#was it perfect? no but nothing is. there are flaws but I’d rather have something made with soul

[laniidae-passerine]

stuck in a world where you get one really good season of tv followed by a season so poorly written and paced it’s baffling. who will free us from this

[heliosunny]

Secret admirer [1]

Yandere!Phainon x Reader

The clang of metal against metal filled the blacksmith’s shop, the heat of the forge wrapping around you like a second skin. You had long grown accustomed to the presence of warriors, knights, and heroes who relied on your craftsmanship. But among them, the Luminaries stood above all.

The twelve elite heroes of the kingdom often came to the blacksmith’s shop, their presence a constant in your daily life. Among them, Phainon was the most difficult to ignore.

Phainon was an elite hero, beloved by the people. His silver-white hair, striking blue eyes, and towering, muscular frame made him a legend on and off the battlefield. He was used to admiration. It followed him everywhere like a loyal hound.

And so, when your gaze lingered on him at the shop, he assumed you were no different from the others.

At first, it amused him. He would make a show of smirking whenever you approached, watching in expectation of your flustered reaction. When you handed over his polished weapon, he held your fingers longer than necessary. But when your reaction remained indifferent, merely professional, Phainon grew intrigued. Surely, you were just shy. It was only a matter of time before you melted under his presence.

Then he saw it.

The way your eyes brightened ever so slightly when Mydei entered the shop.

Unlike Phainon, Mydei never basked in attention. He was quiet, composed, a warrior who carried himself like a wandering storm. His hair shifted in the forge’s light, and his golden eyes were as distant as ever. Yet, you always treated him with the slightest bit more care.

Phainon’s fingers curled around the hilt of his weapon. The metal groaned under his grip.

Why him?

Why not him?

It started small, an itch at the back of his mind, a discomfort that twisted whenever he saw Mydei in your presence. But the itch soon became a fire.

Phainon began to insert himself into your life more aggressively.

You had long noticed his habit of bringing in weapons that hardly needed repairs, his sword, polished to perfection, with barely a dent. And yet, he always found a reason to return.

“Another job for you” Phainon said smoothly, placing his sword on the counter. His blue eyes lingered on you, the corners of his lips lifting in amusement. “I noticed the balance felt a little off.”

You glanced at the weapon. It was flawless. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”

His smirk deepened. “Ah, but you’re the expert, aren’t you? I trust your craftsmanship more than anyone.”

You exhaled, knowing it was pointless to argue. “…Fine. I’ll check it over.”

As you turned to take the sword into the workshop, Phainon leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “By the way,” he said, voice casual, “I heard something troubling today.”

You didn’t respond, too focused on inspecting the blade for nonexistent flaws.

“There are rumors of a monster lurking nearby. Not just any monster—something fast. The kind that strikes before you even realize it’s there.”

You paused, glancing at him. His expression remained easygoing, but there was something calculating in his gaze.

“I’ll walk you home tonight” he stated simply.

Your brows furrowed. “That’s not necessary.”

Phainon tilted his head. “Oh? You’d rather take the risk?”

“I’ll be fine.” you said firmly.

Before Phainon could press further, a deep voice interrupted.

“That’s a good idea, Phainon.”

You turned to see your boss, arms folded, nodding in approval. “The streets have been dangerous lately. It wouldn’t hurt to have an escort.”

“Boss-” you started, but he cut you off.

“You work hard enough as it is. Just accept the kindness.” He clapped Phainon on the shoulder, a gesture of gratitude. ���Thanks for looking out for Y/n.”

Phainon smiled. “Of course. I’d hate for anything to happen.”

The moment was sealed. There was no escaping it now.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, you found yourself walking beside Phainon, his towering figure casting long shadows in the dim light. His presence was suffocating, not from fear, but from the weight of his gaze, always watching.

When you reached your door, he studied it for a second too long.

“…Well, this is it” you said, eager to step inside.

Phainon hummed. “Hm. Seems safe enough.”

Then, he smiled “I’ll remember the way.”

The city was alive with celebration. The Luminaries had returned victorious from yet another battle, their names chanted from the gates to the palace. Flowers rained from balconies, banners of the kingdom fluttered high, and citizens crowded the streets, eager to catch a glimpse of their champions.

Phainon rode at the front, his hair gleaming under the sun, his towering frame unmissable among the heroes. The cheers and admiration were nothing new to him, he had long grown accustomed to the love of the people.

Yet, as his gaze swept over the crowd, he found himself searching for something… someone.

Then, he saw you.

You stood among the onlookers, eyes fixed on one figure.

Not him.

Phainon followed your gaze, his jaw tightening when he realized who had captured your attention. Once again, Mydei.

He rode silently beside the others, his golden eyes unreadable as ever. Unlike Phainon, he never basked in the adoration. He never acknowledged the cheers, nor did he revel in the spotlight. And yet, it was him you watched.

The noise of the celebration dulled, the praise meaningless. His grip on the reins tightened.

Why?

Why him?

It didn’t matter now.

Because if your eyes refused to see him…

Then he would make sure he was the only thing you would ever look at again.

Phainon was patient. He was a man who knew how to wait for the right moment, how to let things fall into place.

That was why, after the grand procession, after the cheers of the people faded, he sought you out, not with force, but with something simpler.

“Come with me” he had said, voice carrying that easy confidence. “I know a place.”

It was a charming café, tucked away from the main roads, the kind of place that wasn’t suffocated by nobility or merchants. It was quiet, intimate.

He watched as you browsed the menu, his chin resting against his knuckles.

“You’re not nervous?” he mused. “Having cake with a hero?”

You snorted. “You’re just a customer I’ve known for a while.”

Phainon chuckled. You were refreshing, carefree in a way that people around him rarely were. Most stumbled over their words, eager to impress, but you… you were just being yourself.

Then the cakes arrived.

Phainon blinked as you wasted no time digging in, eating with such appetite.

“…You eat strongly” he remarked, mildly impressed.

“It’s good.” you said between bites, completely unbothered.

He found himself smiling, intrigued. He had expected you to be more hesitant, but instead, you were at ease. That was good. That meant you didn’t see him as a threat.

As you ate, he asked about many things, your work, your thoughts on the city, little things about your life. You answered carefreely, the conversation flowing easily.

But then, your questions turned.

“You and the others must have a lot of weapon damage after that battle” you noted. “I’d like to know what issues you’re having so I can enhance them accordingly.”

Phainon raised a brow. “That’s why you’re asking?”

“Of course” you said, sipping your drink. “If your weapons aren’t at their best, it’ll cost lives on the battlefield.”

He hadn’t expected such a practical answer. Most would ask about the fight itself, about his heroics. But you were thinking ahead.

You were thinking about him.

The thought pleased him.

He leaned back, twirling the spoon between his fingers. “Since you’re so interested, my sword could use better weight distribution. It’s powerful, but in prolonged battles, I can feel the strain on my wrist.”

You nodded, taking mental notes. “What about Mydei’s weapon?”

Phainon’s fingers stilled.

The question was casual, but something about it sent an unpleasant jolt through his spine.

Again. Always Mydei.

Before he could even process an answer, an excited gasp filled the air.

“That’s Phainon!”

Heads turned. The quiet ambiance of the café shattered as people recognized him.

Within seconds, a crowd swarmed.

“Lord Phainon!”

“Please, just one signature—!”

“A moment of your time—”

The café staff scrambled to maintain order, but the wave of admirers was relentless.

Phainon scowled. Not now. Not when he finally had you alone.

And then, he noticed. You were gone.

His eyes flicked to the table. The bill had already been paid, and you had slipped away before the crowd could consume you.

For a long moment, he just stared at the empty seat across from him, the warmth in his expression slowly fading.

Then, he smiled.

How adorable.

He would let it slide this time. After all, the chase was just beginning.

The clashing sounds of steel filled the air as The Luminaries drilled their recruits, each hero effortlessly demonstrating their might. The training grounds were a blend of intensity and discipline, where every swing and every move was a reflection of their years of battle experience.

You stood at the edge of the grounds, observing the spectacle alongside a few of your fellow blacksmiths, who were overseeing the new weapons. It wasn’t uncommon for you to attend these sessions. The Luminaries had come to rely on your craftsmanship for their specialized weapons, and today was no different. You’d been given the task of noting any necessary adjustments and improvements, ensuring their weapons were up to the highest standard for their next mission.

You found yourself talking with a few of the heroes as you made your way around the training field, exchanging notes with each of them about their current gear.

“How’s the balance on that spear?” you asked the tall, poised spear-wielder. She had a cool demeanor and a sharp edge to her movements, which you admired.

“It’s good” she replied, twirling the spear once and giving you a small smile. “Though I might need a sturdier grip. The last time I faced that behemoth, it nearly slipped.”

You made a mental note of it, nodding in understanding. “I’ll work on that. And keep an eye on the weight distribution.”

Nearby, the archer of the group, shot a few quick, precise arrows at a target, his sharp eyes never leaving it as he turned to you.

“You should try improving the pull strength on my bow” he suggested casually, lowering his bow. “It’s a bit too tight for longer shoots. The tension is causing slight strain.”

You jotted it down on your tablet, appreciating his directness. “Got it. I’ll make sure to adjust the draw weight next time.”

As you continued chatting and making notes, you couldn’t help but notice Mydei standing near the edge of the grounds, leaning against a pillar with his usual indifference.

Before you could get lost in thoughts about him, Phainon’s voice cut through the air. “You’re always so diligent, aren’t you, Y/N?” His voice was confident, tinged with that familiar self-assurance.

Turning to him, you found Phainon standing at the center of the sparring ring, sweat glistening on his muscular form. He was still catching his breath, but there was a glimmer in his eyes as he locked onto you.

“I’m just doing my job, Phainon.” you replied lightly, offering him a teasing grin.

He smirked, stepping forward. “You’d be better off joining me on the field. You’d see firsthand how this blade works.” He gave his sword a slight twirl, the glint of it sharp in the sun.

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “You want me to join you on the field? Do you think I’m a knight now?”

A chuckle escaped his lips. “Perhaps you’d surprise me.”

You both shared a brief but knowing glance before you moved to check on the weapons of the other heroes, but that brief interaction lingered in the back of your mind. As you walked, you couldn’t help but notice Phainon’s gaze, following you from the corner of his eye.

Your focus shifted as Mydei caught your eye. His yellow gaze met yours, a silent acknowledgment shared between you, but there was something more there, something unspoken that only you could feel.

Phainon was still sparring with another recruit, but his attention had momentarily shifted, and that brief moment of distraction would soon prove to be his undoing. While engaging in his sparring match, Phainon’s focus fractured. His gaze flickered, just briefly, to you and Mydei, standing across the ring from each other, exchanging words. The sight of Mydei, so calm, so effortlessly admired by you, tugged at something deep inside him.

His sparring opponent took advantage, landing a clean cut across Phainon’s arm. The sound of the blade slicing through the air was followed by the startled gasps of the onlookers. Phainon stepped back, a sharp hiss escaping his lips as he clenched his fist around the sword’s hilt.

He looked at the cut, the red seeping through the sleeve of his tunic, and his jaw tightened in irritation.

“Looks like I’ve lost focus” he muttered under his breath, though the frustration was evident in his voice. He tried to recover quickly, raising his sword again to continue.

But it was too late. You had already rushed to his side.

“Hold still” you said, kneeling down quickly as you pulled a healing kit from your pouch. You could feel the intensity of his gaze on you as you worked, but you focused on the task at hand, applying the salve and gently bandaging the wound.

“Idiot.” you muttered, shaking your head as you wrapped the bandage tight around his arm. “You got distracted.”

Phainon’s lips curled into a small, wry smile despite the injury. “I’m just a man, Y/N. Even the strongest get distracted sometimes.” His eyes narrowed slightly as they studied your face, before they flicked toward Mydei, who was still standing calmly in the distance.

You felt the weight of his gaze on you, the tension in the air palpable. But you didn’t acknowledge it. You finished the bandage and stood up, brushing off your hands.

“There. All better.” you said, giving him a small but dismissive smile.

But as you stood back, Phainon wasn’t done with his thought.

“Be careful next time, Y/N. I wouldn’t want you running off to help anyone else…” His voice dropped to a low murmur, but the warning was clear.

Your smile faltered slightly, but you masked it with a light laugh. “I’m sure you’ll survive, Phainon.”

As you turned to walk away, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Phainon’s thoughts weren’t as innocent as his words.

-----

🎉🎉HAPPY 500+ FOLLOWERS 🎉🎉

Gosh, I thought this will stay in the drafts for a long while. Take it as my gift for you ok🥺🥺🥺

[writesvani]

coming down | teaser

collegestudent! gojo x collegestudent! reader

SUMMARY: You and Gojo Satoru were once everything to each other, but now, the space between you is filled with nothing but silence and resentment. College is just a reminder of how far you’ve drifted apart, and every encounter only adds fuel to the fire.

You avoid him like the plague, but it doesn’t matter. You can still feel him in the shadows, always there, always watching, as if the past was never really gone. So what do you do? You (try to) keep your distance, pretending it’s easy to forget the history that’s weighed you down for so long.

But deep down, neither of you can let go. And as the tension between you grows, you’re forced to confront the truth: some things are never truly buried, no matter how hard you try.

best friends-to-friends with benefits-to-enemies-to- enemies with benefits-to?

TWs (for this chapter): underage use of marijuana and cigars, underage drinking, use of illegal substances, anorexia and obsessive dieting, calorie deficit, mentions of self-destructive behavior, angst, emotional manipulation and trauma, toxic friendship dynamics, self-esteem issues and body image, unresolved romantic tension, past betrayal and unrequited love, sexual harassment (implied in some interactions), foul language and explicit content, derogatory language, including use of "puss" and other insults, toxic romantic relationships and behavior, references to manipulation and control in relationships, most characters are morally gray, flawed, and engage in problematic behavior, complex, imperfect characters who make questionable decisions, characters often act in ways that challenge traditional moral boundaries and ethics. 

THESE CHARACTERS ARE NOT MEANT TO BE PERFECT AND IDOLIZED.

comment here for Coming Down taglist;

SERIES M.LIST

— next chapter

wc: 2,4k // date: 4th of March 2025

TEASER — Wicked Games; proceed with caution...

AN: OKAY OKAY OKAY WOW HERE SHE IS. i don’t know what the hell I’m writing - i mean i do but i don’t if that makes sense - this, this fanfic is literally gonna be my baby. it’s inspired by a lot of people i know, it’s partly inspired by my life as well - not gonna tell you which bits of it tho haha. but i’m so excited. honestly this isn’t even chapter one - i’m thinking more of it as a teaser for what’s about to come and when i tell you a lot is coming you better believe it. but this is going to be a part of me - something raw and something real and i know this won’t be an easy read - as you can see by the triggers but i truly, really hope you guys will like it as much as I enjoy writing it. because i’m obsessed. i just got sucked in by y/n and gojo’s dynamic of hatred and toxicity, they’re on my mind 24/7.

i love them.

i hate them.

i wanna be them and i’d hate it if i ended up becoming them at the same time.

love, vani 🩷

"No, I’m not going."

"Yes, you totally are."

"No, I’m not, Yumi. I’m dead serious."

"Y/n, for the love of Christ, I love you, but if you don’t stop bitching about it right now, there will be consequences. Now, get your ass up and get ready," Yumi huffed, arms crossed.

You narrowed your eyes before rolling them—more dramatically than you intended. Not your most mature moment, but being forced to go to that party, in that house, didn’t exactly put you in a good mood.

"Look, Yu, I don’t care about that stupid party your—what’s his name again?—boyfriend is throwing for us. Truthfully, I’d rather be buried alive in that creepy graveyard we smoke pot in. Alone. No pot. You get my point."

"His name is Nanami," she deadpanned. "And he’s throwing us a party for our birthday, which we share. It’s not like I have the option to skip it, you know. Besides, we always celebrate our birthday together."

Yumi’s voice softened as she tilted her head, giving you that look—the one she knew you couldn’t resist. "Please, please, please. Let’s just go, smoke some weed, listen to those weird-ass tunes you play when you get too baked, wait for midnight, blow out the candles, and leave. Bonus points if Nanami fucks me tonight."

She smirked before adding, "Plus, Gojo’s gonna be there, and everyone knows about your little crush on him."

You scowled. As if that could make this stupid party any better.

But again… she wasn’t wrong.

Somehow, in the middle of a crowded classroom filled with acne-scarred faces and nervous energy, you and Yumi ended up sitting together. two total strangers. two tangled-up disasters shoved into plastic chairs, thrown together by sheer chance or some kind of cosmic joke.

She was tall and slim, chain-smoking weird American cigars in the school’s piss-scented bathroom stalls during five-minute breaks.

You liked her immediately.

She liked cigs.

You liked pot.

She liked Arctic Monkeys or any other type of music that ended up overplayed by overdramatic tumblr girls at midnight.

You listened to Trilogy like it was gospel.

She didn’t give a shit about school. Skipped class constantly to drink cheap coffee at some run-down café that reeked of nargila and regret.

You somehow pulled good grades—yet skipped with her anyway, so she wouldn’t feel lonely.

And then, the kicker.

You shared the same birthday.

Same day. Same year. Two hours apart. What were the odds? Some kind of cruel cosmic irony, maybe. A glitch in the universe where it spat out two unhinged messes at the same time, doomed to find each other.

You weren’t sure.

All you knew was that Yumi was fucked up.

She didn’t eat. Didn’t sleep. Just smoked.

Cigs and all.

Pot and all.

You, on the other hand, slept too much. Ate just enough—tracking every bite to make sure it fit inside your carefully calculated calorie deficit, of course.

And yeah, you were fucked up too.

But at least you weren’t alone.

You were fucked up together, and somehow, that made perfect sense.

And now, after years of being two walking disasters—two mistakes of nature (and probably your parents' biggest regrets)—you are finally in college.

What you didn’t expect was Yumi getting a boyfriend. And sticking to him. Yumi didn’t do relationships. they were too much, she once told you.

Too heavy.

You understood. Why let anyone waste their time trying to fix something that wasn’t fixable? Why let anyone peel back the layers when there was nothing to find? no deep-seated trauma, no unspeakable tragedy, no emotional constipation. just plain, old you—coasting through life on gold marlboro touch and iceberg salad.

You assumed Yumi felt the same. you used to get each other.

But now? Yumi had a boyfriend. And not just any boyfriend—some weirdly handsome senior that got every girl on campus tripping over themselves. A guy who, for some unknown reason, had decided to settle down with the second-year that half the school had definitely jacked off to.

And you?

You were still there, of course.

“You know what? Fine,” you finally huffed, shoving your hands in your pockets. “We’re going. But—” you held up a finger, “The shit he’s getting better be good or i’m out. And—” another finger, “Btw, how is The Weeknd ‘weird girl’ music? The best music to get high is literally from an artist who made it while high. like, really?”

Yumi just raised an eyebrow, already knowing she’d won.

“And—” your third and final finger shot up—“One condition. No Gojo. Np looking at him, no talking about him, and god forbid, talking to him, okay?”

Yumi grinned like the little devil she was. She knew she had you.

