#just because i think reading some bullshit classic

[pathofreason]

"if you think movies make you bright then go on ig it seems to be working greatly for you" is such a genuinely disgusting and braindead take when movies like 12 Angry Men, Funny Games, The Lighthouse even, etc exist to name some incredibly basic picks exist. Or in general film directors such as for example Stanley Kubrick or Agnès Varda, again very well known and you don't have to dig through trash or waste a lot of time to find their stuff if you don't have the time to do so. Genuinely mind-blowing take especially coming from someone who, like myself, loves literature (mainly a lot of classics) and philosophy, even linguistics. Comfortably saying shit like that is crazy idgaf if it's on a random blog on Tumblr LOL.

What braindead money hungry idiots have been doing in the name of the art that is cinema (Netflix trash as you said, or Mubi bullshit or any director and team not affiliated with those one of my favourite examples being Luca Guadagnino) doesn't take away from the fact that there's people out there, including actors directors writers and so on who are dead, that actually give a shit about what they're making and what they're presenting to the world. One could also assume that if someone says they read books that they're a brainless pig because some of the most popular writers currently are Colleen Hoover and the like, forgive me for not being able to provide actual specific authors but I'm not in these types of braindead circles I'm just unfortunately aware of the popularity of a lack of basic common sense and critical thinking skills amongst this "type" of "story" and the consumers. But that wouldn't be right necessarily, since that type of book is not the only that has ever existed.

Anon's wording is insanely childish and they obviously don't understand that self care (including taking care of your body, this is hard to understand for some people apparently) and enjoying the moment is important for anyone not just women although they're right that women shouldn't promote being a brainless doll (the implications of "I'm just a girl" bullshit) although it doesn't apply to this blog in particular you're not promoting misogyny you're just feminine online and anon is mad about it LMAO.

But what pissed me off way more than anon being an idiot is the implication that watching movies equals you watch (only or primarily) Netflix esque cash grabs that actually require you to turn your brain off, because if you use common sense and have actual critical thinking skills you'd be watching something else, and even if that is not the primary conclusion then the only other option would be that ALL films are some sort of anti-intellectual propaganda.

I'm assuming that you're not some sort of "well actually movies suck and books are much better" or whatever idiot since I remember scrolling past a film recommendations post of yours a few days back, so I don't understand the wording and implications of the answer to the ask/this post. Regardless, this isn't some "personal attack" or whatever against you in particular, the wording (and with that, implications) just pissed me off insanely because I know many people genuinely think that way about cinema as a whole and while like I explained I do agree to an extent about specific things, that mindset is an extreme that is factually wrong and generally just stupid and braindead as hell LMAO.

Anyways like I said, once again, I'm not beefing with you nor am I asking for clarification or anything I'm just using your post (or well that one statement) to expand on a thought of mine. Feel free to ignore this, or add something, or give me film and literature recs of any kind/genre if you feel like it lol, I love asking people that

What's graceful about being ignorant? If you're a self care blog then shouldn't reading, watching movies and educating yourself be a priority? Not just typing "eat veggies!! light a candle!!" with the tag "#coquette" at the bottom. You have impressionable followers and promoting the "I'm just a girl 🎀..." mentality isn't graceful it's ignorant and fueling more misogyny into the world. But I guess it's all about looking cute and making everything an aesthetic huh

you clearly know nothing about me, just because I don't waste my time watching tv doesn't mean I'm not educated lmao

but hey if you think Netflix and movies make you bright, then go on ig, it seems to be working GREATLY for you <3

if you look a little closer, you will see that my content (not just here but also on my other platforms) is packed with posts on literature, philosophy, and classics. I also regularly publish both poetry and essays, AND I also study classics and Latin, so please stfu 🎀

the most misogynistic thing here is you assuming that just because I'm girly and pretty, I have to be dumb lol

[greenerteacups]

oooh please someday tell us what you think of GOT

oh, no, it's my fatal weakness! it's [checks notes] literally just the bare modicum of temptation! okay you got me.

SO. in order to tell what's wrong with game of thrones you kind of have to have read the books, because the books are the reason the show goes off the rails. i actually blame the showrunners relatively little in proportion to GRRM for how bad the show was (which I'm not gonna rehash here because if you're interested in GOT in any capacity you've already seen that horse flogged to death). people debate when GOT "got bad" in terms of writing, but regardless of when you think it dropped off, everyone agrees the quality declined sharply in season 8, and to a certain extent, season 7. these are the seasons that are more or less entirely spun from whole cloth, because season 7 marks the beginning of what will, if we ever see it, be the Winds of Winter storyline. it's the first part that isn't based on a book by George R.R. Martin. it's said that he gave the showrunners plot outlines, but we don't know how detailed they were, or how much the writers diverged from the blueprint — and honestly, considering the cumulative changes made to the story by that point, some stark divergence would have been required. (there's a reason for this. i'll get there in a sec.)

so far, i'm not saying anything all that original. a lot of people recognized how bad the show got as soon as they ran out of Book to adapt. (I think it's kind of weird that they agreed to make a show about an unfinished series in the first place — did GRRM figure that this was his one shot at a really good HBO adaptation, and forego misgivings about his ability to write two full books in however many years it took to adapt? did he think they would wait for him? did he not care that the series would eventually spoil his magnum opus, which he's spent the last three decades of his life writing? perplexing.) but the more interesting question is why the show got bad once it ran out of Book, because in my mind, that's not a given. a lot of great shows depart from the books they were based on. fanfiction does exactly that, all the time! if you have good writers who understand the characters they're working with, departure means a different story, not a worse one. now, the natural reply would be to say that the writers of GOT just aren't good, or at least aren't good at the things that make for great television, and that's why they needed the books as a structure, but I don't think that's true or fair, either. books and television are very different things. the pacing of a book is totally different from the pacing of a television show, and even an episodic book like ASOIAF is going to need a lot of work before it's remotely watchable as a series. bad writers cannot make great series of television, regardless of how good their source material is. sure, they didn't invent the characters of tyrion lannister and daenerys targaryen, but they sure as hell understood story structure well enough to write a damn compelling season of TV about them!

so but then: what gives? i actually do think it's a problem with the books! the show starts out as very faithful to the early books (namely, A Game of Thrones and A Clash of Kings) to the point that most plotlines are copied beat-for-beat. the story is constructed a little differently, and it's definitely condensed, but the meat is still there. and not surprisingly, the early books in ASOIAF are very tightly written. for how long they are, you wouldn't expect it, but on every page of those books, the plot is racing. you can practically watch george trying to beat the fucking clock. and he does! useful context here is that he originally thought GOT was going to be a trilogy, and so the scope of most threads in the first book or two would have been much smaller. it also helps that the first three books are in some respects self-contained stories. the first book is a mystery, the second and third are espionage and war dramas — and they're kept tight in order to serve those respective plots.

the trouble begins with A Feast for Crows, and arguably A Storm of Swords, because GRRM starts multiplying plotlines and treating the series as a story, rather than each individual book. he also massively underestimated the number of pages it would take him to get through certain plot beats — an assumption whose foundation is unclear, because from a reader's standpoint, there is a fucke tonne of shit in Feast and Dance that's spurious. I'm not talking about Brienne's Riverlands storyline (which I adore thematically but speaking honestly should have been its own novella, not a part of Feast proper). I'm talking about whole chapters where Tyrion is sitting on his ass in the river, just talking to people. (will I eat crow about this if these pay off in hugely satisfying ways in Winds or Dream? oh, totally. my brothers, i will gorge myself on sweet sweet corvid. i will wear a dunce cap in the square, and gleefully, if these turn out to not have been wastes of time. the fact that i am writing this means i am willing to stake a non-negligible amount of pride on the prediction that that will not happen). I'm talking about scenes where the characters stare at each other and talk idly about things that have already happened while the author describes things we already have seen in excruciating detail. i'm talking about threads that, while forgivable in a different novel, are unforgivable in this one, because you are neglecting your main characters and their story. and don't tell me you think that a day-by-day account tyrion's river cruise is necessary to telling his story, because in the count of monte cristo, the main guy disappears for nine years and comes hurtling back into the story as a vengeful aristocrat! and while time jumps like that don't work for everything, they certainly do work if what you're talking about isn't a major story thread!

now put aside whether or not all these meandering, unconcluded threads are enjoyable to read (as, in fairness, they often are!). think about them as if you're a tv showrunner. these bad boys are your worst nightmare. because while you know the author put them in for a reason, you haven't read the conclusion to the arc, so you don't know what that reason is. and even if the author tells you in broad strokes how things are going to end for any particular character (and this is a big "if," because GRRM's whole style is that he lets plots "develop as he goes," so I'm not actually convinced that he does have endings written out for most major characters), that still doesn't help you get them from point A (meandering storyline) to point B (actual conclusion). oh, and by the way, you have under a year to write this full season of television, while GRRM has been thinking about how to end the books for at least 10. all of this means you have to basically call an audible on whether or not certain arcs are going to pay off, and, if they are, whether they make for good television, and hence are worth writing. and you have to do that for every. single. unfinished. story. in the books.

here's an example: in the books, Quentin Martell goes on a quest to marry Daenerys and gain a dragon. many chapters are spent detailing this quest. spoiler alert: he fails, and he gets charbroiled by dragons. GRRM includes this plot to set up the actions of House Martell in Winds, but the problem is that we don't know what House Martell does in Winds, because (see above) the book DNE. So, although we can reliably bet that the showrunners understand (1) Daenerys is coming to Westeros with her 3 fantasy nukes, and (2) at some point they're gonna have to deal with the invasion of frozombies from Canada, that DOESN'T mean they necessarily know exactly what's going to happen to Dorne, or House Martell. i mean, fuck! we don't even know if Martin knows what's going to happen to Dorne or House Martell, because he's said he's the kind of writer who doesn't set shit out beforehand! so for every "Cersei defaults on millions of dragons in loans from the notorious Bank of Nobody Fucks With Us, assumes this will have no repercussions for her reign or Westerosi politics in general" plotline — which might as well have a big glaring THIS WILL BE IMPORTANT stamp on top of the chapter heading — you have Arianne Martell trying to do a coup/parent trap switcheroo with Myrcella, or Euron the Goffick Antichrist, or Faegon Targaryen and JonCon preparing a Blackfyre restoration, or anything else that might pan out — but might not! And while that uncertainty about what's important to the "overall story" might be a realistic way of depicting human beings in a world ruled by chance and not Destiny, it makes for much better reading than viewing, because Game of Thrones as a fantasy television series was based on the first three books, which are much more traditional "there is a plot and main characters and you can generally tell who they are" kind of book. I see Feast and Dance as a kind of soft reboot for the series in this respect, because they recenter the story around a much larger cast and cast a much broader net in terms of which characters "deserve" narrative attention.

but if you're making a season of television, you can't do that, because you've already set up the basic premise and pacing of your story, and you can't suddenly pivot into a long-form tone poem about the horrors of war. so you have to cut something. but what are you gonna cut? bear in mind that you can't just Forget About Dorne, or the Iron Islands, or the Vale, or the North, or pretty much any region of the story, because it's all interconnected, but to fit in everything from the books would require pacing of the sort that no reasonable audience would ever tolerate. and bear in mind that the later books sprout a lot more of these baby-plots that could go somewhere, but also might end up being secondary or tertiary to the "main story," which, at the end of the day, is about dragons and ice zombies and the rot at the heart of the feudal power system glorified in classical fantasy. that's the story that you as the showrunner absolutely must give them an end to, and that's the story that should be your priority 1.

so you do a hack and slash job, and you mortar over whatever you cut out with storylines that you cook up yourself, but you can't go too far afield, because you still need all the characters more or less in place for the final showdown. so you pinch here and push credulity there, and you do your best to put the characters in more or less the same place they would have been if you kept the original, but on a shorter timeframe. and is it as good as the first seasons? of course not! because the material that you have is not suited to TV like the first seasons are. and not only that, but you are now working with source material that is actively fighting your attempt to constrain a linear and well-paced narrative on it. the text that you're working with changed structure when you weren't looking, and now you have to find some way to shanghai this new sprawling behemoth of a Thing into a television show. oh, and by the way, don't think that the (living) author of the source material will be any help with this, because even though he's got years of experience working in television writing, he doesn't actually know how all of these threads will tie together, which is possibly the reason that the next book has taken over 8 years (now 13 and counting) to write. oh and also, your showrunners are sick of this (in fairness, very difficult) job and they want to go write for star wars instead, so they've refused the extra time the studio offered them for pre-production and pushed through a bunch of first-draft scripts, creating a crunch culture of the type that spawns entirely avoidable mistakes, like, say, some poor set designer leaving a starbucks cup in frame.

anyway, that's what I think went wrong with game of thrones.

[fiona-fififi]

The way people sometimes refuse to acknowledge that writing choices that clearly go against established canon should mean something is endlessly frustrating to me. We don't have to agree on the interpretation, but these writing choices SHOULD mean something.

Otherwise, it's shitty writing.

[transmasc-tabris]

More screenshots (bonus, managed to find Bull a shirt and don't know how to feel about that)

[ham1lton]

WELCOME TO MIAMI

pairings: (platonic) oscar piastri x reader.

summary: after the miami grand prix, you and some of your fellow drivers go out for karaoke and drinks for ‘bonding’ according to a certain lando norris.

warnings: mentions of alcohol and strip clubs. also you pretend to be oscar’s wife and there is mentions of alleged infidelity but it’s obviously fake.

author’s note: this is slightly long but i promise you it’s worth the read. this is my apology for being inactive due to uni so let me know if you enjoyed! also i made the meme at the end and i’m proud of myself so cheer me on :D

— part of the maneater series ꕤ.

