsible for other emotions too? One of the big debates is could Spike love Buffy without a soul? And this is a question I will explore when I get there, I just want to pose it now out of interest. Because Darla, without a soul, loves Angel. Or is the love that Darla and Spike have a tainted type of love? But when Spike does get a soul it becomes a purer type of love? And what does that mean for humans who are capable of some truly horrible things and can have a twisted view of love? Or am I just digging too deep with this?

Angel hasn't had his full history written yet, because as we later learn in his own show, he has bitten people while ensouled. In retrospect he is kind of lying to Buffy.

We get the first use of guns in the show, by a duel wielding Darla, who should really learn to count her bullets. And aim better.

Willow coming in with the distraction and telling Buffy the truth.

Angel gets the kill. Sort of poetic. @girl4music reblogged one of my other posts talking about the early world building that happened during this season and how it doesn't match up with later ones and the spin-off. And I have to agree. This is probably due to the show being a mid-season replacement with a short season, so larger world/character building is not going to a major thing until the show gets another season and looks like it might have some longevity to it. Would Angel/Angelus have killed Darla? In retrospect, no. He would cause her harm, sure. He does later set fire to her and Drusilla. But within the context of this season without any meta info, it was done for shock value and to set Darla up as just a disposable villain. I am glad she gets brought back in the spin off and we get more info into her 400 year old life, because a character like her would have really been wasted if she never appeared again.

We are nearing the end. Xander is definitely threatened by Angel.

They acknowledge the age difference, I'm glad they do.

They kiss again, and he gets burned by the cross that Buffy wears, that was a gift from him. Also, the parallel that when Buffy finds out Angel has a soul, he gets burned by a cross at the end of the episode. Then when she finds out that Spike has a soul he burns himself on a cross at the end too.

That's the end of the my possibly coherent thoughts episode 7. This actually took more work that I thought it would. Tomorrow we talk about Willow's dating life. No guesses for how that fairs.

#buffy the vampire slayer #buffy summers #rupert giles #willow rosenberg #xander harris #angel #bangel #darla btvs #buffy rewatch #tv show thoughts

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comraads · 1 year ago

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On God and Santa

When I was around five, I asked my mom the dreaded question about Santa Claus.

She’s recounted the story many times–it’s one of those “look how precocious she was” anecdotes that my family chuckles at. I asked if Santa was real, as many many kids do. My mom was in a bit of a tough spot, because she’d so far decided to parent with total honesty. She’d answered the “where do babies come from” in a very matter of fact, clinical way, but this was different. She was afraid that by telling me the truth, I’d lose something of that childhood joy and wonder. So she did the best she could–she wove a beautiful story about how Santa isn’t a real person, but rather the spirit of Christmas, an ideal that we all embody around the holidays. Santa was in the sound of a jingling bell, the whisper of wintery wind. It was, in my memory, quite poetic.

According to her retelling, I took this all in solemnly, nodding my head. After a small pause, I asked a follow-up question.

“Okay, but who puts the presents under the tree?”

I don’t think that many people realize the parallels between the Santa myth and God—at least from a child’s perspective. I knew by five years old that Santa wasn’t real, and it didn’t cause any kind of crisis in me. I wasn’t sad, I had rather suspected as much for a while. I also understood that I couldn’t say anything to the other children, or even to adults, because doing so would break the spell.

I viewed God in much the same way. Internally, I knew it was impossible that all the animals in the world fit on a single boat, or that a man had turned water into wine at a wedding. I assumed that the adults–at least most of them–knew this too, and that we were all going along with this whole God thing because, like Santa, it was somehow culturally important to do so. So I did. I went to church and sang the songs, I skipped dinner and breakfast before Fast Sundays, I even bore my testimony. And I began to understand–or at least I thought I did–why God was so important. It gave people meaning, answers, a code to live by. I liked the idea of there being a rulebook, perhaps for obvious reasons, and at that age, I saw the rules of my church as just as reasonable as any other. Do unto others and all that.

I continued to believe in God the way I “believed” in Santa, all the while assuming that everyone else was doing the same: until the moment when I stopped agreeing with His rules. Once I began to learn how my church thought about people who were different from us, the logical justification for belief failed. How could belief in God be so important if that belief was used to harm other people? On the contrary, it seemed to me that the most ethical thing would be to not believe in God, and to let people live their lives in a way that made them happy. By their own rules.

I tell this story because it’s one of many that, looking back on, makes it obvious that I was always different from other kids. I’ve spent all my life hiding this rich inner world from others, because I learned early on that they wouldn’t understand, or even worse, that what I was, truly, under the surface, somehow bad or wrong. That I didn’t belong. Kids always sniffed it out quickly, but as I got older and the mask grew more sophisticated, I was able to pass mostly unnoticed by neurotypical society. Maybe, if someone had thought to assess me younger, I would be a very different person than I am today. Maybe that would be better; maybe worse. The point is, I have always been like this, from my earliest memories, whether or not it was obvious from the outside.

When I confessed mid-meltdown to my PhD advisor what was happening and why, she responded with “I don’t think you’re autistic—you don’t seem autistic,” and that’s exactly why I’m writing this. I believe there are many people like me out there, who have gone through their life under the assumption that their experience is typical when in fact it is anything but. People who feel deep shame and guilt over who they are because they don’t know that they are overcoming remarkable odds each day by continuing to function (even semi-effectively) in a world that is openly hostile to them. Getting my diagnosis was life-changing for me because I finally understood why I had always struggled with things that seemed simple for others, why I was prone to depressive episodes and burnouts. Most importantly, it gave me the freedom to embrace myself for who I was, to heal long festering emotional wounds, and to seek joy without embarrassment or shame.

Sometimes I envy people who genuinely believe in God. I only realized as an adult how many of them are not pretending, but in fact have a kind of unshaking faith and there's something beautiful in that. I don't think I've ever experienced what people call faith. I think it can be helpful for people to believe in something bigger than ourselves, even if it is a jealous sky daddy. But then I remember the question "who puts the presents under the tree" and I think maybe we shouldn't be so quick to give credit to God for things when all the best--and worst--outcomes of religion have come from people acting in God's name.

#autism #neurodivergent #actually autistic #religion #religious trauma #therapy blog

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tobiasdrake · 2 years ago

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Villain Breakdown: Variant Thanos

I have mixed feelings about this character.

On the one hand, it was a bold move after Infinity War to dump the Thanos we spent so much time with and replace him with a younger doppelganger from a parallel universe. Like. It makes the big confrontation with the guy in the third act feel a bit hollow that this is not the same person who kicked everyone's ass in the previous film.

Infinity War's Thanos goes out on top. He won, he eliminated any possibility of his victory being reversed, and he gets to rub it in everyone's faces just before being decapitated. He dies, but he dies triumphant, secure in the knowledge that it can never be undone.

But the movie still needs a climax, so Kid Brother Variant comes in to provide a third-act Thanos fight. Really weakens the catharsis factor of finally overcoming him. Wanda yells at him in fury and he's like, "I don't even know who you are." And he doesn't! He's not that guy, the one we actually want to see taken down! He's just some rando from the multiverse.

But on the other hand, I like Kid Brother Variant more than IW Thanos. The filmmakers learned from the errors of that film and are no longer trying to make us sympathize with him. He's a smug, self-satisfied prick who cares only about being worshipped for his brutal generosity.

It's a valid interpretation and criticism of Thanos's behavior in Infinity War, while still noticeably not being the one Infinity War was pushing. He's not really any different in terms of personality or motive, but now the film recognizes and acknowledges that he's a one-note piece of shit and not a deep, complex character. He is fully and unapologetically a reprehensible monster, no longer waxing poetic about economics but instead whining about the ingratitude for his genocides.

I love to see it. I just. Wish he could be the same version of the character, and not a replacement-goldfish plucked from another timeline.

#marvel #marvel cinematic universe #avengers endgame #villain breakdown #thanos #the second one #not the first #thanos 2 #electric boogaloo

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polkadotpatterson · 2 years ago

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Hi hello for the ask game: 🍓🫐☀️ (with sun being, if you want - two quotes from an earlier and recent work respectively that are thematically linked/reprises of each other 👀)

🍓 favorite poetic quote from a wip

honestly I feel like 90% of my poetic ability goes into my PMD fic which I have not touched in ages but I swear I do fully intend to finish it bc it's very dear to my heart and I'm pretty darn proud of it. anyway here's a bit from the half-finished chapter that's been sitting in my drafts since uuuuhhhhh. don't worry about it

And so you climb. Past the clinging flowers and the skeletons of trees, past the soft blue-green streams, past rocks the colour of lightning that grow more jagged and angry the further you go. And all the while, the vortex of clouds tightens around you, the dark gray-purple-black of Zapdos’ rage throbbing like a bruise on the sky. There's thunder beneath your feet and thunder above your head and thunder in your mind and the world is nothing but thunder, but you keep going.

🫐 a line from a published work that you’re proud of, but no one’s mentioned yet - or if you can’t think of one, an underrated line in general

well since we're already on the subject of PMD, here's a little bit about how mesmerizing oceans can be, just for you :)

The sea. The sea. It stretches out in front of you forever, a limitless expanse of water fading into the horizon. Your pond looks like an insignificant puddle next to the ever-changing ocean, this bright blue world that you could explore for the rest of your life and never see all of. Before you know it, you're right up at the edge of the cliff, staring down at the clouds as they glide across the water to join the waves in a hypnotic dance. You want to dive in and wrap yourself in all of it, let it surround you like a blanket. You want to leap through the waves until you’ve forgotten what it's like to walk on land. You want to dissolve into seafoam and fade into the deep. You-- You feel a nudge on your shoulder.

the pmd world is beautiful and also kinda messed up and that's a very fun combo to write :)

☀️ asker’s choice of published work: two quotes from an earlier and recent work respectively that are thematically linked/reprises of each other

hehe nice sun 2 reference :) well ok how can I see Themes and Reprise and not go right for Dot's rhythm. I looooove incorporating that into their pov, not just the literal recurring one-two-three but the way they often think and talk in three words or sentences at a time, and how at first they do it more when they're hyperfixated on pitching or going full No Thoughts Only Blaseball, but gradually come to both do it less and also reclaim it as their own thing and not something forced on them by the gods... yeah ok this is gonna get a bit long let me slap a readmore on it lol

there are soooo many instances to pull from here but I think the best parallel is probably from over and over and then over again, where they spend the whole fic feeling guilty and trapped in being unable to do anything but be a Perfect Pitcher even when it's the absolute last thing their team needs from them, helpless against the power of the gods as they watch the innings tick on and their teammates in more and more danger, spending hours of practice afterwards trying to not be perfect for once and the gods simply won't let them...