And she loved it.

You’re going. and somehow, somehow, you already know Yumi’s going to break the Gojo rule. And you already hate yourself for saying yes.

Gojo, Gojo, Gojo. That foxy, smirking little minx you’ve somehow tucked away in a small, stupid pocket of your heart. Nanami's best friend.

Stupid hot and wicked smart.

One look from Gojo Satoru and half the campus is already on their knees, mouths open, waiting for the tip to slide in. one touch, and you’re pretty sure girls would be cumming fully clothed.

Truthfully? You get it.

Gojo has that whole walking sexual fantasy turned nonchalant icy prince thing going for him. you would’ve hitched your skirt up and let him fuck you senseless too—if he asked.

Would’ve.

But Gojo Satoru did something no other man had ever dared to do.

He bruised your ego.

You’d never admit it, of course. Not out loud. Not even to yourself. But the way his offhanded you’re not my type had clutched at your chest, had sunk deep into the tenderest, most pathetic part of you—yeah. It stung.

Who the hell was he to say you weren’t his type?

Yes, fine, he was hot. really, really hot.

But so were you.

You’ve got that thing going for you—the great student, everyone loves me act, while secretly (well, not so secretly, except to your oblivious teachers) getting high and fucking emotionally unavailable men on the weekends.

Your favorite trope, honestly.

You’ve got those pretty—as guys love to say—puppy eyes and that lethal eyelashes combo that makes people practically eat from the palm of your hand.

So why the hell would he say you weren’t his type?

For fuck’s sake, Gojo Satoru fucks anything with two legs and a vagina.

And the cherry on top? He didn't even say it to your face. No, he just let those humiliating little words slip at some party you weren’t even at.

Thank god for that. You’re pretty sure you would’ve died right then and there if you had to hear those ridiculous words fall from his pretty pink lips in real time.

But of course, Yumi—your second-in-command, your ever-dutiful bringer of bad news—had called you immediately.

Campus sex god gojo satoru, not finding you attractive enough?

The scandal.

To make things even worse, you’re pretty sure everyone knows you’d totally give it to Gojo Satoru.

You may have drunkenly admitted it—once, before the whole “not his type” fiasco—to some random girl in a club bathroom who smelled way too much like puke and way too little like vanilla.

And of course, of fucking course, the gossip spread through campus like wildfire before you could even try to kill it.

So yeah. going to your own birthday party?

Humiliating.

Annoying.

Absolutely a horrible idea.

But still… there’s this slow burn inside of you, this creeping anticipation.

The kind that tells you tonight might just be interesting.

And a little drama never hurt anyone, right?

…Right?

—

Nanami's house is not what you expected.

You don’t even know what you expected, but definitely not this.

Yumi did mention he doesn’t live on campus—he’s one of those guys, apparently. Still lives with his parents or something.

Lame. Booo. Throwing tomatoes.

Because seriously—what twenty-something man still lives with his parents?

But you definitely didn’t expect nanami’s house to be this posh.

Or this proper.

Or this… fucking expensive.

Because, what the actual fuck—nanami is rich.

Like, could-buy-you-off-the-dark-web rich.

Probably in exchange for the mahogany table you’re currently pouring tequila shots on.

Or maybe just for that obnoxiously huge, icy couch stretching across the living room.

or, hell, even for his kitchen alone.

What. The. Fuck.

But then—on that same absurdly expensive couch—something else catches your eye.

Legs sprawled out in the kind of lazy man-spread that screams confidence, scrolling through his phone like he owns the place, is a man.

Dark.

Tall.

And very, very hot.

Something dark and thrilling rushes through you at the thought of dragging him into Nanami’s parents’ bedroom and riding him until he can’t take it anymore.

But before you can act on it—

“Geto Suguru.”

Yumi’s voice is in your ear, a warning.

“He has a girlfriend, so don’t even try.”

Her fingers tug at your elbow. You retaliate immediately, poking her ribs in response.

He looks up.

His shadowy eyes roam over you—slow, deliberate.

A half-smile, half-smirk tugs at his lips.

Ha.

There he is.

Good boy.

He wants it.

He wants you.

"Well, I don’t see her here, do I?"

Your voice is a whisper, teasing, as you throw a smirk at Yumi before stepping forward—gracefully, leg before leg, closing the space between you and him.

He’s still sitting.

You don’t even have to look at his face to know he’s already watching you.

Slowly, your eyes travel downward.

The soft material of his white polo stretches taut over the sculpted lines of his stomach, the fabric clinging in all the right places. Your gaze lingers, just a second too long, before moving up—finally settling on his lips.

For a moment, there’s silence.

Then, just as the tension starts to settle, he shifts—fumbling with the left pocket of his jeans.

You blink.

…Okay.

Not so hot anymore.

What the hell is he doing?

But then—

but then—

he pulls something out.

A white tissue—crumpled, worn.

You almost scoff, about to ask if this is some weird, half-assed magic trick—until you see it.

Tiny specks of green peek through the folds.

Your breath catches.

Weed.

A lot of weed.

Holy fucking shit.

You swear your mouth waters.

It’s tucked inside that questionably old tissue—and you pray, dear God, that he didn’t blow his nose in it.

Then, in that slow, deep voice—smooth like velvet, laced with a promise—he finally speaks.

"Five grams. Homemade."

He speaks for the first time, and in that moment, you're absolutely sure you're about to get high off his pot—and then, well, he's going to be the one getting high off you.

"Heard you smoke. Thought you’d want to."

Geto’s voice is low, his words soft, but the way his arm brushes your hip bone—effortlessly, casually—sends a spark through your veins.

Some might say it’s a coincidence.

But you know better.

Nothing, nothing, is ever a coincidence when it comes to men like him.

And now, now, you want it even more.

Before you can say anything, someone else interrupts.

“Yo, Suguru, I’ve been watching you all night, man. Why the fuck you sitting in the living room like some NPC loser?”

You scoff, catching the teasing tone of the voice.

"Satoru, you’re stepping on my last nerve again. Let me chill for a bit. I wanna mentally prepare before rolling with all you incompetent losers," Geto responds, his voice still calm, but there's a hidden edge to it that makes you think he doesn't mind the banter.

"There, there, boy. I just missed my best friend so much I had to see why you left the billiard room, you know? Just love spending time with you, bestie."

"You know, licking my ass won’t make me give you some of this before I try it myself. Plus, I’ve got company, as you can see." Geto’s voice drips with annoyance, cutting through the otherwise tense air in Nanami’s living room.

You don’t need to turn around to know exactly who’s standing behind you. His presence is undeniable, his scent suffocating in the best way, and that energy—God, that energy—that pulses in any room he steps into.

And then, of course, there’s the voice. That annoyingly attractive, rough drawl that always gets under your skin.

“I can see that, but I still don’t approve of you ditching your homies for some cheap pussy,” Gojo says, the mockery clear in his voice.

And that’s when you finally, finally, decide to acknowledge the elephant in the room.

What the fuck?

What. The. Actual. Fuck.

Sure, being told you weren’t his type stung—but this? Calling you cheap? Who the hell does this guy think he is? What gives him the audacity to insult you to your face—well, more like to your back, but still, it stings all the same.

A chuckle rumbles through the room. You don’t stop yourself in time. You hear your own voice, but it doesn’t feel like yours anymore.

How dare he. After everything—after all the hurt he’s caused you.

Again. And again.

You tell yourself it doesn’t bother you, yet the words slip out before you even realize what’s happening.

As if you could have stopped them. As if you could have ever stopped anything with him.

After all, Gojo Satoru always had a knack for pushing your buttons exactly the way he wanted.

“Cheap, but could make your dick hard by one high school kiss in your mom’s closet. Could make you whimper out my name in your favorite teacher’s classroom. Could make you cum down your uniform just by biting your lip. We’re a little past being cheap, don’t you think Sato?” 

Because before all of this—before the "not his type" catastrophe, and your drunken confessions—there was you.

And there was Gojo.

Best friends since birth. A bond that was never supposed to break. But then came senior year—the year everything changed.

You made a mistake. The terrible, stupid, earth-shattering mistake of letting things blur into something more. You slept together. Multiple times. You told yourself it was just a phase. Just a mistake. But deep down, you both knew it was more than that.

But no. There was an even worse mistake than all of this.

Falling in love.

And then, the biggest tragedy of all: letting each other down.

You weren’t supposed to end up here. But somehow, here you are. Caught in the wreckage of a love that never really had a chance.

[that-fish-who-writes]

Why are there no day four sophella week 2025 posts yet RAWR anyways here's my rushed contribution :3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/6475294

it's under the cut as well but I'm going to pressure you to leave kudos :D

(wordcount 1600ish)

Marella writes letters. 

It starts as whispers. The ink on parchment, barely a breath, but somehow heavier than anything she’s ever held. The words spill out, from memories she’s shared with Sophie, to words that don’t quite say ‘I love you’ but don’t quite hide it either.

She buys gifts that mean far too much to be platonic. All of them are set alight, burned, desperately tried to be forgotten. Because Sophie.

Because Sophie, with her gleaming smile saying Marella’s name sweetly like she means something.

Because Sophie, who smells like vanilla and wildflowers and something else Marella can’t quite name. 

Because Sophie, who will never look at Marella the way Marella looks at her.

And still—

“Hey Marella. Dinner at six?” 

“Sure.” Sure.

—

They get there ten minutes late because Sophie forgot her phone and they had to run back, but Marella doesn’t mind. She never does. 

The restaurant is warm, with lanterns glowing gold and an open-air space occupied by tables and chairs corrupted by vines. Sophie is glowing under the lights. Laughing— laughing like it doesn’t mean anything to her, when Marella is struggling to keep her heart from spilling out.

“I like the chicken curry here.” She says absentmindedly, scrolling to the menu, even if she always gets the same thing every time. 

“Well we have come here more once we’re rooming together in uni then!” Her words are too eager. Too hopeful.

There’s a subtle twitch in Sophie’s face and Marella knows she’s resisting the urge to pull an eyelash out. It’s almost invisible, to those that aren’t watching but Marella is. Marella is always watching Sophie.

Marella’s face falls.  “What?”

“I… I was going to talk about this.” Sophie sucks in a breath. “I want to room with Biana instead.”

Her heart drops into her stomach. Of course. Why wouldn’t she? Pretty, perfect Biana with all of Marella’s strengths and none of her flaws. Miss Perfect who doesn’t write letters she never sends for all of them would be answered. Marella can’t do this anymore. 

“Right.” She shifts her eyes.

She stands up, pushing the chair back and Sophie follows her, grabbing her wrists.

“Marella, what’s wrong?” 

“Nothing. Leave me alone.” She mumbles bitterly, walking out the door, planning to slam it but Sophie catches it, trailing her into an alleyway.

“I didn’t think you’d be upset, Marella please hear me out.” Sophie stammers, running after her. “Biana and I just have a lot of the same schedule, and I’d have to walk a shorter distance to my classes, so—”

“I get it.” Marella scoffs.

“Oh, you do? Thank heavens. I was so worried, anyways—”

“You know there never was a measure for these things but if there were a measure for love my cup would be overflowing and yours would be bone dry.” Marella snaps, spitting at her.

“...What?” 

“Sometimes I wish we’d never been friends. If being friends means this.”

Sophie glares at her. “Oh. You don’t get to say that to me. No. Over simple living arrangements?” Sophie spits in disbelief. “Marella, you cannot be serious! You do not get to say that to me! 

“I’m sick of being second place! I’m sick of being left behind. I’m not asking for you to include me in everything, for I know I don’t even like most of the things you do, but goddammit Sophie, I want to see you try!”

“You’re not second place! We already spend so much time together!” The girl snaps, turning around. 

“It doesn’t look like that to—”

“It’s not a fucking huge deal—”

“It is to me!”

“Why? Why is this some earth-shattering revelation to you, Marella?” 

“Because I love you!” Marella screams and she stops, exhaling, her breath inches away from Sophie’s wet lips. 

Because I love you.

—

It was rather painful, how quick Marella fell for Sophie.

The first thing she notices about her is her hair. Blonde. But in the sunlight, it looks like molten gold. Marella’s favorite color. There’s a reason why she tends to fall for people like Fitz, and why she braids her locks with yellow plastic bands. Not because it makes her hair look more blonde and less ginger, but because it’s shiny. Yellow is the first color the eyes are naturally drawn to in a crowd, running out of a storm, and Sophie is a hurricane.

Sophie turns around, and Marella is done for. She’s heard that those are numerous, abundant for humans, that blue eyes are praised and eyelashes are fluttered towards, but looking at Sophie, she can’t imagine why. Her eyes are so warm, so cozy, unlike the harsh blue gazes of other elven counterparts. Brown eyes are like hot chocolate, like toasted marshmallows. They radiate heat, and more importantly, warmth.

Sophie locks eyes with her.

Oh. 

…Oh. 

Marella isn’t a stranger to crushes, the exciting thrill of something new. The rush, the feeling of something different. But Sophie? The two are strangers, yet there’s something about Sophie that’s so familiar, so like home. Something about Sophie that says, gently, softly, warmly ‘Hey. We’ve met before. We’ve loved before.’ 

There’s something so beautiful about Sophie, something that Marella can’t quite name. She’s heard about slow love. This is not it. She falls, deeply, madly, truly in love with Sophie. Maybe not, maybe not yet. She believes in crushes, and dreamy princes, but she doesn’t quite believe in love at first sight. This though. This is pretty darn close.

Marella can spin words to tell a tale, and craft stories to enchant, but there are no amount of letters that can deny that Sophie has bewitched her heart from the moment they’ve locked eyes.

“Do I have to make it any more obvious, Sophie?” She chuckles sadly, the sounds in her mouth long and drawn out. “I’ve been in love with you ever since the day we met.”

—

Sophie doesn’t remember the day she met Marella.

She knows that logically, it should be somewhere in the middle of grade school, where she enrolled in foxfire halfway through the year. She just can’t remember the exact moment. Marella has… just always been there. Constant. 

Her mind has just been littered with Marella. A footnote after every sentence, after every page. Marella doesn’t haunt her heart but she’s always on the back of Sophie’s mind. She doesn’t remember the day they met. But she can recall memories of them playing in the backyard, of gossiping about boys and Marella comforting her after a particularly bad break-up with Keefe. 

And it’s starting to run through her mind now, the way that sometime’s Marella’s gaze lingers for too long, or that she sours when Sophie talks about going on dates. She’s known Marella as loud, red-hot firecrackers and fireworks, but being given this, the burning, lingering, flame that’s yearning, she doesn’t know what to do. Something quiet, silent, that she can’t notice. It’ll burn her. 

Marella knows how obvious she is. And Sophie doesn’t want to hurt her. But Sophie does not like Marella like that. It’s not the kind that Marella wants. And deep down it hurts too, that Marella has always wanted her in a way she doesn’t want to give.

—

Marella’s not the one who kisses her.

Sophie’s lips are warm. Hauntingly soft.

For a moment, Sophie lets herself lose her thoughts in the kiss, and Marella just doesn’t care. She’s hungry, she’s yearning, and she’s been starved for far too long. Sophie runs her lips along the curve of Marella’s lower lip, and the girl lets out a sigh. 

It’s not enough. Sophie pushes in, deeper, harsher, more desperate and Marella gasps for air. She, breaking her own heart, breaks the kiss. For Sophie, this isn’t some confession of love, but it’s panic. It’s a tether. It’s a ‘Don’t leave me please.’ She’s imagined this moment hundreds of times. Still, it hasn’t actually happened yet. She pushes the girl away. Sophie looks at Marella, hurt.

“You don’t love me.” Marella hiccups. “Don’t— Don’t do this. Please.” Her voice cracks, as she looks up at Sophie.

“You don’t know that.” Sophie replies, uncertain, her voice wavering. 

Marella shakes her head, her tears spilling out. “No. I do.” She whispers, her words blubbering together. “I know all too well.”

She knows though. Because the look in Sophie's eyes are screaming ‘I’m not queer.’ and her mouth is seconds away from spitting out ‘I don’t know—’ “I don’t know why I did that. I'm sorry.”

Marella scoffs. Because oh, she knows. Sophie isn’t the slightest bit interested in her. Sophie has never wondered, not like Marella, dreaming what their hands would feel like interlocked, yearning for the warmth, the familiarity of Sophie under her. Sophie has never  looked into Marella’s eyes, not once and was warm. Sophie has always looked there and saw fire.

Fire that burns. Because Marella is a blaze, hungry for Sophie, devouring, rummaging, searching for the smallest bits to consume. Fire that is so visible people notice, and people talk. Except Sophie is far too oblivious to see. To recognise it as danger.

“Mare, I—”

“It’s Marella!” Marella shrieks, falling to the ground. Sophie drops down, following her immediately, steading her, hugging her and comforting her. And oh, Sophie is so warm. And in the end, it’s not words or her sweet whispers that get to Marella. It’s this hug. “I can’t be friends with you if you do this. I can not just be friends with you.”

Marella lets out a shaky breath. “You don’t love me” She repeats. And really, there’s nothing Sophie can say to make her feel better, because what do you say to someone who’s loved you in silence, in eternity?

Sophie still chooses the worst fucking answer possible. 

“I know.”

[yamishika]

The Real Flaws in Jellal’s Redemption Arc : A Breakdown

This is a topic I don’t see discussed much in the community, and I’ve had a lot of thoughts on it for a while. I wasn’t sure how to put them all together, but at this point, I’d rather just lay it all out and see where it leads.

So, Jellal.

Let’s talk about him.

I’m going in—no holds barred.

A controversial but valid take : Jellal Fernandes’s redemption arc in Fairy Tail is a mess—not because he doesn’t deserve redemption, but because the execution constantly undermines itself. His atonement is passive, his agency is stripped away, and worst of all, the narrative can’t even decide what his sins actually are.

The result? A redemption arc that feels hollow, repetitive, and ultimately wasted.

And no, this has nothing to do with Erza’s perspective. The flaws in Jellal’s redemption exist entirely within his story.

Let’s break it down.

-

1. Jellal’s Redemption Feels Passive, Not Active

A real redemption arc requires action. The character has to do something to prove their growth and atonement. But Jellal’s entire post-redemption existence is spent wallowing in guilt rather than taking meaningful steps toward redemption.

• He constantly isolates himself.

• He avoids forming real relationships.

• He treats suffering as the only way to atone.

That’s not atonement. That’s self-flagellation. The fact that he feels bad doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t help anyone. Redemption should be about making things right, not just feeling sorry.

What Should’ve Happened Instead :

Instead of self-imposed exile and moping, Jellal should have been actively working to undo the damage he caused. He should have been using his skills to actually help those he harmed rather than just punishing himself in silence.

-

2. His Redemption Feels Hollow Because the Narrative Keeps Changing His Crimes

The biggest problem with Jellal’s redemption arc is that we’re never given a clear, consistent answer about what he’s actually atoning for.

• If Jellal was brainwashed, why is he acting like he committed those crimes with full agency?

• If he did have some control, why isn’t that explored in more depth?

• Why does the story fluctuate between “he was a helpless victim” and “he must punish himself forever”?

