#its like an insider joke only with myself and sad

[nebuvoid]

when i first played FFX as a teen and saw Lulu's massive gazongas on display constantly (that victory pose man) my brain came up with the term 'Titty Lulu' which means 'character, usually a woman, that has a huge rack in a comically revealing outfit and its a miracle that theres no nip slip'. pops into my head everytime theres a character with massive honkers on display now.

[princessbrunette]

In need fathers day with baby daddy rafe, pretty pretty please princess 💕

ᘏ ⑅ ᘏ   ഒ    zᶻ

you always felt nervous going to tannyhill. not that you felt unwelcome, everyone in his life made it clear that rafe’s baby was of utmost importance to them — so with that came the kind and supportive treatment toward you. however, you couldn’t help but feel like a burden. if rafe wanted to be around you and his kid 24/7, he would do so — hell, he’d get back with you. due to feeling like this, your palms were all sweaty by the time you’d reached the front door, card tucked under you and baby carrier weighing down your arm.

he looks surprised to see you when he opens the door. still in his shirt and slacks, it’s clear to you that rafe had buried himself in work today. it only then occurs to you that father’s day might be difficult for him, giving his circumstances at all. you inwardly wince.

“uh, hey.” he eyes you, itching his cheek and peering into the baby carrier.

you clear your throat, bashfully holding out the card. he takes it in silence and you place the carrier down, picking up your sleepy baby and holding her to your chest. “happy father’s day, daddy.” you smile, voice soft as to not disturb your child too much. he softens a little, blinking.

“that today?” he breathes and you stiffen a little. surely he knew?

“uh, yeah. we got you a card, wanted to let you spend some time with her today if you’re not too busy.”

“if i’m not too— listen i’m never too busy to see my kid okay? or you. i’m— i’m never too busy to… see my family… and stuff.” it’s awkward, the sentiment too soft for his liking and he looks down, staring at the sweet, milk-plumped angel in your arms. “let me…” he reaches out and takes her, her fat little fists immediately stretching for him and curling into the material of his shirt making your heart swell. he was always oddly a natural at this, handling her so well. it always filled you with a strange kind of sadness, one that regressed you slightly to something more scolded and childlike because your own father hadn’t offered you that same generosity. yet, you were thrilled your baby would receive that love even if you weren’t together with her father.

“come in, please.” he stands aside, holding the door for you before picking up the carrier in his other hand— effortlessly walking it with the baby to the living room. “you walked here?” he converses, setting the carrier down and placing the baby back inside, crouching down to stroke her tummy with the side of his finger.

“took the bus. no way im walking with that heavy thing.” you chuckle quietly and he swivels his head to glance at you.

“should’ve told me you were coming i would have got you. y’know i really don’t like you getting on the bus with her, it’s not safe alright, there’s all kinds of lunatics out there.”

“we survived.” you shrug, and there’s a short silence before he stands up, reaching for the card and opening it up. you fiddle with the hem of your dress awkwardly. you never quite knew what to do around rafe these days.

you watch as he reads the contents. ‘to daddy, thanks for being the best and always looking after me. can’t wait to be able to tell you myself how much i love you.’ you sign it off as your daughter, but his eyes linger over it, your sweet handwriting scrawled around the brightly coloured paper — almost for a moment like you were saying it yourself.

“and before you ask, yes she said all of that herself.” you joke to ease the tension and he snaps out of it, looking up at you with a chuckle.

“our little wordsmith, huh?” he smirks, wandering over to the mantelpiece and displaying the card. it filled you with some kind of pride, though it wasn’t about you. “look uh…” he strokes his jaw, glancing over at the baby. “let me take you both out for dinner, yeah? my treat.”

“your treat? rafe its father’s day, we’re supposed to be treating you—”

“i know, alright but… i’m supposed to be looking after you, right? looking… looking after you both.” he corrects himself, walking closer to you until he was basically looming over you, eyes wide. “and— and i know this is a hard day for you too, alright— shit, it’s a hard day for me. gotta bond as a family at some point, you know that right?”

you nod, feeling a weight off your shoulders a little at the way the tension fizzles out.

“you sure? i don’t wanna take up your time—”

your incessant apologising makes his eyes flutter in irritation and he takes your cheeks in his hands, forcing you to look at him as he ducks his neck down to be more at your level.

“you’re not… yeah? you’re not. so quit.”

you blink all dumb, not realising how badly you missed his hands on you even if it was just as an innocent gesture and you nod, not trusting your voice. you try not to overthink the way he leaves his hands there for a moment as he glances over at your baby, thumb absentmindedly stroking your cheekbone for a second before pulling away and patting his pockets. “has she slept?”

your brain malfunctions so it takes you a second, but soon you choke out a “y—yeah. had her afternoon nap she’s just still waking up.”

“good. i know somewhere quiet, got a host there who owes me a favour.” he strides to the carrier and lifts it before turning back towards you, blinking at you obviously. “well are you coming or— or what?”

“yeah. yes. i’m coming.”

ᘏ ⑅ ᘏ   ഒ    zᶻ

[mustainegf]

This is a crazy sad idea I had the other night

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ¹⁹⁸⁷

I wake up to the pitter of rain against the windows. The air was dead, with the smell of old wood and the remains of cigarette smoke from the night before. The house held its breath. Lying there, in sheets that smell of memories, the leather and aftershave smell with the damp air and cleaving to everything in this room. His room.

James has left his space this way ever since, the mess of records that he insists have some sort of order, utter chaos to anyone else. Guitars leaned against the wall, scattered papers on the desk. Hard to tell, really. A few half empty beer bottles remained on the nightstand, one of them with the label peeling off where his fingers had unconsciously picked at it.

I sit up and blink away fogginess in my head. My body is heavy, I'm trying to move underwater. Really, I don't want to get up. I want to be wrapped in the warmth of this room, in the memories that lean against me from every corner. But I know I cannot stay here forever. The guys will be up soon, and we'll all gather in the kitchen, making laugh, eat whatever we can find, making plans for the day. It's 1987, and life moves fast. Even if I don't feel like keeping up.

Lately, James has been different. Quieter. Or maybe I'm just noticing things that were always there. The way he sometimes stares off into space, his fingers tapping out rhythms for his own ears. The way he lingers a little too long in doorways, expecting something or someone to appear. He doesn't talk about it, though. None of us do. We just keep going, acting like everything is okay.

Maybe he's downstairs already, fiddling with his guitar, a low hum of his voice humming along to whatever song's in his head. I smile at the thought. James Hetfield. My roommate, my best friend, and sometimes... I don't know what. Something more, maybe. Or something less. It's hard to define what we are.

I drag myself out of his bed and into my jeans,the necklace around my neck is getting heavier with the days. The little locket inside, the one I never take off, a picture of him. I rarely open it. I don't have to. I can pull up his face on the screen in my head anytime. Those diamond cut blue eyes, that wonky smile capable of illuminating the whole damn room.

I trudge softly down the stairs, trying not to make any noise. I used to joke this place was haunted, maybe the ghosts of musicians still waited here, looking for their chance at popularity. James would laugh at me for it, calling me ridiculous, but sometimes. Sometimes, I truly wish it were. And maybe it is.

But it's still an empty kitchen. No James, no one else. Just the light patter of rain, the ticking of the clock on the wall. My face droops immediately. He's probably out in the garage, messing with his guitar, or he went for a drive. That's what he sometimes does when his head needs clearing. I'm fine. I'll see him later.

I sit at the table, running my fingers over the grain of the wood in an absent circle. The house is too quiet. Too still. I shut my eyes and try to recall the last conversation we had, but it's all hazy, reaching for smoke. My mind drifts and for one moment, I might have sworn I heard him, his voice calling my name up the hallway. I snap my eyes open and my heart's racing. But there's nobody.

Just the house. Just me.

I shake my head, feeling pathetic. Need to stop doing this, stop waiting for things that aren't there. I'm not some little girl anymore.

But still… I was hoping the house was haunted.

I lie later on his bed, gazing up at the ceiling, the Scorpions poster on his ceiling boring an image into my skull. The rain has calmed. I have no idea why I am in here. I should do anything else, do something else. Instead, I draw his pillow closer to me, inhaling into the now-faint scent of him that still clings to the fabric. I know if i keep breathing it in, it'll only smell like me. And that's no good.

I simply wish that he would just come back now.

I heard the opening of the door behind me, and my heart leaps half a second, hoping it is him, but it isn't. It's Cliff.

He steps inside, his eyes soft as they land on me, knowing exactly what's going on. That's always been him, kind and patient. He doesn't say anything, not for a minute or so, just walks over and sits on the edge of the bed, his weight sinking into the mattress.

And then I don't know why, but I just start crying. It's out of nowhere, tears spilling down my cheeks before I can even attempt to stop them. They soak into James' pillow like a hello. It's kind of really embarrassing, actually. I'm not a crier. But here I am, sobbing into James's pillow like some sort of broken thing, and I have no idea why.

Cliff says nothing more, but reaches out and gently brushes my hair from off my face, and I imagine his touch is James'.

"He loved you, you know," Cliff says in a voice soft enough that it caresses my slow heart.

My body freezes up. "What?

"James," he says, his fingers still moving through my hair, soothing me like I was a little girl. "He was crazy about you."   I shake my head, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "You don't have to say that, Cliff. I know you're just trying to make me feel better."

But he doesn't laugh. He doesn't even smile. He just looks at me with those sad eyes of his, chestnut hair falling slightly in his eyes.

"He was gonna tell you," Cliff whispers. "After the tour. He had this big, stupid plan. He wanted to take you out to dinner, make it all special, you know? He was nervous as hell about it, too."

Why is Cliff saying this? Why now?

Again, Cliff says, "He never had the chance." Cliff's voice is no louder than a murmur. "But he loved you. Really did."

I wrap myself into a tight, clinging ball with his pillow. "But he's still here," I choke. "James is… he's still here, Cliff. He's just… he's just out somewhere, right?"

There's such a long pause, when Cliff speaks again, his voice is full with a sadness that I don't want to recognize. But I do.

"He's gone, sweetheart."

I shake my head wildly, eyes refusing to believe what I already know is true. "No. No, he's not. He's coming back. He's just—"

"He passed, remember? Last year. The bus."

I stop breathing as the room tilts, heavy with fog, pushing against my skin, promising to smother me. I remember, yet I don't want to. I don't want to think about that night, the phone call, a feeling of my love slipping away.

"I saw him," I whisper, my voice shaking. "I swear, Cliff, I saw him. He was right here."

Cliff doesn't argue, won't try to reason with me. He just pulls me into his arms, holding me as I break apart. He strokes my hair, whispering soft words that I can't quite make out, but it doesn't matter. All that matters is that James is gone. He's been gone for a year, and I've been living in this house, waiting for a ghost that will never come home.

Cliff lays me back down, tucks James’ blankets around me as if I am some sort of child. He doesn't leave, though. He stays beside me, his hand resting on my shoulder.

"He really did love you," Cliff says again, much softer this time. "More than you know."