One. Two. Three. The blaseball makes a perfect rhythm even outside of the game, always hitting the wall within the boundaries of the ever-present rectangle they can see in their mind, strikeout after strikeout after strikeout. Dot reaches out fingers to draw the ball back to them after each throw, not needing to move from their spot. One. Two. Three. Perfect. Chosen. Unstoppable. One. Two. Three. Heartless. Ruthless. Unstoppable. What does Jaylen do, when everything is pounding loud in her head and the world is too big and too small all at once and everyone stares at her with hate and fear and she knows that her hands and her life aren't hers anymore and probably never will be again? Dot doubts that the answer is “more pitching”. One. Two. Three. Throw it somewhere else. Anywhere else. Stop doing the same thing over and over and over again. Why? the gods demand. This is perfection. This is what you are. This is a gift that many would kill to have. You think too much of killing, Dot tells them. One. Two. Three.

versus it’s how I know that I’m still here where Dot has finally been unlearning their whole I'm Just A Pitcher thing and with the alternative being losing everyone they love, they finally fight and take their power and use it for something different, use it to tear holes in reality and come home :')

“You are not the only gods who gave me powers.” The squid? The squid is nothing. Without us, you are nothing, too. “Then I would rather be nothing. Take my stars. Take my pitching. Take my life. Take whatever else you want, but you can't take me. And you can't take my family, either.” You know not what deal you are making. It will not end well for you. It is better to give in. Almost there. They’re almost there. They kick and push and struggle against the tide, watch the right world come back into focus. Almost there. Just a few more strokes. Reach the shore. One. “This is non-negotiable. I am taking what is mine. Myself.” Two. “I won’t let you steal me anymore. I have learned a thing or two about stealing. More than even you know.” Three. Stop that! Someone must take your place. You cannot stay in this world. “I'm through with being told what I can't do. I'm through with being dragged around. I'm through with all of it.” The field is within reach now, their teammates standing confused and concerned under the Dallas sky, the right Dallas sky. Dot had never thought of it as home, but they realize now how foolish they’ve been; everything in this world is home, all of it, and they’re through taking that for granted. You cannot run from us forever. We will find you. We -- “Don't talk to me in threes. This is my rhythm now. Not yours, never again.”

you tell em Dot!!! this is a pretty incoherent post lol but I went into it in more detail here back in the day

#thank you! there is. a lot going on here lol #answering moistly #mossy-kit

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lighthouseborn · 10 months ago

Note

If you could sum up your character with one sentence, what would it be?

Canon Questionnaire

Unpopular(?) opinion but I actually think this is an impossible task for any writer with any character — any character with even ankle deep depth, that isn't a function character, anyway.

Like you could describe function characters (the cabbage man from ATLA, Lt. Scarfield and the witch Shansa from DMTNT) with this method, because their identities are actually plot functions as far as the story being told is concerned. Sure they have names, sometimes, but even then they're likely to be there more to further something along than to have their inner worlds mapped out. (Pintel and Ragetti wobble on this line; they're almost one-sentence characters, but little bits poke through anyway). If a character is actually a part of things, has goals, gets to express nuance etc., I don't think it can be done. Or rather I think it can be done but it will always be an incomplete image. I know that's kind of the point, to cut to the 'most important' parts but I really think.. all the parts are important? Real people will have entire swathes of similarities and what makes them distinctly who they are is the little parts. I think people who lean on single-sentence type identifiers too hard end up losing sight of their characters anyway, in a different direction than what happens when they close their eyes to canon. Single sentencing too hard leads directly to flanderization. If they started flat to begin with, and don't need to be anything else, it's fine! If not, be careful.

With that in mind, I think the closest you can possibly get to a single-sentence for Henry is to simply take him at his own self evaluation (which the fact it was him who said it is in itself is an important part of things–), which is to say: “I'lll never stop, and if you throw me over, I'll come straight back.” This leaves a bunch of other things out but it does, also, cut to a really core drive of him, at any rate — a piece you couldn't remove without completely undoing the character. Arguably he doesn't have to be a storyteller, or even technically a pirate, but he does have to be confident, and persistent, and bold. And he has to be kind as well, and earnest; willing to listen, and to start causing problems if other people aren't listening, aren't paying attention. He has to be prepared to break things in order to fix them. (Running away to bring his family together; defying chain of command to (attempt to) prevent deaths.) He has to love so hard, all the way into it being a flaw. You take those and you've just... invented a different kid you're calling Henry. (Which, if you are just writing a different Henry, go ham! Do whatever! If you're calling him Henry though I feel like DMTNT should at least be on your radar a little bit though, and if you want to ignore it exists then maybe. Don't call him Henry. But that's a big fat fandom opinion on things that don't actually have any consequences or fallout s;dflkjg;wlrtkjg;sldkjfg) He cannot be resentful toward Will for his absence, I don't think. You'd have to be really really good at toeing a line for that one to work (and me personally I think that veers too far into just rehashing Will himself, which is boring. Parallels don't have to be carbon copies tyvm, let him love wildly and without anyone having had to 'earn' it.) And obviously I'm devolving into many many more than one sentence but I do think a lot of that that I just said can be, in some way, linked to his "I'll come straight back" which is why I think it's probably the closest a person can get to one-sentence'ing him. Or as close as I can get anyway, but I'm bad at it. (Kind of on purpose.)

For the ways I've written him I think the little epithets given at the top of the source material/divergences section of his bio page are also a good centering place? "Son of the Pirate King. Blood of a Turner, feathers of a Sparrow." It's more ... poetic? Ambiguous? Than a direct description, but nevertheless it tells you where I've focused him, what I'm pulling into it. Good short description only in that it evokes the entire complex history of three other characters that came before him in order to even get him on the page!

#son of the pirate king and all the duality that entails!#blood of a turner and every bit of legacy that carries!#feathers of a sparrow and the whole world waiting!#(And the part where it goes “The boy who keeps lemons in his pockets.” also lets you know that I like to have fun #and points out he's maybe. A little quirky sd;lkfjgsl;dkjf)#i would rather break the world than lose you ( character study. )

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trashlie · 2 years ago

Text

FP 215 and 216 + some shippy commentary

Whew boy! It has, yet again, been a while since my last one, and I’ve had SO MANY thoughts rattling around my brain, but I’m so bad at juggling my multiple hobbies. I’ve recently gotten back into learning watercolor painting and having so much fun with it, but there’s such a limited number of hours in a day and I lose hours while I’m painting, aaaaaaahhhh!

Anyway, I really want to try to gather some thoughts before this week’s ILY update, because my GOD I have LOVED where we’ve been with the story. I know as readers we collectively have looked forward to this never-ending night lol but I feel like there’s so many things I was personally waiting for that are finally coming to fruition and my GOSH it feels so rewarding and so exciting!

Now, you guys know that I have been chomping at the bit re: Kousuke, but I’m going to save him for a separate post. I’ve been yelling about him a LOT lately and I want to take a break, hehe, and dig into some other aspects, so we’ll be covering FP eps 215 and 216 in this post, but I swear I’m going to try to get my Kousuke thoughts out this week before the next episode drops ;_____; I have... so many thoughts about him and especially Kousuke + Nol as family and enemies aaahhhhhh. But for that - LATER!

I mean, okay, I guess I do have to touch a little on Kousuke lol and how we got here, since I never really dropped my thoughts about the episodes leading up to this hhhh I’m really behind! Kousuke being his own worst enemy all these years and thus bringing about his own downfall (of sorts) is just sooo poetic. And don’t get me wrong - I have a lot of deep feelings about this because, as we know, while Kousuke has been on a shitty path, there are reasons he ended up there, and the dramatic tragedy of him fighting something that never really existed feels like such a sucker punch. He has spent so long making an enemy of someone who only wanted alliance, and in his quest for Rand’s affection - for his father’s LOVE - he has brought the utmost of disappointment to him. I think it’s worth acknowledging that this was not Kousuke’s intention. He had no intention of punching Nol and fell to his knees when Nol pushed him and jeered so there’s only so much of this I’m willing to pin on him, because I doubt he expected his punch to land so much damage, you know? Nol goaded him and he got more than he bargained for. It’s not so very black and white.

But regardless of intention, we arrive at a hospital - mercifully not Hirahara Memorial - with Nol in a really, really bad shape, and to no surprise, it is Shinae (and Lil Buddy!) waiting on him to wake.

I love everything about this for so many reasons! It’s very much a sort of parallel to the night Shinae was in the hospital, with Nol sitting outside the door, except now we so much more friendship between them since then, and shinae doesn’t sit outside his door but is dozing off on the side of his bed. When you think about everything that has happened since that scene, it feels surreal! Nol and Shinae both have been through so much beginning with that harrowing night of the gala. and though Nol has tried to run away, all of it has only brought them closer, whether or not he’s able to admit it.

And this is actually something that I love so much about these episodes! In the episodes leading to this, at Minhyuk’s party, Nol was so cagey and edgy, all sharp edges and dangerous shadows, as if he was daring her, as if he was trying to see how far he could push. It’s not that he dropped away the Yeonggi mask entirely and revealed who he really is as much as he adopted his Nol persona and pushed it forth. After all, Yeonggi is just as much a part of who he really is, as much as his sharp edges he tried to soften by pushing Yeonggi forward. That’s what we get to see in this episode: he is as much the boy who initially approached Shinae as he is the man who’s tried to push her away, whether or not he’s willing to accept it. Even after confirming their mutual care and respect for each other, Nol (inebriated at that) pointedly shared his darkest, hidden side - and it didn’t scare Shinae off.

Certainly Shinae was exposed to the most private side of Nol - the darkness and sharp edges he uses to push back against the world, the part of him that he was so desperate to hide - but in these episodes, we see the most authentic aspect of him. Where all the alcohol he drank earlier in the night brought out what some might consider the “worst” of him, I think the morphine drip brings out a more authentic take on Nol. No inhibitions, but no edges, no sharp bites, and just enough honestly that he may regret it later.

And I love it! I loved seeing how Shinae dealt with such a dark, edgy version of the friend she was so desperate to catch, but I REALLY love getting to see Nol and Shinae return to their roots in these episodes, in terms of their rhythm, their beats, their chemistry. I think they play off each other in such a surprisingly natural way - Nol certainly has been taken by surprise by it before, but I don’t think Shinae is as aware of it. The way she responds to his prank (which is, admittedly, such a dark, cruel prank lol) and turns her own despair around to prank him back was just beautiful, absolute art lol. He’s always had the upperhand, but since climbing up to join her on the rooftop, they stand toe to toe on equal footing.

But honestly, it’s so nice? To see Nol laugh again? Even if it came to him via a mean prank, even if it’s because he’s so at ease on morphine. Isn’t that so weirdly twisted - this is what it’s taken to bring him a well-deserved moment of peace, for the waters to become placid, even if temporarily. He came so close to dying! And only then has he found his peace. (Very similar to the pool fall at the black and white formal, where he denied himself a different sense of peace.)

I love their rhythm! How they go back and forth so easily (with Lil Buddy’s assistance heh,.. Nol can’t catch a break!) and they just feel so NATURAL. It’s almost hard to believe that just a few months ago, Shinae wanted nothing to do with him, and now she has been exposed to the most raw and vulnerable parts of who he is, has become acquainted with him in a way that no one else yet has.

