#of course it didn't make sense. you didn't READ it!

[livingmeatloaf]

The tags from @perpetualstateofcrying are so good, I'm putting them on the main post!

#amen to all the above! #and i'm just gonna add on some of the wisdom that one of my fave profs instilled in all of us abt texts/ learning/understanding #his main point was this: understanding will almost always come /after/ learning something #understanding usually comes at the absolute earliest while you're in the middle of actively learning it; it may not come for a While after #and when coming up against something new for the first time no one's gonna get it at first blush - and that's/fine/ #it usually takes being exposed to something multiple times before your conscious brain can actually comprehend it

#so the approach he taught us when reading anything (esp academic texts bc college) is that you just plan to read it multiple times #read it once (relatively quickly) to get a sense of the writer's style and vocabulary and the general gist of the topic at hand #(don't spend time rereading sections to try and understand what they're saying - that's not the point of reading it at this stage!) #then read it a second time to get a sense of the general structure of the arguments/evidence/etc (make some notes if smth pops out) #then read it a third time to start identifying and digesting the arguments being made (Really start taking notes here) #and take breaks between readings! let your brain recover and percolate! #it was way more helpful for me to take 20 minutes to read through a dense academic article then go make dinner before coming back to spend

#30 minutes reading it again while taking some notes and setting it aside for an hour to come back to it instead of trying to slog through i #all in one go and being miserable at the end of 3 hours feeling stupider than when i started bc i still didn't Get It

#and like this professor was explicit in teaching this bc his main goal was us learning how to learn first; #us learning the material content of his course was a secondary goal bc it would follow once we started hitting the first one #and i know this isn't gonna solve any and all issues with accessibility (op points out several - academia is Rife with plain bad writing) #but this was incredibly helpful in giving me a concrete method to approach academic texts that Wasn't an exercise in frustration/futility

#so like. if anyone else finds this helpful then i'm glad!

I was never taught to learn like this, and now I want to try it.

i genuinely have no animosity towards ppl who get upset abt not being able to read academic texts + i do think we need to expand the pathways/methods of being exposed to critical concepts so that "sit + read for 2 hours" is not the only option.

however, as someone dx with adhd + incapable of sitting still for even a minute (actually right at this moment i am writing this instead of reading the book sitting open in front of me), i do feel like a lot of ppl do not realize that not all readings are designed to be read like a novel.

as in, it's ok + normal + good to need to reread a paragraph several times, to only read part of a book, to have to research or reference words or concepts in order to grasp the reading, to skip over large chunks of text which are not relevant to your expertise, to continue reading despite not understanding a concept. this is something 'neurotypical' academics do frequently + many of these texts, especially contemporary ones, were designed with this in mind.

there are many ppl with accessibility needs that are not being met by academic texts at this time! many texts (in my humble opinion) are unnecessarily complex in order to show off or hide the fact that they have no idea what they're talking about.

i still feel like many of the kneejerk reactions on this site are based on the assumption that their experience reading academic texts should be similar to their experiences reading a nyt bestseller, rather than a process of thinking, analyzing, researching, processing, returning. some of u are telling yourself that any challenges u face while reading are a result of some internal fault u have + not an expected + precious part of the experience.

[auroracalisto]

secrets and scars

movie!fiyero x gn!reader, 847 words summary: the reader has been scarred for some time now. fiyero discovers them and does something rather... unexpected. a/n: idk what this is. but like... yeah. hope it makes sense. i was gonna queue this and save it for later but i’m gonna go ahead and post it. i have a few queued posts for jonathan bailey characters in the coming weeks so. i’ll try to feed you all for the holidays. ♡ tw: reader has scars? no direct mention of where they are but it could be triggering. slight reference to sexual content, reader is naked for a hot minute but nothing graphic happens. you'll understand when you read.

Scars. They littered your body, an unfortunate reminder of the past you barely escaped. It was as if your body didn't want you to forget.

You wished you could.

You're lost in your thoughts in one of the many archways of Shiz University, staring out at the blue sky above. Your fingers itch to touch your scars—to scratch, to peel them away. You didn't want the reminder of who you once were. You didn't want the reminder of what once happened to you.

In all of Oz, you'd give anything to be able to erase your scars.

Anything.

It's a flurry of a night—confusing all around, and then somehow, Fiyero ends up in your dorm, kissing you, touching you, and by the love of Oz, how is he so quick with your clothing?

But before you can stop him, panic-stricken, he sees them. Your scars.

He's silent, wide eyed as he looked at them, lips parted as his eyes flicker from each mark on your skin.

He licked his lips a bit nervously, glancing up at you.

"You—are—" he stopped himself, seeing the panicked look on your face. "Oh, Y/n," he breathed out, moving to sit beside of you on your bed. He gently pressed a hand to the side of your face. "I'm sorry. I should have asked."

You slowly shook your head. "No. No, it's okay, I just—just didn't expect you to move so quickly. You, uh—"

"Surprised you, hm?" he softly asked. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before he found his voice once more. "I'm so sorry."

"Sorry? For what?"

He doesn't answer. Instead, his eyes fall to your scars, and you can tell he wants to ask you questions—how you got them, what happened, how long ago it happened.

Instead, he says something that takes you by surprise (because of course he did—Fiyero was filled with surprises, was he not?).

"They are beautiful."

"What?"

"Your scars."

You're silent for a moment. "My... my scars? Are beautiful?"

He smiled softly at you, taking ahold of your hand. He looked into your eyes. "Yes. Your scars are beautiful," he softly said. "I won't ask you about them. You can tell me when you decide you are ready, if you ever are."

Your eyes soften as you admire him from your spot on the bed. You feel so exposed—naked to the man not only physically but also emotionally. It was an odd feeling. A... welcomed feeling.

"May I touch them?" Fiyero softly asked.

"My scars?" you questioned for what seemed the hundreth time in the past few minutes.

"Yes. Your scars."

"You want to touch them?"

Fiyero looked at you, an incredulous look on his face. "Yes, Y/n. You can say no, it's quite alright. My feelings will not be hurt if you say no."

You watched him, swallowing nervously. "You... you're so odd," you softly said.

He snorted softly, a smile embracing his features. He leaned forward and kissed your cheek.

"Only for you."

You gave a small nod in return, and watched as he moved down the bed, focusing on the part of your body with your scars. His eyes flicker up to yours and he pressed a soft kiss to the puckered skin.

"Only for you," he repeated.

You feel flustered more than anything, looking away from him and his beautiful brown eyes.

How odd, indeed.

"I... I don't like them," you softly said.

"You do not like your scars?" he softly asked, a finger gently brushing against one of them. "Did something—"

"—I'll tell you. One day. Just..."

"Of course," he said. "I understand. But... Y/n, I meant what I said. They are beautiful."

You pursed your lips.

"They show how much strength you've had to survive, Y/n," he said, leaning forward and letting his lips connect with yours. "They're beautiful because they show me you've had to be brave. To be courageous in the face of such disaster. Your scars may be something you do not like, but do not wish them away."

You don't look at him, but you do not push him away.

"I do not know how you got them," he said, "and I am so sorry if what happened to you was... well, unsavory. But... they show such strength, Y/n."

"Strength is ridiculous and you know it," you muttered. You just want to rebuke his statement, as sweet as it may be.

He pecked your lips again.

"Perhaps that's not the best way to describe what it is, but I can't think of what would be better," he said. "This brain of mine doesn't want to work when the most beautiful person in all of Oz is letting me see their secrets."

Your heart pounded in your chest and you looked up at him, eyes softening.

"You are so odd," you repeated.

He snorted softly. "Yes. We've established this, Y/n. Thank you."

A smile quirked on your lips and you gently grabbed him by his shirt, pulling him in for another kiss.

"You're welcome."