The house isn't haunted. At least, it isn't haunted the way I wish it was.

I still wear you in my locket, James. I always will.

And maybe someday I'll find you again.

[daycourtofficial]

Personal update below

Tw: pregnancy loss, miscarriage, blood

Here it is, the words I’ve been unable to type, much less say out loud. Late in the night a few nights ago, I woke up to some abdominal cramping and went to the bathroom. I had been bleeding vaginally all day, but not enough to be super concerned.

I woke up and went to the bathroom, and knew something was wrong. To spare the details, I was bleeding a lot, cramping severely, and I knew my baby was gone. I felt empty inside, despite only being about 7 or 8 weeks pregnant. Intuition, I suppose. I just felt so lonely, as if I wasn’t supposed to be the only occupant in my body.

My husband took me to the hospital and after hours of invasive poking, prodding, and testing, a nurse practitioner I will likely never see again, who will likely never think of me again, told me that my baby was gone. He was straight forward, which I like in medical personnel. He told me my pregnancy was unviable and that it’s common. That we shouldn’t worry. These things happen. It’s normal, common. The three or so minutes felt like an eternity, waiting for him to leave so I could fall apart in the privacy of my husband’s arms, despite the lack of privacy an emergency department offers.

The hospital was so sterile, the bright lights and lack of windows made it impossible for you to track the passage of time. The winding hallways a maze of monotony, making it impossible to know how to return to your room without a guide. The walls were devoid of any real color, save for tv screens and workplace posters. And yet, the room I was placed in was the only room with decorative curtains. All the other curtains were just a shade of navy.

Mine had flowers on it, as if the world or God or the hospital wanted to offer me some reprieve, some reminder that for the hospital, this was routine, but that it wasn’t routine for me. That I deserved something for my eyes to find comfort in.

So here it is, the new reality I find myself in. My baby is gone. The rare statement that, once it becomes true, will never change.

I’m reeling a bit from this loss, as you can imagine. I’m gutted. I got married right at the beginning of the year, falling pregnant not long after. I joked with my husband that I started the year off becoming a wife and was ending the year becoming a mom. I suppose it really was just a joke in the end, but I’m not sure if the punchline was me or my continued optimism, in spite all that I’ve endured.

Anyway, everyone was extraordinarily kind to me when I had posted that I was pregnant. I know that technically I don’t owe anyone details of my personal life, especially not this personal, but I wanted to share it because I don’t want to be sad and alone. And perhaps this will find its way to someone else who has felt some loss recently, whether it be the loss of someone or something, or a loss of self or identity, or a loss of the future you had planned out. Maybe they will feel some connection to this. Or maybe one day someone will think of this as they reel with their own loss.

I don’t regret sharing the news so early, despite the circumstances that have now led me to making this post. Any joy we can find is worth sharing, even if it’s fleeting, especially if it’s fleeting, and even if it’s for some stranger on the internet.

Anyway, I have my dogs and my husband, who are very loving. I’m not sure when I’ll post this, I’ll likely stick it in my queue somewhere so it feels less like I’m hitting the ‘post’ button and more like softly whispering all of this in the wind.

I will be okay, I always am. Grief is a black hole I am trying navigate and figure out where it ends and I begin, trying to remember what my new life will be like and how to grieve yet another version of myself lost to time and trauma and sadness.

There is no narrative device here, nothing I did could’ve changed the outcome. Sometimes the world is just needlessly cruel.

This doesn’t really affect anything on here or what I choose to interact with. I’m still okay discussing/reading/writing about babies and kids and everything in that realm. I just didn’t want anyone asking after the baby and making someone feel bad for wanting to know how I was doing.

Anyway, I don’t want to end this on a despairing note, even though that is the tune of my life at the moment. I want to remember that my now is not my forever, and I hope anyone reading this that is experiencing any manner of suffering takes as much out of that sentiment as I do.

Yours,

V ❤️

[muffinbeliever]

Jacob black for prompt 12 would be appreciated. (fem reader)

Forever Yours

The reader spots Jacob and Bella walking along the shores of La Push, and she is reminded of everything that had happened, before she is faced with a choice of what could be.

Pairing: Jacob Black x Reader

Word Count: 1809

Warnings: just like sad stuff i guess... not much resolution but a little resolution at the end ?

A/N: wow. this is actually so terrible. i have no words as to how long it took me to crank this out and im actually really disappointed in myself and i would like to formally apologize to everyone, especially @sugaraddict301 who has been waiting patiently for MONTHS and now its just a terrible one shot that i could barely eke out but it has been weighing on my mind particularly heavily these past couple of days so i just knocked something out

Masterlist

The cool ocean breeze swept your hair across your face, leaving you sputtering like a fool. You wrapped the ends of your blanket tighter around your body, as the sounds of the waves crashing accompanied your friends giggles beside you. 

It was cloudy, but that didn’t stop your friends from dragging you out of the house and to La Push. None of you surfed, and it was definitely too cold to swim, but you were enjoying the time out with your friends, cracking jokes and complaining about classes. At least you had been, until two figures walking together along the shore caught your eye. 

It was like your heart had been crushed, and all of the air left your lungs. 

He was with her. 

Jacob Black— your first friend, first love, and first heartbreak. 

You got up from where you were sitting— no longer feeling like hanging out with your friends— and began walking alongside the shore, in the opposite direction of them. Eventually, you found a large rock, one that you could sit on and observe the depths of the water.

Of course, you were ecstatic to hear of her return to the rainy town, having fond memories of braiding hair and sleepovers, but along with the happiness came bits of grief. You knew of the feelings that lingered between her and Jacob, your ex-boyfriend never fully getting over the dark-haired girl.

You had read that first loves shine the brightest and hurt the worst, which you unfortunately found out the hard way. The two of you grew up together, tugging on each other’s hair in simple, childish bouts of teasing. It was unclear when romantic feelings for your friend developed, but one day you were suddenly hit by waves of emotion, and you found yourself on a rapidly-moving train with no stop in sight. 

It wasn’t until you were 14 that you began to act on these feelings, after sensing that Jacob had felt the same. Dating Jacob was like breathing— it never took much effort nor thought, it simply existed. Your routines didn’t change much; you still hung out for the majority of the week, enjoying the time spent together. 

Some days you would watch movies for hours, cuddling on the couch in your living room, throwing out corny quips and references that only the two of you understood. Other days, you would simply coexist, working side-by-side but separately. And that was okay too. 

For three years, you followed this routine. It was simple, and it worked. It was filled with love and adoration but also immense respect and joy. Until one night, Jacob revealed something to you, completely catching you off guard and changing the course of your relationship for the worse. 

“Jake,” you started as the laugh track of the sit-com you were watching accompanied in the background. 

“Hmm?” He asked, and you felt the reverberation from his chest through your body.

It was Saturday, and the two of you were intent on spending the day inside, away from the bitter cold of Forks winters. You had finished your homework last night, in anticipation of cuddling up with your boyfriend for hours on the couch. You were both laying on the couch, his arms wrapped around your waist pulling you close against his body.

“Did you ever think we would end up together?” You asked. 

It was not an investigative inquiry, but rather just a random question that popped into your mind. You twisted your head back, looking at him with a smile that fell when you saw his eyes clouded with a haunted look. 

“Babe?” You asked, tentatively. And he blinked quickly, snapping out of his trance. By this point, worry filled your heart, and it beat fervently against your chest. You felt your hands grow clammy with sweat, and you began to pull away from his warm embrace. 

“I, uh… If I’m going to be completely honest,” he started, and your breath hitched, a deep pit in your stomach forming. You mentally cursed yourself, cursing your curiosity and inability to simply leave things be. 

“I had the biggest crush on Isabella Swan when we were younger. I don’t know what it was, but something about her just drew me in,” he continued. 

You and Bella Swan used to be close friends, being the same age and all. But after she stopped visiting Forks for summer and winter break, the two of you began to drift apart, no longer writing each other letters filled with life updates. In your later teens, as life began to pick up, you had almost forgotten about her completely— the thought of her, merely a childhood memory.

Your heart clenched, and you stirred up the courage to ask the first question on your mind— the most important question. 

“If she didn’t move away, would you still be with me?” You weren’t sure if you wanted to know the answer, but you needed to. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck in nervousness. 

Your stomach dropped, and you pulled away further, no longer wanting to be near him. 

“Oh,” you said. And that was all you could say.

“No, baby, it’s not like that though. I love you, you know I love you. Who cares about the ‘what ifs’? Who cares about the hypotheticals? We’re together now, and that is all that matters to me. You matter.” 

You could tell he was trying his hardest to reassure you, to backtrack and make up for his mistake, and you knew that it was partially your fault for backing him into a corner, but the damage was done. 

What was said could not be unsaid, and that is the nature of living. 

That night was a low point in your relationship— in your life. It was the turning point of the pure, uncomplicated love that you had for Jacob. It created friction between you two, even though you desperately tried for it not to. You both did. At one point, it was too much to bear, and you let go. You walked away from him. 

You were unsure as to how long you were sitting there, but you heard soft footfalls in the sand, alerting your senses to a presence behind you. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who it was. 

“I should’ve known better than to come here,” you said, tears filling your eyes, still focused on the shore. 

You didn’t want to look at him. 

It was hard to speak, the huge lump in your throat creating a crack in your voice along with the stinging of tears. At that moment, you embraced the cliche. Childhood loves never fully died, and now, you could attest to that based on first-hand experience. 

“Y/N,” Jacob started, with a sad smile. “You’re always welcome here, you know that. Even though we may not be together anymore, the Rez is your home too.” 

You shook your head in defiance, and finally you found yourself staring into his dark eyes, ones that were once filled with love and happiness for you. 

“No, I can’t keep coming here. I think we should stay away from each other, Jacob.” 

His eyes softened with sadness, and you swore you saw heartbreak in his eyes. But maybe you were just projecting. 

“You don’t want to see me anymore?”

“I…” you sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want to see you. It’s that I can’t. I can’t move on from you if I don’t step away now.” 

His eyes crinkled in confusion and his head tilted, reminding you of a kicked dog that simply did not understand the complexities of life. 

“What changed? We still would see each other after we broke up. It was hard at times, sure, but I think that’s natural.” 

Your heart was heavy, and the tears spilled over as you came to terms with bearing your heart to him one last time. One more time and then never again. 

“I can’t stand looking at the two of you together, knowing that used to be us. I miss us. I miss the way we were together. And I know that you don’t feel the same, and that’s okay. I want you to know that I’m okay with that. I understand. I just don’t think this is healthy for me… for either of us,” you stated with finality, truth ringing in your voice. 

“You don’t think I miss you? Miss us?” He whispered, and you shook your head. 

“I know you don’t, Jacob. I see the way you look at her, and you never looked at me that way,” your breath shook as you attempted to take a calm inhale. “And like I said, that’s okay. I’m okay. I just can’t keep hurting myself by staying.” 

Jacob was quiet, and you waited with baited breath to hear his response. He looked away, his eyes towards the shore where the waves crashed upon the black sand. Sand that you would often roll around in together on the rare sunny days, laughing and splashing your time away. 