I love it, I love them! There’s a sense of intimacy woven into the episodes, with Nol allowing himself what he’s never before, resting on her should. He is metaphorically as much as literally allowing himself to lean on her, finally, after all the struggles he’s endured alone. After everything he has faced alone, he is allowing himself to share a moment with someone, even if he can’t admit it fully out loud. Would he have done the same if not for the morphine? I guess it’s pretty much a moot question, because we only get to have this moment because of how much he’s endured, finally hitting that limit. He nearly DIED - and he would have, had Kousuke not gone out after him. How far would he have gotten before he collapsed and bled out in the snow, perhaps Rand wouldn’t have even seen him. It’s scary just how close he came to no longer existing.

So I suppose there may not be a scenario where Nol would allow himself to lean on a friend. He doesn’t say it, but I expect it’s at the back of his mind - his fear. Is he relieved? Would he rather have been left there in the snow? I suspect as much as he’s been suicidal in the past, that’s not how he wanted to go. Idk, I have a lot of quiet thoughts about this - about how painful recovery will be and would he rather have let his flame go out like that? Or does Shinae’s presence make him rethink those ideations? Is the presence of someone who cares - who has seen his darkness and still cared about him, who has been hurt by him and still cares about him - enough to make him feel relieved that he is still here? He’s so weary, so exhausted, and look at what extremes he went through before he allowed himself any reprieve.

In a really weird way, this reminds me of the phone call in episode 73 while Shinae is in the hospital with her dad and Rika, which is funny, because Nol spends that whole phone call deflecting and lying about his condition. But it still carried that sense of tender intimacy - the two people alone while the world around them is at rest, just a stolen moment of comfort in their sea of storms (although during the phone call the solace is definitely more so for Shinae’s benefit than his own). Here we have a similar scenario - two people alone while the world around them is asleep, the snow blanketing the city around them, no one aware of this moment transpiring, except this time Nol allows himself to benefit from the solace and the comfort. How many times has he reached out only to deny himself whatever it is he seeks? How many times has he made himself prop himself up, unable to allow himself to take comfort (denying that he deserves comfort)?

“I thought you didn’t like the silence?” “I don’t.. but I like THIS silence.”

Perhaps it’s just the morphine, but there’s something about that exchange that just GETS to me - that silence is otherwise so constricting, so claustrophobic, so unbearable, except this one. This one is special. This one is nice. This one is comforting. Again, that layer of tragedy underlines it - that this wouldn’t be happening had he not nearly died. That he’s in so much pain but it is, for now, masked by something that can take it away. Isn’t that what he’s wanted? Something that softens the blow, that little moment to catch his breath?

And GOD the way Shinae reacts! So many times this evening she’s found herself flustered, found herself feeling something unusual in response to him - whether it’s his honesty or his dark edges or this - whatever this may be. Nestling her face against his shoulder as she relays the way they found him, the way they barely managed to get him in in time (losing blood so fast there was truly NO minute to spare!) and how he seems to take comfort in knowing it’s not the family’s hospital when he turns his head and buries it against her. I love it, I love them! I keep saying that but aaahhhhh I always love their intimate moments, these little moments stolen in the stillness of the night, when no one else is around to mind them. A song shared during her lunch break, a phone call in the night, a passing moment when she puts his earbud back in his ear, a moment of banter before work. And just like every time, no matter how Nol tries to resist her, to turn away, to place a barrier between her, it always fails. He’s SO drawn to her, whether it’s because she’s the only person who shows him concern, the only person who notices him, who pays attention to him - or something more - he has only once been able to push her away.

I also really love how quimchee plays with the rhythm here - the comedy feels so organic, spliced between little moments of tenderness that is reminiscent of the earlier episodes’ comedy. It’s so light and playful in those ways - everything has been so heavy as everyone has struggled through their own plights, but Nol’s sneezing, Shinae sneaking in Lil Buddy, her impression of Rand and his laughter, it’s all so playful and light, such a delightful contrast to the moments preceding ad following. Again, they just have this way of being with each other that is so comfortable and wonderful to read. To be fair, I think Shinae has wonderful chemistry with a lot of characters - she’s always fun to read with Soushi, Minhyuk, and even sometimes Kousuke - but what’s really good about this is how Nol falls in line with her, the ways they play off each other. Everything about their collective panic over the machine beeping is so comical and feels so much like Yeonggi and Shinae! It just feels... idk, authentic. This is him, no fronts, no masks, nothing played up, just a lack of inhibitions and their shared rhythm.

I usually try to read these scenes without a romantic lens - is this just friendship? Is this platonic? We know they’re soulmates but where do they fall on each other’s radar? Is it just that this feels like such a secretive thing? How do they affect each other? But I cannot deny how SHIPABLE these moments feel - how Shinae has spent this whole evening so affected by him! It’s so hard to read Nol, because he hides things so well. Does he, too, feel affected by the intimacy of their stolen moments? I’ve always felt he’s so caught up in what he’s running from and what he’s hiding from that he probably has never allowed himself to be honest about his feelings. Numerous times we’ve seen surprise on his face when Shinae shows him concern but is it just surprise that she sees through him or is he ever delighted (or scared) by her ability to do that? It’s so hard to tell! I’ve been of the mind lately that she’s the one feeling something - or at least showing it, but I wish I could get a better read on him. I feel like Nol allowing himself that moment on her shoulder is something, maybe? It feels a little reminiscent of their hug in 151 - one of the only times he was able to create the distance between them, and also one of the only times he allowed himself that moment - but the emotions of it are incredibly different.

This is where I’ll allow myself to get into the shippier thoughts, though. Like I said, it’s just so difficult to get a read on Nol - I feel like on some level we’ve barely scratched the surface of him, even though I also think we’ve seen some of his most raw angles. But as far as shipping stuff goes, there’s still so many questions. The way he talked about Alyssa never really indicated that there were ever feelings as much as him trying - and failing - to keep her out of Yui’s reach. I still wonder what their friendship was like. Is he just blinded by futility? He can only look back on it this way, because all of the good times - when they were friends - have been overshadowed by her need for Yui’s approval? I bring this up because it’s the only real comparison we have as an indicator of Nol’s feelings. He never even mentioned Alyssa when he was in the alley with Lil Buddy - and I guess there could be a couple reasons why. After all, he was speaking of the friends he was leaving behind, the ones who he didn’t want to let go of, and Alyssa wasn’t part of that group. But it could just as easily be that he thinks it’s a lost cause - Alyssa has chosen her path and there’s no point in trying to fight her.

At any rate, we’ve always been shown the different ways that Nol and Shinae interact and behave, especially contrasted to Alyssa. I wonder how much of Nol she’s met - does she only know happy-go-lucky Yeonggi who has never put his own needs ahead of anyone else’s? That’s what I assume, based on the way she talks about him and how “easy” their relationship was - that he is someone who never made a fuss and had no issue with her doing whatever she wanted without him. But again, I think it’s safe to assume that Nol is the most himself we’ve seen with Shinae, which makes sense given that he struggles so much to draw that distance between them. She just brings something out of him, and it certainly has a lot to do with the fact that she pays attention to him, she notices the little things he got used to people not noticing, she showed him the kind of friendship he was denying himself.

And, damnit, I can’t help but ship them, when they have these moments. This is why I find myself shipping them, rather than enjoying the possibility of platonic soulmates - because how do you develop this bond, this kind of relationship, and then move in different directions? How do you share this kind of tender intimacy without it feeling like something Else? I am a big fan of intimacy =/= romance and there are ways it could have played out between them, but I also think that so much of their intimacy has been these little pockets of calm shared together in the shadows that have changed who they are as people. And just like intimacy does not necessarily always equate to romance, attraction doesn’t always indicate romance, either. We’ve seen that Shinae is definitely attracted to Dieter, but I think the way she’s drawn to Nol is different. That intimacy is there - Shinae has been able to share things with Dieter that she couldn’t easily share with others at first - but idk, it just feels DIFFERENT in a way that’s so difficult to articulate.

Because of their shared and similar experiences, Nol and Shinae have this rather innate understanding of each other. Shinae is both understanding of why Nol is the way he is, but also pushes him and doesn’t allow him to make those excuses - look at the way she verbally assaulted him when he feigned forgetting his memory lol. I think it would be difficult (although not impossible) for anyone else to feel that with him. In fact, in general, it makes me wonder who Nol will be in the future - will he ever be able to forge other, genuine relationships outside Shinae, Dieter, and Soushi?

Shinae has made it abundantly clear how important Nol is to her, both to him and to others. Is she as important to Nol? Does it scare him that someone now knows so many of the things he’s hid and tried to mask, or does he find comfort in it?

The thing about romance is that there’s not an easy before and after - it’s the kind of thing that happens over time, little by little, sometimes moments more noticeable than others. The night of the black and white formal, Nol spent so much of his time and energy looking out for Shinae, taking care of her, trying to keep her safe, and since that night she has returned the favor, doing just as he did - reaching out and opening herself up and making a point to be there for him. What is that to him? Is it friendship? Is it something that blurs the line? I don’t expect them to figure it out any time soon, if there’s something, if it means anything, but in the same way I just wonder how he sees it. Like I said, I think it’s more evident with Shinae - she’s had the signs more frequently, but what about Nol?

I genuinely just love watching them play out and develop, the way their experiences bump into each other and their lives merge. Whatever path Nol is on, I hope he’s realize that Shinae is a part of it, too, in whatever form he wants her to be. I hope he realizes that there is someone who has his back completely, who can accept him at even his darkest, his lowest, his absolute worst, and will continue not only to just root for him, but assist him. It’s one thing to cheer someone on, it’s another to assist with the heavy lifting. That’s what it is about them that just GETS to me; they have found in each other something they denied themselves. Shinae built her walls tall, so afraid of being hurt again, and lied to herself about not craving that companionship. Nol forged fake friendships because he didn’t think he deserved real ones. In each other they have found someone who unconditionally accepts who they are, who pushes them to be better, who has their backs. It’s hard not to ship that!

All I ever hoped of this night was that Nol would go back to his friends, that they’d find a way to make up - or begin to make up - and now look what we’ve got! And we’re left with Shinae discovering that this whole arduous terrible night was his birthday! RIGHT after he pointedly evade it, too. There’s been so many opportunities for him to tell her - she invited him to the very party! lol like!!!! To discover his birthdate as he pointedly avoided answering to the nurse - is she going to call him out on it? I think given everything she’s learned, she’ll probably understand why it was something he didn’t share, that it was part of the secrets he carried but I still want to see what she does with this knowledge. Because it’s not the fact that he never divulged it but rather the fact that a. he’s still hiding things which is much more likely because b. he has endured the absolute worst shit on this very night. On his birthday. No one told him Happy Birthday - instead he just nearly died. ;________; Isn’t that so fucking SAD?!

