#not sure what I did or didn't do but

[fincherly]

my gf was looking through wesker's wiki page (as you do) and sent me this

and i lost my shit bc it just seems like they're looking at him like girls look at a weird bug

[puraiuddo]

WAIT

WAIT

WAIT

(sjabhdhsjdja fyi i've retracted this post, but it was fun while it lasted lmao)

[wishfulsketching]

More

[leupagus]

Ted Lasso, the character, is one of the only representations of 'sometimes getting better with your mental health issues means that you are less visibly happy, and that is okay, because you are not required to be happy in order to be loved' out there and I am really discouraged that so much of the audience is angry at that.

[oldtvandcomics]

OK, one post about the US elections:

You are not the first ones that this is happening to.

I get that you are still under the first shock, but once you get out of it, I need you to remember that whatever is going to be happening in the next four years, it has happened in other countries. Then I need you to go and read up on those other countries, and try and learn from our mistakes.

I unfortunately don't have any resources, but I have been there when Orbán got elected in 2010, and have seen most of the things he did since. I have seen him rewrite the Constitution from the ground up and pass laws in ways that the opposition physically couldn't resist, I have seen him sell out every scrap of the commonwealth that he could get his hands on (schools, hospitals, EU money, you name it), kill independent media, turn the EU into a super evil boogeyman, and drag a different minority into the spotlight before every election to serve as the country's enemy. I have seen the way that people reacted, by looking only after their own interest and getting complicit in the system because it's the only way to survive and thrive. I have seen him getting elected and re-elected time after time.

So. Don't make Hungary's mistakes. I'm sure that some very clever person somewhere has made a comprehensive guide about what TF is going on in the Orbán regime. Read up on it. Read up on Russia, Nazi Germany, whatever you find.

And then, learn from those countries and the mistakes they made. You have a guide there that will help you deal with whatever Trump throws at you next.

[bixels]

While I do think anon was rude, I do think it's pretty shitty to set up all this stuff you were going to add the au and then just drop it. It's disappointing. Definitely unfollowing.

Bye.

[sergle]

talking about the topic of animated movies not Hitting, I accidentally reminded myself of one time on twitter, I think around the time that Raya came out?? I was poopooing on how much the dragon looks like elsa, and then talked about how I wish 2d animated and hand animated films were still The Medium instead of nothing but the highest resolution skin texture fur textured 3d animated films bc I'm tired of seeing it, etc etc and then someone who I was not mutuals with, they must've been someone working under the disney IP in some form, and must've either done some work on raya or just worked on 3d animated projects in general, replied to me SEVERAL TIMES as if I was subtweeting them, with something to the tone of "just say you hate me and you think my art is trash" and I think about that ALL the time

[utterlyazriel]

whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: here we go honeys. when me and aly (<3!) tossed this idea around months ago, this was the big question; how to do the reveal and what comes after. naturally it was as angsty as possible tehe <3 cw: canon typical violence

word count: 4.2k

synopsis: Azriel mourns a mistake that will haunt him for eternity as he races back to you. You play the leading role in one of your nightmares, but you can't seem to wake up.

CHAPTER SEVEN :: MATES

It's too loud and he can't think— that's the only coherent thing that Azriel can seem to grasp as he stumbles forward in the snow.

His shadows burst into a wild frenzy as he staggers towards the cabin door. It's not snowing here but the wind current is fast and wicked, tunnelling over the hilltop. His breath locks in his chest and even as he gasps, he can't seem to catch it.

It's too loud, too much— every single thought and feeling within him is just climbing over one another, overlapping, melding into each other so he can't tell where one ends and another begins.

Sadness, misery, torment, upset, anger. His emotions are thrown together with yours, a thousand afflictions all battling for his attention and he can't fucking think.

He shoves the cabin door open, falls through it, and it slams shut behind him.

Like a puppet getting its strings cut, all at once the noise... stops.

As though the very action of closing the door had managed to silence the bond between you and Azriel.

A different, very real fear suddenly burrows deep in his heart.

Still gasping for air, he shoves a hand against his chest and searches within himself desperately for that tether, his eyes crushing shut. For a moment, his heart hangs in the balance, teetering on the edge of agony.

And then— there.

Golden and rooted in his very soul, the bond that connects him to you. Only once he's found it does he release the breath captured in his lungs. He breathes an audible sigh of relief and shudders lightly, his knees giving out slightly.

He lets himself slump back against the cabin door as his scarred hand slips from his chest, his wings curling forward around himself. His head swims with the overload of new information, the first dregs of it only just sinking in.

You... were not the person you said you were.

...Was that such a bad thing?

Still breathing hard, Azriel's gaze turns to stare hard at his hands, their delicate scarring paining him nearly as much as the memory does. He thinks back to their origin.

Thinks back to a space too small for a growing boy, thinks of the darkness. He thinks of the never-ending misery that seemed to torment his life in a way he feared he would never escape.

It had taken a very long time for that fear to diminish in size; or perhaps, Azriel had just learned to grow around it.

But the cruelty of those mountains and the Fae that resided there was something he was intimately familiar with. The world up there, between the pines, was kill or be killed. Rise to the top of the food chain or spend every waking moment trying to figure out how to survive.

Isn't that what you had done? Learnt how to endure the conditions, to withstand the brute force of the winter and the merciless Illyrian way?

And wasn't that what he had done, all those years ago? Perhaps, the two of you weren't so different.

But his mind keeps snagging: liar, liar, liar.

Some vicious, prideful voice in his head makes a different point— he did it the right way. He didn't deceive anyone.