His guilt is inconsistent. One moment, he’s written as a victim of Ultear’s manipulation, completely absolved of responsibility. The next, he’s treating himself as irredeemable, despite the fact that he wasn’t even in control of his actions.

So which is it? Is he responsible, or isn’t he? The narrative refuses to commit, and that’s what makes his redemption feel hollow. You can’t have a compelling redemption arc if the story won’t even define what he’s being redeemed for.

What Should’ve Happened Instead :

Pick a lane. If Jellal is a victim, then his arc should be about reclaiming his agency, not punishing himself. If he did have some control over his actions, then the story should explore that moral conflict rather than sweeping it under the rug.

-

3. Crime Sorcière Was a Step in the Right Direction… Until It Wasn’t

For a while, it seemed like Fairy Tail was actually setting Jellal up for a solid redemption arc. Crime Sorcière was the perfect solution—it allowed him to work from the shadows, dismantling dark guilds and actually making a difference.

And then… that got taken away from him.

Why? Because the story decided that Jellal’s entire character should revolve around guilt and self-sabotage. Instead of allowing him to build something meaningful, Fairy Tail yanks away his purpose and throws him right back into exile.

It’s frustrating because this was the perfect setup for his redemption. Crime Sorcière gave him agency, direction, and a reason to move forward. But the story took that from him, just so he could keep playing the role of the miserable sinner.

What Should’ve Happened Instead :

Let Jellal actually stay with Crime Sorcière. Let him commit to the cause instead of running in circles with his guilt. The idea of a rogue mage dismantling dark guilds from within had so much potential, but Fairy Tail threw it away.

Or, if Crime Sorcière’s dissolution was inevitable, then give him something of a similar accord—something that keeps his efforts alive and shows that, even with the odds against him, he continues striving to change for the better.

-

4. The Hypocrisy of Recruiting Oración Seis

Let’s talk about the biggest contradiction in Jellal’s so-called redemption: Crime Sorcière inducting Oración Seis.

• If Jellal is so consumed by guilt, why does he think he has the right to recruit criminals who actually chose to do evil?

• If he truly believes he’s irredeemable, then why does he get to decide that they are worthy of redemption?

• Unlike him, Oración Seis were not brainwashed. They acted on their own free will. How does he see himself as worse than them?

It makes no sense. If Jellal truly believes he’s the “sinless sinner” who can never be redeemed, then his logic falls apart when he extends redemption to others who were far more culpable.

It’s hypocritical, and it completely undermines his whole self-imposed guilt complex.

What Should’ve Happened Instead :

Either Jellal accepts that redemption is possible for himself or he doesn’t try to force it on others. You can’t have it both ways.

-

5. Wasted Potential for a Post-Redemption Role

Jellal is one of the most intelligent and powerful mages in the series. He has tactical knowledge, combat prowess, and leadership skills. He should have been a key figure in the battle against dark forces.

Instead, he’s reduced to a wandering tragic figure with no real direction.

• He could have been an informant or strategist.

• He could have helped dismantle corrupt systems within the Magic Council.

• He could have worked from the shadows to prevent future Towers of Heaven.

But instead of actually doing something with his redemption, Jellal is left with nothing. He has no agency, no drive, and no lasting impact. Fairy Tail strips him of every opportunity to turn his past into something meaningful.

What Should’ve Happened Instead :

Let Jellal use his past experiences to actively prevent future disasters. Let him be a force in reshaping the magical world instead of keeping him stuck in a loop of self-hatred.

-

Final Thoughts: Why Jellal’s Redemption Arc Really Fails

A strong redemption arc should :

• Clearly define the character’s sins.

• Show them taking active steps toward atonement.

• Give them a meaningful post-redemption role.

Jellal’s arc fails on all three counts.

• His crimes are inconsistent—sometimes he’s guilty, sometimes he’s a victim.

• His atonement is passive rather than active.

• His redemption arc strips him of agency instead of giving him purpose.

And none of these flaws have anything to do with Erza.

Jellal’s redemption should have been about Jellal. Not Erza’s perspective. Not Fairy Tail’s approval. Him. But the story refused to commit, leaving his arc feeling hollow and wasted.

Before anyone jumps to conclusions—no, this isn’t an anti-Erza take. The flaws in Jellal’s redemption have nothing to do with her. My issue is with how the narrative fails him as a character, independent of her presence.

And with that, I’ve said my piece. Jellal’s redemption had the potential to be something compelling, but instead, it was a fragmented mess that robbed him of his agency and clarity. He deserved better writing, plain and simple.

Jellal Fernandes had all the makings of a phenomenal redemption story. The series just didn’t follow through.

What do you think? Would you have wanted to see a stronger, more active redemption arc for Jellal? What changes would you have made?

Let me know what your thoughts are 💭

[alfredosauce50]

What makes me human

[Cyberpunk! America x reader] 20

Wordcount: 12, 428 Rating: R18+ for adult themes, violence, and gore Synopsis: ??? Content warning: Major character death(s). Heavy sexual references. Content may be disturbing for some readers. Proceed with caution.

20 - finale

“Considering we’re all about to bite the dust, you guys fixed this ship up pretty good,” Allen remarked, walking into the control room with a more relaxed composure than he should’ve had. 

In just a few hours, this thing would be taking everyone to their final resting place. As bleak as that sounded, it couldn’t be far from the truth, so he smoked himself up for the occasion. 

“You don’t have to remind me,” Arthur mused, brushing past him. While he made his way to the other side of the room, he got a whiff of the nicotine that was wafting off him, but he couldn’t be bothered by the smell. He had something else to be bothered by, like his boyfriend’s dismissive attitude to the undismissable — that he was about to be thrown into the lion’s den. 

He got to their side, and they were currently working on one of the dashboards on the bridge, configuring the system. There, he made one final attempt to talk himself out of the action. 

“Can’t I just stay here and wait for you?” He leaned down, expression tense.

“And let you out of our sight? No way.” Zao shot him down without so little as a single glance, which was ironic considering what he just said.

“Look, I’m not a cyberpunk like you lot. I can’t fight, I can’t netrun, I’ll just slow you all down,” Arthur was exasperated, but he kept his voice down lest he be overheard by his apprentice. Knowing them, the last thing they needed was more panic added into the mix. “How would it make any sense to bring me along?”

“It makes perfect sense,” The other replied cutely, albeit while lifting a stern gaze to him. “You stay with us so nothing happens to you without us being there. Would you rather be by yourself when you get fucked or get fucked along with the rest of us?”

“Fine,” Arthur relented, hopping off the bridge to leave. “But if I die, I’ll kill you.”

“You’re not gonna die,” Zao sighed, spinning to him on his chair to watch him as he walked away. Then, he whispered this next part under his breath. “Like I’d ever let that happen.”

“Oh, and Allen?” The blonde stopped in his tracks, turning to the man.

“Yes, boss.” The other replied, not taking his eyes off a dashboard he was stuck marveling at. He’d always been a grease monkey, but that was only for cars. Spacecrafts, on the other hand, were way beyond his depth. For all he knew, he’d be entering the realm of science fiction with how complicated things got.

“When we get back, I’ll get you started on some of the basics,” Arthur smiled cooly, already knowing the reaction he’d get from his apprentice. It’d been a while since they sat down together and tinkered around in the garage, but if this wild goose chase panned out the way they wanted, this didn’t have to be the sensitive subject anymore. They could go back to their old lives.

“Oh, for real?” Allen shot up with an excited grin. “Hell yeah!”

Cyberpunk isn’t about saving the world.

It’s about saving yourself.

That was something Alfred always failed to understand. 

That this world was beyond the idea of a prophesied hero, beyond saving because it was just too far gone. Night City was bigger than him and everyone in it, even those who claimed to own it. Stay here long enough and it would all but swallow you whole. The dark future had no place for something like hope, and yet, he was obsessed with making out on an impossible dream. 

But as flawed and unattainable it was, it was still a beautiful fantasy. 

He made a last minute decision to unbuckle his seatbelt, pulling himself to his feet so he could walk out of the control room and into the hall. With the imminent launch of the ship, where he was headed was probably the last place he should be. The observatory, but he wanted to get a look while he could. Space, the apparent equivalent to skiing in this day and age.

And now that he could finally see it, he could only wish it was under different circumstances. 

Because somewhere out there in another universe, he didn’t have to be a hardened soldier, rising to meet the occasion. But this was probably the fate he had always been destined for.   

“I take it this is your first time too,” He began with his back turned to you, having sensed your presence ever since you trailed behind him. He was standing by a large spherical window, and there, he stared out into his friend’s private runway. It wasn’t much of a sight, but it wasn’t what he came for yet. “Space. We’re actually going to Space, (F/N). Isn’t that just amazing?”

“Yeah,” You smiled a little, though you couldn’t find yourself as enthusiastic as him. 

“And I used to be such a nut about it. There was just so much we didn’t know, but that was what made it so cool,” Alfred grinned at you, his eyes alight with a childlike wonder. You’ve never seen him so excited, and to think it could come from something as simple as just reminiscing the past, it had you wondering what kind of person he would’ve been if he was still back there. 

An explorer, an astronaut, or a pioneer. 

“How big it was, how small and insignificant we are compared to the universe.”

Back then, not everything had been done, so people still would’ve had the chance to keep trying new things. He would’ve had that chance to keep trying new things. After all, everyone was so curious back then, doing anything and everything in their power to just understand the world a little better. To make sense of the vast unknown that had somehow breathed life into this planet. 

No discovery was ever too small, because that one step still would’ve been a giant leap for humanity. That was the value and excitement of science, so where did it go now? 

“But it’s just so normal now. Everything has been reduced to our scale and nothing feels out of reach anymore,” The light in his eyes faded, and he lowered his head. “We’ve lost our humility.”

All of those thoughts ran through your mind while you listened to him speak, and seeing the face he made was that final swing to your resolve, shattering any and all previous reservations you’ve ever had of him. He wasn’t hot-tempered, sensitive, or selfish. Maybe a little, but he wasn’t as arrogant or conceited as you used to think. What made him the way he was the opposite of all those things, and with that newfound clarity, you came to realize what you came here to do. 

“Alfred,” You let out, wrapping yourself around his arm. Then, you pressed your forehead to it, screwing your eyes shut. “I’m not mad at you anymore, and I don’t think I ever can be.”

“Really?” He softened his gaze over you. 

“There’s a certain way the world works, or should work, so you’re right to be angry,” You admitted, peering up at him. “This is the truth of what you are, and I think it’s beautiful.”

“Space?” 

“No, your humility.”

He lifted his head and made a face of understanding as if to go, oh, right. But it quickly changed to a tender smile. “Even though I can be an arrogant prick sometimes?”

“Yes,” You smiled back. “Especially when you’re an arrogant prick sometimes.”

The two of you shared a soft laugh, after which, he turned back to the window again. 

Beautiful, you said. 

“You know, I think I might be the worst thing to ever happen to you,” Alfred murmured, his tone and expression unreadable as he stared out onto the runway. Be that as it may, you could still sense the shame behind his thoughtful composure. He meant it with every fiber of his being, and you would’ve refuted it with every fiber of yours if it weren’t for him turning back to you again. 

Then, with the most sincere gaze burning into you, he said this.

“But you are the best thing to ever happen to me.”

To say you were taken aback would’ve been an understatement. But was he really going to do this now? You felt like you were going to cry, and you couldn’t find it in yourself to stop it, let alone to tear yourself from him. The timing couldn’t be worse, and judging from how he looked at you, so unwaveringly passionate, he was about to tell you everything he’d ever wanted to. 

“I was just surviving this whole time, but you made me want to live again,” He continued, his eyes wide with love. “I wanna do right by you. I wanna keep learning and growing.” 

The first tears finally came, but all you could do was stare at him in an awe-induced silence. 

“And I know I used to make a big deal about mortality, but I think that’s what actually makes you a human being,” He smiled like he just discovered the secrets of the universe, his ocean eyes twinkling with the stars that would very soon grace the skies. “Not death, but wanting to live.”

The life that pulsed through him was transcendent, overpowering even this moment before death. This was the effect you had on him, a force of nature that made him stronger than oblivion. 

“You idiot.” You wiped your tears with the back of your hand. But they just kept coming, for you were that deeply moved by the profound beauty of his words. To hear how highly he thought of you, then how much you’d changed him, and in turn, how much he changed you, everything overwhelmed you until your face contorted and you practically plowed into his arms to hug him. “Don’t give yourself so much credit. We all know what was the worst thing to happen to me.”

“Oh, yeah?” He hummed, hugging you back. He was already so happy to hear that, breathing you in to ride off that high. Because from the sound of it, you already forgave him.

But you weren’t stopping until you turned his world upside down. 

“You might think you took everything from me, but that’s not true at all,” You squeezed him even tighter. Then, you spoke the words he never thought he’d hear. “You saved me.” 

“What?” His face fell a touch, not believing his ears.

“Allen too.” 

He couldn’t understand it one bit, but you would make him. 

“Ever since he joined the syndicate, what happened to him was going to happen eventually. Nothing in my life would’ve changed, and I would’ve kept being the person my father wanted me to be. But because you’re such an arrogant prick, and because you’re so stubborn--”

His eyes went as wide as he could get them, unsure of whether to feel insulted or praised.

“--you showed us the truth, and now, we’re freed by it. We don’t have to live that way anymore.”

Alfred saved you from your fate, even if it was the life you used to have. He showed you the world and set you free with the truth. He opened your eyes and led you into the light. 

For that, he saved you in every way a person could be saved. 

Kidnapping you was just an incredibly long-winded rescue mission. 

He never once saw it this way, nor himself this way, and to hear you say it, well, you were right about everything. But he couldn’t take it for granted. It would’ve taken so much for you to understand those things. To understand him. To forgive him. And yet, you were so damn good at all of those impossible things, the only real conclusion he could take away from it all was this. 

“Is that your way of saying you love me?” Alfred smiled warmly, getting your lips to tremble into a frown. “Because back in my day, we just kept it short and said the three words.” 

“Stop joking around and just say it then.” You let out, but by then, it was too late. 

The ship launched, drowning out his voice with the engine blast. 

“I love you.”

You never ended up hearing him say it, but you could read his lips. And it was enough to evoke a visceral reaction from you, getting your heart to ache with so much emotion, you could barely handle it. You’d known this for so long, and yet, it affected you so much, you were thrown into the past. And in there, all the memories you ever had of him played like a record.

You’re so hypnotizing Could you be the devil, could you be an angel

You saw him for the first time, and he was a living, breathing weapon. 

As he stood across you in the kitchen of your home, you took him in for everything that he was. Little did you know, he was about to steal you away like a thief in the night.

Your body, mind, and soul, it would all be his. 

Your touch magnetizing Feels like I am floating, leave my body glowing

You laid with him in a no-tell motel, letting him trace his fingers over your skin. He told you about his past, how he was from a world different to yours. And he was an enigma. 

Alfred was a product of your time, but where he truly belonged no longer existed.

They say be afraid You’re not like the others, futuristic lover

He was an old soul, trapped in a body of the future. A killing machine. And because of it, he was feared by everyone he knew. Captured by those who should’ve worshipped him.  

Different DNA, they don’t understand you

But they were wrong about everything. 

You’re from a whole other world A different dimension

He was the vengeance of those before him, an unsung hero who would bring back some sense into an insensitive world. He would touch everyone he ever met, changing them with the truth.

And he would start with you.

You open my eyes And I’m ready to go, lead me into the light

The force threw you both against the wall, but Alfred cushioned you moments before impact. Wrapping his strong arms around you, he held you tight as the ship was sent hurtling into space. 

Kiss me, k-k-kiss me Infect me with your love, and fill me with your poison

Then, he kissed you. 

Take me, t-t-take me Wanna be your victim, ready for abduction

He kissed and kissed you until it was enough to suffice the words he couldn’t hear. 

Boy, you’re an alien, your touch so foreign It’s supernatural, extraterrestrial

That you loved him, and would love him until the end of time. 

This is transcendental On another level Boy, you’re my lucky star

The two of you were never meant to cross paths, having come from two entirely different worlds. 

But now that it happened, there were no two truer equals than you and him. The past and future, male and female, flesh and metal, all of it converged into one singular point like the beginning of the universe and time itself. Alfred held your hand as he looked out the window. He’d finally reached space, what once was a forgotten dream now realized right before his very eyes.

Earth was below him as a glowing blue planet. He could see all the oceans, continents, and the clouds, then the endless sea of stars that existed outside of his comprehension. 

From this distance, the world was as beautiful as he remembered. 

Wanna walk on your wavelength And be there when you vibrate For you I’d risk it all

The front gate of your father’s ship slid open.

Thump-thump

And nothing would’ve prepared you all for the horror that was waiting behind. 

Thump-thump

Dozens of clones, all spitting-images of Alfred, leapt on the unsuspecting group. Their eyes were wide, blank, and crazed, with not a thought behind them but orders to cut down anyone on the other side. When that registered in all of your brains, first, the very idea of it, and second, the actual reality of it, your faces warped in terror in what felt like slow-motion. 

This was the madness your father had brought upon you all. 

Or was it his fault alone?

The room lit up in crazed gunfire. Allen blasted at the clones, firing uncontrollably at them with his eyes and mouth wide open. The fear that struck him was like lightning, coursing through him as so overwhelming it was as if the world had begun to end. He could hardly breathe, let alone think. All he knew was to shoot non-stop, because the second he stopped, he would be killed. 

The same could be said for everyone else, now fuelled by nothing but the drive to survive. 

Your katana never stopped moving as you fought off the horde, so frightened that you couldn’t even scream. You’d descended into such a state that fight or flight converged into one — you wanted to run, but the only way of getting out of here alive was through it. So you kept slashing and slashing, hoping there would somehow be an end to the neverending nightmare before you.

Meanwhile, Arthur was backed to a wall, frozen still as Zao defended him with everything he had. He swung at a clone, knocking the dagger out of their hands before stabbing them with it.

But Alfred? 

He gritted his teeth as he whipped out his mantis blades, letting them unfold like a giant switch knife before he ripped and tore through his clones like a demon. He decapitated them, disemboweled them, completely and utterly destroying them until they were nothing but an explosive mess of blood, flesh, and bone.

He was finally confronting the true nature of your father’s madness, meaning he could finally end it once and for all. But perhaps he shouldn’t have spoken so soon. 

When the last clone fell to your katana, something came from the inside of the ship.

A white mist, which blew past all of you like a gust. 

“Wha—?” Alfred could barely finish his word when it poured into his face. That was when he knew, and in a last ditch attempt to save his friends, he turned to them to yell this out. It was the last thing he could’ve expected, leaving him horribly unprepared for what was unfolding. “—it’s an agent!”

“Oh, come on. That’s just cheating!” Allen roared, terrified out of his mind. He staggered back a few steps, but that couldn’t stop the landslide of gas that came rolling into his face. 

The way it moved was like an avalanche, engulfing the group until everyone was shrouded in it. 

“Whatever you do, don’t breathe it in!” Alfred shouted.