In very different ways, Shinae and Nol have both had the same goal in mind: to make each other happy. Just like earlier in the night she offered to help him relive one of his last, happy moments about Christmas, I’m sure she will once again offer to give him at least one happy memory about this birthday. Something worth celebrating, if it’s only that he’s alive and loved and that people care about him and he is worthy of his love. ;~;

IDK i feel very incoherent at this point so I think I’m going to end it here lol JUST KNOW THAT I HAVE SO VERY MANY FEELINGS that I have been rereading these episodes in awe of the tenderness and the intimacy. I’m such a fan of Nol and Shinae’s Stolen Moments of Calm aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

#I Love Yoo #ILY Spoilers #ILY FP #ILY Brainrot #Stalkyoo #Shinae Yoo #Nol #Nolan Oliver T. Lochain #Aegi #I ADMIT IT at the end I went into some shippy tangents #I WILL NOT DENY MYSELF THE JOY AND THE PLEASURE OKAY #genuinely i have LOVED this whole arc from the very beginning of the company party to where we are now #all of the tension that has built and cultiminated #Nol going through his edgy little fit #the confessions and make ups #the comedy interspersing the intensity #the episodes leading to these were SO INTENSE just choking with intensity #and here we have one of my favorite ILY features #Nol and Shinae's Stolen Pockets of Calm #I LOVE THEM OKAY #i have talked SO MUCH about how their friendship forms in the shadows out of the direct eyesight of others #so much of the way they've come to know each other has been divulged in the shadows in the dark in moments stolen in the night #in harrowing experiences #in shared experiences #in those rare moments of calm #it's the way he taught her to be a friend and she used that experience on him and he didn't even expect it #it's the way he tried his best to cut ties and he failed so miserably #it's the way that after everything he cannot stop her from caring. she's unstoppable #and why would he want her to be anything but?#AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH PLSSSSSSSSS I JUST AM AWASH WITH FEELINGS OKAY ;A;

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sunalearnschinese · 1 year ago

Text

Part 3 Reading erha 二哈和他的白猫师尊 + Learning Chinese

🎵🍇Good morning!🍇🎶

I would like to thank everyone who liked my previous post and who gave tips on how to improve! It's really motivating =w=

Also thanks to my friend who taught me how to use Tumblr, it's my first time here lol

For anyone new, or those who are unfamiliar with the book I am going through, I have to warn you some scenes are very dark and have NSFW themes. I didn't just choose a bit of angst or a bit of kissing, no this book goes straight to 100 and beyond 🚀 if you don't like that please keep scrolling. The MC is a tyrannical ass wipe who has 311 chapters of redemption ok. This was one of the few books to make me cry where the story and characters are so beautifully written that I am happy to translate everything. We must get through the tough times to enjoy the real romance 🥰

(art 大米小粥炒白菜 @porridge2_ on Twitter)

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The following sentences don't have anything graphic but do include a few innuendos, so watch out!

TAGS: Xianxia, Rebirth, Action, Conspiracy, Angst, 1?v1 HE, NSFW

WARNINGS: Dubcon, Underage Sex

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

(part 1) 当然，总也有过一些与狗相关的形容，不算太差。比如他那些露水情缘，总是带着几分佯怒，(part 2) 嗔他在榻上腰力如公狗，嘴上甜言勾了人的魂魄，身下凶器夺了卿卿性命，(part 3) 但转眼又去与旁人炫耀，搞得瓦肆间人人皆知他墨微雨人俊器猛，试过的饕足意满，没试过的心弛神摇。

…that the strength of his back was like that of a male dog; honey dripped from his lips luring away the soul, but the weapon down below was robbing the sweetness of her life.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

VOCABULARY + grammar:

1. 嗔 - to be/get angry - chēn

It sounds similar to the English word "churn". 嗔 is commonly used to express mild or moderate anger. It's not an extremely strong or aggressive term for anger. You might use it in casual conversations to express frustration or annoyance.

2. 榻 - a place where someone rests or sleeps (bed/couch)- tà

3. 腰 - waist - yāo

It refers to the lower part of the back and the area around the waist.

4. 力 - strength/power - lì

Often used in compound words related to strength, power or ability.

5. 如 - like/ as - rú

如 is commonly used to create similes or comparisons. It helps draw parallels between two things or concepts.

如 + 同/像 tóng/xiàng + Subject of Comparison + (Adjective/Verb/Description)

e.g. 如同 + 清晨的鸟鸣… "Like the morning birdsong…"

Note that 如 can also be used without 同/像 to indicate a comparison, but including them helps make the comparison more explicit.

比如 - for example - bǐ rú (same as 例如 lìrú)

如同 - as - rú tóng

6. 公 - public/ common/ male animal (this case) - gōng

7. 嘴 - mouth (opening) - zuǐ

Why use 嘴 instead of 口?

嘴 emphasise + focus on mouth as a physical feature, more specific shape, movement e.g. 嘴唇 (zuǐ chún): Lips, 嘴角 (zuǐ jiǎo): Corners of the mouth

嘴 commonly used when discussing emotions, expressions e.g. 嘴上甜言 (sweet words spoken by mouth), 嘴硬 (stubborn in speech)

口 is more general, commonly used for speaking, eating, drinking, or breathing + used when counting people (e.g., 三口人, "three people").

8. 甜 - sweet (flavour/ emotions) - tián

9. 言 - words/speech - yán

10. 勾 - hook/ captivate - gōu

11. 魂魄 - soul + spirit - hún pò

灵魂 (líng hún): This is a more commonly used term for "soul" in everyday language.

12. 凶 - fierce/ cruel - xiōng

13 器 - tool/ weapon - qì 🌭

14. 夺 - to snatch/ to seize - duó

15.卿卿 - poetic way to address - qīng qīng

Used to refer to a beloved or a person of affection. It's a way of expressing deep emotional attachment and love.

16. 性命 - life/ existence - xìng mìng

Used in more serious or dramatic contexts where the concept of life and its fundamental nature is being emphasized. In this sentence, the life is the center of attention.

OVERALL NOTES:

I was told it would be good to invest in a special book with squares so I can write my characters more correctly, so I will try to get that soon (delivery might take a while though so you will have to bear with me for now).

I got so happy because yesterday I was scrolling through Instagram and someone reposted some screenshots of Heaven's Official Blessing manhua and I understood some new words from just reading 2 sentences from this book!? exciting stuff :D

#erha #erha he ta de bai mao shizun #mo ran #chinese #linguistics #language #grammar #二哈和他的白猫师尊 #二哈

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yaminerua · 1 year ago

Text

This one got away from me a bit yesterday and I fell behind again, haha. I might try to smush today's prompt with tomorrow's to try to catch up again.

As always, prompts are by @a-literal-toaster-wtf

Anyway Day 4's theme was Family, and I couldn't help but think of Jim and Bexley. Needless to say it does cover a bit of Lister’s pregnancy.

Words: 6238

****

The last year or so had, for lack of a better word in the English language to adequately describe it, been pretty smegging bizarre. Perhaps it hadn’t really been any stranger than the year before it, after all waking up from stasis 3 million years after you went in to find that the human race had all but petered quietly out of existence around you while you’d been frozen in time had been quite a shock on its own to say the least, but it had certainly done its best to match that level of weird and expand it to newer and more mind-boggling ranges of nonsense.

Most recently, in one of several misguided attempts to orient themselves towards Earth and find their way out of the uncharted, seemingly unpopulated vastness of deep space, the Boys from the Dwarf had wound up skipping into a parallel dimension and come face to face with versions of themselves which had been familiar in some ways but also very, very different in others.

As if that on its own hadn’t been more than enough of a dosage of strangeness to call it a day, the encounter had ended – as many ill-advised, drunken liaisons do – with one David Lister discovering that he was somehow, impossibly, incomprehensibly, ‘up the duff’, as it were.

Sure, he had known that children were in his future, he had seen the two crying little boys with his own eyes in that brief lightspeed anomaly that had allowed him to glimpse snapshots of things that were yet to happen, but with circumstances as they had been at the time the revelation had led to much curious speculation over just how exactly it was going to come about. Lister was the last living human being after all, floating through deep space on a ship populated only by a computer, a hologram and a humanoid who had evolved from what had once, long ago, been a regular black cat. With no women on board, it had seemed only logical to assume that somewhere out there, waiting to be found, was the person who would one day be the mother of his children.

Well, he hadn’t exactly been wrong about that per se… The mother of his children had indeed been out there. He just hadn’t exactly anticipated that it would end up being himself.

Rimmer had found it absolutely hilarious when it had all first come to pass, when that final little piece of the jigsaw had fallen impeccably into place, filling in the mystery once and for all. There was something almost poetic about it in a strange way, something karmic and deeply, deeply amusing about being impregnated by your alternate universe self, and the sheer thought of it had had him snickering and guffawing at frequent intervals at Lister’s expense throughout the process of Lister’s own staggered, reluctant acceptance of his own fate.

The hilarity of it had, of course, only been short lived. Once the reality of the situation had finally settled and it had dawned on them that Lister was, in fact, going to have to endure a full term of pregnancy if these boys were going to actually be born the full picture had blossomed then into cold, sobering clarity and suddenly become quite decidedly unfunny.

For what felt like an endless eternity after that, Rimmer had busied himself reading book after book on pregnancy, trying and failing to take in as much information as he possibly could ahead of the big day, treating it like he would any other exam or test (which inspired no confidence in anyone who knew Rimmer’s track record with those) while Lister just dealt with it in the only way he could, which was largely by continuing to pretend it wasn’t actually getting closer and closer with every passing day.

The logistics of how exactly things were going to work had been something he hadn’t wanted to think about too closely so it had fallen to Rimmer to read up on it himself instead because at least one of them had to be prepared for this and if Lister himself was going to shirk that responsibility despite having been the one to put himself in this situation in the first place then Rimmer was, as usual, going to have to pick up his slack.

That had been much easier said than done, however. Being a hologram, he’d had to rely largely on the assistance and coordination of the skutters to hold the books and turn the pages and whenever those had failed he’d had to turn to Holly and used vocal commands to navigate pages on harsh, bright screens that made his eyes feel like they were burning in their sockets after hours of staring at them.

Rimmer had never realised just how much went into a pregnancy. He’d never had cause to learn it properly before, of course, but there was no time like the present to suddenly decide to become informed. He’d done his best to attempt to supervise Lister’s eating and drinking habits to ensure every possibility of a healthier birth, and he had reprimanded him every time he had so much as even breathed in the direction of his cigarette packs or alcohol.

He’d drawn up timetables, plotting each significant milestone of the pregnancy, and bored Lister half to death with all the fussy, pedantic little things he did to try to take control of the whole situation and after enduring it for as long as he could Lister had finally rolled his eyes and groaned in aggravated frustration one day and pointed out how much he was starting to sound like a nagging, controlling husband. Rimmer had choked and spluttered in disgusted horror at the implications of such a comparison and had promptly disappeared off to some quiet, isolated part of the ship and avoided being anywhere near him for the rest of the day, which had come as a welcome relief.

Eventually, of course, the slow, steady march of time had brought the final day upon them and there had been no way to continue to put off acknowledging it any longer. By then, thankfully, a few important things had changed on board Red Dwarf. The biggest of these had been that they had acquired a new crew member, a service mechanoid by the name of Kryten who they had crossed paths with once before.