“i’m just not in the mood lando.” you throw yourself onto your very comfortable hotel bed. the sheets were soft and pillowy, are these thousand thread sheets? you don’t know what they were but they sound fancy. you flip yourself onto your back. “karaoke sounds awful right now. i need to be alone to drown my sorrows.”

“don’t be so dramatic y/n.” you can practically hear george’s eyeroll through the phone. he’s snatched lando’s phone for himself now. ���this’ll be good for you.”

“i lost embarrassingly to max, it was the worst race of my entire career! i don’t deserve to celebrate or have fun.”

“you got p4.” george’s voice is deadpan. “get out of your hotel room, stop wallowing and i’ll get logan to pick you up.”

“why me?” logan asks in the background. “get an uber maneater!”

“she won’t come if no one forces her!” he’s right, you think bitterly. you would have ignored the uber even if the driver came up to your hotel room door and knocked five times. even if he opened the door and threw a bucket of cold water on your head and then threatened oscar’s life.

you knew why logan had to be the one to pick you up. it couldn’t be george. he’s annoyed you recently. he beat you to getting the podium today. it couldn’t be lando because he’s supporting george’s antics of dragging you out. it couldn’t be alex because he didn’t text his girlfriend to ask her about where she got her cute t-shirt that she wore on his recent instagram dump. you really liked that t-shirt. “logan is on his way. we’re giving you thirty minutes and if you’re not outside, i’m calling sebastian.”

“NO!”

“YES!” before you can try and rebuttal his statement, he’s hung up on you. well, there is no way you’re going out so george russell and his clique can shove that up their asses. you open netflix, and get yourself ready for a quiet night in.

one hour later, you found yourself at the karaoke bar that the guys had rented out for the night. logan running up to you, swinging the car’s rental keys around his fingers.

“i want you to know,” you breathed out, giving him the side-eye. “i hate this. i truly do.”

“i know.” logan nodded.

“i hate you.”

“know that too.” logan nodded again. “which isn’t fair really. this isn’t my fault.”

“fine. i hate you and all of them.” you gestured at the karaoke bar where lando had already gotten a few shots in his system and was belting out a britney song. “god. this is a bastardisation of a classic.”

“you know lando.” logan shrugged, opening the door for you. “after you.”

“since when were you a gentleman?”

“since i was about 76% sure that if you didn’t go before me, you’d order an uber and go straight back to the hotel.”

“i was thinking that.”

george is already slightly drunk when he spots you, opening his arms wide at your entrance. alex is sipping on a bottle of imported beer. very pretentious.

“maneater!” george grins. “the party don’t start till she walks in!”

oscar looks like he’s already regretting this. oscar and you had been best friends ever since you realised you both had a low tolerance for bullshit. you roll your eyes at george who pretends to pout but uses it as an excuse to order more shots.

“did they drag you out too?” oscar nods, like every movement pains him. “you want something to drink?”

“no. i’m hungry.”

“i think the only place open right now besides here is a strip club.”

“they have food?”

“let’s google.” after a few searches on your phone you find out the strip club has a menu. “apparently they serve chicken wings and fries.”

“let’s go.”

“wait!” you grab oscar’s arm. “you can’t go to a strip club! think about the optics or something. the media will spin it like ‘crazy f1 sex-addicted rookie’. is that what you want your legacy to be?”

“i won’t have a legacy if i starve to death.” oscar rolls his eyes. then he turns to logan. “throw me your rental keys logan, maneater and i are going to the drive-thru.”

“no.” george says sternly. as sternly as one can be while slightly drunk and a shirt that loses a button every ten minutes. how was it looser than it was two seconds ago? “you can’t leave. if you leave, you won’t come back.”

“okay?” oscar raised an eyebrow. “we’re grown george. you can’t keep us here.”

“one song and you can go.”

“that’s ridiculous.”

“one song. that’s all i’m asking.” george raises his hands. “then you can leave. unless, you’re too chicken.”

“i’m very much chicken. bye.” oscar gets up to leave before you stop him.

“c’mon. one song isn’t a bad compromise and we’re already here.” you shrug. “might as well.”

“you can do it. i’ll watch.” you stick your tongue out at oscar’s reluctance.

“lando, will you do it with me?”

“sure as long as i’m choosing the song!” lando grins as oscar gives you both the side eye. you weren’t much of an adrenaline junkie off the track and in private, you were very different to the maneater persona you would show in public. lando chooses nelly furtado’s ‘promiscuous’ but he sings her parts and you sing timbaland’s. you kill it, if you do say so yourself.

as soon as you’re done, oscar holds up the keys to the rental that logan had brought you in and you follow him out on your search for dinner. as you and oscar make your way to the car, you realise that the only place open for food at this hour is, unfortunately, that strip club down the street.

"you're kidding, right?" oscar gives you a disbelieving look.

you shrug. "hey, they serve food and you’re hungry. desperate times call for desperate measures."

with a reluctant sigh, oscar unlocks the car and you both climb in. you arrive at the strip club, the neon lights flashing in the night. as you enter, you can't help but feel a little out of place amidst the scantily clad dancers and dimly lit atmosphere.

“we're not staying for the show," you say firmly to oscar as you approach the bar.

"i wasn’t trying to," oscar looks around warily.

the smell of greasy food wafts over from the corner where a small kitchen is tucked away.

"we're really doing this," you mutter to oscar as you make your way to the bar.

"yep," he replies, already scanning the menu for chicken wings.

before you can order, a vivacious stripper saunters over, batting her eyelashes at oscar. "hey there, handsome. looking for some company?"

oscar looks taken aback for a moment before he quickly recovers. "uh, actually, we’re just here for the food. we heard you do… food?"

the stripper arches an eyebrow skeptically. "sure you are hun. what's your story, then?"

you jump in, trying to come up with a believable excuse. "we’re... celebrating our anniversary! yeah, that’s it. we wanted to do something wild, and crazy and spontaneous."

oscar nods, playing along. "exactly. seven years together, can you believe it?"

“you look so young.”

“she keeps me young.” oscar winks and then immediately regrets it. he turns slightly pink.

the stripper eyes you both suspiciously. "hmm, anniversary, huh? and you're at a strip club?"

you nod enthusiastically. "yep! we’re... adventurous like that."

the stripper shakes her head, clearly not buying it. "uh-huh."

you turn to oscar, a mischievous glint in your eye before turning and pouting at the stripper. "he cheated on me, you know."

oscar’s eyes widen in confusion. "wait, what?"

you nod solemnly. "yeah, with my yoga instructor. can you believe it? i guess that’s what happens when you let another girl bend your man over.”

the stripper scoffs, shaking her head. "honey, now why would you take a cheater to a strip club? that's like taking a carnivore to the butchers.”

oscar jumps in, eager to exonerate his fake persona. "actually, she cheated on me too!"

the stripper raises an eyebrow. "oh, really?"

"yeah, with my dentist," oscar deadpans. “imagine how i felt… lying on the chair getting my tooth drilled into while my wife was at home getting a different hole drilled.”

“well, you cheated with the milkman!”

“he gave me something you never could.” oscar sniffs.

“milk?”

“no. love.”

“i’ll get that order started for you.” she gives you both the side-eye. “i’ll leave you two lovebirds with your marriage issues. you need anything else give one of us a shout.”

you and oscar turn to each other and laugh.

“DENTIST?” you giggle. “couldn’t you have picked a sexier profession for me to cheat on you with?”

oscar chuckles, shaking his head. "hey, a cheating dentist is funny."

“fair point. but a milkman? really?"

"i had to think fast!" oscar defends himself. "i didn’t get time to prepare."

"true," you agree, wiping away tears of laughter. "i just hope our story doesn't end up in the tabloids."

oscar shrugs. "eh, if it does, at least it'll be entertaining."

you both continue to joke and laugh as you wait for your food.

"who knew a trip to a strip club could be so much fun?" you smile as you eat. the food was good at least.

oscar grins back. "only with you, y/n. only with you."

afterwards, you go back to meet with logan, lando, alex and george at the karaoke spot. george is singing a dramatic duet with alex to the tune of lady gaga and beyoncé’s ‘telephone’. lando is grinning while filming and logan is just staring, like he’s watching a car crash. too grotesque to look at but too insane to look away.

george spots you and points dramatically, motioning for you to join them. you exchange a look with oscar, both of you knowing that you can't resist the call of the karaoke stage.

as you approach the group, you can't help but notice the absence of one key ingredient: a one direction song.

"hey guys," you say, catching their attention. "this is fun and all, but i think it's time we mix things up a bit."

george raises an eyebrow. "oh yeah? and what did you have in mind?"

"a one direction song," you declare with a grin. “in front of everyone.”

the boys exchange skeptical glances, clearly not convinced.

"we can't do that," logan protests. "it's too... cheesy."

"come on, logan," you coax, giving him your best puppy dog eyes. "you owe me for dragging me here."

“that wasn’t even my decision!” logan sighs, knowing he's been cornered. "but i’ll do it, only if oscar does it too."

you turn to oscar, who looks less than thrilled at the prospect. "come on, oscar. remember that time you forgot my birthday?"

“i was in hospital! i had a reason!”

“still forgot it!”

oscar groans. "fine, i’ll do it. but this better not end up on the internet."

you turn to george and alex, who are watching the exchange with amusement. "you guys in?"

george grins. "i'm always up for a challenge."

alex nods in agreement. "sure, why not? carpe diem and all that.”

lando, of course, is already on board. "let's do it! who’s who?”

“i’ve already thought about it. here me out.” you start. “lando is harry, curly haired and british.”

lando fist-bumps you.

“alex is zayn.”

alex rolls his eyes. “because i’m an asian brit too?”

“okay i didn’t think about that but it kind of fits.” you think. “i meant it because zayn’s obviously the best.”

alex grins, obviously pleased with the flattery. george stares at you, impatiently tapping his foot.

“hurry it up y/n. who am i?”

“liam.” george thinks about it for a moment and then shrugs. “he’s the leader of the group and you created our groupchat and this meetup.”

“i can deal with that.”

“oscar is louis because he has the least amount of lines and i thought he’d appreciate that.” oscar smiles. “logan is niall because… blond.”

“how come they all got actual thought put in to theirs and i’m niall because i’m blond?” logan raises an eyebrow.

“blond was the best i could do on short-notice.” you shrug. “but hey, he’s irish! who doesn’t love the irish?”

“fair point.”

you move over to the machine and start to play ‘kiss you’ by one direction. as the familiar beats fill the karaoke bar, you can't help but feel a surge of excitement. this is going to be epic, whether oscar likes it or not.

oscar, looking less than thrilled, reluctantly takes his place on stage, shooting you a glare that says, "you owe me big time for this."

logan, standing awkwardly beside him, shifts uncomfortably, clearly not used to being the center of attention. you give him an encouraging smile, silently urging him to embrace the moment. you’re only a f1 driver/one direction cosplayer once, right?

lando, fully embracing his role as harry, struts to the front of the stage, oozing charisma and charm. alex, begrudgingly accepting his role as zayn, follows suit, trying his best to channel the brooding bad boy persona.

george, ever the showman, takes center stage as liam, belting out the lyrics with gusto. despite his initial reluctance, even oscar starts to get into the groove.

as for logan, well, he may not be the most enthusiastic performer, but he's giving it his all, his awkwardness somehow adding to the charm of the performance.

you, meanwhile, stand off to the side, phone in hand, filming the entire spectacle. this is going straight to your social media, no doubt about it.

as the song reaches its climax, the entire group comes together in perfect harmony, their voices blending seamlessly as they sing their hearts out. it may not be the most polished performance, but it's definitely one for the books. as the final notes fade away, the bar erupts into cheers and applause, and you can't help but feel a sense of joy as your friends amble off the stage and you all head out into the cool night.

liked by bestie1, logan.priv and 32 others.

maneater.priv: shoutout miami for having so many foreign babes 😋

view 34 comments.

bestie1: who are the foreign babes you speak of? i just see a bunch of white dudes and alex.

-> maneater.priv: um actually we have many 🤨 lando and george r british, alex is thai and british and oscar is aussie 😋 in america, they all foreign and logan may not be foreign but he’s a babe.

-> logan.priv: nicest y/n comment. possibly the y/n comment of all time actually.

oscar.priv: delete the last slide.

alex.priv: lily said she’s gonna text you the link to that shirt you liked.

-> maneater.priv: i knew i liked you for a reason.

oscar.priv: i know you see these (your full government name). DELETE.

lando.priv: how did you go to a strip club with oscar before me??

-> maneater.priv: me, u and vegas. we’ll go crazy.

-> lando.priv: YIPPEEE 😁😁

oscar.priv: blocking you btw.

george.priv: told u that you’d have fun!!!

-> maneater.priv: sorry i can’t agree with a man. ruins my street cred.

-> george.priv: what street cred?

-> maneater.priv: DELETE!!!!

-> oscar.priv: speaking of things that need to be deleted… delete the last slide 🙄

-> maneater.priv: no :D

oscar.priv: how would u feel if i shipped u with another driver?