[twoflowers]

Stiff Shoulders, Weak Knees: Sanji x Reader

Read on AO3

Description: Sanji has been hard at work in the kitchen; you decide his stiff shoulders need a bit of attention. Predictably, Sanji is a mess. You didn't realize it would be quite this easy to get Black Leg Sanji on his knees. (SFW, suggestive)

Tags: Massage, nosebleeds (of course), light fdom, female reader, no use of Y/N, no description of reader, AND: (Sanji's constant need for validation of his cooking skills, Sanji's eternal need to be of use to the people around him, and Sanji's fantasy of being a fairytale knight kissing the hand of a beautiful queen he has pledged undying loyalty to. This man is a dork, people!)

Word count: 1276. Something short and sweet while I work on a longer fic based on a prompt by @mere-mortifer

Give this video a thumbs up if this man should actually get a massage in part 2!

Stiff Shoulders, Weak Knees

Sanji startles when you put a hand on his shoulder, not because he didn't sense you behind him (he could never fail to notice you entering a room, has been feeling pleasant, anticipatory prickling on his scalp and the back of his neck since you entered the kitchen), but because you've never touched him like this before. An occasional brush of arms, sure. A slightly more frequent brush of fingers, absolutely. He only seems to lose his grip on dishes when he's handing them to you, which is by complete coincidence. 

But your hand is firmly on his shoulder, fingers settling above his collarbone even when he turns to look at you.

“May I make anything for you?” He asks automatically. He carefully avoids looking at your hand in case you're touching him by accident - best not to remind you.

You smile fondly. “After tonight's dinner, I don't think I could eat anything else if I tried. It was excellent.”

Sanji can already feel his knees weakening. Excellent: now there's a good word, a perfect word, that he'll hold onto for later. 

“I'm so glad you think so. I thought of you especially while making it.”

“You say that to all the ladies.”

“It's true.”

Your hand is still on his shoulder. You tighten it a bit, perhaps appreciatively, perhaps condescendingly. He isn't sure which option he likes best.

“I brought my plates back down.” You gently set them in the sink with your other hand, and Sanji immediately picks up his sponge again. He doesn't know when he dropped it. 

“I'll get them done right away,” he stutters. “You're sure you don't want anything? A nightcap? Some tea? - I have a wonderful hibiscus from our last time on shore that would pair nicely with-”

“Sanji…” The quirk of your lip makes it certain: you are condescending him. A small shudder racks his shoulders.

“Mm?” His eyes flicker back and forth from you to the dishes. 

“You're working too hard,” you squeeze sharply at his shoulder, and he jumps at the pain. He's biting his lip when he finally makes eye contact, cheeks already starting to flush.

“See? Your muscles are so stiff.” You move behind Sanji, slipping your other hand up his back and to his opposite shoulder. You dig your thumbs into the muscles bracketing his spine, and he jerks forward toward the sink as if pulled by an invisible force. “Does that hurt?”

“You could never hurt me,” he breathes. 

“Oh?” You tighten your grip, thumbs poking deeply into his stiff back and stroking upwards to his neck. Hard, firm pressure. 

Sanji’s hands reach out to grip the edge of the sink. The sponge falls forgotten into soapy water. His knuckles are white, arms trembling. “Nothing… you do to me could ever hurt me.” His voice is wavering in a delicious way. “Even if it’s painful.”

You hum thoughtfully, dipping one of your thumbs under the collar of his shirt. Skin swipes against skin, and Sanji lets out a whine. 

“We can’t have our cook in anything less than peak condition, can we?” You mumble, still thumbing his soft skin. 

Sanji lets out something halfway between a gasp of pleasure and a laugh of disbelief, hands clenching still tighter.

“We need you healthy,” your hands move down his back, resting just under his shoulder blades. “I need your cooking.”

Somehow, that’s what breaks him. He arches forward with a groan, shoulders shaking.

“Let me help you relax,” you offer. “How about a massage?”

One of Sanji’s hands shoots from the sink to under his nose. He audibly swallows; blood dribbles down his fingers as he pulls his hand away. He nods weakly.

“What was that?” You can’t help but prod, not when he’s this vulnerable. Sometimes you feel like Sanji is a big bruise that you can’t help but poke at.

He nods again. Your hands instantly find his waist, thumbs stroking circles through his suit jacket.

“Use your words.”

“Please. Anything.”

“Such good manners,” you coo. You slip your hands away from Sanji, savoring the way his body freezes in anticipation. You take a lace handkerchief from the counter and gently cup his chin, turning his face towards you.

He looks so small, curling forward like he can’t trust his knees to hold him upright. His face is an impressive shade of red, almost as dark as the blood dripping over his plush, bitten lips. His eyes, surprisingly, aren’t as gleaming and heart-shaped as they usually are around you. 

You can’t help but grin at having finally caught him so off-guard. His eyes become wide, almost frantic, as you swipe a thumb over his chin. There you are. Finally, finally, I’ve reached underneath.

You hold his face more firmly and bring the towel up to clean him, but he flinches. Not away from you- you have a feeling he couldn’t move away if he tried.

“I don’t want to stain it,” he all but begs. “It was… I was planning on using it for plating your evening tea.”

“I told you I’m not hungry.” It’s blatant, obvious teasing, but Sanji’s eyes droop miserably nonetheless. 

“Here we go…” You wipe the handkerchief under his nose. Blood saturates lace, and Sanji’s eyes flutter shut in defeat. 

When you’re done, you pull away and fold the cloth carefully. Sanji watches in equal parts confusion, misery, and awe. When you tuck it into your pocket, Sanji gasps, another trickle of blood falling onto his lips.

“I just finished cleaning you up,” you scold. 

Sanji’s lip quivers from the humiliation, but you quickly lean forward and place your lips under his nose. It’s barely a kiss. You pull away shortly after, tongue darting out to taste his still-warm blood. 

Sanji drops to his knees so hard you hear bone hit wood. His shaking hands grasp one of yours, pulling it to his lips: no contact, just puffs of hot, frantic breath. One knee up, and he’d look like a soldier being knighted by his queen. 

“May I?” He’s trembling. He almost looks like he’s salivating. Your hand is small in his, but his are so much softer, skin scrubbed down from washing dishes, still red-tinged from the sink’s hot water.

You nod, and he gasps into the first kiss. His lips linger on the back of your hand, wet and bloody. You flip it over, and he moans, kissing your palm and trailing up your inner arm. The entire time, his eyes are on yours, searching for the faintest hint of displeasure. 

“Sanji?”

He immediately pulls away, breathing hard, still tentatively holding your hand. 

“Yes?” He looks ready for any command. Blood is smeared across his face and up your arm. You didn’t realize it would be quite so easy to get Black Leg Sanji on his knees, but you should have expected as much.

“The goal was to make you more comfortable. You look like you’re hurting your knees.”

Sanji shakes his head with enough ferocity that his bangs are knocked out of place, almost covering his other eye. “I could never complain about being allowed this.” 

He looks at your arm with some panic, then begins to wipe the blood away with his own shirtsleeve. 

“Sanji. Stand up.”

He obeys immediately.

“We are going to go to my quarters,” you say. 

He nods along dumbly. 

“And you are going to lie on my bed.”

His face flushes a brilliant red.

“And I’m going to give you an incredible massage.”

He swallows, swaying forward on his feet. You take the cue to grab him by his tie and lead him down the hallway, dishes long forgotten.

[qqueenofhades]

I bought your 'Empire' the other day (which I am excited about; I haven't started it yet), but somehow completely missed that you had written historical fiction, and about the Plantagenets, my favourite historical dynasty, so I'll be jumping on that.

I was wondering if you had recommendations for historical fiction set during the Plantagenet reign? I've tried Sharon Kay Penman and unfortunately didn't get on with her writing, which is a shame as I've heard good things about her series. I know Philippa Gregory has several novels set during that time period, but her books seem to be verging on bodice rippers, which isn't what I'm looking for. Was just curious if you had any suggestions for well-researched fiction set during the Plantagenet reign.