Kryten was well equipped to be able to assist in all manner of things, mostly pertaining to the upkeep and maintenance of the ship’s general tidiness but he also was quite competent in numerous other fields and was, importantly, capable of learning new skills and good at comprehending and retaining the information which was far more than could be said for Rimmer, who had at one point found himself more than halfway through a chapter on natural childbirth before he had belatedly remembered that Lister wouldn’t be experiencing it that way and had flipped, mortified, to the chapter on C-sections and promptly been rendered entirely unable to focus well enough to take anything in.

With Kryten’s presence on board, Rimmer had been privately relieved to discard the initial plans for carrying out the daunting procedure, which would have largely involved him trying desperately to coordinate the skutters to work together to deliver the twins without accidentally killing them or Lister in the process. Needless to say, that was one role he had been more than thankful to be able to hand over to someone else.

When the big day finally arrived, he had tried with all his might not to give a single solitary smeg about any of it. He had been as carefully nonchalant as was possible as Kryten had come in to wheel Lister off to the medical bay, waving after him with a falsely bright “Don’t die, Listy!” as he’d watched him disappear down the corridor. He’d swallowed about as much of the nerves as he could keep down but the fact of the matter was that, in all honesty, he had been absolutely petrified. The little matter of his own continued existence relying heavily on Lister’s survival through this crucial procedure aside, there was – deep, deep down where not even Rimmer dared to investigate – a genuine concern for Lister’s wellbeing in its own right. He didn’t exactly like Lister, and he made that patently clear at every available opportunity, but he didn’t hate him – didn’t really want anything bad to happen to him. Certainly not something bad enough that they wouldn’t be able to laugh about it afterwards (even if Rimmer was the only one who might have been laughing).

While Kryten worked what he hoped was medical magic behind closed doors, Rimmer had paced along the length and breadth of the corridors like a man possessed, wringing his hands and vibrating with anxiety. Several times across the excruciatingly long duration of the procedure, he had become increasingly, frustratingly aware that this behaviour was doing absolutely nothing to shake off the appearance of ‘overly-concerned husband’ but given that the only other person bearing witness to any of it had been the Cat who honestly couldn’t have given a smeg, he’d simply brushed it off and pushed it down every time it had tried to resurface.

When finally, after what had genuinely felt like an eternity, the doors to the medical bay finally slid open and a self-satisfied, proud looking Kryten had walked triumphantly out, wiping his hands, Rimmer had nearly bowled him over with his aggressive impatience. “Well?” he’d snapped urgently, nostrils flared and lips drawn together in a tense, thin line. “What happened? How did it go?”

Kryten had simply smiled genially at him then and announced happily, “It’s two boys!” and if he had been capable of it Rimmer would have throttled him right there.

“I know it’s two boys you half-chewed rubber-headed git! I’m talking about Lister!”

Kryten had been a little put out by the outburst, blinking sheepishly down at the floor, the smile on his face wiped off in an instant. “Oh, yes of course,” he had said, fidgeting slightly before recovering himself and straightening up. “Mister Lister is going to be fine, sir. He just needs to rest up and keep clean.”

Rimmer had rolled his eyes sarcastically and scoffed. “Oh, fantastic, he’s doomed then is he?” he’d said wryly but there hadn’t really been any bite in it. At this point, now that presumably the worst of it had come and gone, he’d simply been left too exhausted for there to be any genuine hard edge to it. In all honesty he’d just been filled with an immense sense of relief that the whole thing was largely over and done with now.

Kryten had paid the remark no mind, instead deciding to inform Rimmer that he was heading off to prepare the room the twins would be staying in once they were ready to do so and had given him permission to go in to see them if he wanted to, requesting only that he be mindful not to wake Lister and then he had been off leaving Rimmer with nothing better to do than do precisely that.

That had been a good few hours ago now and as Rimmer sat peering down into the little crib at the tiny sleeping bundles destined to be named Jim and Bexley, he felt the weight of all these past weeks weigh down heavily on him, equal parts relief and exhaustion.

This had been more work even than preparing for his exams had usually been. At least with those he had been able to take breaks away from it but living with a pregnant buffoon that you had to effectively supervise and educate yourself about had felt like an endless job he had never willingly signed up for.

The boys had been moved into their new room by now, just down the corridor from the bunkroom so that it was near enough to be easily accessible without the sounds of screaming and wailing being too close and loud to get in the way of Lister’s much needed rest or get too much on Rimmer’s nerves.

Lister himself had been moved back into his old room – mostly because he had apparently insisted on it – however given his current condition and the effort that getting up onto the top bunk would have required, Kryten had carefully placed him on the lower bunk without Rimmer getting much of a say in the matter. It didn’t really matter all that much anyway. Lister had already been forced to relocate to Rimmer’s bunk as his growing size had limited his movements so it wasn’t so much of a leap to let him keep using it a little longer. He was pretty certain that once he was finally able to be granted access to his own bed again after Lister was fully recovered he was likely going to have to fumigate the whole mattress and all of its covers but that was a problem for a later date.

It was strange that it was over, all that build up, all that preparation that had been made in advance of this day and now the moment had passed. Now all that stretched on ahead was a new and entirely different situation and it was one that Rimmer was secretly dreading in an entirely different way.

Jim – or was that one Bexley? He couldn’t remember – hiccupped gently in his sleep and snapped him from his thoughts, catching his attention as he shifted a little, letting out a soft, gentle vocalisation as he turned towards his brother. They were so small, so fragile-looking, and Rimmer felt entirely out of his depth thinking of the responsibility of keeping them both safe. He didn’t know the first thing about children. He doubted Lister knew any better. This whole thing was surely going to be a disaster.

Bexley – or simply ‘the other one’ – whimpered slightly, a small, feeble whine that threatened to escalate into something else. “Shhh,” Rimmer said quietly, as soothingly as he could, indicating urgently for the skutter sitting by his feet to initiate the gentle rocking motion he’d instructed it to do in events like these, anything to try to keep the boys content and quiet, though he knew that would only be able to work for so much longer before the problem became something that genuinely required someone else’s assistance.

That was another thing about being a hologram that was going to make this new future difficult to handle. He couldn’t touch anything which meant that he’d be useless at any of the more hands-on aspects of looking after children. There was nothing he would really be able to do to stop the boys from doing something if they wouldn’t listen to his commands (and if they turned out to be anything like Lister was, that was a very likely outcome). Not only that, but he wouldn’t be able to help feed them, or hold them, or change their nappies or any of that – not that those duties would have fallen to him anyway. The most he could hope to do was simply sit as he was now and watch over them quietly, speak to them occasionally and try to soothe them with his words if they started to cry, rocking them gently back to sleep with the aid of a skutter to handle the movement for him.

He supposed he shouldn’t really feel as bereft as he was about this whole thing. These weren’t his children in any capacity. They were Lister’s through and through. Rimmer was effectively just someone else who shared the same space as them, a strange ghostly uncle of sorts at the very most, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to be a little more involved in the process, at least a little. Maybe he just wanted some kind of evidence to prove to himself he’d have been any good at this…

He sighed, gesturing for the skutter to ease the rocking to a gentle stop now that the twins seemed to have settled back down again.

He lost track of just how long he sat like that watching the two of them sleeping on peacefully but it must have been quite some time. Kryten had popped in every now and then to check on them and even the Cat had swung by to squint curiously down at them and comment that he hoped they would have better dress sense than their daddy when they grew up.

When the door to the room slid open behind him some time later with another gentle hiss he expected it to be Kryten so when he turned round to find that it was in fact Lister making his way with some difficulty and no small degree of discomfort towards the cot he had to bite his tongue fiercely to keep from shouting for him to get back to bed.

Catching himself in time, he opted instead for hissing the demand but Lister waved him silent, all stubbornness and disobedience as always. “I want to see my boys,” he said firmly and Rimmer couldn’t really argue with that.

He stood up from the chair he’d been seated on and shifted over to the one next to it that Kryen had been using earlier, letting Lister drop down heavily and breathless on the one he’d just vacated, watching the way he winced with pain and clutched at his lower abdomen. “You really should still be in bed, you know. You can’t just walk around all willy-nilly after you’ve been sliced open,” Rimmer said matter-of-factly.

Lister simply offered a partial shrug and leaned carefully forwards over the cot as far as was comfortable, beaming down tiredly but joyfully at the two little boys he’d brought into the world.

“Aren’t they fantastic?” he cooed, awestruck, reaching a hand out to tentatively brush his fingertips feather-light across their little cheeks. “They look just like me.”

“Well,” Rimmer began, his tone sarcastic and utterly unsurprised. “When your mother and father are the same person what do you expect?”

Lister shot him a look, unamused, and turned back to look down at the twins again. “Alright, Rimmer, leave off. Yeah, it’s a bit unconventional but it’s what happened, alright?”

He could hear Rimmer let out a small, indignant ‘tsk’ to his left and decided not to acknowledge it. He wasn’t going to let anything he had to say ruin this moment for him after everything it had taken to get here.

He sat back in his chair, eyes still twinkling proudly, warmly, down at the wholesome little sight, a single shining gift in what had otherwise been a cold and difficult couple of years to process. Behind his ribcage, he felt oddly light, a rosy glow of affection radiating out from his heart and expanding to fill every inch of him, making him feel positively giddy, though that might have also partly been the painkillers.

“I always wanted a family,” he confessed quietly, suddenly, eyes softening with a wistful, distant look of longing. “A proper one, I mean. The one I got did their best but, well…”

He trailed off, ending the sentence with a shrug and a shake of the head. Rimmer didn’t say anything, didn’t really know what to say.

A heavy silence settled between them, oddly tense, before Lister decided to break it again. “Never actually knew me real dad. Or me mum,” he began, speaking aloud to no-one in particular, peeling back the more private, personal layers of his past just a little, giving Rimmer a few more pieces of a jigsaw he’d previously only had scraps of before. “I was left in a box under a pool table in a Liverpool pub when I was still a baby. No idea why…”

Rimmer bit back the urge to say that explained a few things. It didn’t seem appropriate. Instead he remained quiet, watching Lister out of the corner of his eye, noting the way he chewed anxiously on his bottom lip, a little agitated crease forming between his brows, staring absently into the distance for a moment before affixing a falsely bright smile to his face and shaking his head, attempting to mask how he really felt about the whole thing. “I like to think they had a good reason for doing it but… I dunno.” He looked down at Bexley, who had unconsciously grabbed hold of Lister’s finger in his sleep, his tiny little hand loosely clinging on unknowingly to someone to whom such a simple human gesture meant so much.

Lister swallowed hard, struggling to push past the tight little ball of emotion that had formed in his throat. When he spoke, his voice sounded choked. “I always wanted to have sons of me own one day, so I could be there for them, watch them grow, y’know? Do what my parents couldn’t.” He laughed, a little incredulous, disbelieving sound, as he looked around at the room. “Didn’t think this was how it’d end up happening though.”