-> maneater.priv: that depends… is he a hot one?

-> oscar.priv: no.

-> lando.priv: 😔

-> george.priv: stop being mean to lando oscar.priv.

-> oscar.priv: he deserves it.

-> george.priv: 213.40.205.53

-> oscar.priv: i hate it here.

[sanji-piss-hell]

ZOSAN FIC REC

Here is some of my fave zosan fics. Some of these I read years ago and so I don't fully remember what theyre about but they we're good enough that I still have strong emotional attachments when I see the name. Most of them are things I've read recently. Literally all I do all day is homework and have an app tts fanfics to me like an audio book so there's quite a few of recs here. I am not the best at summeries but just trust me bro these are GOOD SHIT. I only provide the best. What I consider a good fic: - Takes place in the one piece world (I don't like modern aus) - Characters stay in character or if they do have changes from their canon portrayal there is a justifiable reason from within the story. - Solid story telling and arcs (even the shorter fics) - The Zosan dynamic is kept mostly how it is in canon they fight and bicker. (I know some like when they're soft with eachother like a loving married couple. You won't find much of that here) - Some of these have pervy sanji, que nose bleeds and ogling. With that out of the way here's the list!! Now to my fave zosan fic of all time and ironically enough the only fic taking place in a modern setting: Life is fine series. TW: Drug abuse, heavy angst, depression I have reread this twice and forced a friend to read it too. It is so amazing not just for the zosan but for the genuinely good story telling. You follow zoro reeling from his sudden loss of relationship with Sanji and falling down a...Well uh, path. It's fucked it's dark it's depressing and its fucking riviting. Alot of the time reading this you're just like WHY DID SANJI LEAVE HIM WHAT IS GOING ON??? Honestly I need to reread this again. Onto softer fics to heal your heart after that one: Honor in limits, his strengths in weakness By Hawksbrood

“Fucking hell cook, what happened to you?” Zoro demanded, voice low so as not to disturb the others sleeping nearby.

Sanji rolled his eyes. “What do you think? I told you we got in a fight earlier.”

“Not that, your fucking feet!”

The cook snarled at that, crushing his cigarette in his teeth. “What the fuck do you mean, my feet? They’re just feet!”

Zoro’s eyes widened, looking at the bruised flesh before him. This wasn’t that.

This was just so good and cute. I appreciate watching zoro appreciate sanji. They take care of eachother but in a way where theyre both still them yeah know? I appreciate how sanji is written letting himself be vulnerable but understanding that he's always gonna be crass cause it's just a part of who he is.

come on, come on (turn a little faster) by donutsandcoffee

The one where everyone thinks they’re dating, Sanji is oblivious, and Zoro takes everything in stride.

Sometimes a love story can go in reverse.

I reread this one recently and it's just soft and sweet. I like watching sanji flounder around. The gay panic is great.

a complete guide to falling in love by ThousandSunny Sanji was trained in the Bridal Arts; this does not go unnoticed by the rest of his crew. I read this like 3 years ago and I dont remember much but I do remember loving it!

Part Timer By 8ball Sanji really, really doesn't want to give Zoro a job at his restaurant. Zoro doesn't really even want to work there in the first place, but, well, there’s this thing with Sanji, and this thing with feelings and the whole thing is pretty damn stupid all together. Zeff just wants grandkids. He’s too old for this bullshit anyways. I am sure everyone knows 8ball very well they're like zosan famous but still just in case this one is really fucking good. Also read this 3 years ago so I don't remember much but I consider this a zosan classic. Onto the rated R Grand Buffet by asyndese Drunk fic!! If there was one thing Zoro knew, it was that you could always trust Sanji's inclinations to do a beautiful 180 as soon as he was drunk. Luckily, Zoro was more than equipped to handle it. I spent. 30 minutes. Trying to find this fic again because that's how much I loved it. It altered my brain chemistry. Sanji getting a nose job during sex is just. aaaaaaaaa. Read it. Cannot suggest enough. Horrors not yet known by Trixree

Sanji doesn’t know how he didn’t notice it before, is the thing. Of all the times he has seen Zoro shirtless (in battle, mostly) he just… never noticed. The problem is, once he has noticed, Sanji can’t seem to stop noticing. And neither can anyone else.

In which Zoro has a nipple piercing and Sanji has a Problem.

I recently reread this and the first time I read it I didn't really get the whole gender sanji shit. Now though???? Yeah another fic that rewired my brain chemistry. This fic opened doors for me it exposed me to a new world. Also sanji gay panic is in here and I live for that. It can be pretty raunchy (love that too) Three rounds with a tiger by KobochaKitsune Another drunk Fic!! also in modern times damn maybe I lied sdklfj

Liquid courage, drunken decisions, terrible euphemisms, and texts from last night, or: how to think entirely with the booze (and your dick) for once.

Or: By the time Sanji got to the party, everyone was already drunk.

I read this 3 years ago (theres a trend going on can you tell??) It also rewired my brain chemistry (from this point on just assume all of these nsfw fics rewired my brain chemistry each of these opened doors for me. This one opened the doors to bottom zoro.) Fucking 20k words of just pwp. I dont even know how the author did that bro like damn. Nature of things by stark_black Tw: Sex work and prostitutes When the Sunny docks, Sanji and Zoro sometimes seek out relief in some not so savory places. After crossing paths in town on more than one occasion, the two find they have a lot more in common than they would like to admit. I hunted this down for like fucking hours a couple of weeks ago because it was that good. Stark_Black has a fucking library worth of zosan fics this one is a classic to me. But if you want more content check out his other fics I think they have like over 100 zosan its kinda insane. Coregasm by Yakarmi

Sanji discovers that sometimes, Zoro has orgasms while he lifts.

-----

“You…” Sanji trailed off, gaze turning down as he licked his lips. Pink tongue darting out nervously. “You orgasm when you exercise?”

Zoro clenched his jaw. Shrugged. Trying to act nonchalant.

“Sometimes.”

Sanji’s eye went wide, and like his mouth had suddenly been liberated from his brain, blurted out, “that’s so fucking hot,” before clamping his hands over his mouth. His cigarette fell from his mouth, bouncing soundlessly on the ground.

Bro bestie, the way this put me on nose bleed Sanji. Perv sanji. I need that gif thats like mmm cause man this is good. Ending this fic rec with a BANG we have

Contingencies and Congruencies by PeaceSignDisasterBi

Somewhere between finishing the bottles of alcohol and mugs of beer, the crew comes together to create a contingency plan for something that may-or-may-not-happen during their time on the Grand Line and beyond. Usopp thinks it's more likely than bumping into zombies, Zoro wants to stay out of this, Sanji is just going with the flow, and Nami may or may not keep things legally binding and above board with consistent consensual acquiescence. Robin finds it all amusing.

The damn chart stays in the locked drawer in her desk, split into three neat categories: Devil Fruit Powers, Science, and Magic. Each represents whatever they're hit with but also categorizes the amount of self-control the person has during.

AKA: 5 times Zoro and Sanji had to help each other as Consensual Helpers of Dubious Consent + 1 Time There Was Nothing Dubious At All

Ok this is 152k long its pretty insane. It regoes over the arcs so throughly so carefully that I literally had to question my memory because I havent experienced alot of these arcs in a while (it's one of the reasons im rewatching one piece). I will say despite how amazing and well written this is I had a hard time comprehending sometimes. now I was sick at the time of reading this so that might be why but sometimes the way things were phrased felt like yoda talking. I think it's just me though. I'm not used to big words :( And thats a wrap!! These arent even all the ones I wanted to include I have at least 20 more off the top of my head but I'll save that for another day. I hope you find joy in these fics Like i did I'll def do another one of these as cause I didnt even touch my sanji centric fics or germa 66 or just in general the best sanji fanfic writers. (Mentioned some of them like 8ball, thousand sunny and donuts and coffee.) Best of luck to yall and let me know what you think!

[applestorms]

the misa post

adding a lil additional note here because this thing SPIRALED the fuck out, even more so than some of my usual essays. therefore, i will be going back to my roots by breaking this post down into two sections: misa and sexuality, and misa and romance/death. skip to whatever section, if you wanna. or don't. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

misa and sexuality:

honestly, the way that misa engages with her sexuality in DN is such a fascinating topic in and of itself. i really have quite mixed feelings about it because while yes, to some degree the art and story does sexualize and objectify her, there is also an element of agency to it that i don’t often see people talk about…?

like, idk. misa is a model, she does act, her job primarily involves working in front of cameras. she’s selling her Image and her body and she’s well aware of how to market the appeal— we literally see her doing this during yotsuba, when they’re trying to free matsuda after he runs around like an idiot and gets caught.

i actually think it's quite interesting that she specifies being against nudity here but alright with swimsuits and lingerie— full nudity implies sex work, something that in the mainstream might be considered "dirty" or somehow less/not worthy of respect (even if that's utter bullshit). yet lingerie is fine, despite having similar implications of sexuality, blocking off the most private areas and thereby allowing profit off of the same concept but without the associated disapproval. you could read this panel as misa simply knowing her boundaries and what she is and isn't comfortable with— but i think it's interesting that you could just as easily read this as misa knowing what boundaries she is and isn't allowed to have, if she is to market herself as effectively as possible and maintain her public image.

off the top of my head i can only think of two major examples where it’s clear that misa is super overtly being sexualized by forces outside of her control/with no particularly meaningful justification, at least in terms of visuals. this panel, which managed to sneak in a panty shot:

which, weirdly enough was actually kind of foreshadowed by sayu earlier in the chapter:

(sidenote1: does light really not have any other fucking chairs? further evidence that he doesn't really connect with people pre-DN, if he's not really prepared to have any guests in his room. anti-social weirdo.)

and, of course, the classic torture cover from chapter 33:

though i must admit, it is difficult to find any image of a character getting tied up like this that doesn't have some implication of sexuality. bondage torture is just a classic like that. though the camera certainly doesn't help, L— and neither does the fact that light and soichiro are not put into an equally objectifying, sense-deprived contraption like this, and instead just get normal ass bare cells.

in many other cases however, misa herself is the one flaunting her sexuality, typically as a means of trying to appeal herself to light but sometimes i think you can definitely read it as misa just. dressing the way that she wants to dress because it's cute? like, okay, in terms of trying to appeal herself to light we've got this classic panel from after the timeskip ft. a particularly homosexual light moment:

but there's also plenty of misa moments that just look like this:

girlie is chilling. literally kicking her feet, stalking her crush in bed with her supernatural death god girlfriend.

to be clear, this is not to say that death note isn't sexist or has particularly fantastic writing for its female characters. rather, what i'd like to point out here is that there are different levels under which we can view and analyze misa's sexuality:

the base level, of a girl who is comfortable with her body and fine with wearing revealing clothing

the level above that, involving the fact that misa's job revolves around selling her image, of which her sexuality is a key factor

and then the uppermost meta level, surrounding the fact that misa is a character in a story not only written and illustrated by men, but sold in shounen jump, meaning that she is thus filtered pretty significantly through a quite literal male gaze

it both can be and is true that misa is simultaneously objectified for her body on multiple levels and a pretty fucking horny person herself (or at the very least, willing to push that for the sake of her own goals)

remember, misa is the one pushing for their "alone time" here.

just. idk. i suppose my main point here is simply that i think this is a topic that deserves to be looked at with more nuance. there is credence to both the claims that misa is sexualized in DN and that misa herself has agency in how she chooses to dress and present herself, and i don't think you can cleanly separate those two aspects without losing something significant.

honestly, when it comes down to it, my personal take is that the real problem of sexism in DN is less about the particular ways in which individual female characters are presented/traits they are given, and more about the broad strokes of how women in general are treated... if my post on that particular subject ever ends up seeing the light of day, i guess i'll link that right about here. anyways,

misa and romance/death:

if there is one thing that her parents dying, almost being killed by a stalker, and making contact with a shinigami teaches misa, it is that love is something you kill and die for.

i really don't think that you can separate out "death" from "love" when it comes to misa, not only in terms of general themes, but also when it comes to how she personally views the world. i mean, just look at rem and gelus— death literally loves her, and in the process of loving her, allows her to cheat her way back to life. ryuk calls light a better shinigami than the actual shinigami, but honestly, if anyone fulfills that role, it's misa— she's the one whose life gets cut down until others stock it back up, who has so little regard for life (both in terms of others' and her own), who gambles her time again and again and does whatever she wishes, when she wishes, how she wishes.

it's that second point in particular that really gets to me here. throughout the story, misa shows herself to be equally detached from both the world and herself— she kills without care, gives up half her lifespan without a speck of a second thought, throws herself into dangerous situations and pushes for what she wants even when she knows it's stupid and probably going to get her caught. i'm slightly tempted to say that death's love for misa is the only mutual love she ever has, but that has some implications that i don't think quite fit. misa doesn't get a kick out of killing, she is not (overtly, or very explicitly) suicidal in the sense that she constantly expresses a yearning to kill or be killed. it's more of a toned down attachment than that, which... kinda gets into my next point, on misa's relationships. namely, with two very important people: rem and light.

in terms of rem... i struggle to analyze this relationship sometimes in the context of canon because at times it just feels like there is so little to work with. but perhaps that also fits, in a way...?