He fought for all he had, trained harder than any of his camp-mates to overcome every wretched obstacle in his way, earned his place at the top of the Blood Rite by being better, by working harder and winning.

Even with his... set back with learning to fly, he had still conquered it. He'd earned his place.

But… no, that wasn't right, was it?

He'd earned it, yes, but only because there was no other choice.

He had been kicked down at every possible chance, stalked for being born from a father who detested him and none of it was his fault. He'd earned his title as warrior but he had done nothing to reap every extra hurdle to get there.

Azriel had endured a great many terrible things in his life—and it took effort to recall that it wasn't fair. That it was an injustice he shouldn't have had to bear.

Sometimes, he hated how deeply ingrained the Illyrian way was within him. How it had changed him in the most unsavoury of ways, giving him an Illyrian pride that overtook his rationale at the worst of times.

It echoed out in the most unfamiliar of ways, like a hidden piece of himself he'd forgotten about— forgotten the person he'd needed to become to survive those camps.

So when Azriel thinks of the lie you've been hiding it, protecting yourself, the forgiveness is already there. It always was there. He could never had truly held it against you.

You had lied, yes, but as if there was any other way to survive. As if he could fault you for picking the option that let you fight, let you grow strong, let you keep your wings.

He remembers your words suddenly.

Please, I- I just wanted to keep my wings.

A sinister horror creeps up his throat and Azriel lurches forward, his forearms slamming against the cabin floor as his body forcibly retches. His stomach clenches tightly and bile floods his mouth but nothing comes out but his ragged breath.

How young had you been?

He knows to make your lie feasible it had to have been too young. Nine years old? Eight? He tries to recall the age that Lord Mylind said you started turning up trouble but it only succeeds in fueling the harrowing feeling that was running through his veins.

Azriel sags forward, his eyes drawing closed as he presses his forehead to the cool wood of the ground, trying to contain his growing dread. Still curled around himself, his wings quiver in the wake of his revelation. His shadows try soothe him, whirling down the planes of his neck.

You were pleading with him.

And... he had left you.

His stomach heaves once more, his breath a mixture of raspy pants.

It's impossible not to recount every single interaction you've had over the months, turning over every memory and seeing the other side of it with startling clarity.

The lone cabin, the outlier to the group. The tenseness in your shoulders when asked about the Blood Rite or your absences from training that Lord Mylind had spoken so crudely about.

Your drive to train and learn; the utter disappointment at the inadequacy of your tonics.

You had so much on the line, so much more than he ever could have imagined.

Azriel bites his cheek meanly as he recalls the conversation in which he asked why you hadn't completed in the Blood Rite. It makes perfect sense now; the exposure of the challenge was far too big of a risk and as a bastard, you would automatically be a target.

Even if you managed to succeed, which he had no doubt you could, the tattoos... removing your shirt...

All dead giveaways.

Your voice echoes in his mind.

Azriel, please, you have to understand—

You had begged him and he left you, he left you.

His body gives another awful retch, the horror of what he had done beginning to truly settle in. Gods, in a thousand ways you had been more trusting and vulnerable that he had ever known. Allowing him into your shelter, into your life...

Letting him get close to you, knowing that the closer he got, the more your secret threatened to reveal. And you let him anyway.

Azriel lurches to his feet, swaying for only a moment, his head reaching a clarity he so desperately lacked earlier.

He needs to go back. He should have fucking never left.

Somewhere between his ribs, there's an wallowing ache on the bond. A jolt of sharp pain.

Hand flying to his chest, Azriel stares at it and desperately prays to every god he can think of that he isn't too late to fix this. His eyes flick over to the Siphon on the back of hand, dim and lifeless. Drained.

Fuck. He snarls in his frustration. He can't even winnow back to you.

Turning and pressing back out the door, his boots smash through the snow outside for only a few steps— til he beats his mighty wings and takes to the skies.

Whether the bond had snapped for you or not, it didn't stop him from gripping that thread tightly and pouring every sincere intention down it. I'm sorry. I’m coming back. I’m sorry. I never should have left. I'm so fucking sorry.

He could only hope that you somewhere on the other side, connected to the same red string of fate, you could feel him coming back to you.

—

He's taking too long.

It's the thought that's stuck on loop, like a record that keeps skipping, repeating the same part over and over again. He's going as fast as he can and still, he knows he's taking too damn long.

As his wings strain from the long journey, the endless labyrinth of trees whirring past beneath him too fast to see, Azriel glimpses down at the siphons atop his hands.

They're still gleaming in that lacklustre way but there's more of a shine to them now. He can feel it too, the well refilling with a slow drip, the build up of his power.

His keen eyes scour the landscape, narrowed as he analyses the distance between here and Exordor. It's still far— it will stretch the reserve of magic that's barely begun to replenish but Azriel doesn't care. He'll do anything to reach you.

He squeezes his eyes shut, brow furrowing, and folds the fabric once more. The world spins as he pushes through the fabric of it, feeling the strain in his bones. The snowy entrance to your shelter comes into view.

He lands with a sickening crack, his knees bending to catch himself as he touches down, one heavy motion into the snow which spins up in a flurry. It's raining heavily, the drops coming down with a vehemence, creating a thunderous applause against the frozen ground.

Around him, the trees groan and shudder as they bow to the powerful energy. Birds take flight, cawing as they do. In the distance, there's a loud snap, carried with the wind.

Azriel stares right into the cabin.

His stomach threatens to lurch again at the sight. The door to your shelter is wide open.

His mate, where is his mate?

Stretching out the doorway, there are obvious signs of a struggle. The muddy snow has been kicked around, the boards nailed to the inside of the door are fresh with splinters, and... and...