Rimmer huffed a short, curt laugh beside him, hollow and humourless, and Lister shot him a glance, eyebrow quirked slightly in curiosity. “What about you?” he asked after a moment, searching the tightly drawn lines of Rimmer’s face. “Did you ever want to have kids one day?”

Rimmer didn’t look at him, didn’t dare to. He could feel the burn of that inquisitive stare boring into the side of his head but he kept his gaze fixed straight in front of him, locked on nothing in particular, and Lister watched carefully as he swallowed slowly, adam’s apple bobbing above the collar of his uniform shirt.

“I don’t know, to be quite honest with you,” he admitted quietly after a moment, a rare fragile, vulnerable quality to his voice, honest and open in a way Rimmer only occasionally allowed himself to be. “My parents expected me to of course – they expected us all to – but I don’t really know if that kind of life was ever actually in the cards for me.” His face crumpled slightly and a harsh, sharp laugh ripped its way bitterly out of him. “Well, obviously, of course it wasn’t – just look what happened to me!”

Jim stirred suddenly in his sleep in the cot, disturbed by the sudden sound, his little face scrunching up momentarily, seeming just about ready to burst into tears and Lister readied himself to react but the moment never came to pass. He simply settled back down and kept on sleeping peacefully, which was a much appreciated relief for now.

Rimmer became very quiet then, introspective and solemn, his whole form seeming to shrink into itself as he sat with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped tightly between them. He bowed his head and looked down at them, agitated, flexing his fingers tensely as his brows knitted together.

“I don’t know if I’d have been a good father. Guess I don’t have to ever find out,” he said bitterly, the muscles in his jaw tensing noticeably as he wrung his hands together. “I didn’t exactly have what you would call ideal role models so maybe it’s for the best.”

Lister regarded him sadly, sympathetically, and had to fight the overwhelming urge to reach out there and then and place a supportive, encouraging hand on Rimmer’s right knee. Given the circumstances it would only have made the mood worse.

He’d heard Rimmer talk about his family life before and each revelation had been steadily building a much more detailed picture of Rimmer’s past and all the smegged up little things that had made him into who he was today. He knew very well that he wasn’t joking about them being less than ideal, in fact that was something of an understatement. They’d certainly done a number on him, that was for sure.

Not wanting a repeat of the gloomy mood that talk of his parents usually caused him to descend into, Lister tried for an optimistic, sympathetic smile. “I dunno, man. I think you’d probably have been alright,” he said, and somewhat to his surprise, he meant it quite genuinely.

Rimmer, however, didn’t seem to agree. He scoffed derisively at Lister’s words and rolled his eyes, doubtful. “Oh, please, I know you don’t actually believe that.”

“I do, man. I do,” Lister insisted gently and then, seeing the persistent look of disbelief still painted stubbornly across Rimmer’s features, he huffed a sigh and looked down. “Look, so your parents were smegheads and they got a lot of things wrong but that might’ve worked out in its own weird way. I mean, think about it. Now you have a pretty comprehensive list of things not to do to start off with. Can’t go too far wrong if you stick to that, right?”

Rimmer considered his words for a moment and then begrudgingly offered a stiff nod in agreement. “I suppose,” he said quietly, contemplatively, but there was still a noticeable note of bitterness to his voice, like he still didn’t quite believe that was enough on its own. “What does any of that matter anyway? I’m never going to get to find out what kind of father I might have been.”

That same awful, suffocating silence as before descended once again upon them and this time Lister didn’t know how to break it so he didn’t try to. Instead he let it hang in the air around the two of them, thick and heavy, until one of the twins coughed and startled himself awake.

Lister was quick to reach for him, scooping him up and cradling him tenderly in his arms, crooning softly to him as he rocked him back and forth, the gentle motion enough to stall whatever waterworks might have been about to follow.

Tiny and curious, his little face squinted in enchanted bewilderment up at Lister who beamed warmly back down at him and planted a quick little kiss upon his forehead. “There you go, Bexley. Let’s not wake up your brother just yet, yeah?”

Rimmer found the affection hard to look at, like staring directly at the sun, so he tore his gaze away and fixed it instead upon Jim who had thankfully remained peacefully undisturbed.

“I still think you could have gone with better names than Jim and Bexley,” he said pointedly, glad for the slight change in subject. “There are so many more appropriate options out there.”

Lister shot him an impish grin, mischief glinting gold in the brown of his eyes. “Oh yeah?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Still trying to make Arnold Lister happen are you?”

He waggled his eyebrows teasingly and relished the way Rimmer dissolved into a spluttering flustered mess, the tips of his ears flushing scarlet red in mortified horror.

“Don’t,” Rimmer said warningly, not wanting a repeat of the last time he’d innocently suggested the name. “You know what I meant when I suggested that, Lister. Don’t try to turn it into something else!”

If he hadn’t had his hands full, Lister would have held them up placatingly. “Okay, okay! I won’t,” he insisted but Rimmer seemed doubtful, suspicious, unwilling to let it go quite yet.

It was all the silly little jokes that had been building up over the passing weeks sharing the same space together that had buried themselves under his skin like an itch that couldn’t be scratched and refused to budge. Everything felt like a suggestive insinuation now, an accusation of something his own father would have surely disowned him for – if it had had any truth to it of course, which it didn’t because Rimmer was absolutely, one-hundred percent not whatever it was those implications might try to suggest. It didn’t matter that no-one was left around who would give a smeg about whether he was or wasn’t in any way that would have actually mattered. Rimmer still felt the need to defensively deflect any and all implications regardless.

“Don’t even joke about it,” he said, staring evenly, piercingly, at Lister, hazel eyes dark and deathly serious as he said in a choked, half-hissed, tight voice, “I’m not even remotely that way inclined and don’t you forget it!”

“I never said you were!”

“Well I’m not.”

“Okay! Okay.”

Rimmer seemed to finally relax a fraction, satisfied for now with Lister’s acquiescence. He breathed in deeply, slowly, and released it in a long, steadying exhale, his tensed, squared shoulders finally slackening just a bit.

Lister watched him out of the corner of his eye and couldn’t help himself.

“Even though you were the one who smushed our names together in the first place.”

“Lister!” Rimmer all but shouted, his voice rising to a desperate, rasping hiss, all thoughts of keeping quiet very nearly forgotten in the wake of incandescent, scandalised rage.

Lister laughed as quietly as he could, wincing as the pain in his abdomen seared at the motion, tears beading at the corners of his eyes at the way Rimmer’s nostrils had flared and his whole face had pinched itself tightly to contort around his scrunched up nose. It had been a step too far, he knew that, but Rimmer’s buttons were far too amusing to keep from pressing and he really was being far too defensive about what was genuinely just a little teasing.

He hadn’t meant anything by it, just a little joking around, but every time he did it Rimmer always seemed to become immediately aggressively defensive, his whole body drawing itself taut and rigid with tension, coiled up tight like a spring waiting to snap.

He looked about ready to explode, his jaw set and knuckles white, a pleading, wild, desperate look in his eyes and Lister knew then that he’d pushed him about as far as it was safe to go.

“Alright, I’m sorry!” Lister said, and this time he meant it, not wanting to risk a further escalation.

The apology did little to release Rimmer’s tension, the knuckles of his hands still blooming a ghostly white where he continued to grip them tightly. His mouth was drawn tight and thin, distrust burning fierce and unrelenting in his eyes.

Huffing an exasperated sigh, Lister bit back the urge to utter some remark under his breath about the negative effects of a conservative Ionian upbringing but ultimately decided he preferred not to instigate a full-blown argument in front of his newborn sons. Instead, he turned his attention back to little Bexley in his arms who had started to stir with discomfort again at all the commotion. “Hey, don’t worry, Bexley. That was just your Uncle Smeghead. Nothin’ to worry about. See? From this angle you can see right up his nose into his empty head.”

Rimmer scowled incredulously up at the ceiling and shook his head. He’d had just about as much nonsense as he could take from Lister right about now and here he was still trying to poke fun at him.

“Ha ha, Lister. Very funny,” he said flatly, stonily. “You better be careful what you say around the two of them, you know. If their first words end up being smeghead instead of dad that’ll be a personal failing on you.”

“Yeah, yeah, but it’ll be worth it for the laugh I’ll get from it, eh?”

Rimmer turned to look at him askance, a thousand possible insults and retorts flying through his head but none of them making it past his lips. There was nothing to say, really. Lister was an imbecile and he was absolutely going to raise his sons into precisely the same kinds of imbecile and the mere prospect of having more than one of that kind of person around was quite frankly a depressing thing to imagine.

“The wrong people get to be parents,” is what he eventually decided on, looking back down at Jim in the cot and wondering if there could have been any hope for either of those two boys’ braincells.

The smile on Lister’s face died then and there and he became oddly quiet, rocking Bexley back to sleep before finally lowering him back into the cot beside his brother.

Sitting back, he watched the two of them silently for a few moments longer, the humming and creaking of Red Dwarf all around them the only other sounds.

Now that he’d been up and about for a while and had had a bit of a joke and a laugh, the exertion was beginning to wear him out, the ache in his abdomen and the heaviness of his body calling for him to yield to the pull and finally go back to bed. His eyes slid closed of their own accord and his head bobbed and lolled as he began to gradually drift off, his body starting to ever-so-slightly tilt to the side, towards Rimmer who only realised what was happening moments before it would have spelled disaster.

“Lister, wake up!” he cried, hands flying up helplessly to try to stop him, passing uselessly through him with no resistance whatsoever.

Lister started awake and caught himself, one hand bracing steadyingly against the chair Rimmer was on, disappearing into Rimmer’s torso as though it were impaling him. He jerked back, alarmed and unconsciously rubbed vigorously at his forearm, momentarily disturbed by the reminder that although Rimmer was very much there in spirit, he was very much not there in person.

“Sorry. Nodded of there for a second,” he muttered sheepishly, unable to lift his gaze to meet Rimmer’s.

“I told you you shouldn’t have got up,” Rimmer said, his tone thick with patronising condescension. “I told you you should still be resting.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going,” Lister relented, pushing himself up with great discomfort onto his feet and steadying himself with the rails of the cot.

“For what it’s worth, Rimmer, and I know what you’re gonna say to this but just listen, alright?” Lister held up a hand, silencing whatever interruption Rimmer might have been about to make. “But, in a way, you kind of will know what kinda dad you’d have been. You’re helpin’ me out with these two after all.”

Rimmer’s face twitched a little, that same little pang of defensive discomfort twisting in his gut. “That’s not being a dad, Lister. If anything I’d be something of an uncle.”

Lister shrugged. “Uncle, Dad, whatever. You’re still helpin’ raise them. You never know, we might end up balancing ‘em out in the end.”

“You mean they might not end up the same kind of lazy, slobbish gimboid as you are?” Rimmer said, raising a dubious eyebrow.