one thing that i think the musical really got right about rem is the fact that she has some of the most genuine feelings of love in the entire series, just in general but also specifically in terms of how other characters treat/approach misa. again, misa is a person whose job revolves around people loving or being attracted to her. i have a very hard time believing that the person who tried to kill her was her first or her last stalker, but even without getting to that level of intensity, much of the love surrounding misa is superficial, distant. she is beloved for the image she fits and the role that she plays, but very few people (if anyone) are even capable of getting close enough to recognize the self she hides under that mask (assuming, of course, that she ever lets that core part of her out).

rem is perhaps one of those few people, seemingly having watched misa for years alongside gelus before breaking that parasocial divide and meeting her idol in person. yet, it's also that very period of watching that puts a strain on their relationship, in my mind...

to put it bluntly: apologies to any and all remisa shippers, but i simply Do Not see there being much canon evidence that rem's love for misa is in any way mutual. not only do i struggle to think of any notable scenes where misa displays even an inch of affection or care towards rem, but misa is also kind of horrifically apathetic to rem's death, iirc. i mean, in a way, she's basically the cause of it— in failing to remember L's name upon getting her memories back, she pushes the first domino in the line leading up to watari, L, and rem's deaths.

misa basically treats rem like just another stalker, accepting her love so long as it is somewhat distant or gets her what she wants.

but, like. as shitty as that is to think about, it does kinda fit that misa would treat genuine love this way. at no point does she push back on or try to change rem's mind about this, or even really say fucking anything in response to rem's overt romantic/threatening overtures about how she'll kill anyone who tries to hurt her. i'm kinda inclined to view this as misa's attempt at kindness, accepting the love of her fans for what it is but never pushing it in either direction. she neither demands rem's love, nor attempts to dissuade it— it is what it is, and what happens, happens. and if it results in rem's death, or results in her own... at least it all happened out of love.

now, in terms of light... i was gonna make this its own post but it's on topic, so i might as well just add it here.

it is simultaneously so, so sad and yet also so, so utterly fucking funny that misa is perfectly designed to be everything that light absolutely hates. like, to just list it out cuz i literally have too many points to simplify this down into proper paragraphs rn, misa is:

uncontrollable. supposedly, misa is a perfect little devoted disciple of KIRA, willing to do anything and anything for him as thanks for getting justice for her parents' killer. but like... we all know how this actually works out. misa does whatever the fuck she wants, usually with the thin justification that it'll help KIRA in some way, and light is left behind to deal with the clean up.

stupid. no, not really— but she at the very least presents herself as such, as a ditzy, silly little girl, willing to do anything for love even if it hurts her. really, all this proves is that she wears a mask, just the same as light, though in the process she manages to also reflects to his own sins back at him. misa plays stupid so that she can justify doing stupid things without having to feel bad about it (or get emotionally attached at all?)— light plays god, a being above human morals, so he can do horrifically immoral things without having to feel bad about it. equal and opposite, in the worst possible way.

powerful. and pushy. the only person more stubborn than light yagami is misa amane, etc. etc. just like KIRA, she is a key pawn that light must rely on logistically, but is disgusted with all the same. misa is not a god, not in the way that KIRA is— she's just another filthy criminal, uncaring about the horrible acts she has committed. but she fits herself into his plans in just the right way that he can't quite come out and condemn her directly, and therefore is stuck quietly stewing in his dislike of her instead.

a liability. related to this is the fact that she is essentially unkillable, at least as long as rem is alive. many of the points behind her being uncontrollable apply to this one as well.

feminine. in a way that light dislikes, but also cannot ignore. she's cute and hot in a way that light is supposed to like, if he is to fit in w/ his Just A Typical, Good, Respectable Boy routine, but also drives him up the wall— pitting his desire to be "good" against his desire to be a "boy," essentially. (this point in particular is taken from THIS POST, big thanks to shydroid3000 for the beautiful yotsuba light analysis!!!)

possessive. controlling, in a way, which is again ironically exactly like light himself. light Hates being controlled because it means there may be factors outside of what he has power over, a trait which becomes increasingly relevant in the latter half of the story.

untouchable. even after rem's death, light can never quite get into the right position to kill her. she's almost too effective, causing light problems (e.g. yotsuba) and fucking things up, but never in such a way that he can easily place the blame on her shoulders alone. she is useful, a necessary evil, outliving multiple gods.

and, above all else, ultimately...

(sidenote2: it's kinda interesting to compare misa to L in this regard, actually, especially in terms of why light gets so attached to L but hates misa so viciously, despite L also being quite a bit like light? i guess you could say that misa reflects back the parts of light that he doesn't like as much, or even more specifically that she reflects KIRA back at him, where L matches/opposes light in terms of what he sees to be his better traits— his intelligence, his social power, etc. something to consider.)

to follow up on the sentiments of this post: misa does not love light. she relies on him to fill the hole in her life, in her, as a quick fix to avoid having to engage with the deep-seated grief that haunts her, an answer to the horrifying question of why she is even still here, alive, so long after her appointed bell has already stopped ringing.

to tie this all together, then... i suppose it's fitting that both love and sexuality are are so essentially Empty when it comes to misa amane. ultimately, she is a character defined by a misery she never allows herself to show to the world, a girl stubbornly sticking to the first reason she managed to find for living. again, just like light, she is a character that never grants herself the ability to truly grow up, stuck in the same childish, immature cycles of thinking and methods of presentation she came up with when her life first failed to end. a tragedy in her own right, unable to even remember the face of the one being that genuinely loved her at the moment of her own true death.

born on christmas, dead on valentines. how fitting.

[bloggingboutburgers]

If it's okay to ask, how do you handle acephobia as an adult? I know that's a broad question, but it feels like ever since I become an adult, the acephobia in my life has kicked into overdrive. Suddenly, if I'm not an active, excited participant in 18+ conversations, I'm being @'d and teased for it no matter how many times I disengage from the conversation or say to just leave me out of it. I've had (ex, otherwise extremely toxic) friends tell me that my version of aceness doesn't exist because "nobody is that sex repulsed" because I don't read fics if they have 18+ scenes, that I can't be childish forever, and that they hated that people wrote fics about sex repulsed aces. My mother told me that she regretted not being more openly loving with my father because she thinks that's what caused me to be asexual as an adult. Being a kid gave me a shield to hide behind, but now that I'm above 18, there's just this assumption that if you're not totally comfortable with 18+ topics, you're either an infant or a puritan, and you need to be fixed, and I don't really know how to handle it without making these people feel validated that I'm "just a puritan." I just don't like being the butt of the joke because of my sexuality all the time.

Hmmm... I'll be honest, I guess I didn't see that much difference between as a teen and as an adult myself? But I guess it might be a cultural thing about the rapport to sex related to age. In my country, at least when I was growing up, you were very much expected to have an interest in sex-related topics in high school already.

That said, everything you described is true. And because I've wanted to hiss so many times at what you've described, here's deconstructed thoughts:

I'M that sex-repulsed, anyone who says that shit can fuck off

Anyone who says they downright HATE that people write things about sex-repulsed ace has a queer hate issue. That's downright what it is. It's fucked up and they oughta check themselves and their aphobia.

Aah yes, the classic "sex=adult and that's the only thing that equals adult ever". While we're at it I'll also assume that when they say "18+" they just mean sex and none of the other many many things only a person over 18 experiences and understands?

Anyway... It sounds like you're surrounded by pretty fucking sucky people. Granted personally there's a fuckton of bullshit I just smile and nod at on a daily basis, and I don't hang out in group spaces, much less in fandom spaces, because sadly with the state of how things are, I know they're kinda anti-me by nature. It's lonely and heartbreaking and I won't pretend it's easy every day, far from it, but the alternative of having to force oneself to put up with even more hate and erasure is worse.

So yeah, lots of self-preservation reflexes. Lots of laughing at a person's aphobic joke like "Wow that's a glorious asshole if I ever knew one and I'm gonna stay as far away from them as I can from now on." Got very tough when that description involved some coworkers in the past, but hey, at least my dance of joy was all the more satisfying when they left the company.

And on the flip side, if a person is friendly and open to listen, and learn if needed, without dismissing me? Oh you bet I'll hold on to those people for dear life and do my best to hang out with them more. Such people are scattered across my life, but they helped me build a support system of self confidence that made it much easier for me every day, and helped me build the confidence to come out as ace to my whole family over time. (I also have amazing bros who somehow always seemed to consider my asexuality as an obvious part of me and their opinion is the one that mattered the most to me from the start family-wise, so y'know, I'm lucky.)

So yeah... Preserving myself from people who invalidate me and cherishing those who don't really did a lot for me. It made me more and more confident over time to mention that I'm ace casually to new people, because these people taught me that hey, sometimes you tell someone you're ace and they somehow DON'T turn you into a laughing stock for it! And yeah, it's kinda fucked up that this has to be some kind of incredible news, but... Hopefully the fact that it's possible nonetheless can bring you a bit of hope.

Ofc that also means that sometimes I'll be having like, dinner with friends of a friend that I've never met before, and suddenly I'll find myself thinking "Wow these people who just met me and know nothing about me just made like 3 jokes involving me having sex in the span of 2 hours, and I forgot that was apparently 'normal'." It's weird for sure. Bit of a survival game of sorts sometimes. But hey... It's a life, ig, we didn't choose our lives so we gotta play the hand we're dealt. And uh... How did that Bojack Horseman quote go again? Oh yeah.

[schrijverr]

Stiles as a Roommate

Classic outsiders POV of Stiles in college, where his roommate, Mike, and their other friends try to figure out who all these people are that keep calling Stiles.

On AO3.