This ask has been sitting in my inbox for several days (my apologies) largely because I was trying to think of a more helpful answer for you. Medieval historical fiction is VERY hit and miss for me, not least because it is often written by people who, uh, are not historians and thus have Certain Ideas (TM) about what the medieval period is like. Or they want to use various aesthetics, or they want to make some (usually questionable) point about how women were treated in the past, or they just go whole-hog on total nonsense. As an example of all of these things at once, let us all stare in horror at this recently-released book description together:

(The book is called the Stone Witch of Florence, by the way. I took one look at this and ran screaming. WHY.)

A stone witch?? So she channels the power of gemstones like a modern-day Instagram healing crystals influencer??? BUT ZOMGZ WITCHCRAFT. In the middle of the Black Death. "Unorthodox cures" you say. But they also need holy relics for protection, and I totally trust the author to understand about medieval hagiography/cult of the saints. Totally. We definitely won't get some half-baked comparison between Sekrit Women Magical Gems Which Really Work and Dark Ages Church Superstition Holy Relics Which Are A Fraud, or.... something??? And our nobly mistreated protagonist will super definitely be a real physician if she gets these and never ever accused of witchcraft (which LET US ALL SAY IT TOGETHER IS AN EARLY MODERN THING!!!!) Because medieval medicine was just a bunch of gemstone vibes anyway! Makes total sense!

...my head hurts.

Anyway, while not all examples are this egregious, the point is: I love historical fiction, but I almost always can't read it when it's set in the medieval era. I read Sharon Kay Penman a while ago and enjoyed her stuff at the time, though I have assorted gripes with it on a stylistic/historical level. While Philippa Gregory does have real academic credentials, she likewise has gone totally down the bodice-ripper alternate-history crackpot theory Secret Women Magic version of things, which is... fine if that's your jam, but just like you, it is not mine. I thus have to read fiction which is set in other periods or which I know less about or where at least I am more capable of turning off my brain and accepting things for the sake of the story. So as you see, I unfortunately don't have many useful suggestions for you in this field, since the kind of medieval historical fiction that I like to recommend is, say, The Name of the Rose. Which is terrific and written for someone of a professional medievalist's level of knowledge, but is not exactly everyone's cup of tea when they just want something fun and easy to understand.

I am, of course, happy to give other book recommendations if you'd like to broaden your request, and I'll do my best to think -- but yes! As I said, I wish I could be more helpful here. I shall persist.

(Also, of course: thanks for buying EMPIRE! I do hope you enjoy.)

[silcoitus]

Hello! I think I'm doing this right but if not, I'm so sorry:

What do you think Silco would do if he found out, years later/during Act 2, that a fling he had when he was alot younger and dumber, resulted in him having a Son/Gender neutral child living in Piltover?

(how this is discovered can be completely up to you)

Would the angst of them being a Piltovian(?) citizen permanently leave their relationship undefined or would he push away his hatred of Piltover and try and meet them?

Better yet, how would Jinx react to this?

Just a bit of potential angst to spice things up I guess haha.

Thank you!

Thank you for this amazing prompt, anon! It's one of my favorite ones I've ever received! Why does writing angst soothe me? It doesn't make sense.

Summer's Ghost

Masterlist | AO3 link

Rating: Mature

Tags: Silco, original female character, original child character, angst, depression, reference to character death, character study

Word count: 2.7k

Beta reader: @juniper-sunny

Silco receives a curious letter from a Piltie boy claiming to be his son. Spurred by lingering bitterness and unresolved anger, Silco visits Topside for answers and to finally speak his mind to the woman who left him so many years ago.

Dear Mr. Silco,

I'm not exactly sure how even to begin this letter, so I’ll start with the part that is most relevant to you:

I am your son.

I know, I didn't believe it at first either. But if you keep reading, I can tell you how that happened.

My mother was a brilliant woman, born and raised here in Piltover. She was the top of her class and an artist. My grandparents tell me that, in her university days, she had a bit of a rebellious streak. She ran away from home to live in the Undercity. Over the course of a summer there, she met a man. And fell in love.

You probably know more about how the rest of this story goes than me.

After that summer, my mom had a change of heart. She returned home with a new bundle in tow: me. And while she never told me, I assume she left the Undercity in order to raise me here.

But you probably don’t care about all that. You just want to know why I’m writing to you. 

Well, first off: I'm not asking for money. My mom (and grandparents) provided for me and I have a comfortable life here in Piltover. 

I don't want anything from you. Not really. I wrote because… well… My mother died recently. It's actually how I found out about you. My birth was a closely guarded secret and it was only when I was cleaning her stuff out after her death that I learned. She had a box of things from her time with you: a diary, some photographs, a bracelet. I thought you might want them.

I don’t know what your relationship with my mother was like or how it ended, but this seemed like something she would want me to do. If I crossed a line, I’m sorry. 

I've attached her obituary. It has her final resting place. If you want to collect the box, I've left it on her grave. If you haven’t taken it by next week, I’ll assume you want nothing to do with it. And that’s okay, too.

Sincerely,

M.

P.S I also included a photo for proof. You can hold onto it. I already made myself a copy.

When finally Silco lifts his eyes from the letter, it's with slightly parted lips and inward curling eyebrows. Visions of memories long ago flick across his mind’s eye unbidden, released like water from a dam. 

Setting the letter down, he retrieves the other effects in the pneumatic tube. Fingers tremble as they pull out a small photograph. It's worn around the edges and the ink has faded significantly, but the image is unmistakable: it's him in his early twenties, standing next to the woman who left him.

He remembers that summer clearly, the memories vivid and the feelings so strong it could power a Hexgate. He remembers the late nights talking, the sound of her laugh, the way she was always sketching in her notebook. He remembers the first time they kissed, followed quickly by the first time they made love.

Silco’s lips press into a thin line, something bitter bubbling within him. 

He remembers his desperation when he ran through the Lanes, searching for her. He remembers how he couldn’t sleep for days, worried something had happened. That someone had taken her. Or worse. He remembers crying so hard that he could feel it in his teeth, his cheekbones feeling as if someone was pressing their thumbs to them with the aim of crushing them. He remembers drinking.

And drinking.

And drinking.

Drinking to cope.

Drinking to forget.

Drinking to wash down the bitter taste of the knowledge that he had let someone get so close to him so quickly, only for them to rip his heart out and slash it to pieces. And to add insult to injury—

My mother was a brilliant woman, born and raised here in Piltover.

He stares at that word again.

Piltover

Hand shaking violently, he picks up the pneumatic tube and hurls it across the room. It breaks on impact as it hits the office door, glass shards flying through the air.

Of course.

Who else could chew him up and spit him out? Who else but a Piltie? His home—his life—nothing more than a tourist attraction to her, a vacation away from her cushy, privileged life. 

How could he have been so blind?

How could he have been so stupid?

He can feel his heart rate rising, chest heaving as his breathing grows unsteady. Good eye fluttering closed, he puts one hand out, signaling himself to stop.

Slow down.

Breathe.

He takes one long inhale through his nose, holding it for a moment before blowing it out his mouth through pursed lips. When he opens his eyes, his jaw is set, decision made.

He snatches the letter, photo, and newspaper clipping off the desk, shoves them into his coat pocket, and walks out the door.

As far as final resting places go, this certainly is one of the more luxurious ones. Even in death, Topsiders can’t help but preen and self-aggrandize, if not with their bodies, their tombs. Each gravestone seems to be attempting to outdo the next, growing larger and more gaudy in size as Silco walks down the rows of graves. Subconsciously, his nostrils flare and his mouth twitches into a snarl.

When he finds her name among the dead, he’s surprised to see not a tombstone but rather a park bench. Constructed out of blue pearl granite and polished to a brilliant shine, her name, date of birth, and date of death are carved into the back. The soil around the bench looks freshly turned over and the carved letters barely have any dust or dirt accumulated in them. Studying the dates, it would seem M did not lie; she had died two weeks ago. 

And there—sitting on one end of the bench, waiting for him—is the box.

His chin lifts as his mismatched eyes scan his surroundings, looking over his shoulder, his ears alert and listening for any signs of other visitors. Certain no one is nearby or within eavesdropping distance, he turns his attention back to the bench.