Lister frowned, leaning against the doorway. “Well, yeah, that. But also…” He trailed off for a moment and looked away, suddenly unable to look Rimmer in the eye, his face grimacing a little as he tried to shrug off the awkwardness of what he was trying to get out. “I dunno, it’s just good to not be doing it on me own. Yeah, they’re my kids but beyond me, you and Cat and Kryten are all else they’ve got. Smeg, even Holly too.”

He scratched the back of his head restlessly, feeling altogether too exposed, too naked in this rare show of vulnerable honesty towards Rimmer of all people. He risked a glance in Rimmer’s direction, trying to gauge his expression but Rimmer wasn’t looking at him. He was very pointedly facing away.

He fished helplessly for something else to say but he couldn’t think of anything. A yawn was threatening to force its way up his throat and his energy was flagging. He really needed to get back to bed.

“You should probably take a break soon too, Rimmer,” he said, bringing a hand up to shield the yawn as it finally broke through.

Rimmer nodded. “I will when Kryten comes back,” he said simply and Lister nodded in agreement at that.

“Alright. Night, Rimmer.”

With that, the door to the corridor slid open and closed and it was just Rimmer left in the room with the two sleeping boys again, as he had been for much of the day.

Lister was right, he really should take a break. He felt mentally and emotionally spent after everything but he was finding it hard to switch off after months of hyper-vigilant supervision and he didn’t really know what else to do with himself. His bunk was currently occupied and he would sooner die a second death than ever consider using Lister’s even once.

He thought about what Lister had said again about how they would all be contributing together in their own little ways to the collective raising of Jim and Bexley, about how in a funny little way they were all now part of what was surely a very dysfunctional and highly unconventional family unit. Something about that made him feel a tad strange, an unfamiliar little glow of something warm and light in his chest that flitted about like little butterflies, a mix of apprehension and something almost pleasant.

Maybe he would never have been a good dad, and maybe he was a little bit thankful he would never have to truly find out, but for the time, in this current situation, he was quite content to settle for being the best possible uncle he could be.

And they’d call him Uncle Arnie, not Smeghead. He’d make absolutely sure of that.

#smegtober2023 #i let this one get too long and im not really happy with it bc i was absolutely exhausted trying to write it #but i cant spend any more time on it bc im already super behind so ;;;; there it is

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runwithguns · 19 days ago

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It really freaks me out on a deep level, that we know that the act of observation is like a fundamental part of how the universe works.

Like what the fuck.

We've got proof that watching a speck, determines whether or not you can watch another speck.

If that's like a bit flipping, then what the fuck is on the other side of it? We're not talking about 1s and 0s here!

there's a very real possibility that there's like an inverted negative on the other side of this reality.

It's probably more like there's countless parallel runnings of realities all varyingly out of phase.

I don't pretend to know dick about, dick about string theory. But uh, it's looking to me like we might just all be tightly wound strings, all the way down!

I'd bet reality is made of something like the way sand on a vibrating plate makes patterns. Just a bunch of really fucking complicated stacks of waves.

Wouldn't that be poetic? And me, I'm so goddamn neurotic, so tightly wound, that the thought of that being the correct answer to it all, is so damn cosmically funny! The neurotic guitarist thinks we're all strings, everyone.

#drugs #lsd #space

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harleythealter · 1 year ago

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My world is falling apart tonight. I don’t know if I ask for help or suffer alone. Do I cry in bed or numb myself by disconnecting from reality? Harley’s disassociating, he’s trying to stay away from being numb but no distraction can fix the ache. He’s my parallel, my mirror, reflecting my aches and my cries of pain. Poetic, right. I’m suffering. Drowning. I don’t know how to distract myself from the ways my brain is begging me to cope. I don’t know what’s healthy or what I should cover because I’m too tired to try to heal this tonight. And so Harley’s there in my head now, curled up and crying. I can see him. I can feel him begging for help, but I don’t know how to help him because I don’t know how to help myself and he and I are the same.

I need help. But I don’t know how to ask for it. I don’t know how to stay strong and keep the walls of my own cave up.

I don’t know how I did it before, holding up the universe and my own four little walls. Because now that I’ve let the universe start caring for itself, I realized I still can’t even hold up my four walls. And I know the thing about walls, is I build them to protect myself and only get hurt when the bricks start falling on my feet, breaking me back down into dust, burying me under the rubble. But fuck. I try so hard(I hate myself for the way that In The End is echoing in my mind). I’m trying to be better than last year. I’m trying to be somebody different. But then it gets dark outside and I start drowning. I can handle the ups and downs of the day. I take it in stride or nope a bit. But then it’s nighttime and I’m grateful I can’t find my knives. I need help but I can’t figure out how to look my mother in the eyes and watch me break her heart with how much I’m struggling. The house is in shambles. I think I’m done venting now. It helped get th-just so you all understand the visual that I’m having rn is *me stabbing the fucking shadows with a lot torch, aggressively, getting hot wax on my face* I have ten seconds to go to bed before they deep back into my brain and start fucking me up again. :P

#harleythealter #turn of events happened at the end right there #vent #tw sh related #tw sh destructive behaviour #spiraling #sudden stop ig. time for bed

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lepusrufus · 2 years ago

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I'm so easily persuaded to ramble so here you have it: The speech on how Vi is actually very smart.

Ok I wanna preface this by saying that I know this way of thinking probably also stems from the way a lot of people see more masculine women. But it just doesn’t feel like it’s my place to comment on that so I’m keeping this strictly a character analysis of Vi.

Anyway, let’s get started.

Right off the bat, I think one thing that does Vi a bit of a disservice when it comes to the way fans see her is the way she’s surrounded by a lot of characters that are what would traditionally be seen as intelligent. Most obvious example, Jinx. She’s very smart and her biggest strength is how inventive she is with the tools at her disposal (heck ,even Viktor comments on it while disabling her bomb). Ekko is pretty much in the same boat as Jinx, only with vastly differing results. Another big example, Caitlyn. She’s basically the Sherlock Holmes of League and has a very investigative mind despite the naivety that her upbringing comes with. Which makes perfect sense for her character.

But even characters that Vi isn’t often associated with, but we all know that the show is full of parallels and foils so even if the characters themselves don’t even know each other, there’s always connection. You have JAyce and Viktor, who are your typical straight As academy students and inventors. Mel, who’s a political and economical genius. Heimerdinger… well him. You get my point.

Vi is very different from these characters.

Her intelligence lies in more… practical (?) skills that she just had to get good at in order to survive. (Side point, we almost never see Vi in a situation where she’s not acting in order to survive or protect the people around her so that’s also something to keep in mind.) She knows her way around people very well and is a natural leader (see the way she knew where to look for information the moment she stepped out of prison, aka to Jericho and Babette, or the way she went to Jayce after the council meeting bc she knew he was the way to get something done about Silco). She has hella street smarts, which I don’t think needs elaborating.

What she lacks, which seems to be what people are looking at the most for some reason, is the academic education. Which makes perfect sense? However I hope I don’t have to wax poetic about how school isn’t the end all be all of someone’s intelligence. But while I’m at it, I will say that I highly doubt she’s downright illiterate. She and her siblings may not have had the chance to go to school, but I don’t believe Vander didn’t at least teach them basic stuff.

The second Big Point that I wanna make is that I don’t think she’s nearly as impulsive as everyone seems to think. She acts impulsive in certain situations, but I feel like that’s usually in situations that force her hand in a way. Which is realistic. We all have those moments where we would act in ways that are unusual to who we really are. But either way, moving on to some examples.

Firstly, to get this out of the way: Vi parkouring off a cliff with a stab wound when she can barely stand by herself. Yup. Dumb decision. I’ll admit, the jokes about it are hella funny. BUT. For all Vi knew she was very close to just bleeding out and dying. And she wanted to lay down and do that in the last place that held some familiarity to her, since the only other place that fit in that category was The Last Drop which… yeah (another proof to this is how she didn’t even try to get help since there’s no way her old home was closer to where she fought Sevika than, say, the brothel. So Vi really was just ready to die there).

Secondly, her fighting Sevika. Sevika is straight up a big outlier in the way Vi acts because Vi has a strong sense of loyalty and therefore a deep hatred for those she deems traitors. To Vi, Sevika is practically that friend from middle school that turned on you to hang out with the popular kids and then became a bully. You may be a pacifist now but no matter what you’d still drop anything and throw hands if you saw them. But dial it up to like a thousand.

On the flip side however, you can see Vi being quite strategy oriented. Which, again, natural leader so go figure.

She planned the robbery to Jayce’s lab and, were it not for the explosion, it might have worked out too. During the act 1 finale you can see her being more than capable of taking lead in and adapting to stressful situations. At the brothel, she gives Caitlyn a fake lead to make sure she’s out of the way but at the same time safe while she went after Sevika. Down in the fissures when Silco went after them, she keeps him monologuing while figuring out what Caitlyn is doing behind her and then turning her back to fighting Silco in order to get away. Again, her going to Jayce because she recognized him as the perfect means to an end (aka taking down Silco by chipping away at the thing that gives him power, Shimmer).

This is getting a little long and rambly and I kinda suck at rgumenting my points so I’ll wrap it up here but yeah. Vi is incredibly clever and people don’t give her half the credit she deserves for it.

#vi arcane #arcane #i may add to this if i remember smt #and im sure other ppl could express this better #but u get it

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tunastime · 2 years ago

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Hands (And How to Hold Yours Correctly)

Summary:

“I’m not mad, I promise,” he says, something soft and gentle and so very like him. To be disgustingly open to forgiveness. To not hold it against him. Part of Grian wants him to be mad. He’s killed him again. It seems like the thing Grian does best: kill the ones he cares most about.

or, Grian finally gets his chance to apologize, after everything is said and done.

(read it on AO3!) (2573 words)

The death is painless. Grian gets the brute force of it—the feeling of his lungs collapsing from a change in air pressure so fast that he can’t breathe, the ringing before the pop of his inner ear shattering like porcelain, his heart arrhythmic. Scar doesn’t have to feel everything so sharply. He feels his heart stop beating and feels his eardrums split at the same time. It’s the rushing sensation of blood bubbling up through him that startles him to his knees until he slumps over, completely dead.

The universe may be cruel but it is not unkind—it doesn’t make him wait for long.

Grian’s good at waiting around. There’s a feeling of freedom to the weightlessness of death, a detachment from the self that he might have considered a gift, rather than a burden, if it didn’t mean that Scar was gone, too. He stays long enough, as long as the eyes on him will let him, watching the shape of his sibling through fogged vision, watching the blood she spills, grinning wild and sharp. It’s just like her, somehow. She’s fallen into a role Grian knew she’d fit. He swears he can see a manic glint in her eye when she lands her first kill. He doesn’t stick around for much longer after that.

The universe sets him back down and lets him wake.

Grian wakes up cold.

It’s normally like that. It takes a second for the blood to truly start flowing again, pumping like it should, making a pulse, sending the warmth around to the joints. He sits up from where he lays uptop made sheets, the world warm and orange and sunny around him. His head spins, swimming, even as he presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and takes a long, deep breath in. A bit of warmth sludges through his veins and to his core, his extremities, and then he starts to feel a little more human. He wonders who else might’ve woken up to the world’s worst respawn event.

