#so that's just setting myself up for failure

[jakesyluslly]

summary: you're going through a stressful time and you surrender yourself to sylus

𖹭𖹭𖹭

you were going through a stressful time. your mind was too full, you couldn't think clearly. your depressive mood was eating and draining you from the inside. maybe stress was normal, but you couldn't control it. at some point you couldn't even tolerate yourself. you wanted to do nothing, literally nothing.

you sat on the bed, wearing a thin nightgown that reached down to your knees. you pulled your legs up to your chest, put your chin between your knees and just stayed like that for a while. times like these came and went, yes, but it didn't make you feel good at that moment. besides, you didn't want to talk to anyone. yes, not even to him. you didn't want to overwhelm sylus with your problems, you didn't want him to have to deal with your problems when he already had enough of his own. you pretended that everything was fine, forgetting how well he knew you.

sylus opened the door slowly and walked in. he knew something was wrong, of course he did. he sighed when he saw you curled up in a ball on the bed. seeing you upset made him even more upset, you kind of set the mood for him. he approached you slowly, sitting on the edge of the bed. ''sweetie…'' he gently brushed your hair out of your face, he wanted to look at you. he grabbed your chin and turned your face towards him, he could read everything in your eyes. ''i'm fine.'' you mumbled, but he didn't believe a word you said. ''don't expect me to believe you.''

he put his hand on your cheek, his thumb stroked under your eye. “if you don't want to tell me what happened, then don't.” he whispered. he took you in his arms and sat you on his lap, made you rest your head on his chest. “but let me keep you company. let me share your silence, your pain.“ his words brought tears to your eyes. all the emotions you had repressed were coming out. you were unable to speak, as if someone was squeezing your throat. ”sshh…” he stroked your hair, massaged your scalp. it was killing him to see you like that. he closed his eyes, lowered his head and inhaled the scent of her hair. ''you don't need to hold yourself back. let your emotions come out. you want to cry? cry.'' you felt his breath in your hair, his presence reassured you. you wrapped your arms tightly around him, you needed him, more than anything. you rubbed your nose against his neck and finally tears started to stream down your cheeks.

sylus held you tightly, rubbing soft circles on your back, stroking your hair. ''everything will pass. everything will be fine.'' he held you close to him, feeling your tears on his skin. you trembled like a wounded bird in his arms, and his heart trembled to see you like that. ''this won't last forever, my love. no pain is permanent.'' he continued to tell you what was in his heart. you were crying as you listened to him, but you felt yourself relaxing. it was as if tons of weight were slowly lifting off you. ''sometimes i feel so helpless.'' you murmured through your tears. ''i feel hopeless, a failure. i… i can't help myself.''

sylus listened to you carefully, pressing soft kisses into your hair. ''you're so strong.'' he whispered in your ear, you could feel his voice deep in your soul. ''you can't imagine what you've been through. you'll get through this, you'll overcome everything. but…'' he held your chin and lifted your head, looked into your eyes for a while. he stroked your lower lip with his thumb as he looked into your eyes, swollen and red from crying. ''…but you don't have to go through it alone. you're not alone. i'm here.''

he took your cheeks in his hands and wiped away your tears. ”i can't take your pain away from you, but i can make you share it with me. i don't want to see those beautiful eyes of yours crying with sadness anymore. haven't you cried enough already?”

you didn't understand his last sentence very well, you weren't sure what he meant, but you couldn't dwell on it. ''i will always hold your hand, no matter what.” he said, smiling softly. he took your hand and brought it to his lips, turning his head to kiss the palm of your hand. you felt your heart soften as you looked at him, you were glad you had him.

“get some rest. sleep will do you good.” sylus was about to put you to bed when you stopped him, you had other plans. “sylus… can i sleep on your lap?”

sylus' curious expression was replaced by a smile, his eyes softened. ''of course, of course, my darling. come here.'' he took you in his arms, held you like a baby and placed a tender kiss on your forehead. ''I'll be here when you wake up, right next to you.'' he hummed a soothing melody to help you fall asleep easily, stroking your hair. you felt your eyelids feel heavy, your eyes were already hurting from crying. there was an indescribable pleasure in sleeping after crying. soon your body relaxed and you fell asleep in sylus' arms.

he kissed you from your cheek to your chin, his eyes never leaving you for a moment. “my most precious treasure. from now on i will be with you every moment, i promise.”