He could just take the box and go. There’s no need for him to linger here. But as he stands staring at her name—carved with such finality into that unmoving stone—he can’t bring himself to leave.

And yet, it’s odd, addressing a bench. On his way over, he had envisioned himself spitting on a tombstone with great satisfaction. But now, as he’s faced with something as welcoming as a bench in a beautifully maintained cemetery, he feels stuck. Any anger that had been boiling in his abdomen before has simmered down, upended by the unexpected appearance of his former lover’s grave.

Reaching into his pocket, he retrieves the photograph. After propping it up on the bench, he addresses the woman who lies six feet underground. 

“You…” He can’t even bring himself to say her name, both hands balled into fists in his coat pockets. “You’ve been here this entire time.”

Both eyes roll as he realizes the error of his statement.

“Not here, but in Piltover.” He brings one hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, good eye squeezed shut. “I searched for you for weeks. I didn’t sleep. I didn’t eat. I thought someone had taken you. I thought you had—”

Died.

Well.

It’s accurate now, isn’t it?

“Typical Topsider,” he spits out, one hand gesturing as if throwing something away, like the way she had thrown him away, “You come to my home, promising a bright and brilliant future, but all you do is leave destruction in your wake.”

He steps back, pulls his head back, and spits onto the freshly dug soil.

“Disgusting,” he snarls. “And to think, I had lov—”

He pauses, unable to finish the word.

He was young. He was ignorant. That was not love he felt for her. Nor adoration. That was infatuation; merely a young man’s naive idea of what love was.

What that was—it was Not Love.

Silco pulls his fingers through his hair, collecting himself.

“Why?” His hand curls into a fist again. His tone is bitter, full of anger, growing in volume. “I don’t care why you left; I know exactly why you left.” 

As he continues to speak, his concerns about being overheard are overcome by the thundering emotions swelling inside him, churning and bubbling after years of dormancy. “You didn’t want your son to grow up to be a street urchin like his sumprat father. No… all I want to know is…”

His next words are bellowed out, the sound coming from deep within his lungs, each word punctuated with a pregnant pause, as if he means to put his entire body into every syllable.

“Why. Didn’t. You. Tell. Me?”

There’s a flurry of wings as nearby birds take flight, spooked by the sudden noise. 

Silco’s good eye flutters closed again and he takes long, deep breaths, recentering himself. His hand comes up, forefinger pressing to his sternum. There’s a desperation to his voice now, a yearning. Mourning something he didn’t even know he had until a few hours ago.

“I had a right to know.” He opens his good eye, staring at the photograph. Staring at her. “He is my son. He is my blood. How could you have kept him from me for so many years?”

He gathers himself, eyes casting to the ground. 

He had so much more he wanted to say. Years of anguish, torment. But now that he’s here, he’s forgotten them all.

He feels empty.

Finally, he slumps down on the bench, next to the box. It remains untouched beside him. He sits with his shoulders sagging forward, both elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together as his head hangs low. 

It’s quiet in the cemetery.

He turns his face toward the photograph, addressing the woman in it with a whisper of a voice. “All I wanted was for you to be okay. For you to live a good life.”  He lifts his head toward the great, open sky of the City of Progress, free from smoke and fissure gasses and ash. “And I suppose I got what I wanted.”

He hangs his head once more, speaking to the ground at his feet.

“You just did it without me.”

A stiff breeze blows through, tugging at his coat. He makes no move to bundle himself up further, letting the chill air surround him, seeping into his bones.

He sits.

And remembers.

After a few moments, he hears movement. Ears prickling and head whipping up, he spots a boy walking between some nearby tombstones. He looks to be a teenager, fifteen—maybe sixteen—years of age. The boy pauses at one of the graves, looking at it silently, his hands shoved into his pockets. After a moment, his eyes lift and meet Silco’s.

Silco meets his gaze, unblinking. The boy doesn’t seem at all fazed by Silco’s corrupted eye, giving him a small, polite nod. Silco nods in return before tearing his eyes away.

Ocean green and volcanic orange eyes pause on the small wooden box on the bench. 

Mahogany. Expertly crafted. Like the bench, it’s beautiful in its simplicity. Unbidden, Silco’s throat bobs as he reaches for the box and gingerly places it on his lap.

After taking a deep breath, he lifts the lid.

The first thing he sees is a bracelet. Black in color and made of thin strips of leather with small circular charms along the strings, it’s plain and modest. The surface of the leather looks almost brittle, worn around its edges from frequent use.

Underneath, there’s a stack of photos. Lifting them, he recognizes the first as one he had taken. The late woman stands laughing beside The Last Drop’s jukebox, Felicia grinning widely next to her. Vander can be seen in the corner, caught mid-sentence as he speaks with whom Silco can only assume is Benzo. Setting down that photo, Silco’s eyebrows lift when he sees the next one.

He doesn’t remember this photo being taken at all, which is curious given the fact he’s the one and only subject of the photo. Silco—sporting long hair tied back in a low bun—sits at the bar, pouring over his notebook. His right arm is wrapped in strips of off-white fabric and in his hand is a pencil, which hovers over the page, posed to write. 

Silco remembers this night.

It was the night Felicia told him and Vander she was pregnant with Violet. It was the night everything changed.

Funny, how the night he learns of one pregnancy happens to also be the night his lover leaves him because of hers.

He hums, continuing to study the photograph.

He had forgotten what he looked like at that age, so used to seeing his marred reflection in the mirror. So used to covering half of his face with foundation just to regain some semblance of normalcy.

Silco’s about to look through the rest of the box when he sees movement out of his periphery. Quickly, he shuts the box and looks up to see the boy from before, standing in front of him.

“Sorry,” he says, voice quiet. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t,” Silco replies simply. His good eyebrow lifts in silent question.

“Is it okay if…” The boy gestures to the empty spot on the bench. 

Silco stands, hand offering the seat, the box neatly tucked under his arm.

“Oh, you didn’t have to leave,” the boy says, scooting over to leave some room. “I just wanted to sit for a little bit.”

Silco eyes him for a moment, then, against his better judgement, sits back down. The mahogany box feels heavy in his lap. The boy’s eyes look at it briefly before looking out into the rest of the cemetery.

The pair sit in silence, the only sound the rustle of the leaves as the wind rushes through the nearby trees. Silco’s hand covers the box, fingers idly smoothing over the carving of a rose on the lid.

He doesn’t know why he does it, compelled by a nagging curiosity, but Silco breaks the silence.

“Do you have family here?”

The boy nods. “My grandpa.”

Silco hums.

Silence falls between them again.

“Do you?” the boy asks, eyes lifting to meet Silco’s.

Silco’s lips press together, the tip of his chipped tooth catching the inside of his mouth a little.

“In a sense.”

The boy sighs. “At least it’s a pretty nice view.”

Silco follows his gaze.

“It is.”

“Well, except for that.” 

The boy points to a large tombstone made of porcelain with gold accents all along its edges. Every inch of it seems to be covered in some sort of design, painted in blue. But the patterns come across as less elegant and more like visual noise; the eye given nowhere to rest, the senses overwhelmed by all the complicated shapes and textures.

Laughing, the boy makes a retching noise. “It’s so ugly.”

Silco’s lips pull into a smirk, head tilting.

“There’s no accounting for taste.”

“Yup.”

The boy abruptly gets to his feet, seemingly satisfied. Turning to Silco, he puts his hand out in offering.

“I’m Marlow, by the way.”

“Marlow.” Silco takes his hand and shakes it. “Nice to meet you.”

The boy nods, seemingly out of words. After offering a small smile, he turns on his heel, heading for the gates.

Silco continues to sit on the bench, thumb rubbing absentmindedly on the box’s carvings. After a moment, his eyes widen and he reaches into his coat pocket for the letter, eyes darting down to the bottom.

M.

He looks up to find the boy has disappeared. He lets a short chuckle out of his nose as he shakes his head, rising to his feet.