“You’re wrong,” he stated, still staring at the murky water. 

“I did… look at you like that. I still look at you like that. You just didn’t see it. You never do. You never look at me anymore, and it kills me to know that it’s my fault. I lost you. I should’ve held onto you when I had the chance— I should’ve fought harder for you. I lay in bed, thinking about you. About all the time we spent together, and how I would trade anything in the world to get those moments back. To get you back. And I am so sorry, Y/N, for not telling you. For not reassuring you that it’s you I want. Not her. Not anymore. Not for a long time.”

It was your turn to remain quiet, unsure of what to say, of what could be said. 

You found yourself in tears, silently sobbing on the rock that numbed your body, or so you had tried to convince yourself. That it was the rock that did it. And not the boy next to you. 

He pulled you in a comforting embrace, not unlike the ones he would pull you into when you were together. He rested his chin on top of your head, cradling you close to his chest. 

“I love you,” he whispered, barely heard over the crashing of the waves.

“I love you, too,” you whispered back, muffled by the fabric of his cotton black t-shirt.

You were unsure as to what this meant for the future, for the next steps of your relationship. But you knew that the pieces of your heart were beginning to be stitched back together, slowly, but surely. 

And that was all the reassurance you needed in that moment. 

Taglist: @final-girl96 @garfieldsladybird @britty443 @cevans-winchester @oh-kurva

[lucajayms]

once again, i apologize for the rant

helloo, if youre still taking requests, fem reader who is the drummer (fuck b*b) who has been dating gerard since bullets (i love bullets gerard so much) and theyre doing the im not ok video and she is dressed as one of the cheerleaders and has the same uniform as the guys but with skirt. and gerard keeps making jokes about how unfair is that she is only one wearing a skirt and being cheerleader, everyone laughs and he acts like its no big deal but reader knows he feels truly a little bit sad because of it but she doesn't say anything because she want him to be the one to talk about it first. then like 18 years pass 😭 and reader and gerard are at a thrift store and gee sees THE cheerleader outfit and is really interested by it but tries to play it cool but reader convinces them to buy it and get it modified to wear on stage. then gerard puts it on for the first time and reader is just happy that he is so happy bc they have been wanting to be a cheerleader for almost 20 years 😭

take your time, feel free to ignore this, cubicles was soooo good thanks for reading my batshit crazy rants <3

You Should Have Raised A Baby Girl...

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gerard way x reader she/her used use of y/n

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masterlist

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warnings: mentions of drug use, drug tests, consensual ass grabbing

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funfact Gee wore the cheerleader dress on my bday 🤭 (8/24/22)

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I cross my arms, the sting of doubt twisting inside me, and take a deep breath. "Are you fucking high?" I spit, each word coated in anger and disappointment. I know it hurts to ask, especially now, when he’s been clawing his way through every withdrawal, trying his hardest to get clean. But his hands are shaking, and his eyes, hidden beneath that curtain of greasy hair, seem lost and unfocused.

"What?" His voice wavers, but he manages to snap back, "No! I'm not!" He pushes his hair out of his face, and his eyes—those eyes I used to know so well—look up, wide and offended.

I narrow my gaze, searching his expression, his stance, anything that might give me the truth. His defenses are up, but that doesn't reassure me. "I don't care. I’m drug testing you."

He scoffs and flails his arms in exasperation. "Fine! Go ahead. I have nothing to hide." There’s defiance in his tone, but the fear flickers beneath it, plain as day.

I grab a test kit from my bag, ignoring the questions in his eyes. He looks at me, searching for privacy. I shake my head, a hollow ache stirring inside me as my thoughts drift back to Helena—how young she was, just seventeen, when her own addiction took root. They always find a way to make it negative, but sometimes that reassurance just isn’t enough. Bracing myself, I mutter, "What? It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before. I know how addicts work, Gerard. I've seen people fake a drug test."

He groans but doesn’t argue, reluctantly turning to the test. As he fills the cup, I give him enough space for dignity but keep my gaze steady, just long enough to confirm he's not faking. When he finishes, we settle into a tense silence, the minutes dragging painfully as we wait for the results. I watch him out of the corner of my eye, gnawing on my lip. My stomach twists, dreading that I might be right—and hoping, desperately, that I’m wrong.

The test finally beeps, and I look down, half-expecting the worst. But it’s clear: negative. For everything.

"See?" he snaps, grabbing the result before storming out of the bathroom. "Fucking told you."

I follow him out, the frustration spilling over. "Well, what did you expect, Gerard? Huh?"

He whirls around, his jaw clenched, eyes blazing. "I expected you to believe me, (Y/N)! Just once, without pulling out some test like I'm some… some criminal!"

His words hit me, and a wave of guilt washes over me, but I steady myself, my voice softer. "I just… I had to be sure, Gerard. You don’t get it. Watching you… wondering if you’re slipping again… it kills me."

He stops, his shoulders slumping, and suddenly he looks tired, worn down to his bones. "You think I don’t know that? Every damn day, I’m fighting myself. I’m fighting for you, for Mikey, for everyone. I’m trying, (Y/N). I’m really trying."

I reach out, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I know you are. And I’m proud of you. More than you’ll ever know." My voice softens further, a crack showing. "But I can’t be too careful, Gerard. I can't watch you spiral again. Not after… not after Helena."

At her name, his face shifts, and the anger in his eyes softens. He knows what Helena’s been through, what addiction stole from her, from all of us.

He looks away, sighing, and rubs a hand over his face. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. “For making you doubt me. But… I’m not going anywhere, (Y/N). Not this time. I swear.”

I nod, swallowing back tears. "I believe you," I say, and it’s the truth. “And I’m with you. Every step.”

We stand there in silence, something heavy and real hanging between us. I take his hand and give it a squeeze, feeling his fingers grip mine back, and for a moment, the fear eases—just enough to remember that maybe, this time, we’ll both make it through.

And he kept his word for the next few days. The jitters continued but it was fine because he was quitting cold turkey. That's a very difficult thing to do and I have no idea how he's gone this far.. I almost feel bad with every accusation that comes out of my mouth. I want to be wrong, and so far each time I have been.

The shoot for I'm Not Okay (I Promise) was set for tomorrow—our first real music video, with an actual budget. Sure, we had those two videos from the last record, but those were put together on scraps and prayers. This time, though? Reprise was footing the bill. They let us do whatever we wanted with it, so we went for prep school misfits, us being the outcasts, too clueless to catch the hints but somehow breaking through, brainwashing the place with our song. It was the coolest idea we’d had yet.

And it wasn’t just the video. Next week, we were kicking off the Taste of Chaos tour, our first tour for Revenge. The whole thing was surreal. I could see it in Gerard, the way he fidgeted with his sleeves, or spaced out a little too long whenever he thought no one was looking. He’d never done a show sober before, not a real one, and that fear was clawing at him. We all knew it. But no one dared to say it.

That night, we piled into a late-night diner, the five of us crammed into a booth, splitting greasy fries and cheap coffee. Gerard was uncharacteristically quiet, his fingers tapping anxiously against his mug. I nudged him gently, trying to pull him out of his head.

"You ready for tomorrow?" I asked, forcing a smile.

He chuckled softly, but his eyes were distant. I knew something was bothering him, he just didn't want to say it. “Yeah, I mean… it’s exciting. Just… a lot, you know? First real video. Then the tour…”

Mikey shot him a reassuring look from across the table. “You got this, Gee. We all do. This is what we wanted, right?”

Gerard nodded, taking a shaky sip of his coffee. "Yeah. I know. Just… new territory."

I leaned closer, giving him a nudge with my shoulder. “We’re right here. You’re not doing this alone. Just think about the video, okay? Tomorrow, we’re gonna be a bunch of misfit weirdos, and I think we’ve all had enough practice for that.”

That got a real laugh out of him, and I caught the hint of relief in his eyes. Maybe he was still scared, but he was here. He was trying.

That night in the hotel room, I sat in front of the mirror, straightener in hand, trying to make tomorrow’s prep a little easier. I’d get half my hair done tonight so the crew wouldn’t have to wrestle with it in the morning. But as I worked on one of the bottom layers, my gaze kept drifting back to Gerard. He was lying on the bed in his matching pajamas—Batman this time—eyes glued to the TV. I could tell something was eating at him. There was this distant look in his eyes, like he was somewhere far away.

“What’s the matter, baby?” I asked, running the straightener over a strand, watching him through the mirror. He shrugged, not looking away from whatever was flickering on the screen. “Come on, I know there’s something. Talk to me, Gee.”

He shifted a little, lips parting like he was about to say something. “Do you… do you know if…” He trailed off, shaking his head like he’d thought better of it.

I set the straightener down, turning to face him fully. “Do I know if what, babe?”

He hesitated, biting his lip. Finally, he sighed. “Do you know what your costume’s gonna be like tomorrow?”

My brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Like… are you gonna be in a skirt or are you matching us?” His voice was soft, hesitant, like he didn’t want to give away the reason he was asking.

I moved to the edge of the bed, leaning over to rub his shin through the silly Batman pajama pants. “I’m gonna be wearing a skirt, yeah. They wanted me to stand out a little more.”

He nodded, looking down, and there was that far-off look again. I could tell he was wrestling with something. “Why do you ask?”

He squirmed a bit, his fingers fidgeting with the blanket, before finally looking at me with those big, uncertain eyes. “I… I’ve always wanted to wear a skirt, you know? Just… not in a joke way. I don’t know, I just… I’ve thought about it a lot, but I’ve always been too scared to actually… you know, do it.”

The confession hung between us, delicate and vulnerable. He looked at me, waiting, as if expecting me to laugh or brush it off. But I didn’t. I just moved closer, so our knees touched, and I took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Gee,” I murmured, “you’d look amazing in a skirt. Seriously.”

He let out a shaky breath, almost like a laugh. “I just… I don’t want anyone to think I’m… I don’t know. I don’t want people to make fun of me or think it’s, like, a stunt. I just… sometimes, I feel like I’d be more… me.”

I felt my heart squeeze. “I get that. And you know what? Fuck anyone who doesn’t get it. If it’s something you want to do, then do it. I’ll be right there with you.”

He smiled, shy but grateful, and his hand tightened around mine. “You… you really think it’d be okay?”

“More than okay,” I replied, leaning in to nudge him with my shoulder. “If you want to, we can even get you a skirt for the shoot. Who says you have to look like everyone else?”

He let out a soft laugh, glancing down. “Maybe… maybe one day.”

I smiled, knowing he’d take that step when he was ready, and I’d be right there, cheering him on every step of the way.

The day of the shoot, Gerard was unusually handsy—not that I minded, of course. But he was everywhere, catching me in quiet corners, his hands sneaking under the hem of my skirt, fingers tracing my hips, or pulling me close when he thought no one was looking. He’d wrap his arms around my waist from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder, a soft hum of contentment escaping him.