“Easy for you to say!” Allen spat, covering the lower half of his face with his forearm. But even that wasn’t enough to stop the substance from getting into his airway. Whatever it was, it was working fast, draining his consciousness by the second. He could feel himself slipping away, and in those last moments, he saw Arthur drop onto his knees next to him. He hardly had the energy to call out to him, let alone the energy to reach out to you before you fell to the ground. He watched you with his teeth clenched as he fought with every fiber of his being to stay awake. 

“(F/N)…!” Allen hissed. “… Shit…”

“Hey, keep it together! Don’t you dare pass out on me!” Alfred roared, running to the sound of his voice. By that point, the mist had thickened so much, it was impossible to see through. He used his scanner to detect your thermal signatures, but he found nothing. It was just him in the room, and yet, he kept moving like it wasn’t true, refusing to believe that his friends were just plucked off right before his very eyes. Only that was exactly what just happened. 

Once he got to where he last saw Allen, he was gone.

Alfred was overcome with shock as he stumbled back a few steps. 

But that wasn’t all. The mist was starting to dissipate, and once it cleared, everyone was gone. And like everyone else in his shoes, this one thought hit him. Did he just send all his friends to their deaths? His expression was wrought with horror as that realization began to settle in. Then, he let himself get crushed by a guilt so heavy, he could hardly stand. Lowering himself onto his knees, he dug his hands through his hair as his mouth hung open in fright. But that was when he saw someone lying on the ground in the corner of his eye. His clone. Calfred. He turned his head to them, and it just so happened to be the only person he couldn’t give a damn about. Yet, here he was. 

Still here with his sorry ass. 

His head returned to its neutral position. Then, he mustered the darkest glare he could. There was no denying it now. This was all a deliberate ploy to get under his skin, perfectly designed to the last detail. 

It sounded like him. 

“You sick bastard.” He snarled. It maddened him with rage to think the old man was this close, having taken all his friends right under his nose. So he got up on one knee and whipped out his mantis blades on one arm, roaring this at the top of his lungs. “Come out here and fight me!”

|

When Allen came to, he was lying on his side on a tatami floor. 

The lighting was dim, a sensual mix of purple and pink hues. He sat up, and that was when he realized he was stripped down to his tank top. His bomber jacket and even his pants were gone. But he didn’t have a chance to make a fuss as he was hit with a searing headache. He pressed the ball of his hand to his forehead and winced through his teeth. What the actual hell was going on? 

There was gas, and now, he was in an entirely different room. 

The room in question was lavishly furnished with traditional paper lanterns, a wooden vanity, and even red paper umbrellas, opened and lying on their side to display their intricate patterns. There was even a crimson futon against the wall, and on each side was a shoji screen for privacy. If he didn’t know any better, this would’ve been a private room in the red light district. 

Why he was put here was beyond him, a place meant for pleasure. 

But it would all become painfully clear when he saw who he was with. 

Standing over him was the most alluring woman he’d ever seen. She was dressed in an elaborate red kimono, and her silky black hair was put up like a geisha, but with more gold ornaments than he could count. She was an oiran, a high-ranking courtesan from the Edo period. But her beauty didn’t come from the clothes she wore, nor the fine makeup that graced her cherubic features. 

Upon closer look at her face, it was yours. |

Zao opened his eyes, but he wasn’t lying on the floor. Instead, he was upright and tied to a chair. He struggled for a bit, pulling at the metal constraints around his wrists.

But even that couldn’t hold his attention for long. 

In front of him were a bunch of security screens, each filming a room that one of his friends was in. He turned to them, and he could hardly believe what he was seeing. Alfred just threw Calfred over his shoulder before charging into the ship. Allen was in a room with a woman that looked terrifyingly like you. Meanwhile, the real you was still unconscious on the floor of a child’s room. But Arthur? He was roaming the halls by himself, searching for all of you because he was defenseless on his own. Zao grimaced darkly, but it was hardly out of mirth. 

He knew what kind of man your father was, but this was a whole new level of insanity. He wasn’t going to do any of the dirty work himself. 

He would let all of you do that to yourselves. 

Your greatest demons, now his greatest weapons. 

And here he was, forced to watch as all of his friends were plucked off, one by one. He’d always been an observer, someone who had the bigger picture and worked tirelessly in the background. This was a testament to that, only this time, he had both arms tied behind his back, powerless to stop what was unfolding before his very eyes. But even as this dawned on him, only one thought raced through his mind — the regret of everything he’d ever done, reduced to this one moment.

He should’ve left Arthur behind.

|

“Oh, good. You’re awake,” Alfred gave his clone a brief side-eye before tossing him a gun. 

It landed in the man’s lap, much to his annoyance — could he be any more an asshole? He lifted his hardened gaze up to his companion, who was already facing away from him. 

“Now make yourself useful.”

“Why did I have to end up with you?” Calfred picked it up before pulling himself up to his feet. 

“Yeah, I’m not exactly thrilled about this either,” He broke into a brisk jog in the hall, making his footsteps as faint as possible. Hollow, metallic thunks sounded against the floor as they moved together in stealth, sticking to the walls wherever possible. That was when they came to an intersection, so he hid behind the corner. “You think everybody else got to pick?”

“Whatever,” The other hid behind him. “Where is everybody anyway?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” Alfred whispered in a foreboding tone, keeping his eyes narrowed on the two clones that stood at the end of the hall. It was the first time that they ran into some company, and he was right to anticipate the worst. More copies of himself. But even if there were a hundred, thousand, or a million of them, he would kill them all until he was the only one left standing. “I’ll take the one on the left, you take the one on the right. On three.”

Calfred raised his gun, only for him to lower it with a push. “No guns. Too much noise.”

“Didn’t you just--”

“--three.” He sped off, derailing that train of thought. 

They ran into the light in perfect synchronization, moving side by side like a reflection of one another. Now that they were exposed, they were plunged into a zone, a deep state of focus like predators in chase of their prey with the aim to kill as fast as they could. And they couldn’t stop now that the timer started. 

Alfred came up to his clone from behind and twisted its head in one swift movement, killing it instantly. Calfred slit his clone across the throat, getting blood to spray profusely from its neck. They both fell to the ground, but the duo had already moved on by the time a thump was heard, running off together, one after the other. 

They cut their way through the ship, exterminating all life like angels of death. So many heads rolled and so many guts were spilled that by the end of it, the duo were covered in blood. Their faces were drenched in it so that when they opened their eyes in a cold glare, the electric blue in them would contrast beautifully against the red. But it was just another marker that distinguished them from their enemies. Hell, they even could’ve been unstoppable as allies in another life. 

Two trained killers who worked in perfect unison. 

But this was no time to get sentimental. 

They eventually found themselves at another closed gate, which Alfred took his time to crack into. And what waited behind was a surprise they’ve seen well and truly before. Because once it slid open, they came face to face with an entire room of clones. Dozens and dozens of them.

“Oh, fuck.” They let out simultaneously.

So much for making too much noise.

|

So this was what it came to, the master plan that was meant to put him in his grave. Maybe this could’ve worked in the past, but he was no fool. Not anymore. While these thoughts ran through his head, Allen got up without a word. The look behind his eyes turned dark and incoherent, but what he was about to do was exactly those things. Vile and utterly incomprehensible. 

He pulled his gun and trained it on your face. 

Nobody should ever be forced into a situation where they had to kill a loved one in cold blood, but here he was, about to blow your brains out. He gritted his teeth as he let out a shaky breath, feeling a gradual tremble build up in his hand that held the gun. He was really about to shoot you, wasn’t he? Only he wasn’t, so why was he even stuck thinking about it? 

You weren’t real, just a tool to get under his skin and ultimately kill him. 

So why didn’t he just pull the trigger?

“Just do it,” He strained through his teeth, feeling his heart start racing in his chest. His hand was full-on shaking by then, but he was on the verge of going through with it. “Just fucking do it.”

|

When you finally awakened, you were on the floor of your childhood bedroom. You rose to your feet to take it all in, and your face contorted when it dawned on you. This was where you grew up. An exact replica of it. The bed, the furniture, the framed pictures that decorated the shelves, even the smell of it was exactly the same. It was an other-worldly experience that awakened some of the deepest memories within you, even the ones you thought you’d forgotten. 

Your father reading stories to you, chasing your butt-naked self around the place with a towel, then picking you up in his strong arms. The way he bellowed out his laughter, but never being scared by the sound of it. That was your father, the person you once knew. Strong, noble, and just. Where did he go now? Tears streamed down your face as your heart grew heavy with loss. 

It was the sadness of a child who lost a parent, for whoever stood in their place was a stranger. 

Or was this the person he’d always been? 

So cruel that he would use your own innocence against you, turning your purest memories into a weapon? This was the last straw you didn’t know you even had, because even after everything he’d done, you were still shedding tears for him. Your forgiveness seemed to know no bounds, but so did his wickedness. But you were drawing the line now. He was nothing but a scourge on this planet, corrupting all good until there was nothing left except pain and suffering. 

You rose from the ground and unsheathed your katana. 

No child should ever have to resort to killing a parent, but he left you no choice. 

“Have you finally made up your mind?” Your father began as you stepped into the light. 

And to think he’d been here the whole time, waiting for you to meet him exactly where he stood.

Just what was he planning?

“I’ve made up my mind long before coming here,” You lowered your head.

“Then why the tears, my child?” He questioned. 

“I’m allowed to grieve the loss of a father,” You answered with your eyes closed, refusing to look at him as you said it. 

“So you do care for me, after all,” He was visibly affected by what you told him, an astonishing feat for someone like him. However, you were probably the only thing in the world he could ever feel love for, so it was all for naught. “This doesn’t have to end the way you think it does. Just admit the truth that is your family, and I will stop everything. All of this, if you will just say it.”

“I lost my father ages ago,” You refused. “You’re a demon.”

“If I’m a demon, what does that make you?” He responded calmly.

“I’m not you. I can live my own life and make it my own,” You shot back.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Your father denied, much to your anger and disbelief. He’d always been a firm believer in tradition, in filial piety, but his entitlement over you knew no bounds. Little did you know, he meant it in the plainest and most literal way, which was far worse than anything you could’ve imagined. “Have you ever wondered why you’ve never had a mother?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” You frowned, though he was right to question you on that. You’ve never had a mother growing up, and you always wondered why. 

“You’re not really my daughter, you see. You weren’t born from two parents,” He explained. At first, you didn’t know what to make of that fact. How you were a miracle child, born from a single parent. Now that you thought about it, it wasn’t unheard of, so you couldn’t be surprised. But if that were the case, what did he mean when he said you weren’t really his daughter? 

“And?” You narrowed your eyes. “That doesn’t prove anything.”

“You misunderstand, (F/N). Every strand of DNA in your body is identical to mine, except for the chromosomes that determine your sex,” He continued, and that was when it slowly dawned on you. If what he was saying was true, that could only mean one thing. And yet, you couldn’t bear to accept the truth even as he laid it out before you. “You are a female clone of me.”

You were identical to him, down to the last strand of flesh that wrapped around your bones. You couldn’t even have the least of your own body to differentiate yourself from him, and that in itself was so depraved, so invasive, you could barely keep yourself standing.

“You’re lying,” You bit back a cry. “You’re lying. That’s not true!”

“But it is,” He glowered, and with the most bone-chilling voice, he said, “You are me.”

Meanwhile, Allen kept the barrel of his gun pointed at your face. He was paralyzed, where the only movement lay in the shaking of his hand. His eyes were a powerful weapon of deceit, and the longer he stayed in this tense stalemate, the more it chipped away at his will. That was when you smiled at him, and it basically destroyed him. His mind began to unravel, his stomach began to churn, and his mouth fell agape in an expression of so much agony, it looked like he was in pain. 

His body was refusing to listen to him because all it knew was that he was about to kill you. 

And to fight that part of himself, he ended up screaming as loud as he could to drown it out. 

Tears ran down your face as you glared at your father with all the fear and loathing in the world. He’d cursed you with life, something utterly unthinkable and unachievable until he came along. It was the same thing he did to Alfred, but that was when you realized two things could be true at once. Alfred flashed in your mind, and so did Allen. And oh, how they smiled, talked, laughed. They made the world something you could understand, and for that, the memory of them alone was enough to give you back your strength with frightening clarity. You loved them in a way that he could never love anything, and that fact alone set you miles apart.

Allen eventually pulled the trigger, sending off a bang.

“I am nothing like you!” You roared, lunging forward with a manic ferocity in your movements.

“And yet,” Something sinister glinted in his eyes as you both met in a fearsome clash. A sharp clang was heard as he pulled out his katana at the last second, stopping you from cutting through him. That left the edges of your blades scraping together as you two pitted your raw strength against each other, and there, you were locked in a foreboding stare-down. “Here we are.”

You broke out of the hold by hitting his katana away. 

Then, you came at him with a series of hard strikes and swings.

“Can’t you see?” He caught every single one, your blades clashing in a fierce battle of steel. 

His eyes widened with a burning certainty as he witnessed you in your prime. You fought like a demon, the very thing you accused him of being. You attacked him with so much speed and strength, even he struggled to keep up with you. “All your relentlessness, ferocity, and power—”

You were so caught up in the fight, you didn’t realize that your gi had slipped off, revealing what hid beneath. A yakuza dragon tattoo on your back that spread from your hips all the way to your neck. It was done with the finest sportsmanship, only to be given to the highest-ranking members of the syndicate. But even that didn’t mean it could be taken so freely. It was the one and only honor your father had rightfully bestowed upon you, and it had no importance until now. 

Alfred wasn’t his foil, nor his truest match. 

You were. 

And the harder you fought, the more his truth unraveled. This was everything he ever wanted, the unfolding of a self-fulfilling prophecy that was what you were destined to be.

“—all of it is because you are me.”

Allen laid your clone to rest on the bed, throwing a blanket over the body to cover it. 

He did it all with a pained frown, knowing he’d carry this action with him for the rest of his life. For even though this had been a mere shadow of you, he now knew what it was like to kill you, and how much it took for him to kill you. It wasn’t something he ever wanted to go through, but he did now. He turned around to leave, desperate to leave this behind him once and for all.

But he only made a few steps before he stopped. 

Then, his face contorted with a sob, and he wiped the tears that came. This was so fucked up, he could hardly bring himself to carry on. But he forced himself to keep pushing. 

The real you was still out there, and that was enough to keep him going. Little did he know, you were losing grip of yourself at that very moment, reaching a height of bloodlust that would make you no different to your greatest enemy. For as cruel as they’d been, nothing could change the fact that you were about to kill your own kin. And it was an act that had a weight on its own. 

With a loud, reverberating clang, you hit the katana out of your father’s hands. 

Would Allen be able to save you from your fate, even when it was reaching a point that was practically unsalvageable? The sharp edge of your sword was against his neck, and with one, quick, slice, you could end it all. But by doing so, you would also become the one thing he wanted to make of you. A manifestation of all his power and darkness.

“Kill me and the beast will take a new head.” Your father spoke lowly. “Yours.”

It didn’t seem possible at first. After all, how could he save you when he couldn’t even save his own? Allen kept jogging through the labyrinth of halls, chest tight and his breath shaking as he moved. You had to be out here somewhere. All his friends were. And if he was quick about it, he could save all of you. That was when he came to an intersection, spotting a body slumped against the wall. Short, choppy blonde hair, cargo pants, and the tacky shirt he borrowed from Zao? 

It was Arthur, no doubt. 

Only his neck was slashed, covering his torso with—Allen turned around upon seeing it.

But he never walked away. He just stood there, deathly still. Then, his heart began to pound, and harder than it ever did that day. This couldn’t be real. After everything that happened, he refused to believe that this would be the result. This couldn’t be real. His eyes slowly widened as he summoned the courage to look again, hoping that what he saw wasn’t true.

Yet, when he glanced over his shoulder, he was still sitting there, very much dead. 

When it finally hit him, he dropped to his knees and vomited on the ground. His eyes went straight to the back of his head as he puked the hardest in his life. And he didn’t stop until everything in his stomach was emptied. After everything that had happened, this was what it took to finally drive the nail in. He’d finally reached the threshold of his sanity and just broke. 

Everything he ever did was for nothing. 

All those years he spent grovelling was wasted for no reason.

Because in the end, after everything that Arthur did for him, he couldn’t even do the least of saving his life. He joined the syndicate to protect him, and he failed. He failed! When that dawned on him, a wide grimace broke out across his face, only to quickly tremble away. 

His face contorted as he began to cry. 

He couldn’t do anything right. This was the only thing that mattered, and yet, he still fucked it up beyond compare. So he kept crying with his forehead to the ground, sobbing wretchedly before him, apologizing again and again even when he couldn’t be heard. The light had long gone from Arthur’s eyes, so he’d never get to see the last gesture of gratitude his student paid for him. 

And they would be indebted to him forever.

“So what will it be?”

Allen got up after a while. He didn’t know how long it took for him to get to this point, to have the strength to stand on his feet, but he was here now. And he was plunged into a state of mind where he was almost manic. So much had been taken from him, he was hell bent on taking things back for a change. He had to make all of this right somehow, even if he’d just lost everything.

With a vacant expression, he picked up Arthur’s body and threw him over his shoulder. 

Then, he paced the halls like a zombie, looking for the man responsible.

His prayers were quickly answered as his clone appeared around the corner, wearing his clothes. And all it took was one glance to know. This was the bastard who killed Arthur. So what did he do? He drew his gun at lightning speed, firing an astonishing seven shots at their chest without blinking. They dropped to the ground after the merciless execution, but he just walked past the corpse without a second thought. He’d only just begun, and he wasn’t about to look back. 

Soon, he came up to the door that he knew for certain would be where it’d all end. 

So he put Arthur down outside, reaching up to his eyes to close them.

Then, he burst through it, guns blazing. 

Allen fired relentlessly at the bastard who took everything from him, screaming as he did, letting out everything he ever kept inside him. He’d joined the syndicate to save a friend, and since he couldn’t even do that, he would make amends by destroying the very essence of the Mizumoto patriarch. So he kept shooting and shooting until he ran out of bullets, bursting so many holes through the son of a bitch until he could read the Sunday newspaper through him.

However, by some miracle, he was still alive by the end of it — even if barely.  

But his vitality was what gave him the chance to do this. 

Your father wheezed out his final breaths in a shocked stupor, so Allen acted as fast as he could. 

He wrapped his hand around yours, lending you his strength, and pushed your katana into him.

By doing this, he would share the burden of your kill, stopping you from becoming everything your father wanted to be. And his past betrayal? It would finally be repaid tenfold in the exact same way that it happened to him. Blood was owed to him, and he finally fucking had it. 

“Die, you motherfucker.” Allen growled, shoving the blade all the way in until it came curving out of his back. And he never let go until he saw the light fade from the old man’s eyes, the one mistake that ended up being his survival. Soon, the kumicho breathed his last breath, and that was when he felt himself breathe for the first time. He was finally free. 

“It’s just you and me now.” Calfred panted as he sat against a wall with Alfred. 

After painting the room red in a mass execution of clones, he was so exhausted, he could barely think. But he was hopeful that this was one step closer to the end – he just never imagined what that would look like because his companion had a completely different idea of it than he did. Because when he pulled himself up to his feet, the sharp edge of a mantis blade was held to his neck. He turned to the person responsible, eyeing him with a growing wariness in his expression. 