[patalliumapples]

not planning out your novel is all fun and games until you want to write but your brain is just completely blank

[cable-salamdr]

Okay okay here’s a more serious DRs2p2 bingo that I’ve actually taken a bit of time to consider with what I think it more or less likely to happen for real.

If I don’t get a full bingo I will krill myself

(I’m willing to answer any questions y’all might have on my predictions too in case someone wants to know)

[aq2003]

martha jones is kind of like if horatio and ophelia were one person tbh

this post by darkcomedies

s03e08 human nature // hamlet (2009), act 3 scene 2 // hamlet to horatio, act 3 scene 2 // martha about ten, s03e09 the family of blood // s03e03 gridlock // hamlet (2009), act 5 scene 1 // canary in a coal mine by the crane wives

s03e02 the shakespeare code // hamlet (2009), act 3 scene 1 // ophelia about hamlet, act 2 scene 1 // s03e07 42 // hamlet (2009), act 3 scene 2 // s03e05 evolution of the daleks // hoping on another life by madds buckley

hamlet's letter to ophelia, act 2 scene 2 // s03e13 last of the time lords // hamlet (2009), act 5 scene 2 // the shooting script for s03e07 42 // the tags on darkcomedies' post

[patolemus]

i’m watching episode 14 of season 2 of supernatural and this is DIABOLICAL like sam wym you’re asking dean to kill you???? after he LITERALLY COVERED UP A CRIME SCENE FOR YOU????

i can’t with these goddamn winchesters they’re going to be the fucking death of me

[bibliosims]

bonus kalei pics

[queenlucythevaliant]

Tell Your Dad You Love Him

A retelling of "Meat Loves Salt"/"Cap O'Rushes" for the @inklings-challenge Four Loves event

An old king had three daughters. When his health began to fail, he summoned them, and they came.

Gordonia and Rowan were already waiting in the hallway when Coriander arrived. They were leaned up against the wall opposite the king’s office with an air of affected casualness. “I wonder what the old war horse wants today?” Rowan was saying. “More about next year’s political appointments, I shouldn’t wonder.”

“The older he gets, the more he micromanages,” Gordonia groused fondly. “A thousand dollars says this meeting could’ve been an email.”

They filed in single-file like they’d so often done as children: Gordonia first, then Rowan, and Coriander last of all. The king had placed three chairs in front of his desk all in a row. His daughters murmured their greetings, and one by one they sat down. 

“I have divided everything I have in three,” the king said. “I am old now, and it’s time. Today, I will pass my kingdom on to you, my daughters.”

A short gasp came from Gordonia. None of them could have imagined that their father would give up running his kingdom while he still lived. 

The king went on. “I know you will deal wisely with that which I leave in your care. But before we begin, I have one request.”

“Yes father?” said Rowan.

“Tell me how much you love me.”

An awkward silence fell. Although there was no shortage of love between the king and his daughters, theirs was not a family which spoke of such things. They were rich and blue-blooded: a soldier and the daughters of a soldier, a king and his three court-reared princesses. The royal family had always shown their affection through double meanings and hot cups of coffee.

Gordonia recovered herself first. She leaned forward over the desk and clasped her father’s hands in her own. “Father,” she said, “I love you more than I can say.” A pause. “I don’t think there’s ever been a family so happy in love as we have been. You’re a good dad.”

The old king smiled and patted her hand. “Thank you, Gordonia. We have been very happy, haven’t we? Here is your inheritance. Cherish it, as I cherish you.”

Rowan spoke next; the words came tumbling out.  “Father! There’s not a thing in my life which you didn’t give me, and all the joy in the world beside. Come now, Gordonia, there’s no need to understate the matter. I love you more than—why, more than life itself!”

The king laughed, and rose to embrace his second daughter. “How you delight me, Rowan. All of this will be yours.”