The blood. Crimson, scarlet, fucking red blood coats the floorboards, a ghoulish splatter of it leading from your bed out the door, turning the slurry of melted snow a soft pink. He knows from the pull in his chest that you're not here.

This isn't just some attack. They haven't just ambushed you, they've... found out.

Where before he had felt terribly ill, bile rising, there is only icy and raging fury. In the distance, another snap sounds and his shadows beg him to pay attention to it, their whispers kissing at his cheeks. Water soaks his dark hair, stray raindrops rolling down his face.

Azriel ignores them and stumbles forward one, two steps and stops, his heart soaking in the reality of what had happened.

He had left you and they had taken you.

They found out and they hadn't killed you, they had— they had—

The snap in the distance. This time when it sounds, it yanks Azriel's attention, his head whipping towards where it's coming from. It's towards camp. Dread curdles up in his gut, latching onto each notch in his spine and burrowing deep.

Every instinct in his body roars into overdrive as he realises what it is he can hear in the distance — the crack of a whip against skin.

—

One of your nightmares has come to life, dragging from the murkiest parts of your mind and taking the treacherous form of Brudam.

You keep begging yourself to wake the fuck up.

It can’t be real— this can’t actually be happening, you think desperately, none of this was ever supposed to happen- you had- it was- you secret was something you guarded with your life.

"Wake up," You plead to yourself deliriously. Your wrists are already feeling chafed from where they're bound against the wooden pole, the steel that binds them cold as ice. The rain has soaked you to the bone.

"Wake up," You all but sob, trying futilely to pull against the restraints on your wrists.

It only succeeds in tugging on the stakes driven through your wings, a searing, fiery type of pain the ripples along every nerve in them. A sob scrapes up your throat, answering the pain's call. It hurts, it hurts, it fucking hurts in a way you haven't known before — everything, every cell in your body, is being tortured.

A shredding deep in your gut as though you've taken a fistful of claws to the stomach makes you seize, your vision flashing wildly. Even now, your cycle continues its bloody rampage. You can't stop crying, can't stop your body from convulsing in pure agony.

Somewhere behind you, your ear pick up the shifting in the mud, Brudam preparing to strike again.

Even sobbing, you tense up, unable to stop yourself—instinct drives you to hastily try tuck your wings, trying to pull them from their spread position. They catch on the stakes pinned through them meanly, the delicate flesh tearing with a sickening squelch and sending rivers of pain up into your body.

You cry out a strangled gasp, your head bowing further forward, trying to escape what's to come.

The blow rains down onto your unprotected wings all the same.

It's pure fire. Like they've doused the membranous skin of your wings with oil and set them ablaze, fiery hot pain licking at the tendons, tracing all the way up to your bare back. Your teeth grit to contain your scream. Tears streak down your face, lost in the thrum of the rain.

"Wake. Up." You demand to yourself again, panting heavily now.

You can't take much more pain or you'll be unconscious soon and some awful part of you knows, that's when they'll take your wings. You'll wake up midway to the worst nightmare of them all; the splintering sound of them cutting them off your body.

There's a boot pressed suddenly to your lower back, pressing meanly.

"Oh no, this isn't a dream," Brudam taunts as he leans down, all too happily. His tone shifts to something harder with his next words, nearly spitting the words. "I knew there was something off about you, you mutt."

His voice climbs to a shout, addressing the crowd gathered around you. "I always knew you were a FUCKING TRAITOR!"

There's a roar from the crowd, lead by the antsy group of warriors you've grown up and trained beside. All of them are eager to see justice delivered for your lies. None of them are pleased to have been duped, much less by a female.

They know, everyone knows. There's no coming back from this. Even if it weren't from the scent of blood from your cycle, your bound chest—revealed through your cut away armor— is proof enough.

Another convulsion rocks your body, the pain from your cycle making itself known. You're burning hot from every laceration on your skin and freezing cold from being bare in the icy rain. Your defence gets swallowed up in your pitiful whimper.

The mud behind you shifts again, Brudam no doubt winding up for his next hit.

You hold your breath, capturing the next sob in your throat. Your wings tug inwards, despite how you beg them not to, and your wrists ache as you try to wrench them free fruitlessly.

A sense of finality sinks in. You're going to die here.

A part of you feels like maybe you'd always known it would end like this, one way or the other. It's tired. So fucking tired of living in your intricate lie and spending each and every moment of your miserable existence on alert. On defence. Waiting for a break that never seems to come.

It's that part that can't, in any capacity, be truly upset at Azriel.

You can't resent him for leaving when you're the one who lied.

You can't regret him finding out, without regretting ever meeting him—and that means... regretting all the happiness you've truly felt.

But there's also an anger swirling within you, a rage that is as icy as it is hungry for vengeance.

Inexplicably, it feels unknown. Not your own. It starts somewhere in your chest and it only feels like it's getting bigger, growing in size, glowing hotter.

In the drone of the rain, blackness swims before your tired eyes as they begin to slip shut— only, no, they haven't closed.

The darkness is real and in front of you. It's surrounding you, curling up from under your captured arms. Despite the loud protests from your anguished body, you lift your head shakily. You're still quivering, quiet hiccups pushing out your lips.

"What are you doing, witch?" Brudam snarls from behind you, his boot on your back digging in harder. You wince, the motion dragging your wings against the splinters of the stakes. You shake your head, unable to form words.

It isn't me, you want to say.

But you're not entirely sure that's true either. The black plume is only around you, rising as though it is coming from you. Protecting you.

"Brudam!" A loud voice cuts across the rustling, nervous crowd, cutting through the din of the rain clear as night and sounding as deadly as venom. The courtyard falls into silence.