“What’re you doing?” 

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Alfred replied, expression unreadable as he never retracted the blade from his neck. He even pressed it deeper into his skin, causing a thin red line to form. The stinging pain that erupted was a wake up call that he was dead serious about his intentions, and that was when things really started to kick off — and when his clone really started to panic. 

“You’re crazy,” Calfred spluttered, gripping the edge to push it away from himself. When that wasn’t enough, he brought up his katana and clashed it against his mantis blade in a sharp clang. That only left them in a tense stalemate, blades trembling together as they pitted their raw strength against each other. “You’re really gonna off me after everything that happened?”

Alfred narrowed his eyes, slowly overpowering him and hitting his sword away. 

“What the fuck have I ever done to you?” He jumped back to create some distance, but that was hardly enough to stop the relentless storm that was his so-called original. 

“I think you know,” The man glared. Whipping out his other blade to rear them like a praying mantis, he struck down on him from above. His clone barely caught it, leaving them in another close encounter with nothing but the sparking steel between their faces. “This was how it was always gonna end because there’s no way that the two of us are gonna be walking out of here.”  

“And why is that?” Calfred grimaced, his voice trembling as he spoke. He was just talking out of his ass at this point, but adrenaline was a bitch. “Scared that she’ll pick me over you?” 

“And why the hell would she do that?” Alfred shoved him back again.

“I think you know.” The other breathed weakly, repeating what he just said, word for word. And it pissed him off more than he could stomach. “But I’ll tell you anyway.” 

“Enlighten me then, you arrogant prick.” He snarled.

An alarm blared throughout the ship as all the lights turned red. 

Now that the pilot was dead, everything started shutting down. And it didn’t take long for Allen to realize what was going on — that this whole thing had been a kamikaze mission — but he wasn’t losing anybody else today. So he took your hand and got the hell out of there, running as fast as his legs could carry him to the escape pods. He got this far, he sure as fuck was going to live to tell the tale. And he would do anything to get a taste of the freedom he now had. 

Even if that meant ignoring your pleas to look for Alfred, who for some reason, refused to leave the now sinking ship. The gravity had given out by then, leaving him floating several feet off the ground, but even that couldn’t take his focus off the son of bitch in front of him. And with where the conversation was going, it looked like only one of them would be walking out of here alive. 

“You were created with the sole purpose to take life,” Calfred floated around him, inspecting him  like a specimen. And a specimen he was, a cyborg absent of imperfection. “Not create it.”

“And?” 

“Allen, me—we’re all different to you.” 

Created by man, not woman-born. An antithesis to all living beings and humans. 

“We could do fuck all, but we’re still capable of the most basic thing we were created for,”

For that, he was deprived of their most defining feature. 

“We can reproduce.”

“Shut up.” Alfred glared.

“You know you’re sterile.” Calfred looked directly at him as he said it.

“I said, shut up.” He clenched fists until they trembled, his eyes darkening with the most bitter resentment. The bastard was dangling his deepest insecurity before him as nothing but a talking point, and the worst part was, he was right about everything. The ability to have children, something everyone took for granted yet completely out of reach for him. Because no matter how far he strayed from his roots, he’d want that promise of creation. To make life.

“If she ever wanted kids, you wouldn’t be able to give her any. But I would,” The other merely watched as a single tear rolled down to his chin. “Without me, who’s gonna get her pregnant?”

Just when he thought he’d well and truly lost it, the son of a bitch added one last word.

“Allen?”

You were in the escape pod with Allen by then, and in the heat of the moment, he did something that broke all the rules. He put his mouth on yours, kissing you. He kissed you. His lips pressed against yours in an exchange that was far from innocent, and the crazy part was, you let him. Maybe you were just as mad as he was, but after cheating death, he was plunged into another state of mind where he wasn’t himself. Or was it more like a heightened sense of clarity?

Because if there was one thing he had to do before dying, this was it.

“Allen?”

Alfred’s eyes went wide as his jaw slowly opened, letting the name stir something inside him until he all but lost his mind. The next thing he knew, he’d launched himself at Calfred with a scream and started pounding his face like a maniac. “Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up!” Pushed past the brink of sanity, the only remedy was to punch him again and again until he was barely recognizable. Then, by some miracle, he stopped, and by another, his clone survived the hellish beating, albeit with a loose eyeball out of his socket. 

“If you kill me,” He choked, gripping onto the other’s hand shakily. Blood was splattered all over his face, now heavily disfigured from being brutally smashed in. And his head, limp from brain damage and pain. He couldn’t muster the energy to even look at Alfred, but he scraped together what was left of his waning consciousness to spell out the unshakeable truth. “Your dreams won’t ever see the light of day.”

“Who says you need to be alive for this?” Alfred whipped out his mantis blades, their razor sharp edges gleaming in the starlight. The second Calfred heard their signature sound, he tried inching away from him, whimpering as he did. “If it’s sperm I need, I’ll just cut it out of you.”

|

Alfred never ended up going through with it. 

Because as furious as he’d been, he couldn’t bring himself to be so cruel. He didn’t even think he could kill him. What he could do, however, was choose not to save him. After all, he meant what he’d said when there would only be one of them walking out of here. It wasn’t right for there to be two of the same person, and knowing the kind of man he was, he would be saving himself a lot of grief in the future.

He didn’t like to share, not the life he lived, and definitely not the woman he loved.

So he left him as the ship went down.

And yet, as he walked away, he felt immense guilt for what he was doing. Maybe he was just being selfish. Maybe what he was doing was wrong. Leaving a man to die, and for what? 

But if anybody else were in his position, would they have done any different? If they were given the chance to be free of this dilemma, wouldn’t they have done the same? Alfred told himself these hypotheticals as a way of resolving this inner conflict. But the thing was, nobody would ever be in his position. Not entirely, anyway. And thank God for that. Because if anybody really did choose to do something different, that meant he was just another no good son of a bitch. 

He managed to get into an escape pod, and much to his relief, he could see two of them already on their way to Earth. But he’d be a fool to think none of this came with a price.

|

The end of the day was drawing near with the sunset casting a dark orange haze over Night City. Everyone who showed up that day had gone, leaving only you, Allen, and Alfred to keep Arthur company in his casket before he was finally lowered six feet under. But for some reason, Zao still hadn’t made an appearance. 

“Bastard didn’t even show up to his funeral,” Allen let out, wiping his eyes roughly. 

“Everybody has their own way of grieving, I guess.” Alfred murmured.

“By not showing up to the funeral? Give me a fucking break,” He snapped, taking his leave right then and there. “He’s just being a fucking coward, and I’m gonna give him a piece of my mind.”

You lingered your tearful gaze on him, watching him get into his car before speeding off in a cloud of smoke. In that moment, you knew you had to do something. Allen was spiraling, and sooner or later, he would fall over the edge. But what could you do when nothing could bring back Arthur? 

He pulled up to Zao’s estate, face warped with hurt as he stopped the engine. When it purred to a stop, he sat with his feelings as they came flooding back. Arthur was gone, and he couldn’t do anything about it. He slammed his hands furiously against the wheel as he wrestled with that reality, so frustrated that he cried all over again. He kept at it for at least five minutes until he calmed down, wiping his angry tears away with his sleeve. 

Then, he got himself together, or at least enough to do what he came here to do — he climbed out of his car looking like shit, and with a picture frame in hand, he stormed up to his friend’s front door. Because as furious as he’d been, he knew the poor bastard was probably taking it worse than him. 

And to his surprise, he actually answered the door. 

“Hey asshole,” Allen began, expression unreadable. “We missed you at the funeral.”

Zao didn’t respond, only gazing down at what he held in his hand.

“You gonna hide in there forever, or what?” He asked, noting his disheveled appearance. His hair was an absolute mess, long, knotted, and clearly hadn’t been washed in days. But that wasn’t what stood out to him most. It was his eyes, which couldn’t even look at him. They said everything they needed to say, so he couldn’t bring himself to keep hounding him anymore. Instead, he just handed him the picture. Arthur’s picture. “If you are, then put this at your shrine at least.”

That, Zao couldn’t refuse, so he took it before shutting the door in his face.

“I need to talk to you,” You told Alfred in the motel room. He was standing by the kitchenette, waiting for his instant noodles to cook. This had been the state of things ever since, spending day after day in a rental limbo. You all survived, but weren’t quite living. Something had to change, but what?

“Yeah, what’s up?” He walked over to you.

“I’m worried about Allen,” You admitted, letting it sit for a while before you said anything else. He seemed to understand, softening his gaze as he waited patiently for you to lay it on him. He’d expected this to come up eventually, and he just hoped that it wouldn’t be forever.  “I think I need to stay with him for a while.”

“Well, are you gonna come back?” He raised his tone.

“Of course,” You frowned, a little devastated that he even asked. “Why wouldn’t I?”

|

“Would it stupid for me to assume you’ll always be here for me like this?” Allen whispered, his eyes half-lidded as if he were deep in thought. After what was perhaps the worst week of his life, you came knocking at his door like a gift from God. And he pulled you in without so much as a word. He was barely keeping his head above water where the one thing that could keep him from drowning was you. But you were here now. It was the middle of the night, and you were on his chest, listening to him breathe as you two laid in bed in what used to be his old room at Arthur’s.

This was everything he could ever want, to have you in his arms.

But would it only be for the moment?

“No,” You whispered back. “I’ll always be here.”

“Even when you’ve got Alfred?” He said it so softly, you almost didn’t catch it.

“You think I’d want to lose you just because I have a boyfriend?” You gripped his tank.

“I don’t know. Doesn’t being in a relationship mean you gotta be more cautious when being alone with strange men?” He asked, the edges of his lips curling up in a smile. But as amusing as it was in the moment, he was really testing you on the true nature of your relationship with him. And he had all the right in the world because he couldn’t afford to live in ambiguity anymore.

Would you stay, or would you go?

“You’re not a strange man,” You murmured.

“I don’t know, I can be a little strange.” He narrowed his eyes into thin slits as he stretched like a cat. Then, he wrapped his strong arms around you to make his point, even breathing you in.

“So long as that strange doesn’t supersede hugging,” You remained comfortable on his chest, not at all phased by his behavior. And that remained true even after what he did — kiss you.

“I can’t kiss you?” He mumbled, almost as if he read your mind.

“Only if it’s not on the lips.” You responded, putting your foot down. 

“I guess I could deal with that.” Allen relented. He couldn’t say he was disappointed when this was how things always used to be, and he couldn’t be entitled to your love if you wouldn’t give it to him. Not that kind of love, anyway. And with how much you already gave him, he’d be a piece of shit to bother you for more. However, it wasn’t your intimacy he was really after.

You were all he had left, and he wouldn’t be able to survive your absence. 

And that reality hit him at full-throttle when you tried to leave in the morning.

He’d been making some banana pancakes in the kitchen, but the second he saw you at the front door, he dropped everything to get to you. His whisk fell onto the counter in a clatter as he ran to you in a flash. It was as if his body acted on reflex, and now that his thoughts caught up with his actions, he crumbled to pieces. 

“Please don’t go,” Allen hugged you from behind, pressing his forehead to the back of your neck as he spoke. “Just stay a few nights with me, please. I’ll be good after that, I promise.”

Alfred may have been waiting for you, but how could you leave him like this? 

The answer had been so clear to you then. You couldn’t.

“I’m thinking about getting an apartment somewhere in North Oak.” Allen mused as he scrolled on his laptop, browsing through some property listings. It had only been a few hours since what went down in the morning, but he managed to cheer himself up pretty quick now that you agreed to stay for the meantime. “Want in?”

“You mean you want me to live with you?” You lifted your gaze to him.

“Haven’t I made that obvious already?” He grinned sheepishly, not that confident you were going to agree. After all, you’ve always been touchy with the whole living situation. With Alfred to consider, you’d be going out on a limb to be with him. But it wouldn’t hurt to try, would it? “So, whaddya say? Me and you in Beaverville with the rest of the corpos?”

Little did he know, you’d moved long past the idea of leaving him alone.

“Sure,” You smiled gently, much to his glee. “But how are you gonna pay for it?”

“You’re gonna help me pay for it, dummy,” Allen grinned toothily. “Right?”

Alfred called you a few days later. 

You haven’t reached out to him for that long, which to him, was the same as eternity. And he was starting to get restless. He stood at the balcony of his motel as he waited anxiously for you to pick up.

“Hey,” You answered, smiling softly.

“Hey, what’s up? I missed you,” He immediately replied, eyes widening at the sound of your voice. “Where have you been?”

“I missed you too,” You uttered, heart heavy as you said it. This exchange may as well be the calm before the storm, as what you were about to tell him was sure to send everything overboard. “Allen just got a new apartment in North Oak. I’m helping him move in.”

“You’re not gonna live with him, are you?” He asked, face falling a touch. But when you didn’t answer immediately, he full-on winced. “Please don’t tell me you’re gonna live with him.”

“I am.” You sighed, closing your eyes.

“Then what about me?” He let out, heart in his throat. “You said you were gonna come back.”

“I know, and I’m sorry.” You apologized, and when he didn’t reply, you sighed. “Alfred.”

“Yeah?” 

“I love you, okay? Don’t ever forget that.”

“Oh, come on, babe. Don’t say things like that,” His voice cracked, feeling himself crumble right then and there. It wasn’t everyday you told him you loved him, and with both your track records, it only ever seemed to happen before everything fell apart. “You’re breaking my heart.”

“I mean it, Al.” You softened your gaze.

“Then show me,” He whispered pleadingly, and the desperation in his voice couldn’t be missed. He needed you, but you weren’t there for him. “Because I can’t feel it.”

You ended up meeting him later that night. And he wasn’t wrong to think you’ve been neglecting him, because seeing him again was like a dream. You caught up with him over some Family Mart favorites, talking and laughing just like old times. He took you through the city in a joyride, street racing with other drivers of Night City before leaving them in the dust.

He even did the stare and drive.

As he accelerated the car, he never took his eyes off you even as he reached a speed that got him close to God. He just kept going while smiling at you, the streets passing by outside in a fast blur. And you smiled back, trusting him with your life. It was the most fun you’ve ever had up until then, which should’ve been concerning when it involved the risk of getting killed.

However, he’d changed you that much, and you missed him even more. This was a side of him you’ve never known too, a carefree, excitable, and happier part of him which you loved. 

All of it was finally over, so he was floating. And with you by his side, he never felt so right. There was nothing that could stop him now, so he wanted to get so high that he would never come back down again. The sky was the limit, and he was slowly getting there.

He just needed you to be on the same page as him. 

The drive back to the motel was silent, but the atmosphere did all the talking. It was dark in the car, leaving you two sitting in a sultry ambience. What he did next only seemed to heighten that. Alfred made it a point to turn the radio off, glancing at you as he did. That left you in nothing but his company, where the only thing you could hear was the sound of him driving. He wanted the only thing you could think about to be him, and it was more sensual than you could’ve imagined. 

But that wasn’t all.

You shared a moment of eye contact with him, and that was when you knew. The way he looked at you was so raw, and with so much emotion that when you looked back at him, it was like staring into his heart. 

He wanted you, and he was going all the way with you tonight. 

If everything he just did wasn’t enough, he made it explicit by revving the engine in a loud vroom, accelerating until he was speeding to get back to the motel. While he raced through the city streets, your heart pounded the whole time. His urgency was on full display, and he did it so shamelessly, it easily made for the most erotic moment of your life. 

And he wouldn’t slow down until he had you. 

One hour later, you were laying with him in bed in the nude. And it was the single-most satisfying experience of his life. He’d seen every part of you, and you’ve seen every part of him. Not only did it feel amazing to make love to you, Alfred felt like you just accepted him in a way he always wanted to be accepted, and it left him in such a state that he was reeling.

“Fuck, that was so good,” He whispered, laying a hand over his eyes. “Why didn’t we do this earlier?”

“Several reasons,” You breathed, cheeks still flushed from all the intimacy as you laid on your side facing him. “The most important one being a lack of privacy.”

“Damn,” He muttered. Now that you mentioned it, you were right as rain. That left him thinking, what could he do to fix that once and for all? With a growing smile, he asked this while stifling a snort. “It wouldn’t be too late to talk you out of living with Allen now, would it?”

You took your pillow from under your head and bashed it on his face. 

“This isn’t the only reason I’d want you to live with me, jeez,” He laughed as he shielded himself from it. Once you stopped to lay back down again, he asked another question that should’ve had you hitting him all over again. “So have you ever done it with him?” 

“Done what?” You frowned. 

“You know,” He murmured sheepishly, almost embarrassed to finish what he started. “Sex.”

“Why would I have sex with Allen?” You let out, doing your damnedest to not imagine the thought. Aside from being in this ever-growing stable relationship with Alfred, it somehow felt sacrilegious to consider. Because as ambiguous as your bond with him was — a friend, a brother, and something more — he was also the only semblance of family you could ever have.

“I don’t know,” He pursed his lips. “You guys seem tight.”

“Not that kind of tight,” You rolled your head to him. “Not while you’re around, anyway.”

“So you’re saying you’d do him if we broke up?” Alfred grumbled.

“That’s not what I’m saying at all!” You gushed, gathering your composure before adding this on a more serious note. “But if you didn’t exist, or if something happened to you…” 

He fell silent as he listened to you, now realizing what you meant. Your love for him wasn’t fragile, where the only case of anything changing was if he keeled over in a doomsday event. And knowing how close you were to Allen, he was probably the only other guy who stood a chance of being the one. He also happened to be the only guy he trusted with you, so he couldn’t be mad. Not that he was particularly fond of the idea, so he made a note to not do that. Keel over. 

“At least you’re being honest with me.” He sighed, stopping you before you could finish. 

“But what made you ask this in the first place?” 

“I just felt like you were drifting from me, that’s all.” 

“I could never,” You let out, rolling on top of him so you could face him. Now that you were, you could finally see the look behind his eyes. Coy, expectant, and with this is the part where you tell me you love me, written all over it. And you would, just in your own way. Your cheeks flushed a rosy hue as you laid it on him with a tender smile, and you meant every word. “You’ll always be the only man for me.”

“I’m not satisfied with just words, you know?” Alfred whispered, and yet, he couldn’t shake off the electricity you just made him feel. They were the sweet nothings all men longed to hear, but to hear it through your voice, it drove him crazy. Sitting up with you on his lap, he kissed you so hard that he almost forgot the point he was trying to make. But he couldn’t drop the ball now — he came into this with a goal, and he would see it through to the end. So he pulled away to say this. “I need you to make me real promises and follow through with them.”

You ended up settling on staying with him for three days of the week, all while calling him every night. Although it wasn’t as much as you expected, he had a plan of what he’d do with his time. 

So what next?

You and Allen went on living the sheltered life you both deserved, making a home in a charming, upper-class neighborhood full of freshly-mowed lawns, white-picket fences, and cul-de-sacs. 

But Alfred?

He stood outside of his sports car in what used to be Beverly Hills, and at the highest point overlooking the city. There, he rested a blaster on his shoulder as he stared out into the distance. 