Ships: Sterek

Warnings: they think Stiles is wrapped up in some bad shit (which valid tbh)

~~~~

Mike’s roommate is profoundly disturbing and highly hilarious to have around. On the first day he comes crashing into the room, tripping over himself like an old school physical comedy, before assuring Mike that he’s fine and it doesn’t even come close to being beaten to a pulp by a grandfather.

It’s quite the introduction and for a while Mike was worries that his roommate is going to suck. Stiles isn’t the typical college student, you see.

He has amassed an entire herb garden in the windowsill, skips out on most parties, keeps a metal baseball bat by his bed and calls home every single day. On top of that, he doesn’t know how to shut up and his rants devolve into the strangest bullshit about the most random topics that make Mike wonder why the hell criminology major had looked into them.

So, Mike thought he is stuck with a weird paranoid kid, who doesn’t know how to have fun. He worries about Stiles getting mad about him getting back in late or judgmental about not studying as much. However, his worries had soon been put to rest.

Because Stiles is fun and Stiles is easy. He can become anyone’s friend in minutes and is up later than healthy most of the time, doing weird bullshit on his laptop that he calls research, though Mike never knows what for.

He might not be a party-goer himself, but he absolutely doesn’t care about what Mike does, just jeering at him to use protection when he goes out and waking him up with a smug smirk and coffee when Mike wants to disappear into his mattress with a hangover, kicking his ass to classes.

Stiles is probably what is keeping him from failing right now and Mike will go to great lengths to keep him as his friend, because, yeah, they’re friends now.

It’s impossible not to befriend Stiles, he grows on you like a very persistent mold.

His friendship with Stiles starts six weeks into rooming together. Classes are in full swing alongside parties and Mike has just started to get worried about his roommate being a stick in the mud, when he comes home at 4:00 AM piss drunk.

Naturally he tries (and fails) to quietly enter the room, trying not the be the dickbag that wakes people up every night to find the lights still on. He blinks a few times at Stiles, who is sitting on his bed with a laptop and smartly says: “Huh.”

“God, you’re so fucking drunk it’s not even funny, dude. I can smell it from here and I don’t even have a freaky nose,” Stiles comments, before he gets up from the bed.

Mike sways slightly in the doorway, mentally trying to decide if he can do a stumble and drop to his bed or if he’ll sleep on the floor when Stiles is suddenly in front of him. He startles and nearly falls over, saved from faceplanting by Stiles, who is usually the one meeting the floor.

“Oh, hey, there, hey, buddy,” Stiles says, righting him. He slips an arm around Mike and masterfully stumble-drags him to the bed, depositing him on it. He points at Mike, who is still reeling from the movement and sternly says: “Don’t move,” as if Mike had any big plans.

Moments later he returns with a glass of water and gets Mike upright, telling him to sip and not allowing him to stop until the glass is empty.

Mike isn’t sure what happens next, but the next morning he wakes up with a groan to find two painkillers, a glass of water and a glass of orange juice on his bedside table along with a note reading: go to your classes! And you’re not a very eloquent drunk

In that moment, it feels like the nicest thing anyone has ever done for him, swiftly forgetting all his parents have done under the pounding headache. He takes his painkillers, drinks his drinks and actually manages to drag himself to his lecture, deciding that Stiles might not be so bad.

When he comes back from his class, Stiles is there, typing away on his laptop again. He greets Mike when he enters and Mike returns it: “Hey, dude. Thanks for the painkillers and stuff.”

“Yeah, man, no problem,” Stiles smiles back. “It’s just instinct at this point, I’ve had to drag worse people off to bed.”

It’s a bit of an odd reply, but something Mike can work with. “You friends with many party-goers?”

A strange look flits over Stiles’ face, but it goes as fast as it comes and Stiles says: “Something like that. I was the one with a car, who wasn’t a prick about it getting dirty on the inside when in crisis. I have passed up on many party experiences except the clean up. All my friends are idiots.”

Mike chuckles at that and plops down on his own bed, as he comments: “Do you have a big friend group back home?” See, he can have conversations, mom.

“Oh, yeah,” Stiles tells him with a grin. “We’re like a family. A very weird family.” A brief pause. “But how about you?”

“Nah,” Mike shrugs. “I’m making up for it now.”

“Yeah, I can see,” Stiles grins. “Alcohol is a poison, my man. Besides, I’m not sure you’re remembering the friends you made.”

The bluntness is something Mike has encountered before and turned him away, but it doesn’t sound mean. He remembers that he is going to try with Stiles, so instead of ending the conversation there, he shrugs: “Probably, but it’s fun while it lasts.”

“Come on, man, that’s not fun,” Stiles says. “I have some friends from introduction. We get fries on Thursdays and study on Sunday. You can come sometime, it’s fun.”

Okay, so the bluntness was genuine concern and Mike honestly could use some actual friends. He likes parties, they’re fun, but the loneliness is starting to get to him. So he replies: “Sure, sounds fun.”

“Hell yeah,” Stiles does a genuine fist pump and Mike snorts. Yeah, alright, maybe Stiles isn’t so bad at all.

“Why were you awake so late anyway?” Mike asks, suddenly remembering that Stiles was just sitting there when he stumbled in.

“Oh, Jackson called me,” Stiles says. “He’s in studying in at Cambridge, because his parents are pretentious fuckers. He needed to check in about… something and I was still awake. I had to look something up, I was just emailing him the details when you came in.”

“All the way in England?” Mike whistles, a bit impressed.

“Tsk, don’t let hear him that. Dick has a big enough ego as it is,” Stiles rolls his eyes.

“I thought you were his friend?” Mike says, a bit confused, because Stiles had literally picked up the phone at 4:00 AM for this guy, couldn’t be that much bad blood, could there?

“Surprisingly enough. He had a restraining order against me in high school for a while,” Stiles informs him casually, before realizing how that sounds and quickly amending: “Obviously, he revoked it, because it was completely unnecessary and a big misunderstanding. We’re cool now, promise.”

And that’s Mike’s cue to drop the conversation, giving Stiles a tight nod, before turning to his own work. He’s giving the other a chance, not inviting crazy. Though he does allow himself to be invited for fries on Thursday with Stiles’ friends.

There is Maya a shy, but enthusiastic biology major; Aalif, a kind but serious looking pre-law student; Nikki, a hilariously insane art major; and Kai a bit of a dorky English major. How Stiles had found this ragtag group Mike doesn’t know

“Mike,” he introduces himself. “I do history. I’m Stiles’ roommate,” before he’s pulled into a discussion about whether or not fries can be classified as a salad. (Potato salad exists, Mike, and it’s a side dish).

It’s honestly a lot more fun than expected and it’s nice to see that Stiles does know how to have fun, he just has fun arguing about nothing with someone studying to argue professionally instead of getting wasted.

While Mike doesn’t think he’ll keep away from parties entirely, he might cut back to make place for this. The genuine connection is way nicer than not remembering who you talked to, or if you even did.

They’re about to start opening the famous is cereal-soup debate when Stiles’ phone starts to ring. He nearly hits his head on the table as he dives to get it out of his bag, calling out a quick: “Sorry, guys, gotta take this real quick.”

But since he is stuck in a booth, all he can do is turn away from them as he greets: “Isaac, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”

It’s not the most standard greeting and Mike raises his brow at the others, who all shrug. Apparently this has happened before. Mike watches as Stiles gets a reply, fascinated by how Stiles seems to melt, worries leaving him as he grins fondly, before practically cooing: “You missing me already? I am flattered, pup.”

He grins some more at what Isaac is saying, before raising a brow, voice turning into a tease: “I feel used here. Like a cheap replacement. You knew Scott was going to be busy with Allison, I even warned you. Not my fault no one in this p- family ever listens to me.”

Another reply to which Stiles says: “Yes, you heard correctly, I’m with friends, you can make those at college. I encourage you to try.”

An eyeroll at Isaac’s answer, then a sigh: “Yes, Isaac, having your own friends will get their attention again. But try also for yourself, meeting new people is fun. Maybe you even meet someone you like.”

“Bye, Isaac,” Stiles says pointedly, it sounds faintly like Isaac is protesting his departure, but he hangs up on him.

“Sorry about that, you know how they can get,” Stiles grins, trying to play it off, while Mike tries to ignore how much it sounds like the conversation he had with his mom last week, before deciding to join the others in not commenting.

And after that it their friendship takes off until they’re at the ‘waking him up with a smug smirk and coffee when Mike wants to disappear into his mattress with a hangover, kicking his ass to classes’- stage.

Turns out that if you’re closer to Stiles, he’s even weirder. He goes home pretty often, now that he has settled in alright, nearly every other weekend, at least once a month, though he complains about his dad forcing him to stay at college to get the full experience, air quotes obvious in his voice.

Mike doesn’t say anything, since he kind of agrees with Stiles’ dad. It’s a bit unhealthy how much Stiles’ calls home. Or at least, Mike thinks he does, though it always sounds like it’s someone else on the phone, because Stiles will tell the same story a bunch of times or tell the person that another person told him to tell them etc, like they couldn't call themselves.

The conversations are also just weird. Stiles cuts himself off sometimes, sending Mike looks, or he’ll fuss over whoever is on the other side of the line like he’s their therapist, or their fucking mother. Not to mention the fact that he always – always – picks up.

Mike has tried to call Stiles a few times, a lot of the time his roommate won’t pick up, or call back apologetically, yet he’ll leave a lecture if someone from home calls.

It’s just odd.

So, brave soldier as he is (as well as the head investigator of their little friend group, who are all more curious about Stiles than Mike expected when he first met them), he asks: “Hey, man, who are you always calling?”

Stiles look up from where has just hung up with a: “You be careful okay? I love you,” looking a bit confused, before smiling and shrugging: “That depends, honestly. It’s a bit much.”

That sounds like a deflection, but Mike is curious and got better at talking to people and standing up for himself. So, he goes: “I have time. I’m smart. I think I can take it.”

“Alright,” Stiles shoots him another uncertain look, before starting, “Well, my dad and Derek are holding down the fort, so I call them just to see how life is going. Boyd and Erica are there too, so I call them too, but Boyd doesn’t talk much, so I mostly call with Erica. She is my Catwoman, you know, we chat, she spills about Boyd. He has his own carpentry shop, it’s been going well. I’m glad for him, you know. And Erica is taking a gap year, but to be honest, I think she likes being a park ranger too much to ever go back to school.”

Mike nods along to Stiles’ rambles. His dad is explainable and the fact that he added Derek in there must mean they’re a unit in his mind, maybe a brother? Or even his father’s boyfriend. Erica is someone he’s close with and knows well, called her his Catwoman, so maybe girlfriend? But he connected her to Boyd, who sounds like a far friend of sorts, so maybe not.

“Of course there is Jackson in England,” Stiles continues on happily. “I told you about him. He is a bit of a dick, but we’ve forgiven him. Well, Lydia did and we all trusted her and it worked out okay.”

And yeah, Mike remembers Jackson with the apparent restraining order and wonders who Lydia is. Luckily he doesn’t have to wait long.

“Lydia,” Stiles sighs, making Mike think he loves her, which he naturally immediately disproves by going, “I used to be in love with her, but turns out, no. She’s being an absolute genius doing mathematics at CalTech. She terrifies me in the best ways.”

That’s not concerning at all.

“And then you have Scott, my best friend,” Stiles rambles on and Mike knows that the other probably won’t even notice if he leaves. He gets like that. “Now my man Scott is at Colorado State

to become a vet alongside Allison and Isaac.”

Those two names are also familiar and Mike feels awkward staying silent, so he says: “They’re all become vets?”

“No, just Scott, but they’re all at Colorado State, because Scott will probably perish without Allison and Isaac hates being lonely and didn’t get into Stanford with me,” Stiles says, like that’s the most obvious reason to pick a school.

Mike is distracted by Stiles hitting his arm enthusiastically: “Allison is also doing history, man, I hadn’t even thought of that! I don’t know how it would be relevant either, but you know, fun fact! I love fun facts, like did you know that human teeth are the only part of the body that can’t heal themselves, because enamel is dead tissue. That was fun to find out.”

He senses that there is a story there, but Stiles is already moving on: “And Isaac, my beautiful boy, is doing social studies, which I think will really help him. He’s come so far and he’s really happy with his courses.”

Isaac was the one that called during that first Thursday fries run Mike was a part of. He recalls the nicknames and the fact that Isaac was missing Stiles, not to mention how fond Stiles sounded and the fact that Isaac wanted to go to college with him. Maybe Isaac was the boyfriend?

“Anyways,” Stiles ends his rant. “I told you it’s a bit much, but I like knowing they’re okay and getting by and if I only call one, the others will get jealous. There’s only so much Stiles to go around and everyone wants a piece,” he grins.

Mike thinks Stiles has a weird relationship with his friends from back home, but also that he doesn’t want to create any friction with his roommate and best friend on campus, so he just nods and smiles a bit.

“But how about you?” Stiles returns the question. “You never call home, at least, not that I’ve witnessed.”

Since Stiles decided to share, something he rarely does, Mike knows he should return the favor, so he shrugs. “Not really much to call.”

“Is no one there?” Stiles asks, all concern.

“My mom and dad are, but you know,” Mike shrugs. “Dad just cares about my grades and mom is always prying, like she thinks I can’t manage by myself or something. It’s fucking annoying. I’m an adult now, she doesn’t need to hover.”

Stiles frowns at his reply, then bites his lip as if he isn’t sure he should say something, before he breaks and blurts: “But isn’t that nice? To have someone who worries?”

“What?” Mike hadn’t thought Stiles would pick his mom’s side, though maybe he should have seen it coming.

“I mean, I don’t know your situation of course, but I get it,” Stiles shrugs, backing off a bit. “You’ve always been her baby, who she saw every single day and knew when you had a bad day, when you got a good grade, etc, now she has nothing and you don’t tell her, so her mind makes up all the horrible things that could have happened to you between calls, resulting in what is practically an interrogation until she is satisfied that you’re truly as okay as you claim you are… Wow, that was one hell of s sentence,” Stiles ends his keen observation with a joke to lighten it up a bit, since he got way too into that.

Mike attempts to wade through the sea of words just slung to his head, before he realizes Stiles kind of has a point. He breathes: “How do you even know that?”

Stiles scratches his nose and shrugs: “I might be a bit of the mom-friend.” And Mike is reminded of the fact that Stiles is really weird with his friends and that he probably knows that because he does the exact same thing his mother does.