After one final look at his ex-lover’s grave, he starts his trek back home.

He has a feeling this won’t be the last time he visits this cemetery.

And it won’t be the last he’s seen of that boy.

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[runningincircl3s]

Nothing Ever After

Noah Sebastian x Reader x Vinny Mauro

Chapter Seventeen

masterlist

chapter warnings: alcohol, SMALL SMUT WARNING (through a flashback), reader singing just pretend, subtle foreshadowing through the songs...

this is just a fun and super silly filler chapter! bad omens want to keep their cool and mysterious reputation but ik these guys are lovers of fun, also i wrote this chapter when i was soo tired so reading this back honestly felt like a fever dream

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The bar was pretty lively tonight, the constant hum of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter filled the air, along with a lingering smell of alcohol as you stood at the bar and ordered another margarita before asking Noah if he'd like another drink

“I’ll have a pepsi.” He smiled, looking up from his phone. 

“One margarita and a pepsi…” The bartender nodded, adding it to Noah’s tab. 

“I just told the guys we’re here, they're already on their way,” Noah mentioned, leaning against the bar as you waited for your drinks.

The two of you had already been here for about half an hour. It’s been nice to spend time with him away from the others and somewhere that isn’t a hotel room or empty tour bus.

“You sure it's okay for them to join us?"

“Yeah of course, I thought that was the plan anyway.” You smiled, glancing at your phone as you waited for the bartender to return with your drinks. You had been hoping for a text from Vinny, maybe an apology, but so far, nothing.

“So," Noah asked as you were given your drinks, "How was your weekend?"

“It was fine,” you said, putting your phone down on the bar, “Vinny’s parents were lovely, and I made sure I got plenty of pictures for them.”

“I didn’t know you and Vin were even that close,” Noah says, raising an eyebrow, “Wasn't it kind of weird?”

“Not at all, anyway his parents invited me, didn't they. Vinny and I are pretty good friends, I guess you just don’t see us around each other that often.” And you wonder why that is. 

“Well, after seeing you two the other week I’d say he might have a crush on you,” Noah smirked, “I don’t blame him.”

You almost choked on your drink, holding back laughter.

“A crush? What are we, seven?” You scoffed, “I don’t see him like that at all, he's just a good friend.”

“Vinny please! Fuck, you’re the only thing on my mind when I’m with Noah, there's nothing between us… Not when this is all I think about!”

“Oh yeah?” He smirks, your words only egging him on as he lifts your legs over his shoulder, his cock hitting deeper than it ever had. He looked even more beautiful like this, the sweat beading on his forehead, the hair hanging over his eyes as he leaned down, his lips attaching to your neck, “I bet you wanna moan my name too… Oh what would he do if he ever found out you're my pretty whore, sweetheart.” 

You tried to push away the thoughts that came flooding back from last night, you also tried to stop thinking about Vinny so much as you were with Noah tonight. Between the silence on the drive home and the way he spoke to you in his hotel room, you realised your feelings towards him probably weren't as reciprocated as you were led to believe.

“Hey it’s your birthday next month, right?” Noah asked, noticing how you had gone silent.

“Yep,” you smiled, “I’m not telling you the date though. I don’t want anyone making a fuss, and Bry knows how I’d feel if he ever told anyone.”

“Okay,” Noah chuckles, “I was just asking.”

“There you guys are!” You heard Folio before you spotted him, with Matt, Jolly, Nicholas and Bryan. 

“So... When does karaoke start?” Jolly asked, clapping his hands together, noticing how nobody was singing yet. 

“I’m pretty sure it’s already started-”

“Since when? You could’ve told me, Noah!” You gasped, smiling at Jolly as you took his hand, “Can we do a duet?”

“I thought you’d never ask!” 

"We're gonna play 8-ball, we'll watch from over there!" Folio called out as you and Jolly walked up to the makeshift stage.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“What’s the sense in sharing, this one and only life.” You sang into the microphone, getting caught up in the energy with a wide smile on your face as you looked over at Jolly, who was reading the words off of the screen.

“Ending up just another lost and only wife.” Jolly sang, “You count up the years.”

“And they will be filled with tears” You sang together. 

“Love only breaks up to start over again!”

“You’ll get the baby, but you won’t have your man…” Jolly seemed to be a little off, you chuckled to yourself as you assumed he didn’t know the song too well. 

“While he is busy loving every woman that he can… Uh huh!” 

This was easily the most fun you’ve had the whole tour, as you were catching your breath you spot Matt leaving the guys and making his way over to the two of you, looking ready to join in. 

“Young hearts run free! They’ll never be hung up, hung up like my man and me!” The three of you sang, Matt leaned towards you to share the mic, as s couple people in the bar cheered for all of you, and you saw Noah singing along with a grin on his face. 

As you three continued to sing the rest of the song, you kept motioning for Noah to join in, or one of the other guys, but they all shook their head- even Folio which surprised you the most. 

When the song ended, you noticed no one else was eager to get up next and sing, so you took a sip of your drink and promised the small "audience" an encore. You scanned the song list, hoping to pick one you knew Noah would join you in.

Then you saw it, the perfect song. You turned to Noah, watching his expression change as the music started.

“Come on, Noah!” you smiled, “Just this one?”

His smile was slow but inevitable, though he shook his head, looking down at the ground. Anyone watching would have thought he was a little embarrassed. A faint blush coloured his cheeks as you pouted, calling out again.

“Please!” You pleaded, “...Do it for Cher!”

Somehow, whatever you did managed to convince him and he said whispered something to Nicholas before slipping his phone in his pocket and began walking over to you. As he approached, you noticed how good he looked tonight, even in a simple pair of black joggers and a matching t-shirt. Maybe it was his hair, he’d clearly styled it differently tonight. It was growing out again, and you couldn’t help but hope he’d let it keep growing.

“No matter how hard I try… You keep pushing me aside and I can’t break through! There’s no talking to you…” You bobbed along to the music as you sang, a wide grin on your face as Noah picked up the other microphone.

“It’s so sad that you’re leaving,” he joined in, “It takes time to believe it, but after all is said and done, you’re gonna be the lonely one.”

“Do you believe in life after love.”

“I can feel something inside me say…”

“I really don’t think you’re strong enough!”

“Do you believe in life after love!”

Noah knew the song so much better than you, which didn’t surprise you at all. You thought back to the night by his pool when he told you about his love for Cher, explaining how a fan had gifted him the Cher shirt he wore all the time.

“I don’t need you anymore!” Noah sang, trying not to laugh.

“No, I don’t need you anymore!” You matched his energy, grinning.

After the song ended, you both bowed dramatically to the small handful of people in the bar who were enjoying the show you were putting on. You couldn’t help but smile contently as Noah threw his arm around your shoulder, walking back to the guys. You noticed Folio raised an eyebrow.

“Who knew you could sing like that?” Noah chuckled, taking a sip of his drink as you both sat down opposite the pool table, it was currently Ruffilo's turn.

“Yeah well compared to you-”

“Well, if you two are gonna keep flirting, me and Bryan want to see if they have 'don't stop believing'.” Folio announced with a grin.

“We're not-”

“It’s okay,” Noah patted your knee, “He’s not wrong is he.” He smirked, and you hid your smile as you took a sip of your drink, finishing yet another margarita.

"So, y/n," Bryan cleared his throat, "How was your weekend?"

"Why does everyone keep asking?" The words left your mouth quicker than you intended, sharper than you meant for them to be. "It was fine."

"Did something happen?" Jolly asked after a moment of silence, concern in his eyes as he noticed how the question clearly pissed you off.

It only pissed you off because it reminded you of him.

"Oh, no not at all!" You shake your head, "It was fun, I just, uh, everyone keeps asking me but I was just there to take pictures. I was working." You said, almost trying to convince yourself.

"What do you think about Vin?" Bryan asked, "I didn't realise you guys were even friends."

It was as if the guys all shared one single braincell between them.