“So what now?” He asked, laying next to a doll. It wasn’t his thing to use services like this, but the women here knew exactly what he desired, and right now, it was to figure out where he would go from here on out. He would’ve asked you, but you would’ve just told him to move on and put it all behind him. And something inside him told him he never really could move on. 

“Now? You find out what it is you need to do,” Skye replied in a dreamy whisper. 

Alfred drove through Night City in the heat of the day, windows down as he relished in the dry desert wind that blew into his face. It’d been a while since he went to see his fixer to look for jobs, but he figured it wouldn’t be a bad place to start. He would eventually go on to do all sorts of crazy missions so long as they agreed with him — and brought home the bacon.

You’ve never backed down from anything in your life, even when you maybe should’ve.

He burst into a room, guns blazing as he blasted holes in all the goons scattered around the place. 

You go through Night City knowing a stray bullet could end you while hailing a cab—

He used his strong arms to burst open a shipping crate, revealing the people trapped inside. 

—but that’s never stopped you from taking action.

Alfred jumped down onto a glass roof, crashing through it with next to no grace before landing in a place surrounded by enemies. But he braved his actions fearlessly, whipping out his mantis blades with a grimace that screamed, bring it on. And when that wasn’t enough, he drew his guns to rain hellfire on the sons of bitches until they were all dead on the floor. 

Because even after everything that happened, the restlessness in his soul never went away. So if he couldn’t save the world, he sure as hell would leave a mark on it. He would go on for the rest of his days as a cyberpunk, trailblazing wherever he went, going down as one of Night City’s biggest legends. But for three days out of the week? He was a certified loverboy.

If you gotta kill, kill.

If you gotta burn it all to the ground, then let it burn.

[artist-issues]

Could you rank the album Blurryface and explain your rankings, please? Thanks and have a blessed day!

my brain

yay

Listen readers, if you like my posts about Disney movies & classic books & Old Hollywood or whatever, or if we’ve ever crawled into a story together and deepened our perspective on that story in one of my posts, but you’ve never cared about twenty one pilots, just trust me and read a little bit of this post. I want to show you something so good.

This is my favorite question in a long time. But you have the key to the obsession-corner of my brain, and you let yourself in, so this is a BIG rambling post, and you brought this upon yourself, and I’m very glad

Okay! I’m going to rank it concept-wise. As in, I’m going to rank it based on how in-depth and well-thought-out and excellently-communicated the ideas in the songs’ lyrics are. Because I don’t know anything about music—so any part of the rankings that are affected by something musical are that way because of personal preference, not because I know what I’m talking about. I recommend taking it slow, every one could be its own post because I suck at being succinct. 🙄

14. Lane Boy

I’m not going to defend myself, something had to go last, and everybody knows I’d rather listen to Lane Boy than any non-twenty-one-pilots song, and I think it blows any secular non-twenty-one-pilots song out of the water. So there. But it’s last on the list just because I think the concepts in the song don’t have as much brain-dissecting meat, and eternal value, as the other songs on the album. Other songs are about how we compartmentalize our issues, or they’re about mankind’s messed up state, or they’re about the dichotomy of fear and love.

And then this song is basically just about how twenty one pilots goes where they want to, musically, and doesn’t bow to the music industry or the patterns of what’s popular. But they’re tempted to. And that makes perfect sense, because on an album where he’s fighting his insecurities, being insecure about what “The Audience” thinks of you fits on the list.

I think the best part of the song is the lyric “don’t trust a perfect person and don’t trust a song that’s flawless.” From what I observe about Tyler Joseph, he actually does care whether or not a song, or a performance, is as good as it can possibly be. That’s super clear. But what’s also clear is that he believes in singing about something real, especially real flaws he has, so that other people can relate and use the information. So I don’t think he’s saying “don’t trust a perfect person and don’t trust a song that has no technical issues and couldn’t be any better.” I think he’s saying, “don’t trust a person who claims to be perfect, or their vague meaningless songs that don’t reveal their flaws.” (You know, when we gonna stop with it / lyrics that mean nothing, we were gifted with thought-type stuff.)

Which is still pretty deep, in a song that on the surface is saying “I know the music industry and genre-fans have expectations but I do what I want.”

Side note: I love the aesthetics of the music video and the “tempted by control, controlled by temptation” voiceover they used to do for the concerts with this song. The whole idea that Fame and Success have to be in hazmat suits, with gas masks on, is awesome. I don’t care if the concept is “Fame and Success can’t even deal with us, and all the insecurity we talk about in our songs,” or “Fame and Success are always interacting with songs that are rotting, dead, already on their way out of relevance.” It works either way. It’s cool either way.

But let’s just be real. It stabs me in the heart every time he sings the line, “if it wasn’t for this music I don’t know how I would’ve fought this.”

Like. Really? You don’t? If it wasn’t for music, you don’t know how you would’ve fought the dark thoughts? There’s nothing else you can think of, nothing else that specifically works against dark thoughts, that you might want to clue people in on? In a song that’s about not making decisions motivated by remaining popular, you’re going to point them to your own music as the only weapon you know of which works?

When you set yourself up to tell them that Jesus Christ is the hope that lasts eternally, not just moment-to-moment? When you could’ve said that you know a an everlasting Light in times of darkness? No?

So this one gets skipped more often than the others, and I know for a fact it’s because even subconsciously I don’t want to hear that line. I hope I’m wrong about it. I bet I am. I don’t think he meant all that. I think he was looking for a way to conclude that “I know about pain and darkness and that’s what should be in songs” thought, in a way that rhymed and sounded good. But still.

12. Tear in My Heart

(note: the list got out of order here because tumblr’s post editor is the worst and I couldn’t fix it. but Tear in My heart is ranked one higher than Stressed Out, that’s all you need to know.)

I like it when Tyler Joseph picks a concept that’s simple and then reminds everybody how true it is by talking about it like he does with Tear in My Heart. “Love hurts.” That’s a simple concept. “Yeah okay we know.” But in this song I listen to it and I want to be like “No, do you get it, love, giving all of who you are, even the messed up parts, to somebody and letting them do whatever they want with that, hurts. Not just because you’re afraid they’ll reject you—but because you’re afraid they won’t reject you, you’re afraid they’ll stay, which is harder and demands more of you, and you’re afraid they’ll see you, and change you.” Yes, change. For the better.

That’s the point of the music video. He’s looking around at everybody but he can’t see them clearly, everything warps around when he tries to meet their eyes. But not with his wife (then fiancée, I guess.) They see each other clearly. And then she beats the Blurryface out of him. Because that’s what real love does. It doesn’t ignore your flaws or accept your flaws. It sacrifices to help you grow out of your flaws. And that hurts! That’s uncomfortable! That’s Eustace getting un-dragoned in The Chronicles of Narnia.

But it’s also the best thing for the loved one. And! He introduces the whole idea with “sometimes you gotta bleed to know / that you’re alive and have a soul.” When you’re just in your comfort zone, even if it’s a bad place, you go numb. It’s scary to propose to somebody, or show them who you really are, or tell them how you really feel, but the good that comes with it is exhilarating.

And he uses the words, “she’s the tear in my heart,” which, if you dissect that: the medical term is SCAD, and the result of a tear in the heart are basically anywhere from irregular heartbeat (heart skipping a beat. aww. they’re in love and stuff.) to heart attack, (she has the power to bring him to a jarring halt) to slowed heartbeat. (She can also calm him down.) Even a more zoomed-out idea of the lyric, where you just picture what happens when you cut a tear in a heart, is a great metaphor in this context: blood gets out. It was safe and nobody knew what he was feeling. Now what’s inside his heart is finally visible. Because of her.

One more, one more! “She’s a butcher with a smile.” I love that he said ‘butcher.’ A butcher’s whole job is to follow a plan, and neatly organize, arrange, sort, the meat. From what I understand, a butcher typically follows the muscle routes that are already there. It’s not mad hacking and wanton destruction; it’s thought out. There’s a purpose. There’s even usually a plan, a map they’re following. He could’ve said “she’s a cutthroat,’” or “killer” or even “cutter.” But when there was nothing on the page, he chose to put “butcher, carver.” Purposeful cuts.

And he keeps it on-theme, with the album. Because like I said, the whole album of Blurryface is about insecurity—but it’s about fighting insecurity, and the number-one weapon he uses is putting that insecurity on display. Shining a spotlight on it. Because when you’re insecure about something you try to cover that up. You try to compensate for it, direct attention away from whatever you can;t control. Letting everyone see the thing you’re insecure about is hard and you feel exposed, but that action is actually the reverse of insecurity. Doing so with his wife is the best.

13. Stressed Out

This one is this far down because it’s about wishing for the comfort of simple, nostalgic things when in reality you’re freaked out about the future and the present. And that’s a really relatable concept, for a song, and it’s not super deep. We all do it. But it’s still on-theme, which is what makes the song feel deeper.

I like to get lost in the past because it’s what I know. (And the opposite of shat I know/what I can control is? Insecurity.)

If I have to choose between a difficult adventure in the present, or a painful memory to over-analyze, I’m always going to reach for the painful memory even though it’s a sucky headspace, and nothing new and helpful is likely to come of it. Why? Because I know what happens in that reel in my head. I feel control over it just by knowing what happens. But I don’t feel that control when I spin myself out imaging what could happen, and all the things I can’t control, in the present or the future.

Yeah, I’d rather go back and wax nostalgic for the days I played outside with my siblings, or the houses we used to live in, then think about how rent is due in a couple of weeks or how I might never get to have the career everybody expects me to have. So it’s very relatable.

The thing I don’t like about this one is that it doesn’t have that hopeful note in it that I like in twenty one pilots. It kind of goes, “yeah, wish we could turn back time, but everyone tells us to quit dreaming and make money, and it sucks.” And…that’s it. In the song, itself, there’s no hopeful conclusion. Versus in Tear in My Heart, at least he’s feeling like he has a soul and he’s “higher” than he’s ever been, and the butcher is smiling. At least in Fairly Local, there’s, “I’m not evil to the core / what I shouldn’t do I will fight.” But not in Stressed Out. Stressed Out leaves you dissatisfied, and maybe that’s the point.

11. We Don’t Believe What’s On TV

I love the progression of the ideas in this song (because it does come right after Polarize;) he’s actually taken a hard step. He’s not just standing at a crossroads between decisions, being insecure and never moving. The lyrics are “I need to know that when I fail, you’ll still be here.” He can’t fail if he’s not trying. So I like that the song has such a happy beat, and it’s the first one on the record (unless you count Heavydirtysoul) where he’s not just thinking about being insecure or what to do—he’s committing to doing something.

And then I find the song super relatable. The thing about having a dream is that when you chase it you risk a lot. You risk money, you risk time. You risk your emotions, obviously. So anyone close to you is going to notice you’re chasing after something. It’ll become part of your identity. Like me, proclaiming that I was going to work for Disney for years. If you fail, what do you say to all the people who knew you were shooting for that goal? How will they see you? As a quitter? As a failure? Are they going to feel sorry for you? Maybe it’ll be hard to talk about the things you used to talk about—and then they don’t know what else to make small-talk about. Not only your big direction in life is gone, but now something as comfortable as talking with friends is suddenly affected. And from there it’s easy to go, “wait, who am I without that dream I was going after?”

So the lines “what if my dream does not happen? / would I just change what I’ve told my friends? / don’t wanna know who I would be / when I wake up from a dreamer’s sleep” are spot-on. And they uncover the unattractive side of having a dream: the side where you fail and lose and feel like you don’t know who you are without it, so maybe you cover it up by “changing” the dream, or acting like you never really wanted that anyway, or act like you’ve found something new, to cover the loss.

But I also love the fact that the song is about how superficial things aren’t really what matter—your “dream” isn’t who you are. And the people who really love you and care about you know that, so when the dream goes away, they’ll stick around. Just like how Tyler says he doesn’t care about what’s superficial about them: “I don’t care what’s in your hair, I just want to know what’s on your mind.”

Fun fact: when I bring twenty one pilots up for any reason my father responds with “yeah-yeah-yeah” by default.

10. Ride

Ride is only higher than WDBWOTV because of the rapping verses. And not because it’s the one twenty one pilots song my father allows me to play when I’m in the car with him.

This feels a little repetitive, but I like Ride because it’s what twenty one pilots is about. They’re all about thinking carefully about what’s going on in your head and then making a decision to live for something. (I wish they’d come out and say that “something” is God, but whatever.) Ride is all about that. Living rather than dying is hard, especially when it means living, not coming up with meaningless extreme scenarios where you can imagine dying for someone, or staying happy all the time, or conquering your foes. It just means taking your time, and as life rides along, being careful to live for something day by day. Then again, it is a song that’s still just about thinking about what to do, instead of doing it.

9. The Judge

I think this is one of the clearest allusions to the Gospel Tyler Joseph ever makes, and I love the way he makes it. First off, that by saying he can’t tell if the song is about himself or the devil, he’s acknowledging that he, on a sinful level, is just as worthy of condemnation as the Devil.

That’s why he says, “found my way, right time, wrong place, as I pled my case.” You plead your case, in front of THE Judge, when you’re dead. So it’s the right time—everybody has a date on the calendar when they’re going to die, they just don’t know what it is yet. But it’s the wrong place—he’s in front of God, and he doesn’t deserve to be, any more than the Devil. But that’s why he’s pleading his case by freely admitting his soul matches Hell, not Heaven, so all that’s left is to beg that The Judge be merciful.

I like the mood of the second verse, where it feels like he starts describing what’s going on ‘three lights are lit but the fourth one’s out / I can tell cuz it’s a big darker than the last night’s bout,” etc., but then when he gets to “but I’m not good with directions” he speeds his flow up and sounds like he’s getting panicky. He’s giving excuses for why he’s lost—well why? Because he’s bad at directions. Listening to what he’s told to do, and then following through. And then just admitting that one flaw as an explanation for why he’s lost leads to admitting other flaws, at random, like he can’t stop himself: “I’m a pro at imperfections and I’m best friends with my doubt.”

I personally think, because of the context, that the three lights which are lit, but the fourth one that is out, are representative of Tyler not being clear about his faith. I think it’s an allusion to Peter, denying Christ 3 times (like Tyler already alluded to in Ode to Sleep.) But in Ode to Sleep, Tyler follows up the line about 4-denials with “metaphorically I’m a whore.” My take is, he’s only a whore metaphorically—because in Christ, he’s a new creation. But he keeps talking like he isn’t, worrying over his relationship with God and whether or not he’s really saved. Maybe because he struggles with doubting God keeps His promises, maybe because he struggles with doubting God is real, maybe both.

And after all, what was Peter doing when he denied Christ? He was denying specifically that he knew Christ. That he was in a relationship with Him, that he followed Christ. Peter was basically saying over and over, “I’m not a disciple of Christ. I’m not! I don’t know him!” to the people who ask. But it wasn’t true. Peter was Christ’s disciple; Christ chose him, and that’s what made the denial so hurtful.

So I think the lights going out, one by one, and he can tell that a season of that doubt is coming on, are his cue to leave. Get out of there, that place where darkness is creeping up, and go somewhere sunnier. But he can’t get there, because he’s not good at directions, and then he kind of spirals and goes back into the chorus realizing he never had any right to be “Christ’s disciple” in the first place, that’s true, and his only hope is the mercy of The Judge. Which is great, not something to despair over. Because The Judge is merciful.

But the cool part is there’s still an element of “insecurities” in there, distracting him from what would ultimately be a good place. It’s good to realize you’ve got nothing, and to realize that if you could wriggle out of God’s embrace, you would do it every time. Because then you realize all over again that He is merciful and He loves you, and you’re secure because it’s all based on His strength. So that particular cycle is good—when it ends with that realization. But instead, he’s getting hung up, not on “what will God think of me when He realizes (even though He knew it all along) that I’m unworthy?” but on “what will everyone outside my house think of me when they realize I’m unworthy?”

And when that happens, when you’re focused not on what God thinks of you, but on what others think of you, because of your insecurities, you can satisfy yourself, not with God’s love, but with pulling the wool over other people’s eyes. Maybe the people outside your house see the real, unworthy you—but you can cover that up. You can fool them. You can compensate for those insecurities, front, be fake. God always sees you clearly, but the people around you can be fooled into thinking you’re an okay person, and you have your act together. So his insecurities, Blurryface, is hijacking the cycle that would’ve led him to rely on The Judge and making him chase after the opinion of his peers, instead.

Instead of focusing on who God is, which is the hope in everything, Blurryface gets him to focus on who he is—whether that leads him to a revel or despair, doesn’t matter, as long as he’s not focusing on who God is.

I love this song.

8. Hometown

”My shadow tilts its head at me

Spirits in the dark are waiting

I will let the wind go quietly,

I will let the wind go quietly.” <- Those are some of my favorite lyrics ever. Ever ever. Why would a shadow tilt its head at you? Because it’s creepy interesting imagery, yeah, but also, because it’s puzzled. But it’s your shadow. So you’re looking at it like you’re puzzled, too, because shadows don’t move independently; either the light source is moving, or you are.

So the character Blurryface is puzzled because he’s trying to figure Tyler Joseph out—like Tyler is trying to figure him out—and/or because the light is on the move. What light is mentioned in this song? The sun. Which, in all their other songs, is representative of God or the kingdom of God.

Either way, all the insecurities and flaws and doubt that Blurryface embodies doesn’t understand God, or actions made in faith. So he’s puzzled in this song; because this song is about the songwriter begging God to do for him what he can’t do.

I don’t care. That’s what the song’s about. Tyler Joseph does his clever triple-meaning thing, so you can say that the song is about how people back home in Columbus, Ohio don’t really get twenty one pilots’ deep lore and metaphors, and that’s what the song is about—how people back home still don’t know who they are because they’re least famous among people who know them best—but that doesn’t cover the lyrics about “take me home and show me the sun/Son,” or “bring the fire, my bones will make it grow.” And a faith-based interpretation of the lyrics does.

(I mean, obviously, people can sing the song to themselves and assign whatever meaning they want. That’s fine. That’s how using words works. But I’m saying that what the songwriter meant can be understood by the lyrics he chose in the song—and if it can’t, then he didn’t want to be understood or was bad and making himself clear, and that’s just bad communication/useless artwork. But neither of those explanations are descriptive of Tyler Joseph.)

The first verse is what the songwriter wants to have happen—the place he’s from is dark, it’s without the Sun/Son, he wants to go Home, and he can’t do it without dying to himself, and only God can pull that off.

But the second verse is a call to action, for everyone listening, not just a plea for himself out of what he’s feeling. And that action really does have something to do with the temporal “hometown.” You can grow up hearing about God, one way or another, but eventually, you encounter darkness on your own. You realize you’re messed up, whether anyone else sees it or not. And that’s when you can either be insecure and give up, or you can look for salvation. But at that point, you have to look for salvation in something outside “tradition” and just “what the people around you believe.” You have to find out if any of that is rooted in truth, and then choose to believe it yourself. Whether anyone else, including the people who helped make you who you are, from your hometown, agrees or disagrees.