Something had changed overnight. The confession he’d made, that weight he’d carried, seemed lighter now. His energy felt freer, brighter, almost playful. This was the side of Gerard that only surfaced when he was truly at ease—no stage persona, no walls. Just him, vulnerable and electric, taking on the world with this new spark.

At one point, we were waiting between scenes, tucked away in the back hallway of the school they’d rented out for the video. I leaned against a row of lockers, tapping my fingers against the cool metal. He leaned into me, one hand braced on the locker behind me, his other resting on my hip, pulling me close. He gave me a mischievous grin, his eyes alight with something that hadn’t been there for a long time.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice low, just for me, “I can’t believe I waited so long to tell you that. Last night… I just… it felt like I could breathe again.”

I smiled, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “You deserve to feel that way, Gee. No matter what anyone else thinks. I’m glad you told me.”

He pressed his forehead to mine, his hand tightening on my hip. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, (Y/N),” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“Good thing you don’t have to find out,” I murmured back, brushing my lips against his.

Just then, we heard someone clear their throat. Frank was grinning at us from down the hall, arms crossed. “Lovebirds, we’re on in five. Hate to break up this Notebook moment.”

Gerard rolled his eyes, a faint blush coloring his cheeks as he reluctantly stepped back, adjusting his tie. But he didn’t let go of my hand, holding it tight as we walked to the set together, like he needed that anchor.

The shoot went on, the hours blurring by in a whirlwind of takes and costume adjustments. Gerard, with his newfound confidence, gave it everything, his voice raw and defiant, his eyes holding that steady fire. When he wasn’t on camera, he’d throw glances my way, little secret smiles just for me, like we were sharing a world no one else could touch.

2022

Nashville was as sticky and humid as ever, clinging to us like a second skin. Gerard and I strolled hand-in-hand down the bustling streets, taking advantage of a rare day off to just be together. He’d wanted to go out, despite the heat, saying something about “soaking in the vibes” of the city. Since Taste of Chaos—his first tour clean—he’d grown into himself in ways I could never have anticipated but always admired.

The experiments with theatrics and costume had only gotten bolder: The Black Parade uniforms, the neon punk style of Danger Days, and each tour adding something new, a more vivid version of who he was. As his confidence grew, so did his willingness to play with his identity, his style, and especially his look. He’d always talk to me first, hesitantly at first, but now with a quiet confidence. We’d have long talks about gender, how he felt, and where he fit. He told me he felt somewhere in between, not fully masculine, not quite feminine, and finally, he’d started exploring what that meant.

His pronouns had become he/they—a subtle but important shift that he let me in on first. He’d whispered it to me one night, his face half-hidden by the pillow, unsure of how it’d sound out loud. I remember how his shoulders relaxed when I just squeezed his hand and said, “Then that’s who you are. And that’s who I love.”

Today, I could see how far he’d come. He wore a pair of black jeans, a loose-fitting yellow plaid shirt with his favorite green jacket. His hair was in that perfect, unkempt mess that suited him so well, falling into his face in a way that made me want to brush it back for him. He caught me looking and grinned, that mischievous spark in his eye.

“You’re staring,” he teased, voice low, hand squeezing mine.

“Can’t help it,” I replied, leaning closer. “My husband’s hot. And he knows it.”

He blushed, looking away with a smile that was all shyness and pride. “Lucky me. Got a hot wife who puts up with all my crazy ideas.”

“Oh, like the Black Parade costumes?” I teased, nudging him. “Or was it the neon hair phase?”

He laughed, that warm, unguarded laugh that I loved. “Hey, those were good ideas!”

I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him close. “Every single one,” I murmured, brushing a kiss to his cheek. “You know, I love that you’re trying all this stuff out. The costumes, the makeup, everything… it’s all you, Gee.”

He sighed, leaning into me, his face softening. “I just… I spent so long thinking I had to be a certain way. But when I’m like this—when I’m just… me—it’s like, finally, I can breathe.”

“And I love you for it,” I whispered. “Every part of you.”

He looked at me, eyes bright. “Thanks for… always being okay with me. You don’t know how much it means.”

I kissed him, my hands on his face, brushing my thumb over the liner just a little. “It means the world to me to see you happy. I fell in love with the real you, Gee. And you're perfect just the way you are."

Gerard beamed as we wandered the streets of Nashville, our fingers intertwined, stopping to browse comic book stores, jewelry shops, and cozy little cafes that seemed to breathe with southern charm. We’d talk about the places we passed, imagining lives where we’d just hop from one coffee shop to another, taking days off together like this every week.

Then we stumbled upon the cutest thrift store, tucked away on a side street, with a neon sign that read Second Chances buzzing in the window.

“Ooh, Gee, maybe they’ll have one of the records!” I said, tugging him toward the door before he could even protest.

He laughed, letting me pull him in. “You really think someone just dropped an original Three Cheers here? In Nashville?”

“You never know!” I shot back with a grin. We’d been on a hunt lately to collect originals of our own records in any format—CDs, cassettes, vinyl. Thrift stores like these were sometimes goldmines for rare music finds, so every visit held a little thrill.

After scouring the music section and turning up empty-handed, we wandered over to the clothing racks, half just for the fun of it, flipping through sequined tops, vintage jeans, and concert tees that probably had a whole lifetime of memories. That’s when Gerard froze, his eyes locking onto something that made him tilt his head curiously.

It was a green cheerleading dress, faded but charming, with a big white W stitched onto the chest. The dress looked around his size—maybe a little snug, but close enough. He reached out to brush his fingers over the fabric, his eyes thoughtful.

I could practically see the gears turning in his head. “You want to try it on, don’t you?” I asked, a knowing smile tugging at my lips.

He looked at me, almost sheepishly, but nodded. “Yeah. You think they’d mind?”

“Oh, definitely not. They’ll love it.” I grabbed his hand and dragged him to the fitting rooms, slipping the dress over to him before closing the door. “Go on. Let’s see it.”

A few moments later, he opened the door, stepping out with a nervous little smile. The dress fit a bit awkwardly, the hem resting higher than it was probably meant to, and the waist a little too tight—but somehow, it still suited him perfectly. His hair spilled over his shoulders, framing his face, and the way he looked at himself in the mirror had me grinning ear to ear.

“Well?” he asked, tugging at the skirt to straighten it. “Does it look too weird?”

I stepped up behind him, resting my chin on his shoulder and looking at him in the mirror. “Not at all,” I murmured. “I mean, sure, it’s a little tight here and there. But I can make it fit. Just give me a few minutes with my sewing kit, and it’ll be perfect by tomorrow night.”

He turned, his eyes lighting up with a mix of excitement and relief. “Really? You think I could… wear it on stage?”

“Absolutely,” I said, wrapping my arms around his waist. “You’ve wanted to try something new, right? This is your chance. And you’ll look amazing up there, Gee.”

His smile grew, that sparkle in his eye I’d come to love. “You really think I can pull this off?”

I leaned in, brushing a kiss against his cheek. “You already do.”

We left the thrift store with the green dress carefully folded in a bag, along with a few vintage band tees Gerard had picked out on impulse. The whole walk back to the hotel, he kept glancing over at me, his excitement bubbling just below the surface. I knew he was nervous about tomorrow, about showing up on stage in something that finally felt like him, but he couldn’t hide the spark in his eyes.

As soon as we got back, I laid the dress out on the bed and pulled out my sewing kit, ready to get to work. Gerard sat beside me, practically vibrating with excitement, as I took measurements, talking through each adjustment I’d make. Every now and then, he’d crack a joke or mumble some self-deprecating comment about his body that I’d instantly counter, reminding him how perfect he was.

When I had the dress pinned and knew what I needed to do, he gave my shoulder a squeeze and ducked into the bathroom to shave his legs. I laughed when he popped his head out, cheeks flushed, talking about how he hadn’t done this since he was a teenager, experimenting with styles and pushing every boundary he could.

“I’m committed,” he said, grinning as he disappeared back into the bathroom.

As I sat on the bed, working the fabric to fit his frame, I felt an overwhelming swell of love. This was so much more than a costume. I knew he was taking a huge leap here, stepping into an identity he’d been tiptoeing around for years. The stitching felt sacred, like I was helping create something that would show the world the Gerard only I got to see: soft, unapologetic, playful, and so beautifully himself.

He left to find knee-high socks and sneakers, and by the time he returned, I had finished the dress, smoothing it out over the bed. He came in holding up a pair of bright white socks and some simple canvas sneakers, his eyes shining as he looked from the dress to me.

“You’re… already done?” he asked, a mix of awe and nerves in his voice.

“All done and ready for you,” I said, patting the bed. “Now go try it on. Let’s see the star of the show.”

He hesitated just a moment, then took the dress with an appreciative nod and disappeared into the bathroom. My heart pounded as I waited, imagining how he’d look and hoping it would feel as perfect for him as it did for me.

When he finally stepped out, I was floored. The green fabric hugged him in all the right places, and the socks added that playful touch he loved. But it was his face that struck me the most—the way he looked at himself, tentatively touching the W on his chest, then glancing up at me, almost shyly.

“Well?” he asked, giving a small, nervous laugh as he did a quick turn, tugging at the skirt. “I don’t know if it’s… too much?”

I couldn’t stop smiling, my heart so full I thought it might burst. “Gee, you look… you look absolutely stunning." I hold my hands out, gesturing for him to come over to me. "My pretty husband."

He laughed, his voice catching just slightly. “You really think so? I’m not… I mean, I’m no model or anything.”

Once he got over to me, I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him close. “You don’t have to be. You’re you, baby. That’s all anyone needs to see, and that’s what they’re gonna see. This is everything I’ve ever dreamed for you—to just be yourself. This is all you.”

He wrapped his arms around me, holding on tight. His voice was soft, almost a whisper. “You make it sound so easy. I never thought I’d have the courage to do this… but here I am, with you, feeling like maybe I could take on the world.”

I pressed a kiss to his forehead, lingering there as I took in every part of this moment. “You don’t need me to make you brave,” I whispered against his skin. “You’ve had it in you all along. I’m just lucky to be here, watching you become everything you’re meant to be.”

His eyes were glassy, and he leaned his forehead against mine, his voice choked with emotion. “I'm so fucking grateful for you. You're someone who makes me feel like I don’t have to hide anymore.”

All I did was smile at him. Words cannot describe how proud I am of him.

That night, he had the best stage presence in the 21 years of his career, and I mean that. I definitely didn't. I was so distracted, but I managed to keep on beat. I could have done better behind the kit, but how can I when I have my beautiful husband directly in front of me. Especially when someone gave him that stupid flame thrower. Where did he get a fucking flame thrower?

The rest of the tour he had a few more feminine outfits: the teacher, the flight attendant he called it, the tourist, the cat, and a few other. And he pulled off every single one.

All I could do was smile at him. There aren’t words for how proud I felt, how proud I still feel.

That night, Gerard had the best stage presence I’d ever seen in his 21 years of performing—and I mean that. It was magnetic. Every move, every word, he owned the stage. Me? I was a mess. My focus kept drifting, too distracted by the way he lit up in front of the crowd. I kept the beat, but honestly? I could’ve done better. How could I not be distracted when my beautiful husband was standing there, owning his truth, directly in front of me?