"That's because I wasn't there as his friend, Bry," You were so thankful the only two of the guys who knew about your situation with Vinny weren't here at this moment, "I think he's a great guy, we're good friends but his parents specifically asked if I could come because they wanted a photographer."

"But, wait isn't his sister a-"

“Oh my God they’re really doing it,” Nicholas laughed, pointing over at Nick and Matt, “And they’ve only had one beer!” 

“Just a small town girl, living in a lonely world! She took the midnight train going anywhere!” Folio sang and you tried to contain your laughter, he looked so happy to be up there, bless him. 

“Just a city boy, born and raised in south Detroit… He took the midnight train going anywhere!” Matt sang, nodding his head as he read the lyrics off the screen. 

You couldn’t help but crack up at Nick’s air guitaring, followed by the way Matt looked so passionately at him as they sang together. 

However, your attention was drawn back as Noah’s phone started to ring. But, to your surprised, he took one look at the contact which happened to be ‘Toby (Sumerian)’ and he didn't hesitate as he flipped his phone over. 

“Weren’t you supposed to answer that?” You asked, and he thought for a moment before shaking his head. 

“No, not tonight,” he sneakily wrapped an arm around you as you felt his hand rest on your waist, “I’m here having a night off with my friends, with you.” 

He kissed your forehead, and suddenly your cheeks were hot, a rush of warmth spread through you. It had been so long since you’d felt like this with Noah, so long since the Noah you’d fallen for had shown up. But tonight, it was like he had come back.

You noticed Nicholas giving you two the side eye, his lips curling up into a teasing smirk, but you chose to ignore this. 

As Nick and Matt finished their song, you had an idea that you knew the guys would hate you for, but one which would be quite funny. You would need to sneak away from them- maybe pretend to go the bathroom. You wouldn't do it yet, you'd wait a little while first, maybe have a couple more drinks first.

"Wow," was all you could say as Matt and Folio returned, "We need your guys' vocals on the next album!"

"I've been saying that for years, y/n. They just won't listen." Folio sighed dramatically, "Anyone want another drink?"

"Please." You smiled, the rest of the guys shook their heads in response, their glasses still full.

You checked your phone again, still no text from Vinny. You wondered if you should text first, but held yourself back.

"So," you put your phone back down and look up at Noah, "What did you get up to whilst I was gone?"

"Not much..." He thinks for a moment, and you noticed he gave Bryan a look before saying, "Me and Matt went to the gym... Uh, yeah that's pretty much it."

You watched as Nick returned with drinks for him and yourself, placing yours down on the table before he sat down with his.

"Well, I went fishing and caught a..." Folio lost you as he began explaining the fish he caught, how he had never caught one of them before and how rare it is. You just smile and nodded your head, it was quite wholesome to hear him talk so passionately about his hobby.

"That's so cool!" You smiled, despite not understanding a word he said.

The guys all talked, and you occasionally joined in, but as you finished your drink you thought now would be the perfect time to execute your plan.

"I need to pee." You said to Noah, "Can you look after my stuff?"

"Of course." He smiled, and you got up from your seat and headed to the bathroom.

However, as you returned, instead of going back to the group, you made a beeline to the karaoke stage. A couple of young girls were belting out a song when you approached, and you patiently waited and cheered for them as they finished. As you searched for the next song, you could feel the anticipation building inside you, this was your moment.

You were almost certain they wouldn't have this song, and you were right, but you knew all the words so all you needed was the backing track and you were good to go. 

As the music began to play out of the speaker, you felt the familiar rush of adrenaline mix with the alcohol in your veins, making you giddy with excitement. Your smile was wide, and you couldn’t suppress it as you picked up the mic. You glanced over at the guys, who had no idea what was coming. They were all busy talking, unaware that you were about to take them by surprise.

“I’m not afraid of the war I’ve come to wage against my sins…” 

Their reactions were priceless. You couldn't contain your laughter as you saw the pure terror on Noah’s face, the way Folio's smile quickly faded, Ruffilo's eyes widening in fear and the way Matt, Bryan and Jolly all burst out laughing. 

“I’m not okay… But I can try my best to just pretend, so will you wait me out? Or will you drown me out… So will you wait me out…" You began to really feel the music, bouncing up and down as you sang, "Or will you drown me out?! I can wait for you at the bottom! I can stay away if you want me- Noah what are you doing?” You giggle as he takes the microphone from you, cutting the music and beginning to lead you away from the stage.

“You’re drunk,” he chuckled, “C’mon it’s probably time we leave now.” 

“But I didn’t thank them!” You pouted as he puts his hoodie that he brought with him over your head, letting you slip your arms in.

“Thank who?”

“My audience.” 

“You mean the two old guys eyeing you up?”

“Exactly!” You giggled, feeling Noah’s arm wrap around you as he walked back to the guys. 

“I think I’ll get y/n to bed and make sure she has some water. See you tomorrow guys.” He chuckles, collecting your things as you wave to the guys.

The group gave their goodbyes, and Noah led you out of the bar, his arm protectively wrapped around you as you stumbled slightly, leaning into him for support. The cool night air hit your face, and you smiled up at Noah, feeling an odd sense of calm settle over you.

“I’ve had a lot of fun tonight, Noah.” You tell him, holding onto his arm as you walk together. 

“Yeah? Me too, I’ve actually been able to switch off from work for the night, and I don’t think I’ve done karaoke in about 10 years!” 

“You do karaoke every other night on tour!” You laugh, “Have I ever told you how much I love your voice?”

“Uh…” Noah thinks, “No I don’t think so.” 

“I fucking love your voice...” Your words slur as you mumble, “You’re unreal!” 

“Well, thank you,” he grinned, clearly entertained by your drunken honesty. “And your rendition of Cher? It was... unique.”

“Hey we could be Sonny and Cher for halloween!” 

“Really? I’d rather not spend my birthday with a moustache.”

“You’d look hot with a moustache!” You blurted out, without any hesitation.

“I’ll have to disagree with you there, angel.” He laughed.

“Yeah me too.... you always look fucking hot.”

Noah couldn’t help but chuckle at how open you were being right now, but they do say drunk words are sober thoughts. 

“And you always look beautiful.”

Your steps faltered for a moment, and you suddenly stopped walking, catching his gaze under the streetlight. His words seemed to hang in the air between you.

“Really?”

“Why would I lie?” He says, “Y'know, you always look best in the morning when we have to rush you out of your room on to the bus, , the messy hair, old stained pjs, grandma slippers-”

“Bastard!” You smack his chest, “I value my comfort over anything, thank you.” 

“And that's what I love about you y/n… You just don’t care. You’re real, and that’s something that’s so rare to come by these days. That's part of the reason why I gave up on dating," He confesses, "But then you came along again, I've always wanted to get to know you better since the time we first met, it was my idea for you to join us on this tour-”

“Really?” You ask once more, feeling a lump in the back of your throat at his words, “Noah I-”

“I wasn’t finished,” he chuckles, pressing a finger to your lips to silence you, “I was worried whilst you were away with Vin this weekend-” 

“Fuck Vinny!” You spat out, the anger suddenly flaring up in your chest. But he shook his head, cutting you off.

“My point is,” he said, taking a deep breath, “I don’t want to hide anymore. If you think we have something real, I think we should give it a shot... I know I shouldn’t be telling you this now, because you’ll probably forget everything by the morning, but I can’t keep pretending like this. I don’t know how much longer I can go without you, y/n. I feel terrible about the way I’ve been acting lately. I never realise how much I hurt people until it’s too late, and you’re the last person I ever want to hurt.”

You were stunned, unable to find the words to respond. His sincerity hit you like a wave, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to disappear.

You suddenly reached up, pulling him down to your level, pressing your lips to his. The kiss was unexpected, but it felt right, and for a few seconds, the chaos of everything else faded away.

When you pulled away, your breath coming in shallow gasps, you suddenly turned, feeling a wave of nausea hit you.

“Y/n are you okay?” He asked, rubbing his hand on your back as you bent over. 