In Christianese we say “make your faith your own.” Even if you grow up in church there comes a time when you have to decide if that’s what you believe, whether your parents drop the faith or not. But it’s not just a church thing. It’s a universal, worldview thing. Even if you grow up in an atheistic community you have to decide, at some point, if you believe that, as an individual. Be introspective and decide what you believe, what you’re going to live for—the message of the band.

And of course, the language he uses is so overtly Biblical! It’s from Joshua 24. And the context of that passage is, God has finally given the Israelites rest from all their enemies, and Joshua, the faithful one who has led them in their homeland, is telling them that it’s decision time. If they choose to serve God, it’ll cost them everything. They can’t serve God and the pagan, materialistic idols their fathers fell to. It’s one or the other. He knows it’s a huge ask, and an impossible ask, actually, because God is Holy. God has to give you the grace to follow Him (same conclusion Tyler sometimes gets to in The Judge.) Here’s the verse, enough of my yammering:

“If it is evil in your sight to serve Yahweh, choose for yourselves today whom you will serve: whether the gods which your fathers served which were beyond the River or the gods of the Amorites in whose land you are living; but as for me and my house, we will serve Yahweh.”

Then later, after the Israelites say that’s what they want to do, they want to serve Yahweh, he repeats,

“So now, put away the foreign gods which are in your midst, and incline your hearts to Yahweh, the God of Israel.”

And this whole passage is really interesting, because Joshua is telling them to do this in the same place, geographically, that Jacob, their ancestor, hundreds of years before, had commanded his own family to bury false idols in the ground and turn to Yahweh. So when he says “put away,” it’s in reference to that moment; their earliest forefathers had a pattern of chasing after the beliefs and false hopes of the world, and then needing to bury those and follow God instead.

Anyway. This song is awesome because it’s about him coming to, in Christianese: “the end of himself.” The lyrics say that nothing about a human being knows the secret to redeeming souls. Only God knows that; only God can do that. So in an album that’s all about interviewing yourself, fighting the worst parts of you, trying to figure out how to beat Blurryface, Hometown says, “aaaand you can’t. You can’t do it. But God can. You don’t have the secret, you don’t have the playbook. But God does.”

7. Goner

This song is higher than Hometown because I like that when he does something slower and more complex, lyrically, without the same speedy metaphors, it’s just a straight-up war cry.

It is kind of a complicated song, though. I think. Because I can’t decide what exactly he was aiming for. Sometimes I listen to it and I think it’s about the songwriter fighting Blurryface, refusing to give up, and parts of the song could be sung by the hero, while others are answered by the villain, during that fight.

But sometimes I listen to it and I think he’s declaring that the fight is already over, (after all, it’s at the end of the album) but he knows it’s a cycle and he might get dragged back into the doubt that starts it all over again. “I’m a goner.”

Or, sometimes, I listen to it and I think it’s just a recap of everything the album teaches: 1) I’m messed up 2) but I’m not a hopeless case 3) but I’m tempted to hide the messed-up part 4) the only way to fix the messed-up part is to admit it, get it out where everyone can see it 5) but even then I can’t fix it, and they’ll all see I’m unworthy 6) Remembering unconditional love and grace fixes it.

Being “known” is the opposite of what the Blurryface character should want. Because again, insecurity is all about avoiding the things that make you afraid, make you feel out-of-control, and putting up a front like you’re fine. You make decisions based on what you want people to see, out of a desire for control. That’s why he’s called “Blurryface.” You don’t get to see his face. You don’t get to know the real him, because the real him’s messed up, and he can’t let anyone see that.

I think the one interpretation I vaguely settle on when I hear the song is that, if all you ever focus on is how to control everything and pretend you’re not messed-up—if all you ever put on is that “blurry face” mask—pretty soon you convince yourself, along with everybody else, that that’s who you are. You start to forget the real you. You can’t see your own flaws anymore—but hiding them is still puppetting everything you do, so ironically, they’re in control. Luckily, the people you’ve opened up to (if you ever have) and God, remind you of who you really are. So that humbles you, and saves you, from just being totally fake.

One thing about the actual lyrics. The fact that he says “the ghost of you is close to me” supports all of those above interpretations. Could be the Holy Spirit (you know, “Holy Ghost”) being closest to the singer when he’s “inside out,” being vulnerable, seeing himself for what he really is and admitting it. Could be the character, Blurryface, who’s been defeated but maybe Tyler forgets that, and feels “haunted” by insecurities that should already be harmless if he’d just remember what killed them.

I see some people saying that what he means is, Blurryface is so intertwined as a part of himself that he doesn’t know what would be left of him if all his insecurities died. I think that’s super bleak. But I can see why it would be that. If it is, it doesn’t bode well for Tyler or anyone who agrees. If you’re already at the point where your weaknesses and insecurities are something you identify with, something you think belongs in you, instead of a foreign contaminant that your soul’s antibodies need to purge, then…you’re really forgetting the Gospel. That’s not who you are anymore. It’s as much a part of you as a set of dirty clothes that you took off when you were 4; even if you’re cramming them back on, that doesn’t make them part of who you are.

I also frequently see people saying, “he’s not just asking for God’s help, he’s asking for anybody’s help! He says ‘somebody’ catch my breath!” Right. But then he says, “I wanna be known by you.” And in Kitchen Sink, it’s clear Tyler Joseph doesn’t believe anybody can know him, fully. Also, Anathema. Also, on this album, Not Today, and Message Man. There are too many lyrics where he explains that he doesn’t think anybody can know him—except God, who, in The Judge, and in other twenty one pilots songs, is depicted as the only one who can see all the way down to the bedrock of who Tyler Joseph is. And who all of us are. Hidden insecurities pulling the strings and all. So when he calls for help, he might be willing to accept anybody, but only God is going to be able to deliver, in the very end. (Friends and his wife can help, but in the end.)

Personally I believe the songwriter knows that. Based on the evidence in everything he writes. I don’t know for sure, though.

Anyway. I love that he ended the album with this song. Specifically, it’s not until the very last note that everything is resolved, and sounds like there’s some kind of peace, some kind of vanquishing of Blurryface. Like the fight is definitely taking everything to win. But Blurryface does lose; there is hope; that’s what I like about twenty one pilots.

It’s that Halloween-style “using darkness to show how weak darkness can be.”

6. Not Today

The concepts I’m talking about liking are getting repetitive, but that’s because he comes at the same topic (battling insecurities) from different angles, dropping into the same cycle at different points. But it’s still the same topic, same cycle.

Anyway! I love Not Today because of how awesome the lyrics are in the chorus, in response to the lyrics in the verses.

He keeps the metaphor of a house in there, but those first lyrics: “I just feel I’m better off, staying in the same room I was born in,” have this lie. The room you’re born in could mean you’ve never grown, never taken any chance, you’ve literally never moved from where you started. Especially because he gives a reason for it; he’s seen the world outside, and he doesn’t see what he can do to impact it for the better. <- That part is why I don’t think those lyrics mean “it would be better if I were never born.” Even though the same basic idea, that he thinks he has nothing to offer, is in both interpretations.

But because of that melodic (is that the right word) pause between “I don’t know why” and “I just feel I,” in the opening line, I think you can miss the meaning of the full thought. He’s admitting he feels this way, but he’s not accepting it, necessarily. Because the whole song is a strike back at “Blurryface.” He admits how he feels, but the fact that he starts with “I don’t know why I feel this way” is a clue that he’s examining the feeling, instead of trusting and accepting it as fact. It’s true that he feels that way. But he’s not making it his home. He didn’t even pick the words, “staying in the same home I was born in.” Or unlike in The Judge, he doesn’t use a possessive objective. He doesn’t say “my room I was born in,” not just because it would sound weird, but also because he’s in a headspace where he’s not accepting these feelings at “face” value.

So I love that opening.

Then, in the first chorus, he’s basically talking about how those dark thoughts, those insecurities, aren’t just in his head anymore. They’re out in the open. Where everyone else can see them—yikes, maybe—but he’s focusing on the fact that they’re out where he can see them. Insecurity wants to hide and fake. Getting it out in the open is step 1 in the right direction. Now the lies, the insecurity, can’t get to him the way it used to when he kept it in his mind as if it were something worth entertaining or identifying with.

Then I like that he takes a break in the second chorus to be like, “pay attention to what I’m doing, the sound of the music is happy but the words are not.”

Because he’s feeling like there’s no use in trying—bad thing. But he’s not giving in to that feeling, he’s examining it for weaknesses—good thing. Happening at the same time. Like the happy sounds, but down words, of the song.

Which just makes you feel like you’re watching a battle. Which one is going to win? The good or the bad? Right now they’re both in the picture—what’s going to be the killing blow that knocks one out of the picture?

Then he goes back into the chorus, but this time I think the words have a different meaning, even though they’re the same: he took that aside to address the audience and explain what’s going on. So the lines in the second chorus, “you aren’t seeing my side,” seem like he’s still talking to us, telling the listeners that they haven’t been understanding what’s going on in his head as he fights his insecurities, but now he’s showing them, which is what they needed to wait for: you can’t know what someone’s going through or how they need help till they choose to let you see.

Then there’s the bridge about him fighting someone for testing him. Which I think people mostly take to mean “I’LL KILL YOU BLURRYFACE.” But I don’t think that’s what he’s saying.

I mean it’s fine. That could be why. But I think it kind of misses the fact that a dude who insists, “just because I play the piano doesn’t mean I am not willing to take you down,” is insecure. That’s an insecure thing to say. He thinks people are going to see him as weak. And he just throws out “because I play the piano” as like, an example of what he thinks people are judging him about. And he’ll fight them. But then immediately he’s like “I’m sorry.” And it’s funny, I love that whole lyric, my family always joins in on that part because it’s fun to sing.

But the point, I think, is so smart—he’s back to saying something insecure. He has an outburst about how others see him. Then he says “sorry.” But it’s even an insecure, embarrassed-sounding apology. So this verse transitions out of talking to the listener about what he’s insecure about, into, while he’s at it, worrying about what they think of him—and whoops, that was a Blurryface moment, wasn’t it? He was supposed to be fighting that. He was supposed to be examining it. He just slipped into it again, suddenly, and the mood of the song is an involuntary explosion, like he couldn’t help it. So then the next chorus, the changed one, is more of a confession of being messed-up, all over again. “I’m, I’m out of my mind / I’m not seeing things right / I waste all this time trying to run from you, but I’m, I’m out of my mind.” It’s “I’m out of my mind” in the traditional sense—he’s crazy, as in, he doesn’t see reality, even when he’s looking at himself. And you could take that “I waste all this time trying to run from you” as him trying to run and hide his messed-up self from others—which is a waste, because it’s born of insecurity—or you could take it as him running from God. Of course. Both work, for this moment in the song.

But. I think the chorus is the best part. It sounds like two recordings of Tyler Joseph’s voice is singing this part, so I can see why people think it’s a duel between him and the character Blurryface: he’s singing, “not today, let me rip open the windows—now I dare you to make yourself heard.” If he voices his insecurity, the people who love him will come help. But maybe the character Blurryface is singing that right back to him; “not today, let me rip open the windows—now I dare you to make yourself heard.” As if taunting him with the idea that people who hear the real Tyler Joseph may not accept him; if he’s exposed, he shouldn’t draw any attention to himself.

But for all that effort I put into verbalizing how I’ve seen the take that the chorus is Tyler Joseph and Blurryface fighting each other, I don’t 100% agree with it. Because it doesn’t make sense, based on the well-established idea that Blurryface is insecurity—and insecurity would never do this: “tore the curtains down, windows open now make a sound.”

The whole rest of the album takes the tack that turning yourself inside-out, showing people the real, messed-up you, being open, is exactly what the character Blurryface wouldn’t want. He’d never be saying anything so clear as what’s in the chorus.

I mean. Time out. Not to get too geeky in this already-absurdly-long post. But everything about the character was against that. He’s blurry. You can’t see the real him, his face. He doesn’t even like that he has a name, or has been distinguished from Tyler Joseph in any way. In all those cryptic videos from what I can remember of social media before the album came out, you never saw him, even though he was the one supposedly recording. And the videos made no clear sense, I feel like I remember one being just, like, a dark shot of the woods at night and like breathing or something. In the in-character Twitter posts, he can’t spell—he can’t even type anything that he has to say clearly, because clarity itself is a kind of commitment in communication, it tells people something about you one way or another, and Blurryface doesn’t want anyone to be able to hold him to anything he says.

So no, I don’t think he’s got any part in the chorus. I could be wrong. But I don’t think I am. I think it’s someone from the outside, who knows the fight going on inside Tyler Joseph with Blurryface, breaking in. Ripping the curtains off the rod. Kicking the windows open, letting the light in. Telling him to get it out there in the open. Or, daring the Blurryface character to say his lies out in the open. And I think it’s God. Because again, we already established, nobody else can see inside of Tyler Joseph, in his entirety, except God. But if it is, then Tyler isn’t just getting scooped out of the fight by God’s rescuing hand. He’s joined in the fight, and then told to keep fighting—and tell other people about it. “Heard your voice, ‘there’s no choice’ / tore the curtains down, windows open, now make a noise.”

This song would be higher up if it hit me in the emotions as much as Doubt does. That’s how good it is. It’s the big fight scene, but the character Blurryface loses once the house is torn open.

5. Polarize

GGGGR this is taking too long. But I love all of these songs so much, even if Blurryface isn’t my favorite album, I can’t just say succinct things about it.

There’s this interview I watched with Tyler Joseph way back when I was fresh into high school. I don’t remember the exact timeline, or whether or not this album was out already. But he basically talks through Romans 9 without saying so. He tries to explain to the interviewer that he shouldn’t be “messed up.” That that’s not just him being hard on himself, and oh, we’re all imperfect people. He tries to explain that there’s something broken in everyone, that we want to be better than we’re actually capable of being, and that points to the fact that we were designed to be different, and something went wrong. He tries to really organically explain that, but if I remember correctly the interviewer comes back with like another platitude, and I think the subject gets changed. (If I can find it again in the bowels of the Internet from 2013 or whatever it was I’ll post it. It’s what gripped my teenage brain about this band. And about trying to phrase the Gospel that I’d always heard in a way that made sense to people who have never heard.)

But this song is that. It’s him, trying to explain that he’s noticed the polar opposites of his nature. And he’s trying to decide which parts are which, and why, and where the division starts and ends. The problem is, the only One who can help him divide those clearly is God—and surprise surprise, Tyler Joseph’s trust in God is split, too.

This one is ranked so highly because of that. Because instead of just stopping at “I want to do the right thing, but I can’t, so let’s sort that out, and You help me,” he goes even deeper. “Wait, how do I even depend on You to help me when I can’t even decide if you’re there or not?” It’s Semi-Automatic all over again. It takes a different kind of deep thinking to admit that you can’t even ask for help with absolute certainty.

Polarize might get its own separate post.

4. Fairly Local

Fairly Local is this high on the list partly because of the music video and I’m not ashamed.

It’s the introduction to the character of Blurryface, and look at how he can’t make sustained eye contact. I love that.

I also love that the microphone in the music video is a light bulb. Because it’s the words of the song that are illuminating what’s going on in the songwriter’s head.

The duality is just a preview of Polarize, in the lyrics, but I love his vocalizations. Maybe you expected me to say more higher up on the list, but this is too long already, and the more I like it the more I want to make a separate post, if I ever let my obsession out of the locked-door part of my brain on tumblr again. (look now I’m using twenty one pilots imagery, what have you done?)

3. Doubt

This one is this high because he says “even when I doubt you, I’m no good without You.” And he’s talking about God. I might elaborate on that in a different post. I know how this song feels. Getting lost in trying to trace the paths you’ve already gone down in your brain, until even thinking about God isn’t a lifeline as much as it is a maze, because you’re thinking too much about your part in it, and you’re just left reaching out for Him blindly because you can’t see which direction He’s in anymore, in your own brain. And you need something from the outside to reach in and dig you out of yourself, because there’s nothing trustworthy in here anymore. I know how that feels. This song is Addict With a Pen’s sister.

2. Message Man

This one gets its own post for sure. But the lyrics are better than any other song aside from Heavydirtysoul on this album, I think.

1. Heavydirtysoul

This one is top of the list because 1) I don’t think it can take second place to any song musically on this album, and 2) the lyrics sum up the band. I’ll make a post of its own about this one, too.

Is that disappointing? That I went all the way to the top and didn’t give you a thought-out reason for the number one? Well, now you feel some of the insanity I experience when I listen to this band. “What do you mean, you’re stopping there? You took my hand and led me this far and now I have to stumble around in the dark and figure out the rest myself?”

😈

I really may come back and edit it. I’ll tag you if I do. Or just follow the “my favorite band” tag. Hey, thank you so much for this ask! I know I look way too hyper-fixated, but truthfully, they just came out with the new album. And you have to understand, the people around me can’t stand me saying two words about them, because I’ve talked too much about them. So you’ve become my outlet.

If you made it this far I want to hear your opinions, too! I’d do this for every album, but hopefully you learned not to open this can of worms 😂 because then I never stop talking

[hazbinfallinginaspiral]

Can we maybe have some Yandere Vox over Retro after someone tries to steal her?

Usually with Retro I focus on how she kills people and corners them rather than how she treats Vox afterwards, but given Vox’s outburst I wanted to do something different. It’s clear he’s vulnerable about her and with her. I brush against the fact that he’s ruining this man’s life for her but focus on how he needs validation and reassurance that she loves and trusts him.

If you’re confused as to why Retro is all worked up with anxiety it’s because she’s upset someone hit on her— she feels it was her fault and she should’ve done better, which is why she goes to Vox and asks for the hypnosis session to help her calm down. (Obviously to not her fault she can’t control it but yk character flaws)

She didn’t express that guilt to Vox but he did his best to calm her down and reassure her that he loves her all the same. This time when he describes her as his housewife it’s not out of condescension but to reassure her that he will take care of her so she doesn’t have to worry too much, and when she does, he’ll be there to help and talk it through with her.

He describes her as ditzy for a moment because… well, she can be. Most of the time she’s only pretending but when it comes to her cover up excuses for her murders? She’s horrible at it, genuinely a little naive. But he loves her anyway and he expresses that. He reassures her that he loves her.

This is meant to be the foil to the oneshot from yesterday where he was being a dick when he got in an argument with her.

I had just finished finalizing the arrangements when I got the message. It was too perfect. The sinner—that sinner, the one who thought he could play games with me and my Retro—had tried to talk my wife into leaving me. He actually thought she could do better, that she could find someone less dangerous than me. The audacity. The sheer nerve.

I sat in my office, clicking away at the screens, watching everything fall into place. His empire was crumbling in real-time, every secret about his shady dealings, every filthy lie he’d told, every underhanded tactic exposed. His funds were being drained as I spoke, his business partners cutting ties, leaving him with nothing but desperation and disgrace. I leaned back in my chair, satisfaction swirling in my chest. It was time for me to remind Retro how lucky she was to be mine.

When I arrived home, the lights were dim, and I heard her moving around the house, pacing. My heart softened as I opened the door. There she was, my perfect, beautiful Retro, looking so anxious. The air in the house felt tight with her nerves.