Only Coriander remained. As her sisters had spoken, she’d wrung her hands in her lap, unsure of what to say. Did her father really mean for flattery to be the price of her inheritance? That just wasn’t like him. For all that he was a politician, he’d been a soldier first. He liked it when people told the truth.

When the king’s eyes came to rest on her, Coriander raised her own to meet them. “Do you really want to hear what you already know?” 

“I do.”

She searched for a metaphor that could carry the weight of her love without unnecessary adornment. At last she found one, and nodded, satisfied. “Dad, you’re like—like salt in my food.”

“Like salt?”

“Well—yes.”

The king’s broad shoulders seemed to droop. For a moment, Coriander almost took back her words. Her father was the strongest man in the world, even now, at eighty. She’d watched him argue with foreign rulers and wage wars all her life. Nothing could hurt him. Could he really be upset? 

But no. Coriander held her father’s gaze. She had spoken true. What harm could be in that?

“I don’t know why you’re even here, Cor,” her father said.

Now, Coriander shifted slightly in her seat, unnerved. “What? Father—”

“It would be best if—you should go,” said the old king.

“Father, you can’t really mean–”

“Leave us, Coriander.”

So she left the king’s court that very hour.

 .

It had been a long time since she’d gone anywhere without a chauffeur to drive her, but Coriander’s thoughts were flying apart too fast for her to be afraid. She didn’t know where she would go, but she would make do, and maybe someday her father would puzzle out her metaphor and call her home to him. Coriander had to hope for that, at least. The loss of her inheritance didn’t feel real yet, but her father—how could he not know that she loved him? She’d said it every day.

She’d played in the hall outside that same office as a child. She’d told him her secrets and her fears and sent him pictures on random Tuesdays when they were in different cities just because. She had watched him triumph in conference rooms and on the battlefield and she’d wanted so badly to be like him. 

If her father doubted her love, then maybe he’d never noticed any of it. Maybe the love had been an unnoticed phantasm, a shadow, a song sung to a deaf man. Maybe all that love had been nothing at all.  

A storm was on the horizon, and it reached her just as she made it onto the highway. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled. Rain poured down and flooded the road. Before long, Coriander was hydroplaning. Frantically, she tried to remember what you were supposed to do when that happened. Pump the brakes? She tried. No use. Wasn’t there something different you did if the car had antilock brakes? Or was that for snow? What else, what else–

With a sickening crunch, her car hit the guardrail. No matter. Coriander’s thoughts were all frenzied and distant. She climbed out of the car and just started walking.

Coriander wandered beneath an angry sky on the great white plains of her father’s kingdom. The rain beat down hard, and within seconds she was soaked to the skin. The storm buffeted her long hair around her head. It tangled together into long, matted cords that hung limp down her back. Mud soiled her fine dress and splattered onto her face and hands. There was water in her lungs and it hurt to breathe. Oh, let me die here, Coriander thought. There’s nothing left for me, nothing at all. She kept walking.

 .

When she opened her eyes, Coriander found herself in a dank gray loft. She was lying on a strange feather mattress.

She remained there a while, looking up at the rafters and wondering where she could be. She thought and felt, as it seemed, through a heavy and impenetrable mist; she was aware only of hunger and weakness and a dreadful chill (though she was all wrapped in blankets). She knew that a long time must have passed since she was fully aware, though she had a confused memory of wandering beside the highway in a thunderstorm, slowly going mad because—because— oh, there’d been something terrible in her dreams. Her father, shoulders drooping at his desk, and her sisters happily come into their inheritance, and she cast into exile—

She shuddered and sat up dizzily. “Oh, mercy,” she murmured. She hadn’t been dreaming.

She stumbled out of the loft down a narrow flight of stairs and came into a strange little room with a single window and a few shabby chairs. Still clinging to the rail, she heard a ruckus from nearby and then footsteps. A plump woman came running to her from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron and softly clucking at the state of her guest’s matted, tangled hair.

“Dear, dear,” said the woman. “Here’s my hand, if you’re still unsteady. That’s good, good. Don’t be afraid, child. I’m Katherine, and my husband is Folke. He found you collapsed by the goose-pond night before last. I’m she who dressed you—your fine gown was ruined, I’m afraid. Would you like some breakfast? There’s coffee on the counter, and we’ll have porridge in a minute if you’re patient.”