“No… I think I’m gonna be sick…” You whispered, feeling his hands move to hold your hair back. 

“Think you can wait until we get back to the hotel?” He asks softly. 

“Maybe…” You breathe in and out slowly, “Just don’t make me walk too fast.”

That’s okay,” he chuckled, his arm steadying you. “Let’s go and get you to bed.”

"Yeah..."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“C’mon,” Noah says as he pushes your door open, “Let’s get you ready for bed.”

“I’m so tired.” You mumble, sitting on the edge of your bed, barely able to keep your eyes open.  

“I know, baby,” he murmurs, crouching down in front of you with a soft pout. He carefully slips your shoes off, his touch surprisingly tender. “But trust me, you’ll feel so much better in the morning if you let me take care of you tonight.”

“Okay…” You sigh, trying to keep your eyes open as he searches your room for your pyjamas. 

“Can you dress yourself?” He asked, setting the tshirt and shorts down next to you on your bed. 

“Can you help me?” You asked, picking the shirt up to find it’s inside out. 

Noah smiles gently.

“Of course,” he says, taking the shirt from your hand and flipping it the right way around before helping you out of your clothes. His hands are steady and he remains respectful as he slips his fingers under the hem of your shirt, lifting it carefully. There’s a quiet intensity to the way he helps you, his gaze never straying from your face as he helps you step out of your jeans.

You don’t mind the intimacy of the moment. It felt strangely comforting.

When you’re in nothing but your underwear, he picks up the band t-shirt you’ve stolen from Bryan all those years ago. He pulls it over your head with a soft chuckle as you mutter nonsense.

Once you were dressed, he led you to the bathroom to wash your face and brush your teeth. You couldn’t help but giggle as he sat you on the toilet and tied your back, pumping some of your cleanser onto his hands and carefully massaging it into your face. 

“Since when were you into skincare?” You smiled.

“...How’d you know?” He questions.

“You knew what the cleanser was for.” He chuckles as he runs a cloth under warm water and begins wiping it off your face. 

“Maybe I like to take care of my skin too.”

“I love your skin.” You mumble, getting up and reaching for your toothbrush. 

As you got into your bed, Noah grabbed a bottle of water from the mini bar and handed it to you, telling you to have at least three sips before going to sleep. 

“Thank you, Noah.” You smile as you pulled the covers over you, getting comfy as you let your eyes shut. 

“For what?” He chuckled, fixing a strand of hair that had fallen over your eyes. 

“Tonight… It’s been fun…" You mumble as your eyes fall shut, "Even if you did have to look after me…”

“It’s not like I haven’t done it before, angel.” He smiled, noticing how peaceful you looked as you fell asleep, “Sweet dreams.”

As he moved to get up from his place beside you on your bed, he heard your phone vibrate from it’s place on the nightstand.  He knew he shouldn’t, but he looked over anyway in case it was something important, but he furrowed his eyebrows as he looked and saw it was a text.

From Vinny?

-------------------------

@rumoured-whispers @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @lma1986 @thisbicc @dominuslunae @miss570 @miamore0570 @jilliemiw86 @itsyaboinoah @kait16xo @discocowgirly

[foibles-fables]

This is a little rambly, but: Do you have any tips for people who are trying to re-learn media literacy skills? It’s kind of disheartening to see the number of people I’ve seen in the arcane fandom on high horses doing the point and laugh at someone else for missing the deeper meaning/metaphors/symbolism. It’s alienating to be humiliated like that you know? (Maybe I’m just still fresh jn my post-election grief but it just reminds me of how, when someone becomes open to new viewpoints and new perspectives, we should meet them halfway and encourage these new questions and developing skills, instead of antagonizing them back in the other direction. Does that make sense?)

Hi nonny!!!!

First of all, I wanna say that these are some great questions and I'm truly flattered to have been asked! I can't say I'm a total expert here, so if anyone reading has other tips, please leave them in the reblogs or comments.

Second, you're also so right that nobody should be pointing or laughing at someone who doesn't "get it," if the person who didn't "get it" is giving their genuine analysis and is open for discussion and other viewpoints. It's when folks on either side of whatever the divide is slinging start insults that conversations become unproductive--which in and of itself is not conducive to media literacy. I am so sorry you've felt alienated by any of the back and forth happening; that doesn't feel good for anyone.

There are four pieces of advice I'll give. (and this is NOT assuming you're not doing these already, nonny!)

First, consume a lot of media. Read/watch/play with abandon. Consume things that are easy, consume things that challenge you. Reflect on them. Nothing fancy needed there. Ask questions--what is this trying to show me, and did it work? How could it have been seen differently, and why do I disagree with that view? Having a bigger reservoir of experience helps you evaulate everything you consume thereafter!

Second is pretty simple--pay attention. If you're planning on actively engaging with a piece of media, of course you've gotta actually immerse yourself in it! I'm guilty of being a phone-scroller while watching some things, but it's a detriment to getting the full picture of what you're watching or playing or reading. To be able to ask the questions, you have to do the work.

The third tip I'll give is to familiarize yourself with craft, whether that's writing, cinematography, etc. It helps you recognize the hows and whys of technicality, and allows you to evaluate what was attempted and what succeeded, or did not succeed. This also helps you take genre expectations into account as you assess the story's/creator's intention versus execution.

Finally--and this ties in with your concerns--allow yourself to think about other viewpoints, even if your own evalutations don't change.

One thing I'll say about Arcane in particular is that the long (and necessary!!!) development cycle led to folks having a close-held ideal of what the next season would look like--and when reality falls short of what they built up, that hurts. Such an impactful show means a LOT to people and it's unsurprising that it's bringing out a lot of strong convictions.

[arcane-ish]

Nobody is forced to ship it but imo the biggest "pointers" are:

Some people see their jackets hanging together as a Brokeback Mountain reference (= a famous movie about a gay love story).

When Viktor looks into Vander's mind the first thing that pops up in Vander's mind is him and Silco as miners followed by an incredibly sappy "rose colored glasses" picture of young Silco looking cute with a little smile on his lips. It feels like a shorthand from the writers "this is the person Vander loved the most". It makes sense for the character of Vander to be haunted by how he attacked Silco so things like the nightmare picture of the disfigured Silco. But this memory of Silco just seems very cheesy and not very "back in the gold old times when my bro didn't hate me".

The line in the AU where Vander says Ekko should run this place which leads to Silco to pop up and say "So there's a chance for us yet" (imo refering to him and Vander based on body language) To me that just reads like a couple making plans.

Back in season 1 one if the animators went to Twitter and said that they were given a neutral script but chose to interpret them as bitter exes.

We know from season 1 that apparently Silco talked *excessively* about Vander even though Vander has been dead for years. So much that Jinx gets annoyed by how often he does it. "You told me a million times. [...] he was like a brother to you, and he turned his back and blah, blah, blah. Did I miss anything?"(and we know that whatever he told her about Vander made her think that it would have made a huge difference if Silco had found the letter.

Again you are not forced to interpret it like that, but imo that's why I think there's a good chance it is meant that way rather than just "I like it that way".

The reason why I like it that way was in season 1 that you had these two sisters who desperately wanted to make up but were at odds and Silco was sort of a symoblic of Jinx and Vander as a symbolic of Vi in what drives them apart. So those two opposing forces making up and creating a family again and healing the thing that imo clearly haunted both of them was just appealing to me. And Season 2 just takes it further into "Jinx has two dads" territory where Silco of course meant a lot to her, but apparently so does Vander so it's just cute that the happy AU is where Powder has two dads. I just think they would be two fun dads together who tease each other (Bozo no 1 and Bozo no 2).

So that's why I like it, but jackets, watercolor Silco and just the way Silco and Vander act with each other in that scene in the AU verse makes me think it might actually have been meant that way or at least be highly open and suggestive of that interpretation.