Your heart lurches up your throat. You know that voice.

Something within you cleaves in half, torn by opposite forces. On one side, there the mountainous evidence of your miserable life, of every thing that's worked against you time and time again. Of the fact that things don't work out for you, they never have. You're a fool to believe that would change now.

The other side... is a terrible, feeble hope.

Because he came back.

"Shadowsinger," Brudam greets with a sneer. The boot on your back shifts and then retreats, the warrior turning away from you. Agony tears through your body again and you hold your breath, shuddering through the silent pain with gritted teeth. A dangerous hope starts to cling to your heart.

"One chance," Azriel growls. The hair on the back of your neck rises at the promise of violence in his voice.

"Let her go."

Brudam snorts unattractively, forcing a bitter sounding laugh out. You focus on trying not to throw up as the pain fogs your brain, bile filling your mouth.

"Not fucking likely."

"Walk away." Azriel snarls his demand, sounding angrier than you've ever heard him.

"Over my dead body, bastard," Brudam spits back, the mud shifting as he digs his feet in, preparing to fight. His hand tightens around the whip in his hand.

There's a moment of silence, the wind carrying a whistle, the trees swaying as if leaning closer to listen in, two warriors sizing each other up in the pouring rain. Your ears strain for Azriel's response.

"Gladly."

And then the courtyard is doused in pure shadow.

—

Azriel moves without hesitation.

Illyrian warriors are fiercely trained to fight through every type of conditions, battling in the harshest of all seasons. Snow, sleet, rain, shine. They're disciplined to go days without sleep, to fight and win, even with one arm pinned behind their back.

But what defence is there against losing your sight?

Azriel hadn't even known his shadows were capable of such a thing. Their usual whirling expands in a blink of an eye, spreading out into a storm-cloud of blackness that drapes itself across the landscape. People murmur and bleat in fright as it creeps out deathly fast, snuffing senses and blinding everyone in the courtyard except him.

Like Rhys' own cloak of darkness, of midnight — but no, it's not night, it's shadow.

Azriel doesn't dwell on it, doesn't hesitate. Not when there's still territory, still enemies, in the space between him and you.

There's a ripple of unease from the warriors but Azriel's already advancing, the shadows beneath his boots silencing the shift of his feet. Through the darkness, Brudam gives himself away with an animalistic snarl and leads Azriel exactly to his his target.

He swings powerfully and Heartstriker does what it does best—aims true.

The bones in Brudam's shoulder makes a horrible sinking crack as the blade pierces it through, the brute giving a fiendish cry of pain.

Azriel drives it all the way through, his anger aiding his strength as he swipes out Brudam's feet. Heartstriker buries itself deep into the mud, driven by the weight of Brudam's body as it hits the ground.

All Azriel can think is that he should fucking gut him, should skin him alive. He should pull that blade and drag it forward, force it through all the muscle and shatter every bone on the way, until it pierces his awful heart.

The mating bond within him roars at him to do so, every inch of his body, of his soul, enraged at the state he'd found you in, the agonising hurt bestowed on you by this male—but it's not his kill. Azriel knows that.

So instead, he draws the Truth Teller with deft, deadly accuracy and then sinks it in deep into Brudam's groin, til the tip reaches mud on the other side.

Brudam howls, his whole body twitching as it tries to curl up against either blade unsuccessfully. Between the rain and the shadows, he's too incapacitated to do anything except wail.

Azriel doesn't waste a second, already moving. There's a warrior approaching on every side but between the gift of sight and silence in the shadow, he's devastatingly lethal.

One goes down with a slice across his throat, crimson soaking his front. The next crumbles after too many jabs of Azriel's dagger land in his torso, too slow to block them when he can't see them coming. The next, his head cut from his shoulders in one mighty swing.

Their cries join the thunder of the storm but somehow, through it all, all he can hear is the softness of your weak breath. Wounded. Fading.

Azriel's vision goes red. He moves expertly, his kills efficient until the burning rage in him gets too much and then he's slashing with pure malice, teeth gritted in hate, as he cuts down any warrior who stood by and watched. All he can feel is the thread between you and him, nearly torn from how much they've hurt you.

When the clashing of steel stops, the last foe dead, only the din of the rain remains.

Like a vacuum has opened somewhere in the sky, the inky cover of his shadow is sucked away, leaving only his sluggish moving shadows and exposing the bleak day. Carnage lies all around him. Bodies upon bodies of warriors.

Azriel can only see you.

You're still strapped to that torturous pole, your beautiful wings forcibly spread out and pinned, like you're being laid out for dissection. Across the flesh of your wings is a sickening number of thin, scarlet lines, gently bleeding.

Beneath you, in the mud, is the remains of your armor and Azriel can trace the scar that'll be left on your back from where it was cut off. The binding on your chest remains, now stained with blood.

You aren't moving.

He sprints without thought, without reason, following the bond. He finds the thread within his chest, grasps it tight, and tugs desperately. You don't even flinch.

A fear mounts inside him, more heart-wrenching than he's ever felt before. A glance down at his siphons reveals their still dull appearance—fucking useless to him.

Azriel staggers to his knees as he reaches you, his scarred hands reaching up to pry off the steel that binds your wrist to the wooden pole—ripping out chunks of the wood at the same time with his rapid, panicked motion. Your hands fall limply to your sides. He feels sick again.

"Y/n?"

He's scared to touch you, scared to do more damage that he's already caused, so so frightened that he just found you and you might already be gone.

He doesn't know what he'll do if you die. He can't—the thought is suffocating in itself, like a black hole that opens and starts pulling in his entire world— you can't die or he'll— he'll- nothing will matter anymore.