“Thank you,” Coriander rasped.

“Will you tell me your name, my dear?”

“I have no name. There’s nothing to tell.”

Katherine clicked her tongue. “That’s alright, no need to worry. Folke and I’ve been calling you Rush on account of your poor hair. I don’t know if you’ve seen yourself, but it looks a lot like river rushes. No, don’t get up. Here’s your breakfast, dear.”

There was indeed porridge, as Katherine had promised, served with cream and berries from the garden. Coriander ate hungrily and tasted very little. Then, when she was finished, the goodwife ushered her over to a sofa by the window and put a pillow beneath her head. Coriander thanked her, and promptly fell asleep.

 .

She woke again around noon, with the pounding in her head much subsided. She woke feeling herself again, to visions of her father inches away and the sound of his voice cracking across her name.

Katherine was outside in the garden; Coriander could see her through the clouded window above her. She rose and, upon finding herself still in a borrowed nightgown, wrapped herself in a blanket to venture outside.

“Feeling better?” Katherine was kneeling in a patch of lavender, but she half rose when she heard the cottage door open.

“Much. Thank you, ma’am.

“No thanks necessary. Folke and I are ministers, of a kind. We keep this cottage for lost and wandering souls. You’re free to remain here with us for as long as you need.”

“Oh,” was all Coriander could think to say. 

“You’ve been through a tempest, haven’t you? Are you well enough to tell me where you came from?”

Coriander shifted uncomfortably. “I’m from nowhere,” she said. “I have nothing.”

“You don’t owe me your story, child. I should like to hear it, but it will keep till you’re ready. Now, why don’t you put on some proper clothes and come help me with this weeding.”

 .

Coriander remained at the cottage with Katherine and her husband Folke for a week, then a fortnight. She slept in the loft and rose with the sun to help Folke herd the geese to the pond. After, Coriander would return and see what needed doing around the cottage. She liked helping Katherine in the garden.

The grass turned gold and the geese’s thick winter down began to come in. Coriander’s river-rush hair proved itself unsalvageable. She spent hours trying to untangle it, first with a hairbrush, then with a fine-tooth comb and a bottle of conditioner, and eventually even with honey and olive oil (a home remedy that Folke said his mother used to use). So, at last, Coriander surrendered to the inevitable and gave Katherine permission to cut it off. One night, by the yellow light of the bare bulb that hung over the kitchen table, Katherine draped a towel over Coriander’s shoulders and tufts of gold went falling to the floor all round her.

“I’m here because I failed at love,” she managed to tell the couple at last, when her sorrows began to feel more distant. “I loved my father, and he knew it not.”

Folke and Katherine still called her Rush. She didn’t correct them. Coriander was the name her parents gave her. It was the name her father had called her when she was six and racing down the stairs to meet him when he came home from Europe, and at ten when she showed him the new song she’d learned to play on the harp. She’d been Cor when she brought her first boyfriend home and Cori the first time she shadowed him at court. Coriander, Coriander, when she came home from college the first time and he’d hugged her with bruising strength. Her strong, powerful father.

As she seasoned a pot of soup for supper, she wondered if he understood yet what she’d meant when she called him salt in her food. 

 .

Coriander had been living with Katherine and Folke for two years, and it was a morning just like any other. She was in the kitchen brewing a pot of coffee when Folke tossed the newspaper on the table and started rummaging in the fridge for his orange juice. “Looks like the old king’s sick again,” he commented casually. Coriander froze.

She raced to the table and seized hold of the paper. There, above the fold, big black letters said, KING ADMITTED TO HOSPITAL FOR EMERGENCY TREATMENT. There was a picture of her father, looking older than she’d ever seen him. Her knees went wobbly and then suddenly the room was sideways.

Strong arms caught her and hauled her upright. “What’s wrong, Rush?”

“What if he dies,” she choked out. “What if he dies and I never got to tell him?”

She looked up into Folke’s puzzled face, and then the whole sorry story came tumbling out.