And in the end, people who like characters are just prone to shipping what they think makes the character happy and that AU shows them at their happiest and it with them together (rather than "AU where Vander or Silco married Felicia")

Basically, feel free to not ship it, but don't try to police people who do. For example, I also ship Ekko/Jinx and I also thought there were signs in season 1 of there being more to the story. Season 2 of course made it sort of canon. But even now there are people who don't like them even though we KNOW that Ekko is romantically interested in her and she likes him back in at least one universe. But people are still allowed to not like it or prefer another ship. They then go that it's just a phase or that Ekko doesn't really love Jinx. And people have a right to their other preferences. Just don't be an asshole to people just because they chose to see Ekko and Jinx as this tragical potential love or as just a dumb detour.

People are allowed to see different things as cute.

It seems everyone thinks Vander and Silco were in a relationship at some point. And they believe the alternate universe proves that.

I don’t see it though. I’ve always read them as best friends who were practically brothers. Is there somthing I’m not seeing? Did the creators confirm it and that’s why everyone is shipping them? I’m so confused. Even my sibling is saying they thought the were just brothers so it’s not just me.

I mean no disrespect but if someone could help me see what everyone else is seeing, I wouldn’t mind a conversation. I just personally don’t see it at all. I just see two brothers who had a terrible falling out and only in another universe did they manage to reconcile.

I really hope I don’t get shit on for this 😭

[thesporkidentity]

personally, i think if you proudly admit upfront that you "only skimmed" a book, you should not be permitted to claim that the plot "didn't make sense"

[egophiliac]

Waittt, what did you mean with your last post?? I don't want to spoil myself so I'm waiting for the nightmare before christmas event to arrive on the eng server before diving deep into the wiki. But I HAVE to know; were there hints of Lilia joining in for a rerun or a sequel ??? Your big "OR IS IT???" filled me with way too much hope !! please tell me it wasn't a bit : (

there was a little teaser at the end that implied there'll be a sequel event, though we don't really know anything beyond that! I do think it's likely we'll get the other half of the cast in it, even if it's just wishful thinking on my part. 🤞🤞 NIGHTMARE SUITS FOR EVERYONE!!!!

as far as I know there's been no confirmation on whether it's going to be next year's Halloween event or a separate thing (the snow makes me think it'll be more Christmas-themed, or otherwise more related to the plot of the original movie) so. we're probably going to have to wait quite a while before we find out anything solid. :') they really do love just dropping these things on us and then watching us go absolutely wild with speculation while they watch like

[blackhholes]

teen wolf meme: [4/5] motifs -> bardo

All the stuff you guys were just saying? All that happens in Bardo. There are different progressive states where you can have hallucinations. Some you see, some you just hear. And you can be visited by peaceful or wrathful deities. [...] If there are different progressive states, then what's the last one? Death. You die.

[hauntingblue]

CAUSE THIS IS THRILLER (bark), THRILLER (bark) NIGHT

Usopp's outfit is so funny for reals

He got the whole squad laughing

Luffy enablers at it again.... (Robin.... I know.....)

The humor panels so far have been so good!!! God this arc is so funny

HE SAID IT‼️‼️

They look like birds 😭😭

It's just too good... luffy taking cerberus and zombies what can't he do

It's just banger after banger what can I say

Franky feeling for other people because of his guilt complex and sanji lying through his teeth and pulling out the women excuse to seem unaffected... yeah

Look at them.... look how they ate

Omg joyboy reference?? (No)

Sanji is rubbing off on usopp.... also chopper noticing that is sogeking's weapon akdhaksjak

ANOTHER SLAY!!!!!

Their priorities: I'm not strong enough, there isn't enough food, and nami isn't here

Franky going from wanting to kill brook for his jokes to making a joke like his after he hears his backstory... exactly (Robin was already enabling him before the backstory even fdagjsfha)

Sanji is altering his body and actually being on fire to communicate to us how fucking mad he is..... I need more of him going insane I do I do

My god what is he doing ALDJALAJALA

AHSAHAHQHAH THEY ARE THE SAME!!! naaah sanji wouldn't force a woman to be his wife

You cant see me but I am nodding my head in agreement over and over

You don't understand he altered his body to communicate to us how mad he is. He inploded himself and then reconstituted again. Those germa 66 genes are insane

You tell em usopp!!!! The first of many girls you've scared into defeat!!! Akdjqknql

Zoro zombie regressed to not trusting robin akdjaks he's still in there

ROBI-CHO SUPLEX??? HELL YEAAAAAH

There is zosa- [GUNSHOT GUNSHOT GUNSHOT GUNSHOT]

Super frapper gong.... he is doing combo shots with frobin... omg.... parents....

Everything is so fun I'm having such a good time reading.... and then zosan angst like damn I am being fed well here

[gen-is-gone]

hrgh every time I think I've come close to forgiving lance fucking parkin I skim the gallifrey chronicles. and then I remember the Horrors.

[tls123]

Oh my god HOW DID YOU LIKE SVSSS!!!!!

i liked it more than i thought i would but overall less than i might have given the potential of the story, i think in general i really enjoyed the characters (mxtx never goes wrong with characters, she creates them in a way that makes me feel unhinged) and the world building but the pay off to the set up—which i really liked!—felt a bit........ i mean, just alright.

the dynamics too are pure mxtx, personally the bin/gqiu dynamic specifically really was the least interesting part of the whole story. to me!! but individually i loved both characters. my interest was just elsewhere because """elsewhere""" felt way more fascinating idk how to explain it

was very, very happy about the extra with airplane and the yue qingyuan / shen jiu one because that's exactly what i wanted more of in the story itself as well as just more shen yuan/qingqiu interacting with cang qiong mountain

maybe it's my orv brain but like i told jana a while back i think i would have enjoyed svsss way more if it was more about shen yuan (loner; hater; etc) suddenly finding himself among all of these people (disciples looking up to him; sect siblings relying on him one way or another; common folk admiring him; etc etc) and starting to.... live? again?

Shen Qingqiu hadn't noticed that, unconsciously, he no longer considered the disciples around him (...) to be mob characters the novel had described in a scant number of words.

^from volume one, he starts seeing them almost immediately because he's not actually that separate and he genuinely cares. all the time. about everything. even before that we get:

This was only a book, and all the people were constructs, imaginary characters. Logically, Shen Qingqiu was very clear on this fact...but when a character was actually being taunted and bullied right before his eyes, it was just flat-out unrealistic to expect him to be completely unmoved.

like why are you lying, shen yuan (<- svsss tagline if there ever was one)

just the idea of this really lonely detached guy finding a community, i know it's not the story mxtx was trying to tell but again, with the set up i really wanted to see it go in that direction.

there's one line from vol two where liu qingge goes "you fear becoming a burden to cang qiong mountain (...) but cang qiong mountain fears not your burden"

and basically what i'm saying is that i wish the story had been about THAT

(and also ning yingying's lines in that same chapter about shizun always taking on everything himself and why is it always you like that whole moment with the cang qiong mountain almost begging him to see that they care. idek what i'm saying but you know)

(also foaming at the mouth that we only got tiny tiny glimpses of shen yuan's life from before, those handful of times he mentioned his siblings i wanted to take a bite out of my kindle. tell me more!! dear fucking lord tell me more!! keep talking! elaborate!! he really felt very "kim dokja and his fourth wall" at times, sorry once more about the orv brain)

tldr: i guess i wanted a story about shen yuan/qingqiu but mxtx created svsss to be a story about bin/gqiu. and i just have to be okay with that.

[sysig]

One better (Patreon)

[britneyshakespeare]

not until i started reading restoration and post-restoration plays written by women like aphra behn and susanna centlivre did i fully understand romantic comedy on another level. the male love interests are just built better. like as much as i love a midsummer night's dream, if i were hermia i would never risk death or a forced life in a nunnery for lysander. no. hell no. he's just ken. but if i were miranda would i risk my thirty-thousand-pound inheritance to elope with sir george airy? if i were leticia would i contemplate leaving behind my country and my hated old husband i was tricked into marrying the second i learn that belmour is still alive, to live with his banished ass in exile? hm. let me thin—yes.