And then there was that goddamn flamethrower. Seriously, where the hell did he get a flamethrower? I could barely keep my eyes off him, but I swear, that thing almost distracted me more than he did.

The rest of the tour was a parade of outfits, each one more Gerard than the last. The teacher look, the “flight attendant,” as he called it, the tourist, the cat—oh god, the cat—and a few others that I never even saw coming. He wore every single one with such confidence, with a kind of ease that made it clear he was finally, fully, himself. Every time he stepped on stage in those outfits, he wasn’t just performing; he was living—and the crowd felt it, too.

I just couldn’t get enough of it. Every single night, he blew me away.

4685 words

thank you for reading, my loves!

[nikox400x]

Kung Fu Panda 4-All the budget went to the animation (spoilers)

Hey all, its me, the guy who everyday make a tour around this site but almost never talk. How are ya?

Two days ago something arrived to the cinema's screens, something that me and everyone were waiting for since 2018, the fourth film and the begginig of the new kung fu panda triology.

You know? When I sat on that theather seat with my friends to see what Dreamworks had prepared for us, I told myself; "Maybe that post I made a while ago throwing shit at what seemed like Kfp 4 was going to be was a bit hard, I hope I can come out regretting what I said that time"

And as soon as the credits ended, it was clear to me, I dont regret a shit. Maybe it was a little exaggerated, compared to what a megamind fan would think about the terrible sequel they made, but still: the film is crappy and boring most of the time. But why?

I'm going to explain some points.

1- Po? Is that you?

I don't know you guys, but i don't think the panda we knew in the end of the third film is the same as this one. Seriously, he share more comparisons with the Po from the legend of awessonless than the one from the films, maybe its a personal thing but it feels that way. At least in the beggining of the film feel like that.

And I don't know what he was thinking about when he decided to follow a thief he doesn't know at all and who tried to steal in his own palace, and that suspiciously know who is the chameleon, whose were her plans, her past, where she lived, where exacly they had to pass through avoiding all the guard inside her home, why the others thiefs of the city hate her so much... With Po's experience with criminals this is like a chef throwing water on a pan with boiling oil, it's obvious what is going to happen.

2- Zheng- Female Nick Wilde but without charisma or half of his intelligence.

I knew it from the first moment I saw Zheng's desing, the people who know me can corroborate that; her facial expressions, her tone while she talk, her animal race, her position as thief, her final when she is part of the justice same as the protagonist... it's clearer than water I think.

Everyone could say this is forgivable if she's smart, but surprise, she's not. This character is just an absurd try of this company for """"conect with infant audience""""(I don't know in what sense, I supose for the cute design, idk). But the point is, the supposed objective of the hollywood companies is give the new generetions better things than we got at their age, but what I see is laziness for write a decent scrip only for take an advantage of a known IP and make easy money. Even the children have quality standars, this is not the dragon warrior and of course this is not kung fu panda.

And talking about the dragon warrior, having our deep and lovely Tigress with her magnific development or Tai Lung back from the spirit realm... why in the hell this character exists?! Oh yeah, for being trending topic in twitter for three days. Yay...

3- The furious five and Shifu, for us : our pretty boys, and for Dreamworks: living jokes.

What made Kung Fu Panda what it is, is not the fucking panda, it's them. They're the inspiration for Po, their allies, the royale representation of kung fu and the ones which everything started with.

Po's a comic relief, and his mission is show his development in part using his humor, but the humor in this film barely works because of the lazy script. Something that even the talented Jack Black himself can't fix, beacuse his only role there is dublin his character, unlike the rest of the residents of the Jade Palace except Dustin Hoffman.

Seth Rogen (Mantis) himself even said that he wasn't even contact by Dreamworks in the first place, only for make a scream in the credits, that's sad beacause he really wanted to see Mantis on the screen. And I know and I understand that the five are expensive, but cmon, they could just simply change the voice actors and offset it with a good script but that's not the case of course. Their role in the film is being a counter for Po's constant jokes, for not to saturate the spectator with jokes, now that's not in there anymore, thank you Dreamworks.

4-The chameleoooohhn and her "motivation".

I can't say much, basically because out of her design she's nonsense. She says that because of her size, she was reyected for being a kung fu warrior.

Yeah of course but only one little thing, what about Shifu? Viper, a warrior without tips? Mantis, literally a dawn insect? Master Oogway, a TURTLE? The masters goose? C'mon even there's a fucking master chicken! Don't talk shit chameleon!

Her importance for the plot? Its almost a lie, the others villains had links to important characters; Tai Lung (with his link to Shifu's past), Shen (with his link to Po's past) or Kai (with his link to Oogway's past), all of them related to important characters. And her? To zheng's past and present I guess? But again, anyone know this character. She's like a villain from a Disney show, you know the type of villain who say a lot of things but at the end, she don't support nothing to the lore.

And her personality is like a mix of all the previous villains, and this sounds good right? HAHAH nope. Do you remember when as a child you mixed all the plasticines of all the colors to create the final color and you ended up with a color similar to poop? well that's exacly how her personality feels like.

5- Po's dads; the only reason they're there is because they ran out of characters to make the film.

The tittle itself tell everything, they don't do anything for the script in all the film, and their objective could be done since the start.

The script of the film except for the final looks like a draft which they didn't know how to complete, everyone who watch it can see it perfecly. The animation, the music and the backgrounds are the only things notable here.

6- Tai Lung and the cheapness nostalgia.

Fan service is not necesarry bad, above all if is used in a good way, they sold us Tai Lung as a miracle but his importance for the plot feels just like a Stan Lee cameo, I like Tai Lung I can say that. But this is too weak, Shen and Kai are only characters in the background who don't do nothing except being defeated or make facial expressions (I don't even joke that Shen would show respect to Po considering what we saw in the second movie, and Kai wasn't supposed to be destroyed as a spirit, what the hell is he doing here again? *sign* I'll to stop trying to make sense of this).

By the way, anyone else think that the dragon warrior role is understimated? I mean Shifu obligated Po to transfers the role to another one just because yes, i mean he only has been the dragon warrior for less than 5 years and now they want to replace him with a random. Everything just for at the end, he choosed a thief with at least 30 crimes registred and who was a traitor during the 75% of the movie.

7- The """""""""humor"""""""", except they forgot the parts where I must to laugh.

Seeing nonsense hits only beacuse yes stopped of being funny a long time ago, and no, I don't want to talk about the bunnies of the portrait because I would get sick. I had to go to the cinema drunk to endure the filler that the movie had, no joke, it was the only way to laugh at those jokes.

So I think about applying the same method as in any movie with bad jokes, ignoring the jokes. I tried to do the same thing but with the pace that the film managed, such a thing was impossible, the pace of the movie seems to be made for Tiktoker children with attention deficit. From the chaos in the quarry until Po takes the bitc... uhg fox out of prison, only 10 fucking minutes pass, all of that for what? So that you feel like the baseless information and the nonsensical plot that they tell us is of any use? they could simply make a non-canonical short and that's it, but no, yes or they were going to tell us a story written by rotten old men who spend the entire day watching Tik Tok. It's not going to be that the child who sees this doesn't get bored, we know that much today's children don't have many neurons as they say, but even to make movies for them you have to have a certain talent.

In some point at the beguining Po make a joke about the ausence of the furious five saying that at least he had them in cardboard posters, and this would be a good joke. Only if the stupid film could be prove that the franquise can do something memorable without the furious five, but again, that's not the case.

Don't have any respect for this movie, look what it had with you. I understand that it is enjoyable because of the animation but it does not go beyond that line, it destroys important things about the canon and spoils its teaching about the need for change by treating it in a terrible way.

Coclusion: KFP 4 is just another Po's adventure as Shifu says, it won't tell nothing to you or make you feel different, it's a shame but after Megamind 2 I imagined something like this. It's a dark era for film, expecially the animated one so like Scar said; Be prepare, there're worse things waiting for us.

Do you want something with real quality? You don't even need kung fu panda 1,2 or 3, for make it easy to this film let's take this marvelous example; kung fu panda: secrets of the scroll (2016). You'll say; "An animated short, this is not like-" Shhh Just watch it, you won't regret it.

If you think I'm wrong in something, just rewatch the film. And if still you aren't agreed with me, well, I respect you and I'm happy you like it. I wish I could love it as you do, but that doesn't mean that the movie isn't bad, because if you watch it with your brain on or remembering the previous movies it's terrible.

. Me? I've to write a story, I love you all. Except you, Dreamworks, I'm mad with you, expecially when you do this at the same day as Akira Toriyama's death :(

[devilbombers]

One of the best decisions I ever made was to finally pursue mainly drawing original art. I had no idea until recently that investing yourself in making ocs and enjoying your own work is the highest form of self love so I feel really good about my art and myself

Its very fun and satisfying to constantly explore my own interests and understanding more and more about the things I like and want to put out in the world.

Its hilarious to constantly find myself in situations where I'm laughing at my own jokes with my characters and not caring that nobody else gets it. I didnt know making inside jokes with yourself could ever be a thing but it is now for me.

I ofc have nothing against fanartists (more power to them, live ur truth whatever) but personally I always found drawing fanart a bit pointless bc I dont like spending so much time and energy on just fanart. Also at the time when i wouldnt stop drawing only fanart I happened to be really young; so i sort of associate personally drawing fanart as something sort of childish to do? So I kinda stopped doing it as often bc it feels a little childish to do at my age idk.

The anime/manga scene has become extremely uninspired and dry to me as of late so im finally coming down from really getting too crazy about that shit anymore. So I feel like im finally growing up because of it lmao

I dont regret spending less time drawing fanart now but its only a little sad to me bc from my own findings i realize as an artist its only really possible to make internet friends if youre obsessed with big anime/manga series or whatever. And it only sucks bc i kind of really miss having internet friends.

I thought abt it again and apparently I know a lot of people irl. But to my misfortune none of them really text which really sucks bc I realized recently i really like texting.

I really wish i could spam ppl more often with ny dumbass pictures i have on my phone or whatever but Idgaf abt anything other than my ocs, new manga and music so im kinda stuck in place 💀

[yaksokhay]

her pov

but i like you

plot: in which she see's a boy in the bookstore reading his book.