RHYS. He throws the plea out desperately, nearly delirious at the sight of your unmoving body. The words sound like a sob, even in his own mind. You have to help me.

Where are you? Rhys' voice fills his mind in an instant.

Then... a haggard breath sounds, like drawing through a mouthful of blood. You cough lightly, barely audible, and murmur, "...Azriel...?"

Something explodes inside Azriel, a burst of pure energy that fills him with relief so overwhelmingly he could cry.

Exordor. He barely manages to think properly, to even respond, beyond the staggering emotion. Come immediately. Please. I need you to- she needs—you have to help her. Please.

I'm on my way.

[NEXT PART: STRANGERS (AGAIN)]

tags below!

@strangerstilinski @janebirkln @itsswritten @mischiefmanagers @hnyclover

@waytoomanyteenagefeels @idkitsem @illyrianbitch @jeweline16 @fightmedraco

@iamjimintrash @maendering @spideytingley @aneekapaneeka @cassianswh0reeee

@viciane @astarlitsoul @mybestfriendmademe @archiveofcravings @reputaytionn-13

@bionic-donut @chessebookgirl @itseightbeats @littleblackcatinwonderland @twsssmlmaa

@fanworrior @skysayhi @vintageoldfashion @tequilya @fabulouslyflamboyant5

@rhysandorian @laughterafter @brieftriumphnightmare @hirah-yummar @some-person-somewhere

@scooobies @sfhsgrad-blog @cherry-cin @bookloverandalsocats @megscabinetofcurios

@doodlebugsblog @landofpetrichor @acourtofdreamsandshadows @florabelll @tanyaherondale

@aomi-recs @letmejustreadthanks @problemfinder @sevikas-whore @doodlebugg16-blog

@meandmysillywriting @justingnoreme @krowiathemythologynerd @hanatsuki-hime @sunny747

@coffeebeforewater @kalulakunundrum @marina468 @moonbirde (i'm so sorry! u asked me to tag u right at the beginning and i've forgotten this whole time! forgive me pls <3)

[cecoeur]

How do you sleep at night? No one to hide behind Betrayed every alibi you had You had every chance to make amends instead you got drunk on bitterness And you still claim that you're innocent, it's sad

[lovecolibri]

It was never more clear than in last night's episode that KR truly only thought of Buck as "big dumb pretty boy" who was around to be the hot guy on the arm of literally whatever woman they could find so long as it was a woman.

Season 7 has some sins to atone for, but I have tried somewhat to offer it the grace I give season 4 for being a short season shot on a last-minute time crunch and under covid restrictions. We didn't see much of Buck in season 7 and most of what we saw was internal, not a lot of emergencies, though the ones we did get felt more balanced and purposeful to moving the main characters along than we had seen in awhile.

But 8x01? 8x01 was Firefighter Buckley at his absolute best and GOD I have missed him! He was silly, he was spouting off bee facts, he was thinking outside the box and saving lives with his ideas, he was gently communing with the bees, he was gently bullying his work husband partner into being a honey trap for bees, he was having an RSD episode and acting out against the injustice of how everyone is being treated because they're supposed to be a family, he got reprimanded for his ideas but didn't let it stop him from doing it again and again because he KNOWS he can save people!! I just- Firefighter Buckley!!!! 😭😭😭

There is a reason Buck was a fan favorite and we got to see everything this week from his giant kid energy, to his deep anger at injustice, to his stalwart co-parent energy with Eddie and having his back, to his ADHD brain coming up with fun facts and useful solutions.

He wasn't dumbed down for the sake of a joke (fully incorrect info on sperm donation after saying he did tons of research (that the writers clearly did not do) so they could get some cheap masturbation jokes), he wasn't the butt of the joke (lightning killing me gave me math powers because he-he i'm dumb and they don't have a plot for me to deal with it in a meaningful way, we're waiting for a LI to "fix" me, I'm calling every woman I slept with to see if I satisfied them) he was SMART, and CARING, and FRUSTRATED he can't save his family from the abuses they are suffering from and it all just felt so GOOD, and RIGHT, and true to who the Buck the audience fell in love with is. No wonder Oliver said it was the best episode they have done in years. I might have to agree.

[lgbtlunaverse]

Thinking of the Nie disciple that told Nie Mingjue it was Meng Yao who stayed behind to clean up corpses on the battlefield today.

Nie Mingjue didn't just randomly stumble upon poor lil meowyao eating bread in the novel, he was already looking for him to thank and reward him for his work.

That's what makes it so fun that nieyao's first conflict will end up being about someone else taking credit for Meng Yao's work.

And I'm sure that Nie Mingjue's actual opinions on plagiarism are a lot more nuanced, all we really get from him in this scene is "well you shouldn't kill someone over it!" which leaves a lot of room for what punishments he thinks are appropiate. But I bet that it isn't occuring to him in this moment that the only reason he knows Meng Yao at all, the only reason he got such a capable deputy, is that he noticed someone was taking care of the dead and cared enough to want to know their name. And then the Nie disciples didn't lie to him. The disciple he asked could have said "it was me, Zongzhu" to rise in the ranks himself, but he didn't. He went and asked others, who all also could have taken the credit, but they didn't. Someone saw Meng Yao working and decided to be honest about it and that simple decision is the catalyst for Meng Yao becoming Nie Mingjue's deputy.

Meng Yao can't just work hard to get results, others have to acknowledge that work. If they don't, it's as if he didn't do anything at all.