When she was through, Katherine (who had come downstairs sometime between salt and the storm) took hold of her hand and kissed it. “Bless you, dear,” she said. “I never would have guessed. Maybe it’s best that you’ve both had some time to think things over.”

Katherine shook her head. “But don’t you think…?”

“Yes?”

“Well, don’t you think he should have known that I loved him? I shouldn’t have needed to say it. He’s my father. He’s the king.”

Katherine replied briskly, as though the answer should have been obvious. “He’s only human, child, for all that he might wear a crown; he’s not omniscient. Why didn’t you tell your father what he wanted to hear?”

“I didn’t want to flatter him,” said Coriander. “That was all. I wanted to be right in what I said.”

The goodwife clucked softly. “Oh dear. Don’t you know that sometimes, it’s more important to be kind than to be right?”

.

In her leave-taking, Coriander tried to tell Katherine and Folke how grateful she was to them, but they wouldn’t let her. They bought her a bus ticket and sent her on her way towards King’s City with plenty of provisions. Two days later, Coriander stood on the back steps of one of the palace outbuildings with her little carpetbag clutched in her hands. 

Stuffing down the fear of being recognized, Coriander squared her shoulders and hoped they looked as strong as her father’s. She rapped on the door, and presently a maid came and opened it. The maid glanced Coriander up and down, but after a moment it was clear that her disguise held. With all her long hair shorn off, she must have looked like any other girl come in off the street.

“I’m here about a job,” said Coriander. “My name’s Rush.”

 .

The king's chambers were half-lit when Coriander brought him his supper, dressed in her servants’ apparel. He grunted when she knocked and gestured with a cane towards his bedside table. His hair was snow-white and he was sitting in bed with his work spread across a lap-desk. His motions were very slow.

Coriander wanted to cry, seeing her father like that. Yet somehow, she managed to school her face. Like he would, she kept telling herself. Stoically, she put down the supper tray, then stepped back out into the hallway. 

It was several minutes more before the king was ready to eat. Coriander heard papers being shuffled, probably filed in those same manilla folders her father had always used. In the hall, Coriander felt the seconds lengthen. She steeled herself for the moment she knew was coming, when the king would call out in irritation, “Girl! What's the matter with my food? Why hasn’t it got any taste?”

When that moment came, all would be made right. Coriander would go into the room and taste his food. “Why,” she would say, with a look of complete innocence, “It seems the kitchen forgot to salt it!” She imagined how her father’s face would change when he finally understood. My daughter always loved me, he would say. 

Soon, soon. It would happen soon. Any second now. 

The moment never came. Instead, the floor creaked, followed by the rough sound of a cane striking the floor. The door opened, and then the king was there, his mighty shoulders shaking. “Coriander,” he whispered. 

“Dad. You know me?”

“Of course.”

“Then you understand now?”

The king’s wrinkled brow knit. “Understand about the salt? Of course, I do. It wasn't such a clever riddle. There was surely no need to ruin my supper with a demonstration.”

Coriander gaped at him. She'd expected questions, explanations, maybe apologies for sending her away. She'd never imagined this.

She wanted very badly to seize her father and demand answers, but then she looked, really looked, at the way he was leaning on his cane. The king was barely upright; his white head was bent low. Her questions would hold until she'd helped her father back into his room. 

“If you knew what I meant–by saying you were like salt in my food– then why did you tell me to go?” she asked once they were situated back in the royal quarters. 

Idly, the king picked at his unseasoned food. “I shouldn’t have done that. Forgive me, Coriander. My anger and hurt got the better of me, and it has brought me much grief. I never expected you to stay away for so long.”

Coriander nodded slowly. Her father's words had always carried such fierce authority. She'd never thought to question if he really meant what he’d said to her. 

“As for the salt,” continued the king, "Is it so wrong that an old man should want to hear his daughters say ‘I love you' before he dies?” 

Coriander rolled the words around in her head, trying to make sense of them. Then, with a sudden mewling sound from her throat, she managed to say, “That's really all you wanted?”  