ᵍᵉⁿʳᵉ: ᶠˡᵘᶠᶠ, ᶜᵒᵐᶠᵒʳᵗ, ᵃ ˡⁱˡ ᵃⁿᵍˢᵗ

𝗺𝗮𝗶𝗻 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗱: 𝘁𝗮𝗲𝘀𝗮𝗻

the bell above the door jingled softly as i stepped into the little bookstore, a cozy haven nestled between a bustling café and a quaint flower shop. the comforting scent of old pages and freshly brewed coffee enveloped me, instantly making me feel at home. this was my favorite place to spend my afternoons, getting lost among the stacks of books and the stories they held.

today, though, something felt different. as i wandered through the aisles, my eyes landed on a boy sitting by the large window, sunlight filtering through and casting a warm glow around him. he had a book open on his lap, completely absorbed in its contents. what caught my attention were the streaks of blonde highlights in his hair, catching the light and making him look like he belonged in a story himself.

a strange flutter stirred in my chest as i watched him, his brows furrowed in concentration and his lips curved into a slight smile. he seemed so serene, so at peace in his little corner of the world. i took a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart. was i crazy for feeling this way about someone i hadn’t even spoken to?

i moved closer, pretending to browse the shelves near him, stealing glances when i thought he wouldn’t notice. my fingers brushed against the spines of the books absentmindedly as i observed him. then, almost as if sensing my gaze, he looked up and our eyes met. his smile widened, and for a moment, it felt like our hands almost touched, even though we were still a few feet apart.

my cheeks flushed, and i quickly looked away, my heart pounding. why are you so pretty? i thought, biting my lip. i felt like i must be going crazy, my emotions all over the place just from one look. i risked another glance at him, and there it was again—his eyes twinkling with a warmth that made my insides melt.

just as i was building up the courage to approach him, i saw another figure enter the scene. a girl with a bright smile and a casual elegance about her walked up to him, linking her arm with his. my heart sank, and i felt a pang of disappointment. should i shout out loud, who is that? but instead, i remained silent, feeling a mixture of frustration and sadness.

i'm going crazy but i think i like you i thought, watching as they chatted and laughed together. it was a bitter feeling, knowing i liked him but not knowing anything about him. i tried to focus on the books in front of me, but my mind kept drifting back to him and the girl by his side.

i found myself mentally rejecting every perfect feature he had. i wouldn't like your eyes, nose, lips, even your jokes, i thought stubbornly. i like only me, i told myself, trying to convince my heart to let go.

yet, the more i tried to deny it, the more i realized how deeply i was already affected by him. i watched as the girl left, leaving him alone once more, and i couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope. maybe it wasn’t too late. maybe there was still a chance.

i took a deep breath, summoning all my courage, and walked over to him. he looked up, surprised but pleased to see me. up close, his eyes were even more captivating, his smile even more charming. i felt my heart skip a beat.

"hi," i said softly, my voice trembling slightly. "i couldn’t help but notice the book you're reading. it's one of my favorites."

his smile grew, and he closed the book, showing me the cover. "really? it’s my first time reading it. would you like to join me?"

i felt my heart soar. "i’d love to," i replied, taking a seat next to him. as we started talking about the book, the initial awkwardness melted away, replaced by a warm, easy conversation.

i realized i had been wrong before. i did like his eyes, his nose, his lips, and even his jokes. most of all, i liked the way he made me feel—like i was the only person in the room.

after what felt like minutes but was probably hours, we exchanged numbers, promising to meet up again soon. as i left the bookstore, my heart felt light, like i was floating on air. i couldn’t wait to get home and share everything with my roommates.

when i finally walked through the door of our apartment, i was practically buzzing with excitement.

“guys, you won’t believe what happened today!” i announced, kicking off my shoes and hurrying into the living room where mia and sarah were lounging on the couch.

mia looked up from her laptop, a curious smile forming on her lips. “ooh, this sounds interesting. spill!”

i plopped down between them, barely able to contain my excitement. “okay, so you know how i always go to that little bookstore after work? today, i saw this guy. he had blonde highlights and was sitting by the window, completely absorbed in a book.”

sarah leaned in, eyes wide with interest. “and?”

“and,” i continued, grinning, “i couldn’t stop staring at him. he looked up and smiled at me, and it felt like our hands almost touched, even though we were across the room. but then, this girl came in and linked arms with him, and i was so disappointed. i thought he was taken.”

mia’s eyes widened. “no way! but clearly, something happened if you’re this excited.”

i nodded, my smile widening. “yeah! after she left, i decided to go talk to him. we ended up having this amazing conversation about the book he was reading, and we exchanged numbers before i left.”

sarah squealed, clapping her hands together. “that’s amazing! what’s his name?”

“his name is han taesan,” i said, feeling a warm flutter in my chest just saying his name out loud. “he’s sweet and funny, and i can’t believe how well we clicked.”

mia grinned. “this is so exciting! when are you seeing him again?”

“we’re planning to meet up this weekend,” i replied, my mind already racing with possibilities. “i can’t wait to see him again.”

sarah nudged me playfully. “you better keep us updated on everything. we need all the details!”

“i promise,” i laughed, feeling a sense of warmth and belonging with my friends. “i’ll tell you everything.”

as we chatted and laughed late into the night, i couldn’t help but feel grateful for the unexpected turn my day had taken.

masterlist

[ancientgoddessofegypt]

Vulnerability: Healing The Body One Day At A Time.

Sometimes I want to stay private. Other times I want to open up. Staying hidden had been a sanctuary at one point. Not sharing with the world my feelings and what damaged me. I got tired of feeling burdens in my body, so at the moment where can I start?

In this present moment, I'm sad. I'm lonely. I'm tired. I'm depressed. I'm anxious. I'm worried. I'm exhausted. I'm hopeless. It seems the descriptions of lower feelings doesn't end. I've tried ignoring these feelings, replacing them with good thoughts. Trying to keep an optimistic smile, but that fake smile started to hurt.. And the mask began to wear off one day at a time.

It hurts to feel loneliness, but the truth is nothing can steal your joy but whatever dried up emotions are left infiltrating the mind with unwanted banter.

Its like... I can point out my flaws and my differences but I can't face the truth. I'm tired of truth. It's all I see everyday.

And what makes it funnier? I'm an oracle, and all I do is be 100% honest with people, but with me.... I lie so the triggers won't push too deep. I've ignored the villain that was imposter syndrome, and constantly took life too serious... Until life became a big circus show. And I'm the circus freak giving my performance.

Im annoyed, and constantly fighting tears. When I would cry and have those battles on the ground screaming 'I can't do it', it told me to get up and pick myself back up. You've grown up... you can't waddle your way out of this one.

I had no clue what I was doing, and before I still didn't, this new phase of adulthood I'm entering seems too much to handle but this where reality starts to hit. You're getting.., old. Older. More mature. Buying a house, getting a new car, even creating your own family. Life started to get a little practical... I thought I'd be a kid forever. But I was only talking about the imagination. Its fun being an adult, its so much freedom. It's just... I'm not built for whatever this reality is trying to show us, but I'm still trying. I'm still bringing forth change in my mindset, being more resilient. And allowing myself to be more than what my mind is constantly saying to me.

I've faced myself so much in 2023... Like.. the amount of times I had to look at myself in the mirror and could not escape. And sleeping with a mirror facing your bed don't make it no better, just makes you feel the emotions quicker (i got an interesting feeling when it comes to mirrors... portals man, portals).

I guess society has gotten its grip on the depressed gang, I've been working my way thru it. Theres absolutely no way in telling people that its easy to let go. Just something you learn to process on your journey. I'm learning both can be true at once. I'm learning to figure out what works, even if it takes a journey to reveal itself to me.

So how is this effecting my body... I get random body aches, I've had to make several hospital visits.. all of which there was no idea where the problem was truly stemming from. The doctor would prescribe me pills, they'd work for a while. Then later... the pain would come back again.

When our bodies are feeling pain especially in the organs, theres a spiritual connection that is making that happen. I use spiritual loosely here, what I mean is that our bodies can be carrying a lot of unwanted emotions. Be it rage, stress, depression, anything we don't want to feel but finds its way stuck in the body it'll start messing with your insides later on. When our spirits cannot rely the message, our bodies will for us.. for better or for worse.

I've found out I have health issues I didn't know existed.. I'm joking, well not really. I had no clue what galbladder disease was and def not anything with the gut. Even though I'd have random stomach aches here and there I never knew this would actually be an underlying problem. I didn't think I'd end up with a bunch of problems and it taking years to fix... Although I can be stubborn, I finally changed the way I ate.. it's been helping a bit.. I always did physical activity, but I noticed in my my present reality (3-6 months) its every other day out of the week. That's okay.

With accepting this truth I learned to be open to it because I started bawling.. I was losing weight like a mf and I had to drop all my clothes, still gotta do it now, or just get them tighten up. But its overwhelming.

I'm exhausted all of the time. My body is always on 'stop mode'. I can't work like the average woman because it gets me tired quicker. It kind of irks me because I want to do a little more but I just can't.

I feel as if I'm running out of time and I just don't know what to do. My subconscious is showing signs of paranoid thinking and I just can't see why I'm still running from my own reality.

its. just. too. much.

Im exhausted. And I've barely done anything.

I'm learning to feel my pain. Processing the very things that forced me into an uncomfortable matter.

It hurts to feel the feels of others dualities, but what do I do?

I gotta make amends with the shit I've dealt with, make use of them and take stride with whatever info comes up.

That's the secret. Pay attention to any fears, worries and anxious thoughts you could be picking up on because it's showing you a gate way to whats missing.

[fish-fearme]

ive been mulling and brewing and digesting this for such a long time and excuse me for ranting but if you can, please picture me chainsmoking as you read.

its such a deep sadness to me to see this spreading of the ‘irony epidemic’, this fear of being earnest, its the kids sitting behind me during pearl moaning to each other over how nothing scary is happening, only to laugh out loud exclaiming “please, emma stoneeee” and laughing, they’ve seen that on twitter hahaha thats hilarious!! and the guy next to me who spent the entirety of priscilla on his phone then boasted to his friends he thought it was so boring, bas luhrmann’s elvis was so much more fun! this refusal to be immersed, to allow yourself to be uncomfortable without cracking a joke, ate like isaiah ate ethel! mama a girl inside you! nothing means anything anymore and its reduced to one liners, a funeral for liam payne with the one direction dolls to the sound of brat, a girl died at the eras tour in rio? one less swiftie! can we be serious for one second? can we be sincere and human about anything? can we stop working so hard to curate ourselves to the other as these aloof, superior to love and kindness, caricatures of people?

ive had several therapy sessions where ive cried over my youth and the years i wasted trying to look cool, to impress other people with my taste in music and films and somewhere there i lost myself and what actually mattered to me, what i actually loved that really brought me joy. i was then and am again now scared of sharing my art online, because someone might see something of myself in it! and god isnt that so embarrassing? isnt it so cringe to be vulnerable? its all so exhausting.

When was the last time you allowed yourself to show your love for something without fear of being ridiculed? why are we making fun of joy? are you even enjoying this? do you remember what it is like to be moved by something, to feel it within yourself and love it without being told why you should love it? how far are you willing to stray from your own humanity for fucking internet points? you’re reading a book because you saw someone else talk about it on tiktok solely so you can trash it in the comments. you’re watching a movie half paying attention and half trying to come up with the perfect funny letterboxd review. arent you tired of being scared all the time? do you even know how to be honest with yourself?

[littlemuoi]

The tiny woman with dazzling blue eyes who turned me from a republican to a royalist by Louis de Bernières (September 2nd 2023)

Somewhere in my possession I have a snotty letter I wrote to my mother from university about not being interested in the Queen's 1977 anniversary. I was a young philosophy student at the time and being enthusiastic about the Monarchy was definitely not cool, especially as there was some kudos to be accrued from pretending to be Leftist.