[zosonils]

an aspect of shadow's trauma that i've been thinking about a lot since the sa2 replay is how fucked his perspective of gerald must be after everything, especially assuming he was family to shadow just as much as maria was [which i do every day]. the man who raised you, created you from nothing but tissue samples and energy and hope, the man who could have easily decided you were a simple thing to be used and yet welcomed you into his family as easily as his own granddaughter, who treated you as a person when so many others treated you as a lab rat or a weapon or another soon-to-be-failed prototype, in a moment of unfathomable despair, decided you were to be a tool that would carry out his final plan. perhaps treating you this way was another symptom of his mental breakdown, perhaps deep down he's always seen you as nothing more than a thing to reach his goals with. you will never know, because he is dead. every comforting memory you have of him, every time he encouraged your curiosity or stayed with you during a test he could have observed from afar or told you how proud of you he was, forever tainted by the thought that it could have all been a lie. a variable in an experiment, a means to an end. how would you ever trust anyone ever again man i'm in shreds

[hnnny]

Surprise! I've improved a lot since--*checks date of old post*--April 28th, 2021?? Hello???

Listen, it's not hard to believe that I've been obsessed with this game and its characters for a long time lol

This was a heck of a lot of fun to draw though! I had to get creative with the composition to fit some of the characters I didn't originally include, but it was worth it lol

Here's an alternate version under the cut where Brianna and Mandalore aren't covering up the midground crew:

[royalarchivist]

Ramon: we need to find Cucurucho again

Fit: Yeah, that's really weird that he was just watching us -

Ramon: so Pac can adopt me

Fit: Oh yeah– Well, you know– I mean, maybe we can like– Maybe we can have it arranged where if Pac gives you a cookie, it counts for the full amount instead of half. And then maybe the same for me for Richarlyson. Right? 'Cuz I mean, like– We're... basically a family. I mean we have– I mean, let's be real, we have been for a while, but it just a little bit– it's just a little more official now.

Ramon: yeah but Pac wanted to throw a big party

Fit: Oh, a big party?

Ramon: adoption party

[ Transcript Continued ↓ ]

-

Fit: Oh, an adoption party. Ohhhhhhhhh, I see. Yeah, well– I won't interfere with those plans then. Yeah, well I guess– um. It'll be a party for you, and then I guess it'll be a party for Richarlyson as well. Yeah, that'll be cool, that'll be cool Ramon. Are you- are you excited?

Ramon: [Nods]

Fit: [Laughs] I'm glad.

Ramon: Two dads

Fit: Yeah, that's right. Yeah, instead of just one!

Ramon: i appreciate u a lot >:(

Fit: Aww, Ramon, I kn– And I appreciate you too, Ramon.

Ramon: [Ramon bounces around happily, then gets shy / embarrassed and hides in the corner of the room]

Fit: [Laughs] I know, Ramon. It makes me happy, seeing like– You– you seem like you've been in a better mood the past, you know, couple weeks, especially with everything that's been happening. You seem like you're in a better mood. Yeah, I'm glad, I'm glad, Ramon. I'm glad.

[chirpsythismorning]

Can we talk about how Jonathan might've been able to clock Mike simply because of what happened with him and Nancy in season two?

This will be a long post, so you might want to strap in or save it for later.

In Will and Mike's case, it would obviously be much different from Jonathan and Nancy's situation, given that you know, they're gay. But we still have Jonathan arguably going through a similar experience as Will, while Mike is going through a similar experience as Nancy.

In s2, we see Nancy confront Jonathan about how she waited for him before getting back with Steve, which is a revelation to him. Then they're at Murray's and she's struggling to say she loves Steve, after a handful of moments between them that felt like she might return Jonathan’s feelings. And you can clearly see it in his eyes, listening to Murray imply that they have feelings for each other, with him looking back and forth sort of in awe of what's happening, like he's starting to question if she might actually like him back.

Will doesn't have that same affordance as Jonathan to really hope, at least not anymore. Which is why these relationships in s2 and s4 end differently for these two brothers.

Based on all the signs he was seeing that Nancy felt the same, Jonathan decided to take the plunge to admit to Nancy how he felt, and at that same moment Nancy had the courage to show how she felt. In Will and Mike's case, Will wasn't ready to take the plunge to admit to Mike how he felt, at the same moment Mike didn't have the courage to show how he felt.

What's so painfully hilarious to me about all of this though, is that Jonathan arguably starts the season in the same shoes as most of the audience, where from his perspective, it's becoming obvious to him now that Will like's Mike, but that Mike does not feel the same way.

First at Rink-O-Mania, Mike appears a little uncomfortable upon hugging Will. Then as the happy couple continues on their adventure into Rink-O-Mania, he watches Will lagging behind moping. And then unfortunately he's out of commission for the rest of the evening...

But once he's sober and back to being an attentive brother the following morning, we see him watching them at breakfast, with Mike barely sparing Will a glance, all while Will is blatantly staring, almost like he's waiting for Mike to look back, only for Mike to get up and walk away.

All of these instances gotta be SCREAMING unrequited gay love to Jonathan. He's already gotten signs for years that Will is gay, these are now just the signs that are instilling his suspicions that Will has feelings for Mike. He could have easily interpreted their relationship in the early seasons as young best friends, with Will seeming to have a crush on Mike, and with them growing up and that potentially including Will's straight friend distancing himself from him because he doesn't feel the same. It's not the most unexpected thing in the world considering.

But then there's a shift.