Next Sunday, he reports all this to the study group, which Stiles has had to skip out on, because someone called at midnight, which obviously meant Stiles immediately packed is bags and left, something that is more common than Mike would like.

“That’s a lot of friends,” Maya comments once he is done. “But it’s sweet he cares so much about them.”

“He cares mom-levels about them,” Mike points out. “I’m telling you, he got so intense while defending my mom, like it was personal.”

“So, he’s a bit intense about is friends,” Nikki shrugs. “One girl in my class is making a shrine to her boyfriend as a final project. We’re not at that level yet, so I think we’re good.”

“He took off in the middle of the night on a three hour drive, because someone called,” Mike replies.

“I don’t think it’s really any of our concern,” Aalif interrupts, before it can get out of hand.

“But what if they’re like a creepy cult or something?” Nikki asks.

Aalif levels her a look as he says: “I don’t think Stiles would get drawn into a cult.”

“You don’t know that,” she raises a brow. “It happens, even to smart people like Stiles.”

“He has a metal baseball bat by his bed,” Mike offers, not sure why he is backing Nikki in this debate.

“He does?” Maya asks, a bit concerned.

They all now look at Mike and he suddenly realizes that they’ve never been into their room, which is why he has become Stiles source number 1. He shrugs: “Yeah, he took it with him when he left for home tonight. It’s all damaged and shit, though I think some carvings are intentional. They look a bit like runes.”

Nikki raises a brow as she looks at Aalif and says: “But you don’t think Stiles could have joined a cult.”

“I don’t think a cult would have allowed him to leave for college, not to mention do criminology,” Maya offers. “I think he’s following a seminar about cults right now actually.”

“Okay, but even without a cult, still suspicious and weird,” Nikki huffs. “And it’s still a possibility, right, Mike?”

Mike startles a bit unsure how he got on the pro-cult side and not sure he isn’t agreeing. “I mean, he does have all these herbs and some weird books, but those could be from the library.”

And now they’re giving him more looks. Great. He puts his hands up defensively: “It’s not like I know, alright. Stiles never exactly cooks, maybe he just likes the smell of the herbs. And the books could be an aesthetic thing, though he keeps him under his bed in a box if they’re his.”

“What sort of books?” Kai asks after a beat.

“They’re leather bound. Old,” Mike shrugs. “I haven’t seen him with them much. He shoves them out of sight when I get in and the only times he hasn’t was when he thought I was asleep or very drunk.”

“Creepy,” Maya shivers.

“Come on, this is Stiles,” Aalif says. “He is not in some creepy cult. Do you all even hear yourselves? Seriously. Now, the midterms are coming up and I would like to get some passing grades.”

That gets a few boos and boring’s thrown at him, but Aalif doesn’t falter and they do all giggle a bit at the ridiculousness of Stiles in a cult. Before they can truly get anything done, Nikke snorts: “Maybe he tripped into it,” sending them all into giggles again.

It isn’t a joke anymore when Stiles reappears again on their Thursday fry run his face more bruise than skin and his hands both wrapped in bandages.

“Stiles!” Kai exclaims, already out of his seat. “What happened to you?”

“Hey there, guys,” Stiles attempts a grin, wincing at the action. “I’m good, I’m good.” He eases himself into their booth, wrapped fingers taking some fries and popping them into his mouth as the rest watches him with careful eyes. Of course he notices as he chews slowly, whispering to himself: “Knew Derek was right about the liquid diet. Fucker.”

“What happened?” Aalif asks when Stiles seems like he is going to ignore the whole situation that is his face and hands. “Stiles, if someone did this to do, you have to go to the police, file a report. You can sue.”

“Of course you’d say that, lawyer-man,” Stiles grins again, falling flat once more when his already split lip, re-splits and starts to bleed. “Ah, fuck,” he hisses, grabbing a napkin to press against it as he makes a disgruntled face.

“Stiles,” Nikki snaps.

“What?” he replies as if it’s not incredibly obvious.

Mike surprises himself by jumping in: “What the hell happened to you, man?”

It dawns on Stiles that they’re not letting it go and he sags a bit in his seat. Then says: “Nothing, I promise. It was just an accident, really.”

That’s just a thousand red flags there and Maya takes the lead for them, putting a hand on Stiles shoulder and saying in a soft voice: “We’re not going to judge you, promise. But right now, not knowing is so much worse.”

“Derek told me not to come,” Stiles sighs after a moment. “I knew it was stupid, but I wanted to come. I mean, he only had Boyd and Erica with him, because all the others were too far away. That wasn’t enough.”

“What were they doing?” Nikki asks, unable to keep her mouth shut and be patient.

Luckily, Stiles isn’t silenced by it. “Derek lives on the preserve, it’s in the middle of the forest and something was killing the animals. It was a mountain lion, we have a lot of animal attacks. They wanted to take it out before it moved into the town.”

Mike remembers Stiles telling him Erica was a park ranger, but Boyd was a carpenter and he knew nothing about Derek, which is weird on its own. Stiles loved bragging about his friends, or would casually comment about them or pick up the phone with their name on his lips, but Mike had before now heard the name Derek only once.

“Of course I tripped over a few branches in the dark,” Stiles laughs self-deprecatingly. “I should have known better. I’m a klutz, you know. Though I did get a hit in, before I went down in a not so glorious blaze of branches and a curse.”

“You hit a mountain lion?” Kai whisper yells.

“Yeah, with my bat,” Stiles shrugs, like it’s a normal thing.

“Dude, are you insane?” Mike asks.

“Oh, okay, I see what’s happening here,” Stiles backs up, like they didn’t make sense before now. “I didn’t want to admit I fell, because it’s embarrassing as fuck. And like, I know I’m clumsy, but after all the running away from shit trying to kill me, one would think I’d have gotten better at it, but noooo. I am surrounded by people who can do crazy shit, while I hit my head on a fucking branch, because why not.”

“Stiles!” Nikke cuts him off. “Running away from things trying to kill you? What the hell.”

“I was getting there,” Stiles says, though it’s obvious to all of them that he was getting further and further away from the point. “When I was in high school there were all these murders in town. My friend was targeted at one point, I got caught up in it. Nothing makes a friendship like getting locked into a school and running from a crazed murderer or holding someone up in a pool for two hours. It was a whole thing. Plus my father is the sheriff.”

“What the fuck,” Nikki voices the shared sentiment after a moment to process.

“Wait, here I have proof,” Stiles taps away on his phone, before showing a news article with the tagline reading: Five teens trapped in high school with murderer still on the loose

After letting them read it, he puts his phone in his pocket and proudly says: “We’re having a project about crimes in our hometown right now and I have an advantage over the rest.”

“That’s- That’s not-” Maya stutters. “…Stiles…”

“What?” he says confused, as if what he just bragged about isn’t heartbreaking. God, no wonder he’s a bit fucked from it all. Mike would want to know if all his friends are okay if he nearly saw them all killed alongside him.

“Are you, like, okay?” Mike asks.

“Probably not, like in general,” Stiles tells him honestly, “but I am really fine. As fine as I get anyway. Derek says I have to work on that, but he’s not the boss of me and I actually am doing better. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this, sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” Maya smiles kindly. “We just want to know you’re okay. Thanks for trusting us with that. Did you get those wounds checked out?”

“I did,” he returns her smile. “Got a clean bill of health and everything. Dad wouldn’t let me drive back before that.”

“Good,” Aalif says.

They’re all quiet for a moment, before the thing that has been niggling on his mind comes out. He asks: “Who is this Derek person anyway?”

Stiles regards them all for a moment, before saying: “I don’t think we reached that level of friendship yet. Sorry. Like, you’re all my friends and stuff and I like bragging about my other friends to you, but I don’t know.”

“What?” Mike exclaims as Nikki points out: “You just told us you nearly got murdered, but telling us about a friend is a step too far?”

“You know, that is actually a good point,” Stiles says. “I must still be a bit lightheaded from everything, I normally don’t tell people that.”

“Should we take you to a hospital? Kai asks worriedly.

“No, no, I’m kidding, I think,” Stiles jokes, before quickly adding, “I am truly kidding, please don’t take me to a hospital. God, no one appreciates my humor.”

“Stiles,” Aalif sighs tiredly when Stiles deftly gets them on a different topic than Derek.

“Derek is my husband,” Stiles finally tells them, shutting them all up as they stare at them with their jaws on the floor. That explains Stiles trips home and lack of partying or otherwise getting laid, he had a whole fucking husband waiting for him at home.

None of them could know that Stiles’ reluctance to talk about Derek and his relation is that as a prominent alpha, broadcasting that they were ‘mated’ (and yes, Derek, that term is still weird to a human) isn’t really smart. Especially after everything that had already come to Beacon Hills.

“Y- Your husband?!?” Kai squeaks.

“This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you all,” Stiles groans. “You can’t imagine the rumor mill at home when it happened, like seriously, people were acting like I was signing my life away to the devil or something.”

“Why?” Maya asks and Mike has to agree. Marriage so early isn’t exactly uncommon, it just took them by surprise this time. What would make this different.

“I-” Stiles looks genuinely sheepish, “I might have gotten him arrested for a murder he didn’t commit and stuff. But that was like, what? Two, three years ago.”

Immediately their table exploded, voices overlapping, because – again – what the fuck.

“He didn’t do it!” Stiles exclaims, shutting them all up. “He was framed. Set up. Look, I know he wasn’t the killer. Derek saved my life, like a bazillion times at this point. I love him.”

Despite the bruises, the look on his face is quite clear with love oozing off of it. Like full on, ‘Disney princess, soulmate, found the one’-love. It’s a bit disgusting in Mike’s terribly single opinion.

“Well, then I want to see him,” Nikki demands. “You can’t tell us you got swept off your feet by a mysterious would be murderer and not expect us to want to see him.”

Stiles shoots them all a suspicious look, which is pretty rude all things considering, but Mike lets it slide in favor of satiating his curiosity. Then Stiles pulls out his phone, showing them a sequence of pictures that said more than words could.

It’s obviously their wedding day. They’re both in full suits, standing in a forest with the sunset hitting them, putting them in a glow of light. Derek is apparently a handsome, muscled man, who screams not bad boy as much as serial killer.

The first picture is pretty standard. They’re looking at each other, Derek’s bad boy vibe killed by the fact that he is smiling softly at Stiles, who is smiling back. Derek’s smile is toothachingly fond in a way that Mike feels in his chest.

In the second picture, the murder vibes are back in full force, with Derek glaring at Stiles, who looks like he’s saying something, his face smug like it’s an inside joke, his hands up to gesture like he always does.

Then, in the last picture, Stiles has Derek’s cheeks between his hand, face contorted in something Mike would call a coo, if Derek didn’t look like the kind of guy who would allow anything resembling a coo being directed at him. Though, Mike might have to rethink that assumption, because while Derek is raising one murderous eyebrow, the smile has returned again.

“I am his favourite annoyance,” Stiles announces proudly. “It’s wonderful how much bugging someone can do.”

And all of them would have guessed Derek was the one, who had pursued Stiles, but here Stiles is, telling them all about how he is a master at befriending people and Derek honestly needed someone to tell him how horrible he was at decorating or socializing, before fixing it for him.

Beside him, Nikki mutters: “Dear god, he has an ‘I can fix him’-mentality. We’re doomed.”

“I heard that!” Stiles exclaims indignantly, though he doesn’t deny it per se. But when Nikki’s soda arrives, it explodes in her face and Mike would almost suspect Stiles had something to do with it if he had to go off the smug look.

They drop the topic of Stiles injuries and apparent husband, for the evening, which Stiles seems grateful for at least, before catching him up on campus gossip. Still, they keep their eye on him and it’s hard to forget with his face all fucked up.

When they leave, Maya leans in and whispers to Mike: “Keep an eye on him for us, okay?”

He nods quickly, before hurrying after Stiles, who is yelling at him to hurry or he’ll drive back without him.

Mike also keeps his word, so when Stiles’ phone starts to ring, he pretends to be engrossed in his book, while secretly keeping an ear on Stiles’ conversation. He usually doesn’t listen in, unless something is so weird it breaks through his mental barriers, but he feels like this can be an exception.

“Hey there, big guy,” Stiles greets, voice much gentler than Mike ever remembered it being.

“Yeah, worrywolf, I’m fine,” Stiles tells whoever is on the other side. “Dad wouldn’t have let me drive otherwise and neither would you for that matter. You checked me yourself before letting me go, quite thoroughly I might add.”

And that last part is definitely an innuendo, dear god, Mike did not want to know that. However, it is confirmation that it’s Derek on the line, so he listens even harder.

“I know I overdid it, but no one got hurt except a few bruises on me,” Stiles argues. “And I get hurt even when I’m not in danger, you know how doors and the air are my biggest enemies. Come on, Derek. If it was bad, I would have told you. We promised remember? You made it part of our vows, because you are a complete softie.”

Okay, Mike isn’t going to lie, that’s actually pretty cute and he slightly hates that he’s becoming team Derek when all he knows is that he was (falsely) arrested for murder and married to Stiles, who comes running home when called on.

“I promise not to run into danger again,” Stiles tells Derek. “Well, I promise not to run needlessly into danger again and honestly one could argue that this time wasn’t needlessly, because you are my damsel in distress as much as you want to cast me in that roll.” A beat. “Yes, I will never let you forget the pool, we discussed this.”

“Yes, Derek, I always take care of my wounds,” Stiles rolls his eyes. “I’ll even send you picture updates and call you every day. How does that sound?”

Oh god, Derek is actually a concerned boyfriend – excuse me, husband – who needs updates and called the day Stiles left because he was worried. Mike is never going to be able to tell the others that without it turning into a riot.

“Great, because I am going to bed,” Stiles says. “Midterms are coming up and while spending time with you is a hundred times better, I actually need to pass these if I ever want to get a degree. So, goodbye, I love you.”

A bit of silence, then a very love-filled chuckle: “Of course I’m going to think of you. I always sleep better with you, you know that. Now bye. Love you, again and always.”

Fucking hell, Mike is going to die of a toothache, caused by his happily married roommate, which is honestly where his life is at right now.

Though, Mike can honestly live with a weird roommate. It’s a source of entertainment and he now can rest knowing Stiles has someone watching out for him, preventing him from going off the deep end, which was an honest concern.

Stiles is weird, but with what Mike knows, he’s allowed to be a bit strange and he honestly doesn’t want to know more than he does.

~~

A/N:

Disclaimer: I am not shitting on parties, if you like them, go nuts. I just don’t drink and hate social interaction, so I wouldn't know how to write a good party scene even if I wanted to, lmao.

Idk how well it came through, but Stiles is magic and burned his hands while overdoing it in the fight he got injured in. He also totally exploded Nikki’s drink as petty revenge, his herbs are also related to magic.