Grian startles.

Scar.

His stomach sinks.

There was something so delightful poetic to Grian being the death of him. Something could be said about the parallels of their lives, how they wove and intertwined, how fated and doomed they may be. If one spelt certain death, the other spelt I will follow. If it was one, it was the other, wasn’t it?

Grian swallows hard, willing down the lump forming in his dry throat. There’s not enough in him to cry. What would it solve?

Scar had died and so had he. If he was awake, it was only certain that...

He swings from the bedside. Almost immediately, his legs give, and he holds fast to the bedside table to right himself. His wings are heavy, so much heavier than they had been the last few weeks, now fully feathered and poorly maintained. He ignores the pain that comes with folding them further in, and pushes off from the side table, fully expecting the wave of nausea that passes over him. It’s quick, though, and subsides to a swimming sensation he can deal with.

He stumbles, somewhat ungracefully, over the ladder downstairs, carefully lowering himself to fit through the gap. He makes it down, and the solid floor beneath him steadies his swaying.

If Scar’s home, he’d have to be in the tree. He wouldn’t wake up in a half finished base, right? He wouldn’t have done that to himself. He’d have anchored himself in his home, something closed in and warm.

His ears feel full of fluff. He scratches, swabbing the inside, picking at the dried blood. He rubs his fingers together, wiping his hands on his sweater. The sensation prickles up his skin, and though he can’t hear any better, the feeling of fullness subsides.

Finally, he steps away from the entryway and into the sun outside.

It’s bright. Obviously, and it’s warm, too, but he stands, almost overwhelmed by the sensation of the sun over him that it takes him another full minute to come to and start out toward Scar’s home. The shadows of the tree pass over him immediately. Everything is so much more, here, so much than he remembers, as he stumbles through greenery and waist high mushrooms. There’s a film in the back of his throat, something thick and pasty as he tries to keep from throwing up. His stomach is knotted.

Scar’s fine. He has to be fine. He doesn’t need to do this.

He has to check.

Grian makes it to the door, holding fast to the knocker that he slams into the surface. It rattles when he does, threatening to break from its loose screw. He looks up into the tree leaves and to the darkened windows, praying that a familiar shape would make itself known in the shadow. Nothing comes. He watches the curtains blow in the open window. He takes in a shaky breath.

“Scar!” he manages, hearing his voice crack. “It’s Grian!”

Grian stands swaying in the doorway, heart thrumming in his chest (just one, just one heart this time, by god he never imagined not feeling two would make him feel so empty), palm against the door. He beats the door with the flat of his hand, trying to breath, trying anything to make himself feel normal in a situation that seems all but. Scar is fine, he knows he’s fine, he’s alive and well and okay, but he has to see him. He has to. He needs to. He raps against the door. His breathing is shallow.

“Scar?” he calls up into the tree. Another breath. Another beat. “Scar!”

It’s silent, aside from the crickets and cicadas and the heartbeat in his ears.

He swallows thickly, trying to steady his breathing. He sets his hand on the doorknob.

Grian tries the handle. The door opens when he pushes, into cool darkness, a dimly lit entryway, with most of the light pooling in from the rafters above. He steps in, heart slamming in his chest, all but stumbling, before he notices that he’s right there.

Scar is standing on the steps to the second floor. His face is flush, eyes wide as he makes direct eye contact with Grian. He holds to the railing.

Oh, oh. Grian can’t stop himself. His chest seizes, he can’t breathe. He stumbles forward, falls forward, throws himself forward. Scar crashes into him, hard and fast. They’re both pulled into each other’s gravity, hands grappling to get a hold of stable ground.

Is he sobbing? His eyes burn. His throat feels full of something that isn’t air. His heart slams against his ribs, too preoccupied with adrenaline to help with anything else—he’s weak, and sorry, irreparably sorry, painfully sorry.

Grian doesn’t realize he’s babbling until his head starts to hurt. He takes in a breath, as terrible as ever, pressing his face down into the crook of Scar’s neck. Scar noses his shoulder, squeezing him, hands flat between his wings. It doesn’t feel close enough. Grian feels it never will again. He breaths him in, iron and oak and gunpowder and sawdust.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” he presses into Scar’s throat. His hands grip into his shirt, drag up into his hair, cradling the back of his skull in his hand. His eyes stay shut. Scar makes a noise muffled against him.

Scar’s voice is hoarse, he realizes. He grips him a little tighter.

They stand together, tightly wound, bound like they were for so many weeks. They stand holding each other as if letting go would make the other disappear completely. Like a total connection would be severed between them. Grian holds him like he wishes the tie were still tied, no matter how many times he tried to sever it. There’s a hole where his second heart should be, and he’d do nearly anything to fill it again.

He forgets how long he holds him. At some point, they slacken, leaning into each other. There comes a pang of anxiety that Grian feels a bit silly for, like he’d made such a fuss just for nothing. But seeing the panicked look on Scar’s face when he met him on the stairs—he knows it goes both ways. It normally does.

Scar kisses the high of his shoulder, tracing a line down the column of his spine. Grian sighs against his neck, hand still combing through his hair. He settles it on the back of Scar’s neck, feeling him slack.

“I was trying to get back to you,” Grian says, breathing out. He feels Scar laugh, just a rumble under his hands.

“I was trying to get back to you, too.”

“I shouldn’t have been so reckless,” Grian says. Scar smiles—Grian can feel it.

“I shouldn’t have either,” he says.

Grian doesn’t want to let him go. He doesn’t want to. But his hands slide back down and away and they peel apart. His hands are on him again in a different way.

Scar sniffles. His eyes are glossy and damp and he blinks hard.

Oh. Grian’s head spins—he might collapse right here and right now. He reaches up and holds Scar’s cheeks, swiping under his eyes with the pad of his thumbs.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” Scar says, ducking his head, pressing it into the palm of Grian’s hand. Grian draws away a bit, lingering on the side of his neck. “You died alone.”

Grian shakes his head. “No, I wouldn’t have wanted to see you die. Or you see me.”

Grian studies his face in the light. The bubbling, burning mark across their faces has faded into splotchy white fractals, soon to fade even further. His face is soft again, underlined by the pale scars over his face, soft green eyes. Grian described them once

(“I think the word you’re looking for is emerald.”

“Impossibly green isn’t enough for you?”

The firelight flickers off his face and his iron chestpiece, painted blue like it were diamond.

“I’m just saying there’s a word.”

One night is all they get. Grian’s going to take a life from him.

“Whatever, you’re impossible. I’m just saying they’re reflective at night. That’s scary.”).

The words leave him now, lost in whatever gentle and tired gaze Scar fixes him with. He tucks this image of Scar, clean, healthy, safe, into a spot in his mind. He traces the dip of his neck with his thumb and watches still, especially when Scar ducks his head to evade him, a smile forming on his face.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Scar says. He sounds tender, much the way Grian’s heart feels, thudding away in his chest like it couldn’t be bothered to slow. Much too tender to be for Grian, surely. He laughs, just a sigh out of his nose, a little shake of his shoulders.

Grian holds back a smile.

“Like what?”

“Like I won’t forgive you.”

Grian’s expression wavers hard. He shakes his head.

“You shouldn’t,” he says and somehow his voice doesn’t crack.

“I do.”

“You shouldn’t,” Grian says again, screwing his eyes shut.

Scar’s hands come up to cradle his face, warm and solid and they fit so incredibly well around his ears and over his cheeks. Grian sighs. He can’t help the smile worming onto his face, especially when he opens his eyes and Scar is staring at him, a silly, enamored expression on his face. They stand in their little patch of sun at the bottom of the steps and Grian lets Scar hold his face in his hands and doesn’t complain, not once.

“I do,” Scar repeats.

Grian reaches up to rest his hand over the back of Scar’s neck again.

“You sure are happy to be burdened with the curse of me,” Grian says.

Scar huffs, laughing to himself. Then, of course, as Scar does when overwhelmed with an emotion he can’t place, he kisses him. It’s a good thing, too, because Grian pulls him forward to meet him, sweet and hesitant. He kisses him like not a goddamn thing in the world mattered, like they would have all the time in the world to make up what wasn’t said, what Grian spent a year dancing around like the pitied fool he had felt he was.

“It’s terrible luck,” Grian says against Scar’s mouth.

Scar dies. Grian kills the things he loves. Maybe they were made for it after all. Two pieces of a rotten puzzle.

Grian feels him smile.

“Touche.”

Grian stays for lunch. He’s starving. He hadn’t realized how hungry he’d been until he’d finally let all the emotion pass through him and leave him as he was—tired, hungry, and grateful. They sit in a patch of sun near the open window on the second floor, breathing in the smell of cherry blossoms and oak leaves. They watch Impulse reunite with a frazzled Bdubs, throwing themselves together, Etho in towe. They see Tango run off with an armful of shulker boxes stacked high above his head. Grian wonders, just for a moment, if he’ll be seeing Jimmy anytime soon. He smiles through a sip of tea. Scar leans into him, and Grian leans back, into the warm shape he creates, the soft cotton of his clothes. Clean. Safe. Warm.

“You know,” Scar says, sighing wistfully. “It would be just like you to make a game where you’d have to kill your soulmate.”

He grins at Grian, watching the stricken look pass over his face before he laughs, trying to cut the tension. Grian wacks him, hard, in the shoulder,

“Scar—” He looks like he’s holding back a harsher set of words. Scar giggles.

“I’m kidding! I’m kidding. I don’t mean it.”

“That’s the last time I let you anywhere near anything like that—” Grian starts, before Scar bumps him with his elbow, leaning against him. Grian sighs. “Alright, whatever.”

“Makes me glad it wasn’t us at the end,” Scar says softly, after a beat. “I’m glad it wasn’t us again.”

He’s right, Grian knows, despite his ill want for Scar to win, knowing, knowing he would kill himself for it. But he also knows, deep down, that Scar would’ve never been able to live with himself after. Better yet, he would’ve never let Grian let him win in the first place. Devotion was a cruel mistress.

“Me too,” Grian says. He holds his tea in the cradle of his hands.

From somewhere behind him, Jellie patters into the room. She worms her way up into Scar’s lap and he laughs, scratching behind her ears. Grian sighs, smiling, watching Jellie bump against Scar’s hands and listening to him giggle, the affection bubbling in his voice.

Safe, he thinks. Safe here. All the time in the world. Endless hours. Silly how it took so long.

They’ll do it again—go back into that world with its curses and condemnations. It’s inevitable. But maybe next time, they’ll cheat fate.

Well, they’ll at least have fate figured out by then. Then it won’t matter; they’ll know from the start.

#this made me OUUUUGGGHHHHH #i'm graduating today take this old fic i never posted in honor of that #anyway #thanks wilbur ily <3 #a tunastime scarian original #from ao3 to your doorstep #scarian #gtws #gtwscar #grian #hermitcraft #hermitshipping #trafficshipping #fics #text #hermitcraft fic #mcyt #mcyt fic #fic

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