“That's all. I am old, Cor, and we've spoken too little of love in our house.” He took another bite of his unsalted supper. His hand shook. “That was my failing, I suppose. Perhaps if I’d said it, you girls would have thought to say it back.”

“But father!” gasped Coriander, “That’s not right. We've always known we loved one another! We've shown it a thousand ways. Why, I've spent the last year cataloging them in my head, and I've still not even scratched the surface!”

The king sighed. “Perhaps you will understand when your time comes. I knew, and yet I didn't. What can you really call a thing you’ve never named? How do you know it exists? Perhaps all the love I thought I knew was only a figment.”

“But that’s what I’ve been afraid of all this time,” Coriander bit back. “How could you doubt? If it was real at all– how could you doubt?”

The king’s weathered face grew still. His eyes fell shut and he squeezed them. “Death is close to me, child. A small measure of reassurance is not so very much to ask.”

.

Coriander slept in her old rooms that night. None of it had changed. When she woke the next morning, for a moment she remembered nothing of the last two years. 

She breakfasted in the garden with her father, who came down the steps in a chair-lift. “Coriander,” he murmured. “I half-thought I dreamed you last night.”

“I’m here, Dad,” she replied. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Slowly, the king reached out with one withered hand and caressed Coriander's cheek. Then, his fingers drifted up to what remained of her hair. He ruffled it, then gently tugged on a tuft the way he'd used to playfully tug her long braid when she was a girl. 

“I love you,” he said.

“That was always an I love you, wasn’t it?” replied Coriander. “My hair.”

The king nodded. “Yes, I think it was.”

So Coriander reached out and gently tugged the white hairs of his beard. “You too,” she whispered.

.

“Why salt?” The king was sitting by the fire in his rooms wrapped in two blankets. Coriander was with him, enduring the sweltering heat of the room without complaint. 

She frowned. “You like honesty. We have that in common. I was trying to be honest–accurate–to avoid false flattery.”

The king tugged at the outer blanket, saying nothing. His lips thinned and his eyes dropped to his lap. Coriander wished they wouldn’t. She wished they would hold to hers, steely and ready for combat as they always used to be.

“Would it really have been false?” the king said at last. “Was there no other honest way to say it? Only salt?”

Coriander wanted to deny it, to give speech to the depth and breadth of her love, but once again words failed her. “It was my fault,” she said. “I didn’t know how to heave my heart into my throat.” She still didn’t, for all she wanted to. 

.

When the doctor left, the king was almost too tired to talk. His words came slowly, slurred at the edges and disconnected, like drops of water from a leaky faucet. 

Still, Coriander could tell that he had something to say. She waited patiently as his lips and tongue struggled to form the words. “Love you… so… much… You… and… your sisters… Don’t… worry… if you… can’t…say…how…much. I… know.” 

It was all effort. The king sat back when he was finished. Something was still spasming in his throat, and Coriander wanted to cry.

“I’m glad you know,” she said. “I’m glad. But I still want to tell you.”

Love was effort. If her father wanted words, she would give him words. True words. Kind words. She would try… 

“I love you like salt in my food. You're desperately important to me, and you've always been there, and I don't know what I'll do without you. I don’t want to lose you. And I love you like the soil in a garden. Like rain in the spring. Like a hero. You have the strongest shoulders of anyone I know, and all I ever wanted was to be like you…”

A warm smile spread across the old king’s face. His eyes drifted shut.

[alectoperdita]

what if i bought more Steam games and didn't play them?

[gobbluthbutagirl]

spent wayyyyy too long doomscrolling reddit(the same website where people act like you are literally going to drop dead immediately if you move to los angeles without a car and $100,000 in your bank account) threads about the current job market in los angeles and it’s uhhhhh not encouraging. but i also didn’t drop dead immediately when i moved to los angeles without a car or $100,000 the first time. so who can never really know

[tothesolarium]

how did my professor recommend me The Color of Outer Space

and I found the whole ass wrong book

its about a farm??? I was reading space travel what did I do

[uncanny-tranny]

Honestly the dumbest thing about my experiences with queerness is I'd hear people talk about identity and how they navigate queerness and I'd be like, "oh, actually, that matches how I feel to a very weird level. Huh. Guess I'll never know why, though!"