[accio-victuuri]

I unfortunately saw an anti post on x which is not surprising tbh - about one of my fave og bxg fansite GlobalFever全球热丨0805x1005. i am very sensitive when so/os attack cpf fansites and accuse them of things because these jiejies work their asses off and pay real money to give us free content. so they are saying GF is from XZ’s team because they managed to obtain wardrobe fitting shots of XZ as Shiying. therefore they are an “insider” and really here for XZ and not WYB. going as far as to say that she is from XZ’s team.

this is a classic example of solo’s ignorance and usual tactic of taking something mundane and turning it into a some dark narrative. like, don’t talk about a cpf fansite, you are not even in this fandom so don’t say shit and stay on your lane.

here’s the thing. what they don’t know is she also had HD shots on set of WOF (p2) or maybe they saw it but ignored it to setup the narrative they want.

what if one day she decides to share costume fitting photos of ruolai? and then what? these could also have been obtained from a third party who sold it off. this is not new. but of course solos love the conspiracy and would love to make big name cpf personalities look bad.

yes she is an insider as you can see she has access to events like how the press would. there are also multiple photos at different events where they are looking straight into the camera like they recognize her. GF has been a fan and has supported them in more tangible ways than all of the toxic stans on x combined so sit down and shut your mouth. yibo wouldn’t even recognize or acknowledge you if he sees you at an event.

and it’s so offensive how they are claiming that GF is from xz team and in that statement is also implying that she don’t give a fuck about yibo. how about all the birthday projects? all the movie screenings she sponsored for yibo movies? not to mention the multiple public welfare projects she funded. of course they won’t say that. they want clout, so they must post something controversial about a fandom they are not even part of. pathetic. honestly. i don’t even think about hating on FLUOXETINE or Nebula85 which are WYB solo fansites. why would i even do that? 🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️ i can never understand how their brain works tbh.

so yeah, moral of the story is that majority of “hot takes” on places like x are bullshit. especially if it’s by someone who is not even part of the group. toxic solo accounts on there and actually any platform will rot your brain. i’m just sorry for the people who read their garbage and are tricked by them.

and people wonder why a lot of fans prefer to be cpf. this is why. we have lovely fansites and fanworks that keep us busy. we don’t get satisfaction from other people’s misery. we’re just here for xz and wyb. ♥️💚

[d-apperc-adaver]

PART I

warnings: n/a, no there will be no smut, but spicy things will HEAVILY will be hinted at. sorta

plot: this chapter is more of a buildup. frustrated hopelessly in love gn reader :)

Thinking about Beetlejuice’s love life made you filled to the brim with rage. This havoc created by Delores and thinking about his past with her…lit your fuse.

It was quite obvious. You were tapping your finger obnoxiously on the table thinking about it.

And now he also has the nerve to say that Lydia was the love of his life?!! Damn that man! Damn him! Eternally!

Superficial deals for his own benefit. Or so at least you tried to convince yourself.

He was outright ridiculous at this point. The Beetlejuice you knew would’ve moved on already. And you know Beetlejuice.

You saw the man have an Elvis phase, get a fixation on speology, teach you medieval languages, lie that his middle name was Pete because he lost his shit when he heard Louis Armstrong sing Cuban Pete.

You always stayed. Just to be seemingly made out of cellophane when you tried to talk to him about anything relationship related thing. Didn’t matter whose problems were. If it weren’t about something he did in the past, a rendezvous, he would avoid it like a devil running away from holy water.

Everything made you internally explode.

He drove you crazy.

And you kept tap tapping at the surface of your table, the poor thing might just get a dent.

But the thing is, why did you even care about his poor “love choices”. Why did you put up with this then organise a mental pity party, “it should’ve been me! ME!” for yourself?

Fair enough he talked a good chunk about them and about how what a catch he is, but still. You accepted his way of being when you took the commitment of being his friend. A gross, perverted, ridiculous in every capacity and disgustingly charming ghost.

And you loved it. You were in absolute awe with his way of being.

You don’t quite remember when you started to fancy him. But in moments like this you sure do wonder why the feelings remained.

You really wished he would have seen more in you but unfortunately you seem to not have bewitchingly cursed enough eyes or some other bullshit.

But with the sound of your thoughts growing louder and louder and getting thrown off by your own feelings that you wanted gone and substantial amount of jealousy, you got back to work.

I mean. Doing him a favour. Sorting leftover business flyers..yeahhhh.

Ironically enough this was the fuel to all of your fire.

If you could say so.

“Looking for a…

LOVE CONNECTION?”

“DEAD-ICATED TO FINDING YOUR MATCH?”

It’s as if you could smell the cheap candles, satin robes and rose petals right in your face.

Makes sense to get angry at a lovey dovey flyer he planned on sending to any woman, VERY MUCH preferably a breather he would have to “woo” to do that weird wedding ritual, in his close proximity. I mean he already went ahead and conjured one for Lydia. But the worst part of this is that he seemed to have more of a romantic obsession with her now rather than his just do it for his own freedom. Ew.

So while doing that. You tried your best to keep your mind quiet from the suppressed feelings for Beetlejuice out of all ghosts, and moved to the normal classic good ol “TROUBLE WITH THE LIVING” flyers. You packed them up neatly in boxes, hell even put labels on them.

You got up from the table with a loud sigh of relief of finally getting away from things that reminded you of your adoration for the demon (oh how you’d love to just staareee all day into those big blue eyes) and rising your head up you were met with a horrifying:

“What’s got your panties in a twist hun?”

———————————————————

Hope u enjoyed the fanfic ♡´･ᴗ･`♡ thx for reading through

I’m cooking up a part two…

EDIT: THE TAGS!! How could I forget the tags… gee. I’m stuid :P

[gangles-toybox]

random dumb tiktok bullshit

So in sophmore year whilst I was reading The Catcher in the Rye for the first time, of course I looked it up on TikTok. This one person made a really good argument for just the depth of how creepy Mr. Antolini was, pointing out how Holden got so goddam tired all of a sudden after drinking his coffee & how he threw up later.

I think that was the first video I saw from this person and then I went to their profile to see if they had anymore videos about citr if I remember correctly. I believe it's deleted now(although I could be wrong, but last I remember I couldn't find it) but they did have another video abt citr.

It was...well about them claiming that Holden is a groomer himself towards Phoebe. I remember some ppl in the comments were like "god forbid you love your siblings" or somethin and the op was like "it's weird to compare your sister to everything beautiful" and another pointed out how Holden was groomed by Mr. Antolini and the op said "that's what makes his character interesting, he got groomed & he is a groomer" or something.

Personal opinon? Bullshit. I haven't read the entire book in a while, but that is complete bullshit. To me, it makes complete sense why he would compare everything beautiful to Phoebe, because she represents pure childhood innocence yk? Idk, it just feels like making a mountain over something that's nonexistent. God this just feels like the whole "Pomni is kid-coded through her posing!" thing all over again but for classic lit lol.

[alder-saan]

His sister...

Larissa x normie! fem! reader

OKAY this is the second time I post it bcz... well that was a wip and I posted it... I hate myself right now. Anyway I have to re-wright it. All of it. But that's okay :) (no that's not I wanna end myself)

Warnings : smut (that's the first time I write smut lol (the second as I already wrote this fic)) (the smut isn't with Larissa)

You are Larissa's brother's wife.

word count: ~3000

(I know this will look a bit like Mme Bovary, but... well, it's not a classic of French literature for nothing)

You had married Philip Weems two months earlier. You didn’t love him. He was eleven years older than you, and not really your type. In fact you didn’t really choose to be his wife and to live in his house. Your father and him wanted to reunite their companies, and you were only there to make it look less commercial. You were here to give an heir. Lovely mission, you were not a woman anymore, you were a baby machine. He had flirted with you before you took the deal, probably to build up your confidence and make it easier for you to accept the situation, but now that you were his, he didn't pay any attention to you.

In his big house, your life was boring. You didn't have a degree, school was never really for you and because your father was rich, you never had to work. So naturally you had resumed reading. It allowed you to live a different life through the eyes of all the characters. And all day long you would read more and more of those mushy novels, dreaming of a life that was no longer available to you. You also started writing, but without telling anyone. It was a bit of a secret. You wrote the romantic stories you imagined all day. And then every day you went out to see your friends in a café in your neighbourhood.

“I promise, Jess’, he doesn’t bother me. I mean, he’s respectful. And I don’t need to work. A win is a win.”

Your friend Jessica narrowed her eyes.

“You sure ? I mean… you always told me you wanted to marry the love of your life when you’d find him.”

“I was younger, Jess’. I don’t believe in this bullshit anymore.”

Yes, you did believe it. You wanted to cry about it. You wanted to know Love. The Real Love. You wanted to meet him by accident in a library, or in a hostel, on the other side of the world. You wanted him to be young, at the same age as you, and you wanted him to love you.

You also wanted to work, to earn your own money.

“Respectful, okay but is he good?” Mary asked

“He is kind, if this is your question.” You pretended not to understand.

“You know what I mean, Y/N.”

“Not really, I doubt he is really interested in me. I mean I am probably too young for him. We just do it because that was a part of the contract, but he never makes me finish. Anyway I don’t need him for that.”

“You don’t love him and he doesn’t look after you. What a nightmare…” Jessica said.

“That’s not that bad. I don't have to worry about money, I have all my days to myself. I can look after myself.“

That wasn’t a positive thing in your opinion. You wanted to be independent. You wanted to be able to do whatever you could want. This made you feel like you were an object, some kind of trophy that he could show off at the parties you attended. You were there to be beautiful and to be silent. 

No, the real positive thing was that you now understood your mother, and why she left you when you were a child. Your father always told you she was a bad mother and she didn’t love you. And before you got married, you were mad at her. But you knew, now you were married to a man you didn’t love. She didn’t love you, but she probably never wanted this marriage nor a child. You were thinking of leaving once you'd given Philip a child, the way she did before.

You wanted to find her, and to talk to her. You wanted to know the story of her life, of her marriage to your father. You also wanted to tell her that you understood her, and that you were no longer angry at her for abandoning you. If she hadn't wanted to be your mother, you wanted her to be your friend, because you were going through something she had gone through too..

“Alright girls, I gotta go. See you tomorrow!” You waved at them and left the café after paying for your drink.

It was time for you to go back to your home. Your husband would be home in less than half an hour. You had to help Livia cook. It wasn't in the contract, but you wanted to do it. Livia, although she spoke very little English, made you feel less lonely. She spoke to you in her half-Spanish English about her travels with her family. Even though she often told the same stories, you liked to hear her talk about places you had never seen. Especially when she talked about the sea of clouds over the Sierra Madre. You dreamed of going there. She told you that when she came back to visit her parents, she could take you there. But you knew your husband wouldn't let you go... And then you helped her to speak better English, she had made progress in the last two months. She taught you Spanish too, but for now, the only things you could say were "Soy Y/N, no me gusta mi marido" and some names of foods and ingredients.

Then, your husband would go home, and you would have dinner. He would watch tv, and the both of you would go to bed, and you would have to fuck. 

Soon, he would fall asleep next to you.

And every night, after that, you used to imagine another man. Sometimes it was an explorer who would tell you about his many journeys, a writer who would make you read his most intimate texts, a painter who would take you for his muse... 

But that night, he was a sailor. A handsome sailor you would have met in the inn where you were working. He would have asked for a room for the night and a meal. And while you were serving him, he would have made a few passes at you, to which you would have responded by teasing him. If at the beginning, it would have been innocent, you would have quickly come to the point where he would have proposed you to spend the night with him, at the end of your service. To which you would have replied with a "maybe", but as soon as your boss allowed you to leave, you would have knocked on his door.

“I was wondering when you’d come…” he would tell you.

Then he would take your waist and hold you close. You would kiss him, and it would become wilder as his hands would travel to your ass. He would gently but firmly push you against the wall.

“You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.” He would whisper. You would know that was a lie, but you wouldn’t care. And he would know it.

He would kiss your neck while undressing you. And when you would be completely naked, he would sit you on the bed and spread your legs to kiss your inner thighs, then your clit. He would lick your arousal and you would moan his name.

In your bed, you were circling your clit, legs spread, a hand massaging your breast. You imagined his head facing your wet pussy, saying you were tasting divine, his hands all over your body, caressing your skin. You were already so close and as he would ask you to hold on a little, you waited a few seconds before allowing you to come. 

Next to you, your husband was sleeping.

Soon, you fell asleep too.

The sun was brushing your skin, slowly warming it. You opened your eyes. You were alone in your giant bed. Philip was already gone. You heard the clock striking nine. He used to leave the house near seven o’clock. You stretched your arms and legs and yawned. Watching towards the window, you could see the blue sky. This day promised to be good. You quickly showered and dressed up. Something simple. Black tights, dark skirt, white shirt. A safe bet. But to add a small personal touch, you clipped a blue tit pin on your shirt. 

You always liked blue tit. Firstly because they were cute. A tiny bird, yellow and blue, with a kind of large eye liner and white cheeks. Secondly because you wished to go to Europe once. You wanted to travel to Austria, or Germany, and this Eurasian tit symbolised this dream.

Maybe one day you would quit New Hampshire.

Something on the dresser caught your eye. Some 50 dollar notes had been put there by your husband. He had written a message on a piece of paper: "so you can go shopping today, we have a guest for lunch".

You frowned and crumpled the paper. So he wanted you to look good with his guest, uh? 

“I’m not a teen who needs pocket money.” you grumbled. 

You put on black shoes, music in your earphones, and went out of the house. In the streets, the sun was warming the asphalt, and your steps led you almost automatically to the little café bakery in which you usually  bought your breakfast.