I found myself puzzled and irritated by all the street parties and general celebrations, as if it was nothing to do with me. A few years earlier I had 'enjoyed' five months of officer training at Sandhurst where I had to swear allegiance to the Queen, her heirs and successors and I remember protesting inwardly that if one were to fight, it should be for a cause and not for a person.

However, in the 1990s I won the Commonwealth Writers Prize in three of its iterations. It meant that I had had my books chosen not by the usual London literati, with whom I have never been in favour, but by judges from all over Africa, Asia and indeed the world.

As I found out, the Queen's great passion was for the Commonwealth rather than Great Britain. It had been the means whereby the British Empire had miraculously and almost seamlessly transformed itself into a cultural and diplomatic club, so successfully that by the end of the Queen's reign there were countries in it that had never been in the Empire at all.

As the head of it, the Queen had, let's face the truth, literally charmed a succession of heads of state out of any post-colonial resentment that may have been niggling away inside of them.

She treated them with love and respect and had her love and respect returned. Julius Nyerere [Tanzania's leader] and Nelson Mandela are examples of two people who became close to her.

One of the perks of winning that writers prize was that the winners in all the categories were invited to Buckingham Palace to meet the Queen. You were advised about steps to be taken, how to bow and so on, and then you went in.

Some people are apparently tongue-tied and terrified but I found myself face-to-face with a tiny woman in sparkly clothes, with dazzlingly blue eyes, perfect complexion and a smile that seemed to break her face in half.

If you said anything boring or inane, she would say: 'How fascinating.' She made a joke about somebody important and self-important she had just met, which I am honour-bound not to repeat.

Her voice and turns of phrase were just like my mother's, they being of the same vintage. My problem was not that I was terrified or tongue-tied but that I felt warmly enough, relaxed enough, to want to be over-familiar. As the cliché goes, I went in a republican and came out a royalist.

I remembered how I had adored her as a little boy because she was so outstandingly pretty, and now I reflected that perhaps my previous resentment of her had been nothing more than the pique of somebody who had no hope of ever entering such a charmed circle.

Now that I had entered it for a few minutes, all the pique and sullenness suddenly evaporated.

If you had met the Queen, you assumed that she really wanted to know you and would become a little sad when no more invitations ever arrived. I was relatively lucky in winning that prize three times because I automatically got to see her three years running. Somebody told me she'd read my book Captain Corelli's Mandolin on a long flight to New Zealand but I have no idea if that is true or who told me; perhaps it was a lady-in-waiting.

There was one present on one occasion with a fag in her hand and I remember thinking: 'The Queen must be very tolerant to put up with that.' I bent down to pat the dogs when I should have been talking to her but she seemed unperturbed, as she was when I trod on one and made it squeal.

She had recently invented the Dorgi and was pleased about it.

I can no longer remember the order of things. As I drove (and still do) a Morris Minor, and had even worked as a mechanic in a Morris Minor garage for a year, I had been able to rescue a young woman in a broken down Morris near Richmond Park, who worked for the Royal Academy.

Thereafter I received free invitations to everything as long as she worked there. There was a do where I found myself in the company of the likes of Paul McCartney and Brian May, who are both outstandingly tall, but no one was talking to me until the Queen spotted me and made a beeline.

She was ever conscious of the number of people she had to talk to and would end her conversations very suddenly, even a very entertaining one, by suddenly turning her head to one side. Then the rest of her body would swivel sideways and she was off, like someone in a hurry to catch a train. It should have been very rude but it was both comical and endearing.

She had a party for poets at Buckingham Palace, which struck me as a dangerous and peculiar idea. I was standing with another poet when the Master of the Household approached me and said: 'Don't move, the Queen wants to have a chat with you.'

There was another beeline, another brief conversation, another swivel of the head, another charging away. I got on so well with the Master of the Household that we are still friends years later.

She had a party at Windsor Castle that was, I believe, the first after its restoration. She looked out across the courtyard at my Morris Minor Traveller and said: 'Goodness, we haven't had one of those here for years.'

The dinner party was a kind of glamorous sleepover. My luggage was unpacked for me by a valet who was very unimpressed that I was going to wear the same white shirt to dinner as the one in which I had arrived. 'Economising on effort I see,' he said drily.

The dinner was on silver plates. I hope I have not made that up. I was sitting next to Prince Andrew to begin with and we chatted about golf. I liked him and had no reason not to.

I eavesdropped on the German Ambassador talking to Tony Blair and I was impressed. When the latter stood up to leave with the ladies, the laughing Queen ushered him back into the room with her hand in the middle of his back.

I was struck by how frugal her appetite was; she was no trencherwoman. In her position and with such good cooks, I would have been the most massively globular monarchical flumper that the world has ever known, considerably larger than Edward IV and Henry VIII and Edward VII combined.

I spent the next morning in her library. She had many genealogy books and I found one with an inscription by Winston Churchill, so flowery, elaborate and humble that I felt guilty and embarrassed about the cheery informality of my own exploits on the flyleaf.

There was another party at Windsor for people 'in the Arts'. The Irish poet Seamus Heaney was there, surrounded by admiring young poets. 'Your passport may be green,' I thought, 'but you're as much a sucker for all this as anyone else is, aren't you?' The last time I saw the Queen was when she invited me to lunch at the palace. I think she had had a notion to invite a few people from each county one after the other, so as to work her way around the entire country. One of the guests was a fireman.

On the way, the sole of my shoe came off and I had to buy a new pair from a shop in Oxford Street.

At the gathering beforehand I had a conversation with the Duke of Edinburgh, about death. He said that the older one got, the more one was forced to contemplate it.

I liked him. He was intelligent and humorous, a man who clearly saw the absurdity of pretty much everything. He once teased me about being a novelist and a poet, as if it were altogether unnecessarily too much to do two such fatuous things in the same lifetime.

The Queen had a system for making things happen, which was that she would make a sudden move. When I was talking to the Duke, he suddenly stiffened and looked up because the Queen had made her 'action stations' move, just as I was asking him if he spoke Greek. She said: 'Well, do you speak French?'

I found myself sitting at her right hand side and during my half of her attention (she would switch halfway through a meal) we talked, among other things, about speaking French. We talked about Norfolk and I entertained a brief fantasy of being invited to Sandringham.

I think I may have disgraced myself by taking two quail breasts from the dish. She had only taken one but they are terribly small.

Afterwards I was standing at the gate of the palace when she whizzed out on her next mission, without even the slightest break or smidgen of a snooze. I was standing next to an armed policeman in all the gear and he suddenly looked down at me and asked: 'Ere, do you live in Denton?' I said, 'Yes, how did you know?' He relied: 'I beat you in the Father's Race.' I said: 'It was my sandals. I'd have won if I hadn't tripped up on the finishing line.'

While the Queen was hurtling off to her next appointment, I fell asleep on a bench in Hyde Park to recover from lunch.

That was the last time I saw her, waving from her car.

Thereafter I sent her books via my friend the Master. Books from their authors are just about the only gifts the Royal Family are allowed to receive. We have a large room in my house that we call 'The Queen's Room' because I used to tell my children that that's where we'd put her if she came to stay.

One day my little daughter wrote her a letter inviting her to stay, telling her that we had a very glamorous bathroom, and received a reply about being too busy. I don't think Sophie ever forgave her, and might even still be a republican.

I don't think it is possible to make a friend of anyone in the Royal Family, or make any assumptions if they are kind to you or seem interested in you. All that can happen is the occasional flash of communication or warmth that gives you a glimpse of the person within.

Princess Anne is intelligent and direct, the Duke of Edinburgh had a philosophical turn. The question is, what do they get from us?

I think the Queen mostly enjoyed herself because her enjoyment coincided with her duty. There was an eagerness in her manner as she suddenly looked away and shot off to talk to somebody else.

It's her heirs and successors I worry about. We, their subjects, are just going to try to make them as miserable as we can, aren't we? We are too chippy to speak generously of them and we are piqued about not being royalty ourselves. I found that having encountered the Queen, I was unable to be impressed by anyone else. Madonna invited me to lunch once and I still don't know why. I said no because I had a commitment in Northern Ireland. Sting wanted me to fly to Milan to interview him and I don't know why I said no to that either.

I've met many of my heroes, I've shaken hands with Nicolas Cage and President Clinton and been kissed on the cheek by Penelope Cruz. Only being kissed on the cheek by Penelope comes anywhere close to meeting the Queen.

[the-east-art]

as a fellow "devastated by tomcat disposables" enjoyer, yes absolutely

Tomcat Disposables by Will Wood

This song makes me crazy and I'm gonna walk you through all the different ways it does so to me personally:

When I first listen to a song it usually takes me a while to actually decipher the words and stuff, so the first few times I listen to a song I'm only really hearing the melody and stuff, and Tomcat disposables is SO musically MELANCHOLY. It has a nice sound, but there's this sadness about it. A couple lines stuck out to me like the season themes (Spring bloomed in the kitchen again, winter came inside for three nights) but nothing concrete.

And then I properly gave the lyrics a listen and realized that it is a song from the perspective of a mouse living in the walls of the house (pretty obvious from the title and when I finally watched the music video) and I was devastated. There is such hope in the story, in this mouse happy in its small life, and how it hopes to live in tandem with humans only to die. the word 'flatline in the morning light' 'what's the moon made of? Meet me there after I'm gone'. The line 'life gets shorter, teeth grow long' a reference to how mice and rodents need to gnaw on things because their teeth are always growing. It hit me with the same emotion as when I first understood the lyrics to 'Virtute the Cat Explains Her Departure'. The small tragedy of a small life being snuffed out. The fact that I know Will Wood specifically has a love for mice and raised several made it more emotional. And I was really in love with this song and it's story.

BUT THEN on the live version of the song Will says the song is 'a bit about a friend of mine (presumably a mouse or rat he had) and a bit about me' and like it's probably obvious but I hadn't even been THINKING about how Tomcat Disposables can be a metaphor for life, and suddenly I saw myself in the song. A small creature just trying to live. In comedy 'long in the tooth' means a joke has been going on for too long, and I started to think about how you could posit that the singer of TD consider their life like a long joke. The line 'I held on so long, for so long, it's just not right' also really hit me, the idea of holding onto this life and onto hope so hard it hurts, and ultimately losing it anyways.

And the video I also adore, it has this kind of... cosmic horror vibe to me personally? This mouse building this vision of it's own death, that once it sees it is like a self fulfilling prophecy, or so awful to gaze at.

God, Fuck, it's been a rough few months for me.

'But then winter came inside for three nights Left me grinding my teeth between my walls And gripping my dreams tight Curled up, kept my head up, and put up the fight I'll make it through again I have before C'mon now, what's one more?'