And then a few months later, I'll have a breakdown of, "Holy shit, holy fuck what the hell is happening" before I realize maybe I should have paid closer attention to why I related so much to a queer experience.

The moral of this story is: if you relate to somebody explaining their queerness... there's likely a reason for that.

[mushed-kid]

mmmmmmok going to sleep

[squarebracketsmileyface]

Hi, I keep coming back, but I got another song for you!! Life After Salem by Lil Nas X is so Jay to Alex, but you can even squeeze some Tim in there too!!

NEW SONG WHOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Okay you know the drill, shitty lyric analysis under the thingy so its all neat and tidy before BAM me spewing a bunch of bullshit about my favorite lil guys. Also this one goes off the rails cos i just finished it with a massive fuck off migraine, so it starts out all detailed then becomes "yes song good good" pretty much lol

You're so right tho, this song is so Jay and Alex.

All of my feelings are gone I left 'em all on the floor Man, who's to blame if you don't love me no more? No, I don't mind, just take whatever you want

Shocker, Alex and Jay singing a duet.

To me the first two lines would be sung by Jay about him hiding his feelings for Alex back in college/uni, pretending he didn't like him or want to be in a relationship with him (beyond just their FWB relationship), pretending he wasn't in love with Alex for years despite knowing that he absolutely was. Probably those lines would be sung by Jay to Alex about their time in College, explaining what he tried to do with his feelings: "I left 'em all on the floor". Those lines would also probably be sung, like, after Alex has said all those nasty things to Jay in the kitchen? Somewhere around then. This is like a song for if they ever actually fucking talked to each other properly lmao.

The next line would be Alex's response, a sort of manipulative way of saying he understands why Jay doesn't trust him anymore, that he understands what he did and why it was cruel. But in that kinda "oh woe is me I'm just the worst" kinda way, yknow? Trying to make Jay go "no, you're not the worst, you're not evil, you just didn't think it's okay!" and give Alex another chance. There'd definitely be a certain level of sincerity as well though, because Alex really does realize that he was pretty damn shitty to Jay. He wants Jay not to love him anymore. He needs Jay not to love him anymore.

Then the last line is kinda both of them, but in different ways, like they'd sing it together but with completely different tones and it'd be so obvious that they're talking about different things. For Jay "No, I don't mind, just take whatever you want" is about how Alex just kinda took and took and took from him throughout their relationship, but it'd also be a kinda, like, good tone? Like Jay's convinced himself that he genuinely doesn't mind how much Alex has taken from him, he kind of likes the fact that he could give Alex that control over him etc? For Alex "No, I don't mind, just take whatever you want" would be a lot more bitter, he feels like Jay is the unreasonable one who just keep's taking, because he's taken Alex's heart (lmao cringe) and Alex was not ready to give it away to him.

Why don't you just take what you want from me? I think you should take what you want and leave Why don't you just take what you want from me? I think you should take what you want and leave

Alex. He wants Jay to have basically everything he's wanted out of their relationship just before he leaves and Alex makes sure that they don't see each other again. Jay gets to kiss Alex, they have sex in a bed, Jay sleeps over, they have breakfast together, etc.

(It is another day now and I have a headache. Thinking is hard, the rest of this is probably gonna be a mess im sorry lol.)

What you want from me? Yeah What you want from me? Yeah

Then just Jay not really knowing why Alex has changed and why he's doing all these nice things for him, so he's just sitting there trying to figure out what Alex wants from him in return for all these nice things. (the answer to that being: alex wants him heartbroken enough to save himself)

Get yourself an Adderall Then throw me up against the wall And kick me when I have to crawl Ooh, I love it when you show no love at all You know I can be your part-time lover Our scars, they'll dance with each other I can be your part-time lover Our scars, they'll dance with each other

Okay, hear me out, this bit's about their dynamic, shocker... even tho it makes it sound a lot more toxic and abusive than it actually was. They were both mostly happy with the dynamic and neither were trying to hurt each other. They just both kinda wanted it to be a romantic relationship when it wasn't, but Alex was scared of that, and Jay wasn't gonna push it for fear of losing what he already had so far. And he'd rather have that than nothing.