Suddenly he's creeping up on them talking in his room. And we know he was listening in on the conversation because he brings up Owens when he sits down. As he's eavesdropping, he's probably thinking something innocent like Aww they're making up! And like, hey! Even if Mike doesn't feel the same, which is okay and entirely expected honestly, at least he still cares about Will enough to make things right after acting so out of character. Still, I'm not gonna lie, that sounded a lot like flirting to me--

Then he's knocking on Will's door like 30 minutes or less later only to find Mike and Will back on their bullshit. Mike suddenly isn't going out of his way to ignore or put Will on the back burner. In fact, he's on his bed and they're talking, again! The door is even closed this time, which is interesting. This has gotta be a good sign in Jon's eyes. Nothing to worry about! Right? Right...?

But then suddenly this shift continues, going in a direction he probably didn't expect.

I mean, this is literally an identical jancy parallel we have here with byler on the hood of the car, with Jonathan right there to witness it. Despite him maybe only now subconsciously picking up on the similarities between Will and Mike to him and Nancy here, he's at least taking note (I mean he's even got his gay map out and everything).

It isn't until the van scene happens, that I think Jonathan starts to genuinely consider his suspicions, which is that Mike might actually like Will back.

EVERY time we get a shot of Jonathan looking back at Will and Mike in the van, followed by a shot of his POV from the rearview mirror, we're faced with Mike looking at Will while Will is looking away.

As Jonathan is hearing Will confirm his suspicions about his feelings for Mike, he's simultaneously witnessing Mike not looking at Will with disgust, but something more akin to reverence. All of those moments in the van that we witnessed, including all the ways Mike looked at Will and everything that was said, Jonathan was right there.

And what's even more insane about this scene, is that it circles back to Jonathan as a character himself.

I remember when people were talking about how odd it was that we never saw Jonathan with a camera in s4. After 3 seasons in a row of making his passion for photography a big part of his identity, that part of him was apparently absent entirely this time around... But was it really?

This is the same guy that said, "Sometimes, people don't really say what they're really thinking. But you capture the right moment, it says more."

Jonathan might not have had his camera in s4, but this was without a doubt one of those moments where he captured something more.

Something that I also think get's highly overlooked about this scene, especially when it comes to Jonathan looking back at them, being followed by a shot of Mike staring at Will, is that he could see both of their reactions the whole time, from beginning to end. Will nor the audience had the affordance of knowing because Will was facing the other way at the end, while we on the other-hand were blurred from even having the chance, despite Mike literally being in the frame. But not Jonathan. He even lets us see what he sees, a few times, but not at the very end, which would have been nice after they didn't let us see Mike's reaction seconds before this.

Let's just stop right there for a second though and circle back to what I consider to be the first time Jonathan really picked up on Will's feelings for Mike, which was at the end of s3, in a sequence that is a little too relevant to the van scene if you ask me, given that they are almost direct parallels.

While these parallels are pretty spot on visually, they are also near spot on narratively when it comes to the evolution each of these characters are experiencing.

For Will in the first scene, it's sadness that he's moving away from his friends in Hawkins and also feeling like he's losing Mike, after what looks like him and El making up, which makes him scared he'll distance himself again. For Jonathan, it's sympathy for his brother who appears to have some very deep feelings for his friend, feelings he can't quite grasp yet but soon enough will.

For Will in the second scene, it's heartbreak that he has to accept that Mike will never feel the same, knowing that supporting his relationship with El (encouraging it honestly) will likely turn out just as it did last time, with him losing Mike all over again, for the last time. For Jonathan it's sympathy for his brother who has now confirmed his suspicions that the feelings he has for Mike are more than just that of a friend.

Given that this parallel reinforces the same feelings Will and Jonathan had in s3 to now, why would this not also reinforce those same feelings that Mike had in s3 to now?

In the first scene, Mike was visibly distraught, with dialogue from Hopper in the background applying a little too perfectly with what he was feeling in that moment, which was scared. He’s apparently back together with El now, despite them doing just fine as friends for the last 3 months, as well as him and Will just having finally gone back to them being on good terms again. But now, it’s like he’s right back where he started at the beginning of s3, feeling obligated to be the perfect boyfriend to El, and as a result, having no choice in his eyes but to distance himself from Will. Mike then walks into his house looking like a zombie, almost emotionless stepping into his mother's embrace.

Now, I say almost emotionless because it looks like Mike was trying to hold back showing how he truly felt in this moment. He's not crying like he did in s1 when he lost Will that first time. Time has passed and things have changed (he doesn't want things to change). And he's trying his best to keep it together. But the in-focus close-ups make it clear that he is definitely not okay.

What's so impactful about these parallels is that it presents the inner struggle both of these characters are having, both queer and experiencing doubts, but in different ways and for different reasons.

Will is the one who covers it all up with lies, hiding the tears in his eyes, because boys don't cry.

Mike is the one who has never cried to them, just to his soul (RUN AWAY! TURN AWAY! RUN AWAY! TURN AWAY! RUN AWAY!!!).

If you actually try to get a gage on Mike's in-focus emotions in that first scene vs. his out-of-focus emotions in that second scene, well they're not that far off from each other.

We go from Mike smiling vibrantly at Will, to him now slowly turning away to look back down at the painting, with whatever the hell emotion this is...

It's near impossible to catch because of how out-of-focus it is, but looking a lot closer, it honestly appears like Mike is feeling something akin to sadness that he's trying to mask. For a moment it even looks like he turns his head to wince emotionally, only to correct himself.

And call me crazy, but these shots also low-key parallel each other. Mike looking down trying to keep his emotions in check and failing miserably, only to look up and meet eyes with someone whose witnessing it.

With each shot before this of Jonathan observing Mike looking at Will, with him showing all the emotions Will never got to see and everything else in between, I wonder what Jon saw this time? Probably another thing he didn't expect.