Opening the door, a smell of butter, sugar and vanilla reached your nostrils. By 9 am, not many people were left. But you would have noticed her in a crowd of thousands of people. She was sitting on a chair, a big cup of hot chocolate and a croissant on the table in front of her. Her blonde hair in a perfect updo, she wore a clear blue dress. She was looking at the window, her phone in one hand. She was so tall… Your mouth went dry when you noticed her red lipstick as she turned her head towards you. She had caught you staring in the glass reflection. She gave you a smile, and you were sure your cheeks became as red as her lips. You turned your head to the counter to order, removing your earphones.

Were you just staring at a woman?

Did she just smile at you?

You glanced over your shoulder. She was still looking at you, her blue eyes fixed on you, crossing her legs. She took a sip in her cup.

“Hot…” you whispered.

“Excuse me, Y/N?” the waiter asked.

“Yes-yes, Nicolas, er, I-I want a-a hot chocolate please. And… and, er… a profiterole please. Takeaway.”

“Ready in a second.”

You couldn’t stand her look, it made your knees go weak. Was it what Jess called a “gay panic?”. You had to know and tipped a message.

: Hey, Jess

: What exactly is a gay panic?

She was quick to respond.

J: When you look at a girl and you want to like… kiss her. Immediately. And you can’t function properly bcz you think about her kissing you.

J: Why?

: There is this woman at Nic’ and Jane

: I never felt like this for a woman.

: She’s so beautiful, I want her lipstick on my lips and on my throat right now.

J: Oh my god

J: You’re gay!

: Am I?

J: You ARE.

“Y/N?” Nicolas said.

“Uh? Yes, it’s me”

“I have your hot chocolate and your profiterole.”

“Thanks”

“Is everything okay? You seem distracted…”

“Yeah, I’m fine, thank you. Is it okay if I pay later? I forgot my wallet at home.”

“Of course, whenever you want.”

You took the paper bag he handed to you and went out of the café-bakery. The fresh air was really needed. You put your earphones back on.

Who was she?

You had never seen her. 

Walking the street, you arrived in the big park in which you always ate your breakfast. Your favourite place was in a sort of hidden place, under a badly pruned weeping willow. There was a bench, and a little pond in which ducks used to swim when you were a kid, but now, there were only frogs left. Sometimes, a grey heron you named Alex was fishing in it. A grey heron in New Hampshire. That was the local attraction. It escaped an aviary two years ago and settled up in the park. No one tried to catch it. And now, it was the star of the neighbourhood's children, who often tried to find it. Sometimes, when it was in the pond, you would talk to it, as if it could understand what you were saying. And for the only answer, Alex would keep fishing, at the other side of the pond.

But this day, no Alex in the pond. And the frogs were happily jumping in the grass. The sunshine passing between the branches of the willow tree made thousands of small sun spots on the now shimmering  water. You wiped the bench full of willow leaves with your hand and sat there.

While drinking your hot chocolate, you thought about this woman, in the café bakery… 

You wanted to see her again…

You had just finished your hot chocolate and ate your pastry when you heard footsteps in your back. You hoped no one would pass the curtain of leaves which hid you from the world. You liked to be alone, daydreaming about people you would never see again… Shit, they entered your secret garden. You sighed.

“What a pleasant surprise!”

You turned your head. That was her. She was there, next to you. Your eyes widened, your cheeks went red.

“Hi-uh… Hello.” You managed to say.

“Y/N, isn’t it? Can I sit here?”

“Y-yes, of course. How-how do you know my name?”

“I heard the waiter say it.” She sat, smiling at you. “My name is Larissa.”

“Larissa…” you whispered. Her name was quite unusual, and you liked it, you liked the way it sounded. You couldn’t look at her so you just fixed the water.  But in your peripheral vision you saw her smirk.

“And I paid your order.”

You turned your head towards her. Big mistake, now you couldn't take your eyes off hers.

“Oh no, you shouldn’t have…”

“And you should have sat with me in the bakery. I’m glad I found you.”

“Wh-why?”

Her look went down on your lips. You felt your cheeks warming.

“I don’t know” she said “I thought you could show me a good time…”

“I-I want to pay you back.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But I want to.”

“Mh, if you really want to, there is something you could do.”

“And what is it?”

Her hand approached your cheek. You held your breath. Was she about to kiss you? Your heart hammered in your chest as she stared again at your lips. 

“I-I am a married woman.”

She froze. You held your breath. The wind blew and some willow leaves fell on you, the frogs and the pond.

“I’m sorry. I think I misunderstood your signals” She gave you a soft smile.

She started to pull her hand away from your cheek but you held it back.

“No you didn’t. I-I just thought that was unfair not to tell you.”

“I don’t understand…”

“That’s not a love marriage. I don’t love him, he doesn’t love me.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry.”

You shook your head. You didn’t like this pity gaze on you.

“Don’t. That’s okay.”

“You know, I was almost forced into a marriage, so I think I can understand what you feel.”

Her? Her, forced into a marriage? You suddenly felt understood, and safe with her. She took your hand.

“My former fiancé learnt I wasn’t a normie and refused the marriage.”

“What do you mean by a normie? You mean straight?”

“Yeah, I mean straight.” She didn’t want to tell you she was an outcast.

“To be honest I learnt I wasn’t today.”

“Am I your gay awakening?” Her smile grew bigger as you nodded.

She kissed you. Her lips were soft. Both of her hands on your cheeks, yours were on her hips. She left a last kiss on your cheekbone and smiled.

“How about a walk? Maybe you could show me the city.” She said.

“Of course, follow me.” You smiled.

You stood up and the both of you came out from under the willow.

“What was yours?” you asked, leading her on a path in the park.

“My gay awakening?”

“Yes”

You looked at her looking at the big trees. 

“My brother’s first girlfriend. He always had good tastes in women. By the way, are you from this town? Because I’m visiting him, and he said he would send me the address but he seemed to have forgotten. Can’t blame him, he has a lot of work.”

“Yes, of course, I live in the neighbourhood. I might know him, what’s his name?”

“Philip Weems.”

You frowned. What did she say?

“I didn’t hear, can you repeat, please?”

“His name is Philip Weems.”

That was official, you just kissed your husband’s sister. What were you supposed to say? Was she the guest for lunch? 

“Are you okay? If you don’t know where he lives, that’s okay.”

“I know where he lives.”

“Good morning Mrs Weems” a gardener said.

“Goo-good morning, Mr Johnson. How are you today?” you replied.

Larissa frowned. Did she know him?

And you cursed him for saying that right now.

“I’m fine, and you?”

“I’m fine.”

And he continued sweeping the path beside you.

“Mrs Weems, uh? You’re Philip’s wife.”

“I am.”

She chuckled.

“That only makes you more attractive…”

_______________________________________________

Hope you enjoyed <3

[literaticat]

Publishing aunty please help. Need advice, not publishing related.

What do you do when you're just tired, feeling unfulfilled and want to run away from everything? :( 

That sounds like a classic case of Burnout to me, though it could be combined with something else -- like Depression, or even a medical problem.

(For example, at one point a couple years ago, I was absolutely exhausted for no discernable reason and burst into tears at the drop of a hat -- I chalked it up to "winter blues" and ignored it -- come to find out, eventually, I had severe anemia and my body was not absorbing iron at all and actually it was an autoimmune disorder and became a Whole Thing! Uh... oops!)

This article from the Cleveland Clinic gives a lot of advice about what to do about Burnout -- but the most salient points, I think:

Be gentle with yourself. Everyone goes through it sometimes. You aren't a failure, you're going to be OK, you just have to take care of yourself before you can properly take care of anyone or anything else. So with that resolved:

TELL YOUR SUPPORT SYSTEM HOW YOU ARE FEELING. Keeping this stuff undercover is not going to help. Being honest with your friends/family/partner or whoever your "people" are will lighten your mental load AND they will want to help and support you.

Figure out what your stressors are and tactics to deal with them. Part of this will be linked to the previous part, probably -- For example, if you are burdened by too much work -- DELEGATE or ASK FOR HELP! You've told your support system what's up with you -- now tell them what you need to move forward.

Set Boundaries. If you're the type of person that says yes to everything and then you feel overwhelmed -- remember that it's OK to say NO. It's a good thing, actually. You'll be more "on" for the things that are actually important if you are able to protect your own boundaries and aren't wasting energy on bullshit things. I can't stress enough how important this is (and it's something I am always working on, because it can be tough!) -- but my life CHANGED when I made certain rules for myself and stuck with them. For example, mine: No checking email after 7pm or on weekends. At all. I gotta tell you, my life suddenly got a lot better. (I have forgotten this one recently, and my life has gotten markedly worse -- so I gotta get back to that!)

Go to the doctor. Yes, going to the doctor sucks! But they can make sure your bloodwork is OK, you aren't Vitamin D or Iron deficient, rule out any problems (like, I dunno, severe anemia)... etc etc. Like, step one of Self Care is knowing what your Self is working with. (And if you think you might actually be capital-D Depressed or have anxiety, etc -- ask for a referral to a psychiatrist to see about getting some medicine. IT WORKS!)

Practice Self-Care. Yes, that means the boring stuff like "hydrate" and "make you are getting enough sleep" and "eat your veggies" and "meditate" and whatnot -- but also, you want to "run away from everything"? DO IT. Take a vacation -- or even a staycation -- or even a DAYcation -- where you are literally not doing ANYTHING for anyone else, no email, no nothing. Get a pedicure with extra massage, sit in sunlight with your favorite drink, read a book or just think about NOTHING -- you have no responsibilities except to yourself during this time. It's rejuvenating!

Get toxic feelings out of your system. Find a therapist, if you can afford to do so. (There may be free or inexpensive options if you are a student, or with some insurance, some therapists have a sliding scale for patients, etc) A therapist can give you at least somebody to talk things out with who doesn't know you and isn't judging you. If that's not for you -- journal? Do something artistic? Go to a rage room? Climb a mountain and scream a lot?

Now you are on the road to being healthy, physically and mentally, you hopefully have less stress and are getting your forty winks and all that good stuff -- and hopefully you'll be MUCH better soon.

Good luck!

[odessa-the-anathema]

VERY MILD THRONE OF SECRETS SPOILERS THIS POST! (I'm almost done but I'm trying to hold off)

Okay y'all, I know I usually engage in fandom in a more serious and analytical manner. And I complain to myself about other people not engaging with this universe in an analytical enough way (even though there's nothing wrong with that, I'm just peculiar about things!) But I'm gonna let myself be silly for a second.

Silly KOTW and Prince of Sin thoughts!

Go listen to "Lavish" by Twenty One Pilots and think of the Envy, Lust, Gluttony trio. (I love them so much) Really listen to the lyrics towards the end for a little classic demon prince spice lol. It kinda works for all of them but ESPECIALLY that trio. (If someone made an animatic of this, you might very well have my hand in marriage)

I wanna see the demon princes + companions play Among Us. It would be really, really funny.

I also realized that out of all the card games, the Demon Princes can't play Bullshit. Except for Envy. But he can't even because that would reveal that he can lie.

I highly doubt it judging from what Sloth's reading tastes seem to be, but I like to imagine him and Emilia fangirling about their fav romance novels.

I can see Vittoria flirting with Val and Val being verrrry unnerved by it.

Head Canon: Val and Blade are going to hook up at some point. The forbidden nature of it is going to fuel Val's sin and Blade just isn't going to be able to help himself (Edit: I was HORRENDOUSLY wrong, Val indulging with the witch instead. YAY MORE LESBIANS!!! 🔥)

Another head Canon: Gluttony has used silk to make a little baby harness thing to carry dragon hatchlings in on his front. And been totally nonchalant about it. He's a prince, he's got things to do, also needs to keep an eye on the little ones.

I wanna see the demon princes play Jenga. Again, hilarity would ensue.

More on the way I assure you!

[mollyjames]

Sonny Boy is a really interesting to pick apart because it's one of those shows where you feel kinda dumb for not following what's happening, but everybody is saying things that sound confident and correct so you just kinda assume that you missed something, only to go back later and realize "oh, we're just bullshitting this, huh?" I think it's extra sneaky because the first few episodes are actually very good at setting up some weird sci-fi scenarios, and it's a fun puzzle to try and figure out what's happening, and all of the rules make a kind of cosmic sense in the same way that good Doctor Who is able to construct an episode around completely made up alien timey wimey nonsense but it all works because we can follow the explanation and it matches up with what we've watched. It's only about halfway through the show's plot folds into itself and collapses under the weight of its own silly nonsense- like bad Doctor Who.

I find this a lot more forgivable though because, for one, it's only 12 episodes, so the relative fallout really only impacts like... 3 and a half episodes. Maybe 4 total, if you add it all up. For another, at a certain point, Sonny Boy doesn't really care. It makes a token effort to continue the narrative, but it's really at its best when it gives up on explaining things and just... is. When it realizes that none of that really matters. And that lets it push its premise to its logical extreme and takes the show much much farther than you would expect for only 12 episodes.

It helps that I really like the ending. Sonny Boy is an isekai, of sorts, but I think it falls better into an older niche category called Portal Fiction. Classically, this is where you get stuff like The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe, Alice In Wonderland, The Wizard Of Oz, etc... I read a lot of Portal Fiction as a kid. It was my favorite genre, but my favorite part, the part that really got my brain bubbling, was the ending. See, one of the enduring qualities of Portal Fiction and isekai to an extent, is that it is transparent about the fact it is telling a story. We get engrossed in those stories in the same way the characters do, and at the end of the story the characters return to the Real World, and we are returned to real life. What the characters do at the end of the Portal Fiction informs what we were meant to take from it, but it's also the point where the characters feel the most real, the most complete. It never feels like it lasts long enough. It's what makes the last episode of Sonny Boy so brutal at first, and also so special. I finally got what I wanted.

There's more I want to talk about here... honestly if anything ever gets me to finally make the dreaded Video Essay (tm) it'll be this. I also think my own personal experience contributed a lot to my enjoyment. Confession time: I never vibed with FLCL. I've watched it through a few times; it just doesn't line up with my experience growing up, or what I was dealing with. Sonny Boy does. If there's one takeaway here, I guess it's go watch Sonny Boy. It's really shot up to being one of my favorite anime of all time. It's not gonna be for everyone, but I think the people who like it will really like it. And uh... don't feel like you have to understand it to get it.