"Ooh, I love it when you show no love at all" at first i thought this bit would be Jay, but now that i think about it, it's Alex to me. He liked it when Jay didn't show him any love back in college, because it made it easier to ignore his own feelings for him.

Why don't you just take what you want from me? I think you should take what you want and leave Why don't you just take what you want from me? I think you should take what you want and leave

What you want from me? Yeah What you want from me? Yeah

You're changin' You're changin' every day You played me I let you win again You're changin' You're changin' every day And you're takin' You're takin' everything

They are in fact changing, yup. Probably Jay talking about Alex, Alex changed up their usual dynamic when they got back to his house, then it turned out that all the niceness was just a way to break Jay's heart even worse. He just got his feelings played with, and he didn't really do anything to stop it, because he liked how Alex was treating him too much. Which like, fair.

[bluesey-182]

this review for the ballad of songbirds and snakes is going to be critical so if you loved this book and don't want to see that critique then you are welcome to skip this post. im willing to have civil conversation and im also very willing to hear other points of views bc i love discussing books (and who knows! maybe someone could change my mind) BUT if you're at all going to be nasty and/or take it personally, then you will likely be blocked.

im gonna be so honest... the ballad of songbirds and snakes was a decent book. but. i don't think it actually added anything to the overall story. it added some perspective, maybe, to how snow became snow but it also felt... pointless? i think if I'm going to get a villain origin story, i want it to make me feel conflicted, or at least somewhat understanding to how the villain turned out that way. i want it to show me the gray area. but this book just... didn't do it for me. none of it was surprising. and also, from the beginning, i didn't overall care that much to know what made him this way, because the end result was still the same, and nothing happened to change that feeling for me. bc the only way snow was interesting was how he was as the villain. there was nothing beyond that to interest me, and i think that's what this book was trying to use as the draw. and moreover, to expand on my opinion that it didn't add to the series: i think it relied solely on easter eggs from the original trilogy to make you think it was adding anything. like "see, look at this reference i made! doesn't it remind you of the original books?" idk. like i said, it's a DECENT book on it's own. the writing is good, the story itself isn't bad--it just also gives you no reason to invest in the main character, and i think to some degree that's something that's supposed to draw you into a book. and like i mentioned, nothing surprised me. i saw all of it coming. i predicted every twist before it happened. which isn't always a bad thing! but i was also mostly underwhelmed when the twists DID happen. i was hesitant to read this book in the first place, hence why im only reading it now after the movie release bc my partner wants to see it, and honestly? im not feeling like i gained anything from the experience. i had fun reading it bc, again, it's written fairly well, but at the end of it, im just feeling.... meh.

(spoilers ahead in this paragraph only) i at first thought the only thing it added was why snow dislikes the mockingjays but the more i consider it, it didn't really even add that much either. he was just creeped out by them??? hmm.... (unless, and this might be reaching, he hated the mockingjays bc they showed him his true feelings about lucy??? there's a line about how he was getting tired of her music and maybe the fact that the mockingjays repeated music instead of voice, like the jabberjays (which he had no problem with) was like... his true feelings coming through? I'll have to sit with that and see what i think)

i will say, the parallels between characters in this book and the original trilogy are interesting and i will enjoy seeing those analyses but, again, i don't really feel like it added anything. i still think snow would have done the exact same things without them. because he never ACTUALLY cared about anyone at all, except for how he could use them. how they made him look.

if anyone is interested in a star rating, i gave it 3/5 bc the reading experience was relatively enjoyable, and the writing itself was good imo, and as a stand alone story it was not bad but also not excellent. it was all "just okay". and im trying to rate this as it's own story, not as part of of the whole. however, it being part of that whole is what makes me feel so let down

[musicalmoritz]

Sometimes I get the urge to take a “Vriska Did Nothing Wrong” approach to my Dazai defending and just start saying the absolute worst takes known to man to troll ppl. But alas, I have already seen Dazai fans make similar jokes and you can imagine how well those went over

[redflannelsheets]

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