Can you just try to imagine the silence in this van, accompanied by Will's muffled sobs, and then try to imagine Mike turning to look down at the painting, only to sneak a glance, and then go right back to looking at the painting, IN SILENCE, and then try to tell me how the assumption that Mike didn’t notice Will crying makes any sense, like realistically?

Yeah me and Jonathan are confused too.

Right now, Jonathan's probably wondering why Mike was acting a little fruity and repressed during the painting reveal. And that although he may have a penchant for being able to 'capture the right moment', Mike is sticking with his story (despite all the stalling and doubt). He is 100% straight!

And so maybe this is where Jonathan tries to accept what is being presented to him as the truth, despite the contradictions in front of him. It's likely that despite the way Mike looks at Will and acts around him, in ways he would have assumed coming from Nancy in s2 would've been evidence that she felt the same, it probably doesn't apply to Mike.

Maybe Jonathan's ready to accept that it's a lot more likely Will is experiencing unrequited love as a gay kid growing up in a small town, the most predictable experience a gay kid could go through, and in contrast Mike just feels too bad to let Will down easy.

Or who knows, maybe Mike could still be a little bit gay too...

But it doesn't matter anyways. Mike seems to be adamant about this and so there's really nothing else Jonathan can he do besides tell his brother he'll be there for him no matter what. And so he does just that.

But then Mike just has to surprise him one last time.

For those that don't know, the line Mike gives here in his monologue was in part pulled from Will's monologue in the van. Most don't know this because this line didn't make the final cut for the van scene, but in the official script the writers posted, what we find is an almost a direct parallel.

Which makes the reaction shots of Will and Jonathan directly after Mike says this all the more epic.

From Will's end he was probably hearing Mike say this and just thinking 'Damn. Well, that's what you get for using your feelings to inspire Mike to profess his love to El.'

But from Jonathan's end, I don't think his outside POV of these events overlapping was nearly as naive as his brothers understanding of the events. Because why the fuck would Mike need to use Will's feelings to inspire him to profess his love to El in the first place? Is this what Mike has been struggling with? Really? Why before every moment Mike takes action in this scene, is Will's hand literally pushing him into it? Why is Mike being so dramatic about saying I love you, stuttering and rambling about her being a superhero, not saying nearly as meaningful of things as what Will said in the van?

And then it hits him.

Mike is reminding him a little too much of another Wheeler right now...

Nancy Wheeler, who was afraid of what would happen if she accepted herself for who she really was, leading her to retreat back to the safety of Steve. Because Nancy liked Steve, but she didn't love Steve.

And now here is Mike Wheeler, who has went from being incredibly distant with Will after reuniting with El, something that is very unlike the Mike he knew in previous seasons, to something more himself again after they make up, with him looking at Will with adoration after hearing his words in the van, only to turn away and look heartbroken. Mike who is now struggling to simply tell El he loves her with Will right behind him literally yelling at him to do it.

And now it's like all those little moments are starting to add up to Jonathan.

Suddenly all those signs he picked up on from Will when he was younger are now blending in with moments Will shared with Mike. It was Mike who jumped in after him and his mom's speech to Will in the shed in s2, with tears in his eyes recalling the day that they met (without being asked, let alone pushed to). And it's Mike who is now looking like he's at war with himself as he attempts to give encouragement to El, just like he did with Will in s2, but this time he needs someone to push him to do it, and that person just so happens to be Will. After just finding out about Will's feelings and also while assuming El wants him to love her that way still, Mike is stuck.

I don't think it's takes a genius to consider Jonathan is capable of realizing how fucked they all are in this situation.

As much as Mike isn't ready for a sleuth of reasons, Will isn't ready either.

This provides a huge contrast between the bylers ², because while Jonathan and Nancy went through a similar experience to Will and Mike, them being ready to accept it and act on it didn't involve nearly as many factors and risks. Will and Mike also have the added barrier that is homophobia.

Will's internalized homophobia lies in part with assuming Mike could never feel the same based on some of the words he said in their last two fights, with parts being painfully reminiscent of the things his dad and bullies used to say about him. These are also words that contradict Mike's own words and actions from the previous seasons, things that did once give Will hope. The shame and guilt that comes with falling for your best friend, who you now know will never feel the same after being foolish enough to believe it not too long ago, and who might not even want to be your friend anymore upon finding out the truth, is understandable. He can't have hope like Jonathan can. It's just not the same.

Mike's internalized homophobia lies with assuming El wants him to love her, along with their relationship being expected and socially acceptable from everyone around him. Though unfortunately for her he feels abundantly more in love in the moments he shares with Will. Despite trying to make it work with El as hard as he could, because she's amazing and all any guy could hope for in a girlfriend, he can't ignore the fact that the feelings he has for these two people are different. The shame and guilt that comes with you, a boy, falling for your best friend, who is also a boy, and who is starting to show that he feels the same, all while you can't muster up the courage to break up with your girlfriend, nor can you muster up the courage to tell her that you love her, not when she's begging you, dying or even just simply at the end of a letter, is pretty understandable too. He can't have hope like Nancy can. It's just not the same.

Spoiler: They were not ready.

PS: I'm still not over the fact that they low-key confirmed these events elsewhere in the story...

[nyctocollective]

friendly reminder that plurality is caused by trauma. trauma is defined as an event that has a severe negative impact on oneself. there are going to be dark parts of plurality that no one wants to talk about. the brain created you to cope with what it went through. it's okay to have parts (or wholes) that have “twisted” desires, attractions, innerworld or external relationships, sexual or emotional needs, etc. other people might call you disgusting, evil, immoral, but it's just part of being traumatized. it's going to be unpleasant or unsightly.

read the tags.