[tearfallpixie]

Make Mama Happy - Chapter 4.5

Tags: @nerdraging4point0 @thesazzb @synthetic-wasp-570 @circle-with-me @beaker1636 @itsjustemily @witchyweeb34 @agravemisstake @cookiesupplier @cncohshit @faceless-mirror @nonamessblog @yournecessaryevil @black-damask1999

@lyschko666 @vinyardmauro @skulliecadaver-blog @some-daniela @latenightmusiclover @rye14-blog1

“I don't want you to go.” Heather whined. Ricky, her and I were at Vinny's place because we were going to take the boys to the warehouse to load up on the bus. Ricky didn't want to leave his car for almost a month in the parking lot so Heather volunteered us to give him a ride.

“I know. But its only for three weeks. I’ll call you every day.” Ricky promised, making me roll my eyes. Vinny was on the corner of his couch with his nose buried in his phone, actively avoiding looking at me.

“I hope you don't expect me to fawn over missing you.” I scoffed in his direction making him let out a snort.

“Awe but baby. I'll miss you so much.” He fake sobbed. I felt myself being pulled into his arms and a mop of curls burying itself in my neck. “I can't possibly be away from you that long.” A laugh bubbled past my lips at his ridiculousness and I turned to face him.

“I'm so sorry boo bear. I didn't realize how much you loved me. I'll try to reign in my emotions to make it easier on you to leave.” I crossed two fingers over my heart and heard him let out another snort.

“Such a sacrifice. What would I do without you.” I flopped dramatically onto his chest. We had gotten more comfortable with showing affection since we still had to pretend for a couple more months but it didn't mean we liked each other.

“We have to leave soon.” Rick murmured sadly, squeezing Heather a bit tighter. Standing to our feet we all grabbed the bags and headed out to Heather's car. As we loaded the bags into the trunk even I felt a little melancholy. The drive was quiet, no one daring to break the silence for fear any of us might burst out crying.

“Don't cause too much trouble while you're gone.” I mumbled to Vinny. He glanced over at me before giving me a small smile.

“Promise. I have to save all my trouble for you anyway.” I gave him a half smile and felt myself being pulled into a hug. “Hey, would you mind stopping by my place a few times while we're gone? Since Emil is coming with us I don't want my house abandoned for a month.”

“Me? Why?” I sputtered.

“Well you are my girlfriend for all intents and purposes. It would be normal for you to be seen at my place.” I thought about it and nodded.

“Fine. I guess.” He kissed my cheek and pulled out a spare set of keys.

“Thank you baby.” He grinned and hugged me. I rolled my eyes but hugged back, finding that he gave amazing hugs.

“We better get going. Come on Vin.” Rick called stepping over to us. He nodded to me and we both moved forward to hug but both of us were awkward about it and grimaced. He rubbed the back of his neck and shoved his hand towards me. “Take care of Heather for me.”

“Between the house and Heather I should start getting paid to babysit.” I joked. “Have fun Richard.”

“Right back at you brat.” He huffed. If I wasn't mistaken I was pretty sure there was a bit of amusement laced in his words. He took his bag from the trunk and Vinny followed suit, both of them stepping back and heading into the airport.

“You ok?” I asked Heather. I saw her wipe stray tears from her eyes and shake her head. “Give me the keys. I’ll drive us home.” She passed over the keys and curled into a ball in the passenger seat.

“Don't wreak Ricky's car. He’ll kill me.” She sniffled. I felt bad that she was taking this so hard and deep inside of my chest there was a tug of sadness that Vinny was leaving too. We weren’t friends by any means but I did enjoy his chaos sometimes.

“I promise.” I mumbled. “Do you want to spend the night? I don't want to be alone.”

“Please. God yes.”

[yume4evere]

vampire knight Volume 10 Edition

HINO : Zero , Yuki and Kaname

YUKI: Without Yuki , I wouldn't have been able to start this story. She's a precious girl. When Kaname faced Yuki when she was born, he was so profoundly moved and felt such tenderness towards her that he thought every cell in his body had been rewritten. As for Zero , I think he spent his youth in darkness, filled with nothing but hatred and despair when he hadn't yet met Yuki . Yuki's worries are multi-layered and intense. There are people she wants to cherish. But she is inexperienced and helpless. Yet she is mercilessly forced to make a choice. The feelings she cannot pronounce are abundant. As a result, Kaname had to carry most of the burden, I put you through deep anguish in my opinion. I'm sorry. You joked about it in a Drama CD, but I really have to wonder if you haven't developed baldness with all the stress.

Kaname: You are a cornerstone of the story, but you ended up dealing the main blow of the various drawbacks, starting with my weakness as an author. I'm sorry, Kaname . If only I could go back to that episode… It’s always on my mind. When I think of this person, various thoughts and memories come to mind; I am filled with a feeling of helplessness at not knowing how I should have represented him and it pains me. I feel that...readers who were fans of his probably feel similar feelings.

Zero: Him, whose hair is always affectionately chewed by White Lily , or grabbed by the children he saves when he puts them on his shoulder. The stress he carries is at the highest level in the world of Vampire Knight . I wouldn't be surprised if he developed a bald spot on his head. While he is extremely delicate and vulnerable, he is a strong and reliable person who can be valiant when he has found a resolution. Even in the face of adversity, you tried to remain a kind person and suffered infinitely because of it - you are a person I respect.

Message from the author

Afterword

I would like to express my gratitude again now by writing an afterword in this way after the series has already ended. It's been two years and several months since the series ended. Since that, the series has received special chapters, a stage adaptation, bunko editions, and I've been given plenty of opportunities to sincerely reflect on Vampire Knight .

I thought about how I realized how much I enjoyed drawing Vampire Knight . I myself am amazed by this devotion. I had a lot of regrets during its serial publication and also after its conclusion..."If only I had done such and such, then... Why didn't I believe in myself, have more perseverance and more wisdom at the time?" I am tortured by these regrets. But my love for the series would not allow me to lose hope.

I ardently poured my heart into the finale, right up until the last panel. And fortunately, I was able to assess that my readers understood this, thank you to many for their warm and thoughtful words. I would like to thank them for following Vampire Knight . Thank you for being there in the happy and sad times.

Maybe because there are more special chapters planned, or because deep inside, Vampire Knight is still far from the end and continues to linger in me, I'm pumped up once again. That's why I would be grateful if you follow me a little longer in the world of this story.

September 2015 Matsuri Hino

[ponkwan]

⌗ ⸰ ₊⠀ BITTERSWEET !

the one where you and mingyu kiss, but there’s regret after the two of you do.

pairing: mingyu x (f)reader

word count: 0.9k

rating: pg-15

content: ANGST!!!!!!, pining, implied unrequited love; ft. close friend!mingyu

warning/s: profanities, reader is treated like a rebound, mingyu and reader are drunk, sad ending :(

You can tell that he knows it was a mistake the moment he breaks away from the kiss, lips parted before it transforms into a frown, his eyebrows knitting in what seemed like confusion until he fixes his gaze on yours, catching you already looking at his disappointed expression.

“____,” he utters your name slowly, still in disbelief of what just happened, “I’m sorry. That… that—I don’t know why I just—”

“It’s okay,” you cut him off, preventing him from saying anything that’ll make your heart break into tinier pieces. “I get it. You’re drunk. You’re not thinking straight.”

He doesn’t say anything to correct your statement. He just backs away from where he has you caged sitting on the kitchen counter, a heavy sigh escaping him while his hands run through his hair. From those gestures alone, it seems that he’s having a quick replay of events and that he’s slowly getting out of his intoxicated state, regret washing over him this instance.

You don’t say anything more in return either. You only remain there on your spot, the burning sensation on your mouth still present despite the reason for its existence no longer being there. You have this sudden urge to touch your lips because of it, to feel where Mingyu’s lips were seconds ago—where his tongue even glided on when he got carried away and went ahead of himself. But you resist the desire to do so, not wanting him to be aware of how this truly affected you which can make him think of this as a bigger deal than he already does.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he mutters under his breath. “Holy shit. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s fine,” you say, hopping off from your place.

“It’s not.” He looks at you again, though he turns away almost immediately afterwards, perhaps out of guilt. “I just… I just kissed you. I kissed you all of the sudden for fuck’s sake—and because of what? Because I was sad that my ex found someone else? It’s a dick move.”

“It’s fine, Mingyu.”

“It’s not,” he snaps. “Friends don’t pull that shit on each other, you know.”

Your insides churn. Or maybe that’s just the last pieces of your heart finally crashing down from its station inside your ribcage. Whatever it is, you opt to joke a bit in an attempt to salvage what’s left of your dignity. “I know, but I’d appreciate it if you stop treating me like some kind of a virgin who hasn’t been touched before. You’re not the first guy to kiss me out of the blue quite frankly.”

He doesn’t look amused by it. “____…”

“It’s fine,” you repeat for the third time that night, even if it really isn’t. “Like I said, you weren’t thinking straight. Don’t make an issue out of nothing.”

“This isn’t nothing. You should be mad at me.”

“I’m not.”

“You should.”

“I don’t know. Perhaps. Maybe.”

“And you look like you’re not.”

“Yeah, maybe not.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug. Perhaps I’ve always wanted to experience what it was like to kiss you, that’s why. “I mean, it’s partially my fault too. I didn’t stop you. I’m a little drunk myself.” You half heartedly chuckle.

Mingyu stares at you, and you know he’s doing it because he’s trying to read your mind. He doesn’t know how to be subtle whenever he attempts to decipher whatever goes around in your head, since most of the time, you’re able to conceal what you feel excellently to the point you don’t even have to try too hard as well. You just have to keep a straight or casual face, and then that’s it—totally unnoticeable.

“I’m sorry,” he only apologizes again and you close my eyes, smiling as you sigh.

“Stop apologizing. Please. You’re going to make me feel bad.”

“You can’t just—”

“Let’s just forget about it.” You cut him off. “Just treat this as a nightmare or whatever. I don’t care. I just need you to stop saying sorry, Mingyu.”

He takes a deep breath, and finally nods, stepping farther away from you that gives you the space you didn’t know you needed in order to feel calmer.

“Anyways,” you start again, “I think it’s best that I go.”

He meets your eyes. “I… I think you’re right.”

“Good. At least we’re on the same page with that one.”

You’re certain that you’re forgetting a few of your belongings (a jacket and an umbrella) in Mingyu’s unit that you don’t bother finding. You just snatch your bag from the couch and stand there in the living room for a few seconds before looking back at Mingyu who never followed you there and instead stayed in the kitchen, just staring at you as you got your things.

You don’t know what to say to properly express your farewell, so you just ask him a question you already know the answer to. “You’re going to Jeonghan’s birthday celebration, right?”

He decides to walk towards you this time, but only to head to the door so he can open it for you. “Yeah.”

“Okay. Guess I’ll see you then.”

You don’t wait for him to reply. You just march straight to the hall outside, not turning back and letting the heavy feeling in your chest escape in the form of rapid tears and a muffled sound.

thank you for reading ! feedback is always appreciated ☻

⌗ ⸰ ₊⠀ all rights reserved. no part of my work is to be reposted / translated / used in any kind of platform without my permission. i only use this account to post fics.