“Darling?” I called, my voice already laced with that possessive edge she knows so well. “What’s going on?”

She stopped, turning toward me with wide eyes, wringing her hands. “Oh, Vox, you’re home… I was just… cleaning. I couldn’t focus. My mind keeps wandering, and I just—” She trailed off, her voice trembling, and my protective instincts kicked in.

“Sweetheart…” I walked over to her, my eyes softening. I could feel her anxiety radiating off her, but that’s not something I could let go unchecked. I brushed a strand of hair from her face, my fingers tracing her cheek as I leaned in. “What’s bothering you?”

She fidgeted, the way she always did when something was off. “It’s just… everything. I don’t know why I can’t settle down. My thoughts keep racing, and I—”

I cut her off gently. “Shh… I can help with that. You don’t need to worry about a thing, darling.” My tone was calm but firm. She needed me to take control right now. And I would. Always.

I knew what she needed. She always needed me to guide her when she got like this. And tonight, I’d give her the reassurance she craved.

Her eyes flickered up to meet mine, and I saw that glimmer of trust, even in her frazzled state. She bit her lip, looking uncertain for just a moment before speaking again. “Can you… could we do a hypnosis session, Vox? Just… to help me calm down. Please? I need it.”

I hesitated. A part of me was concerned, worried that she might be asking for it out of some need to escape. But I knew Retro. She didn’t want to escape. She wanted me to help her ground herself, to remind her of her place. To remind her that I was here to handle everything for her.

“Are you sure, sweetheart?” I asked softly, brushing my thumb across her lips. “You’re not doing this because of something else, are you?”

She nodded, looking at me with those big, trusting eyes. “No, I just need… I need to feel centered. To know I’m not thinking too much. To just… be with you.”

That was all I needed to hear. I kissed her forehead gently, then stepped back. “Alright, darling. But I want you to remember: you’re not just a housewife to me. You’re my everything. But tonight, you’re going to let me take care of everything, okay?”

She nodded, and I guided her to sit down on the couch. Her posture was tense, her legs bouncing slightly from the nerves still running through her. I sat across from her, close enough to touch, but not yet. I wanted her to relax first.

“Focus on me, Retro,” I murmured, my voice dropping into that hypnotic tone she loves so much, my left eye swirling into her favorite colors, forming a spiral. “Take a deep breath… just breathe with me, darling. In… and out… good girl.”

I kept speaking softly, guiding her through the steps to calm her. “Feel the weight of the day leave your body… let everything go. Just focus on my voice, and let it fill your mind. You don’t have to think. You don’t have to worry. Everything is fine.”

Her body relaxed, the tension melting away as her eyelids grew heavy. I could see it in her face, the way her expression softened and her breaths slowed. It was time for me to take her deeper.

“You’re so beautiful, Retro,” I continued, my voice firm, soothing, but also carrying the command she craved. “You’re a little ditzy sometimes, yes, but that’s what makes you perfect for me. You’re kind, you’re devoted, you’re exactly what I need. Don’t worry about a thing, sweetheart. All you need to focus on is being my perfect little housewife. I’ll take care of you. I’ll deal with whatever little worries you have. I’ll talk with you and take care of them faster than you can blink. Just keep being your sweet and kind self. There’s nothing wrong with that, I love you just the way you are, that’s why I make everything else easy for you.”

I could see the way she responded to my words, her body fully relaxed now, the stress and anxiety gone, replaced by that soft, trusting expression she only wore when she was fully under my control. She was mine—completely and utterly.

“Just listen to me, darling,” I said, a little more forcefully. “You’re here to take care of me. And I take care of you. That’s how it works. You’re not going to worry anymore, not tonight. You don’t need to, because I know what’s best for you. Understand?”

She nodded slowly, her eyes glazed, her body melting deeper into the couch as she surrendered to the rhythm of my voice. I could feel her completely at ease, and I could see her mind quieting, those busy thoughts disappearing.

“You’re perfect, Retro. And you don’t have to think about anything but me right now. Now, just stay with me like this. Focus on me, and let your mind stay calm. You’re mine. Always.”

I paused, letting my words sink into her subconscious as I leaned closer, cupping her face in my hands, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. “You’re my perfect little housewife, darling. So sweet and kind… Let your mind stay right here with me, for just a little while longer. Soak in this calm feeling, this trust, knowing I can take care of you and I always will.”

I could feel her melting even further, her body so relaxed it was almost limp in my hands. I let her stay like that for a moment, basking in her trust, in her surrender.

When I felt it was time, I began to gently wake her from the trance, whispering her name softly. “Retro… sweetheart, it’s time to wake up now. You’re doing so well. Just listen to my voice and wake up, slowly.”

Her eyes fluttered open, and she blinked, a small smile spreading across her face as she came back to herself. I leaned in, kissing her cheek gently. “You did wonderfully, darling. I’m proud of you.”

She stretched, looking up at me with that same softness in her eyes. “Thank you, Vox… I needed that.”

I smiled and helped her to her feet, pulling her into my arms. “You’re welcome, sweetheart. Now, let’s get to bed, yeah? I’ve got you.”

As we headed toward our room, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction. The sinner who thought he could take her from me? He had no idea what he was dealing with. When morning came, he’d be ruined. And me? I’d be right here with my darling, happier than ever just to wake up next to her and to see her smile. She was mine and I was hers.

[violetlunette]

💛💀 for the ask game ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

For this ask game

Trying to take me out in the first ask, eh? Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. You’re trying to get my Alarmo the alarm clock. Well—you can have him, lol.

💛: What is a popular ship you just can't get behind, and why?

Jamil/Kalim and Silver/Sebek.

I understand why they’re popular, as they have the perfect chemistry and several popular tropes that appeal to fanfic writers. However, each has tropes that don’t appeal to me.

I’d go into detail, but I don’t know the temperament of the JamiKali fandom, and I’m trying to avoid drama if I can. What I will say is that I hate the pure-ball of sunshine trope in shipping, as they’re all turned into dense, oblivious idiots, and that’s treated as cute. (Yes, you can argue Kalim is the sunshine boy in Canon, but at least there it’s treated as a flaw.) The ship also tends to drop the antagonism that made Jamil and Kalim’s relationship so interesting to me in canon. That, and most stories really make the two OOC. There’s a ton of other elements as well, but again, I’d rather not go into it.

As for Silbek, I just don’t like the childhood friends to lovers trope. It’s just never been something that appealed to me. But even with that aside, there’s nothing about their dynamic that makes me want to ship them romantically.

I think they’re perfect the way they are—as brothers in arms, friends, and family. I don’t need more spice because their canon relationship is perfect for me.

💀: If you had to choose one major character to die, who would you choose? Fellow—oh, wait, he’s not a major, is he? (Jk!)

Oh boy. My first instinct is to say Silver, just because I want to see DiaFam’s reactions. But for the sake of the story? I’d say—Yuu.

Yuu has a connection to all the main players, some deeper than others, so their deaths would hit everyone hard. Yuu’s death would also have a sense of tragedy, as they were so close to going home only to end up dying before they could.

Speaking of angst, story-wise, it would be interesting if they died because of Malleus’ spell. Book 7 hinted that shit will go down if the “blessing” isn’t lifted, so having Yuu die would pay off the foreshadowing. It would make sense in-universe for him to go that way. Yuu is one of the people under the spell longest, and they’re the only ones without natural magic to protect them. Therefore, it fits that over time Yuu would go first.

Yuu’s death is also a great sequel to Grim’s Overblot and Book 8, where Malleus plays a starring role as the sorrowful and regretful hero.

Malleus only cast the spell because he didn’t want to lose those he cared for or see anyone suffer. However, his blessing had the opposite effect; not only did he lose the first human friend he ever made, but he became the cause of so much pain and despair in others. You can argue this was foreshadowed a bit with the backstory he told Yuu:

"You possess great power. You must not wield it recklessly. You came dangerously close to losing the people around this table today."

Only unlike before, Lilia wasn't able to stop him. And because of that, there was a dire consequence. He not only lost his human friend, but he may have lost the other students who could have been his friends as well.

On top of all that, it adds a tragic twist to Silver and Sebek’s efforts, as the whole reason they tried to stop Malleus was so he wouldn’t suffer or be seen as a villain. Yet in the end, with Yuu’s death, they failed on both counts.

This opens up an interesting arc where Malleus works with the others to save Grim from repeating his mistakes, namely harming others in his grief.

I could go on, but I’m trying not to make this too long.

To sum up, Yuu’s death progresses the story and even has some foreshadowing, what with him waking up in a coffin, living in the ghost house, and generally never being seen on screen, thus I’d kill him.

[mystra-midnight]

hi there, i’d like to order one lamington please!

i’m a short, curvy, blue eyed girl who loves wearing jeans, listening to music and painting :) i’d love a boyfriend who’d take care of me but also make me laugh

and also absolutely rail me in the bedroom

sweet nonnie, thank you so much for sending in an order! ily and hope you enjoy your sweet treat, which I also got carried away with! <3 <3

I ship you with . . . Astarion!

Astarion is a man of eclectic taste and is a many faceted individual.

He is a man who can appreciate your love of music, whether it is classical or more modern. He enjoys those quiet moments when you are in his lap, watching him strum at his lute, watching him as though transfixed.

He also enjoys the nuances of art; if you wanted him to post among the flowers, he would. If you wanted him to pose nude on the settee while you draw him — like one of your French girls — he would.

“Don’t move,” you said again, your voice soft yet commanding. Your eyes flicked up over the canvas to where he was draped over the settee, his pale skin bathed in the soft glow of the candlelight. The blanket, haphazardly thrown over his hips and thighs, left just enough to the imagination yet teased with the promise of what lay beneath. His chest rose and fell slowly with the illusion of breath, each movement accentuating the curve of his muscles, the lines of his collarbones casting shadows across his alabaster skin.

The roses you’d placed beside him matched the colour of his eyes: a deep vermillion, dark and hypnotic, like the first spill of blood on fresh snow. His gaze was steady and unwavering as he watched you, an intensity in his eyes that made your pulse quicken. There was something predatory in how he studied you as if he were less the subject of your painting and more of a hunter waiting for the perfect moment to pounce. 

“You seem to be enjoying this, petal,” he said, his voice low, almost teasing. His lips curled into a faint smirk, though his eyes never left yours.

“Maybe I am,” you answered, dipping the brush into the paint again, refusing to let him distract you. Yet, there was no denying the warmth spreading through your blood or how your breath hitched when his gaze lingered too long. Astarion shifted, a subtle movement that drew your attention back to him.

The blanket slipped just a little, exposing more of his skin, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was intentional. He was a picture of temptation, perfectly poised and posed, but there was something else, too — a vulnerability that only you could see, hidden beneath the surface. For a moment, your hand faltered, your brush moving in the wrong direction as you looked at him.

“Stay still,” you murmured, but the words came out softer than you intended, almost like a plea.

He loves seeing his partners comfortable in their own skin. It’s something that he craves, having spent so long at war with himself — hating every scar, every flaw, and using his body as a weapon rather than something worthy of love.

He would never complain or judge you because of the way you look or the way you dress, whether dressed up in something that clings to your curves or lounging in oversized clothes that feel like a second skin. You’re always gorgeous to him, and he never hesitates to let you know.

On the days when doubt creeps in — those quiet, insidious moments when you can’t see yourself the way he does — he’ll be there to remind you.

He cupped your cheeks in his palms, cold and steady, tilting your face so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. His vermillion hues, dark and rich like wine, crashed against your ocean eyes, a collision of elements—fire and water, passion and calm. His touch was grounding, his fingers firm but gentle, and at that moment, the world outside faded into nothing. It was just the two of you, the heat of his palms against your skin, the steady rhythm of your breath filling the silence.

“You see yourself through such a narrow lens, petal,” he said softly, his voice low, almost reverent. He brushed his thumbs along the curve of your cheekbones, tracing the delicate lines of your face as if memorising every detail. “But I see all of you. Every part of you. And I wish you could see what I see.”

His words were quiet, but they sank deep, settling in the pit of your stomach and spreading warmth through your chest. There was no judgement in his eyes, no hesitation — only an unwavering certainty that made it impossible for you to look away. Astarion searched your gaze as if he were looking for something beyond the surface, something only he could understand. And maybe he found it.

Your heartbeats quickened, the weight of his hands anchoring you in the moment, steadying you against the swirling thoughts that had held you captive for much too long. The insecurities, the doubts — they suddenly seemed so small, so insignificant as he looked at you like that, with such intensity, as though you were the only thing in his world.

“Let me show you,” he whispered, his lips curving into the faintest smile. His hand shifted, one thumb brushing across your lower lip, a touch so soft that it sent a shiver down your spine. “Every time you forget, I’ll remind you.” There was a promise in his voice, unspoken but certain, as if he was pledging to chase away every shadow that haunted your reflection.

And as his thumb lingered on your lip, his eyes darkening ever so slightly, you knew he meant it.

And yet, for all his old-world charm and silver tongue, Astarion is a devil underneath. He knows that he is a flame and that others are moths that flock to him.

He has learned how to read people: the subtle changes in their expression and body language. He can hear the wild thundering of your heart when you’re thinking about him, and he can smell the arousal between your thighs. He’s a vampire, after all. And it leaves his head in the clouds each and every time.

In your eyes, Astarion is kind and gentle yet somewhat wild. He can give you precisely what you need: soft love and affection in those moments of doubt or rough dominance when you need to glimpse the Celestial Heavens. And you would not have him any other way.

You felt boneless, like your legs would give out at any moment. Except his hands on your hips kept you from collapsing, their grip the only thing tethering you to reality. His fingers pressed into your skin, grounding you in the moment, reminding you that you weren’t falling — not really — but sinking into something deeper, something undeniable.

His hands tightened ever so slightly, pulling you closer until he was buried within your slick, warm walls. The feeling of him filling you made your breath hitch, the heat between your thighs almost unbearable. His chest pressed firmly against your back, skin-to-skin, and you could feel the steady rise and fall of his breath, the way his body moulded to yours, the way every subtle movement seemed to ripple through your core.

The soft bristle of his chin brushed against your shoulder as he leaned in closer, lips barely grazing the sensitive skin of your ear. His breath on your skin made your pulse race, and each inhale was filled with the heady scent of him. It was intoxicating and overwhelming, as though you could lose yourself in the rhythm of his hollow breathing, in the slow and deliberate way he moved within you.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire, his lips brushing your earlobe. The soft, teasing kiss that followed sent a shiver down your spine, a full-body tremor he felt as much as you did. His voice dropped lower, becoming a sultry hum reverberating through your body, making every nerve alight with sensation. “Are you close, petal?”

You nodded, the words lodged somewhere in your throat, your breath too unsteady to form a coherent response. All you could manage was a whimper, a sound that came from deep in your chest as his grip on your hips tightened. His thumbs traced slow, maddening circles into your skin, grounding you yet driving you closer to the edge, teasing a fine line.

He shifted, his hips pressing forward, deeper, as his lips trailed soft, wet kisses down the curve of your neck, igniting sparks that bloomed across your skin. Each movement, each kiss, was deliberate, as if he knew exactly what you needed, pushing you closer and closer to the brink until you felt like you were unravelling beneath him.

“You feel so good,” he whispered, sending another shockwave through you. His voice was full of raw desire, but there was tenderness there too, a dominance, a possessiveness, a love. “Let go for me. I’ve got you.”

His breath ghosted against your ear as he spoke, his tone coaxing, laced with a dark promise that made your body tense in anticipation. And just like that, the last of your control slipped away, your body tightening around him, every muscle quivering as you gave in to the rising heat, to him.

—interested in joining? check out the menu and send in your order!

[christineonthemoors]

Post 1 - A Romance

Welcome to Christine on the Moors. I am not particularly sure who I am addressing when I send my greetings, as it will likely just be me who reads these posts. Nonetheless, I am here so that I may have an outlet for the abundance of emotions that I have felt in the years since reading Emily Bronte’s masterpiece, and if such musings are of interest to anyone else, that’s lovely. For now, though, I bask in the isolation of the empty halls of the internet – far less favorable to an isolated Yorkshire moor, though it shall suffice. 

Admittedly, my first exposure to anything pertaining to Wuthering Heights was the 1939 movie with Merle Oberon and Laurence Oliver. My mother recounted the way that my grandmother told her the whole plot to the movie in an impressive amount of detail. I think the whispiness and glamor of the actors is what compelled me to eventually read the book, and I never regretted the decision. Bronte’s novel has provided me with endless opportunities to discuss characters in a meaningful way with my friends (and realistically, most of us would rather be living in Victorian England), and it expanded my love for British literature. As a young child, I knew girls whose personalities seemed to revolve around their favorite book, and I envied them – mostly because I too wanted to have a book I loved so much. Now I need not envy those girls – I am one of them!

I am almost overwhelmed with how much I enjoy Wuthering Heights and the Bronte sisters. Should I ever find it in myself to create a Jane Eyre blog, I think I’d be even more fulfilled and content. However, it’s also abundantly clear that such love for a book can present an overwhelming dilemma: I want to talk about this and express my feelings and ideas, but how? Well, Christine on the Moors is my antidote to the crisis, and I am going to be kind to myself in regards to expectations surrounding the blog. I can’t possibly write out all my thoughts on this lovely novel in one sitting, but the genesis of this blog belongs to the topic of love and its perennial nature. 

Wuthering Heights is a love story. There, I said it! I can’t help but range a bit at the pretentious contrarianism I see in review of Wuthering Heights where readers express their bewilderment at how anyone could possibly perceive this as a love story. One Goodreads reviewer states, “I cannot, for the life of me, understand why anyone thinks this is a love story. It's a horror story of love and passion gone horribly, horribly wrong, and Heathcliff is one of the greatest villains ever created in literature.” Well, Madeline, allow me to try my hand at this. Love is patient, love is kind. But love is also mucky, heart wrenching, soul crushing, and possibly even disastrous. This is not the world of Jane Austen; Wuthering Heights was never meant to be peppered with promising Pollyannas with nothing on the mind but social conduct. (Okay, that was cruel. Jane Austen is a legend in her own right, but, like Charlotte Bronte, “I should hardly like to live with her ladies and gentlemen in their elegant but confined houses.” Give me something raw and real!) I see Wuthering Heights as a perfect snapshot of the imperfections that plague and shape love all too often – it is so often poisoned by class, grief, doubt, and all other forms of imperfections, as we see with the tragedy of Heathcliff and Catherine. The presence of such imperfections does not negate the reality of deep, abiding love which the two have for each other. 

Tragedy and hardship can coexist with love. Perhaps the enduring popularity of Wuthering Heights is at least partially due to the fact that it is so easy to see our own flaws in the characters. Even though my own life isn’t marked by generational trauma in the North of England, I still find myself mirrored in Cathy. I too see contradictions in my nature, I too feel like there are multiple parts of myself that are at odds with one another. It’s human, it’s real. It’s just so Bronte. Across the pond, Walt Whitman captured this sentiment quite well in his 1855 poem, “Song of Myself.” 

Do I contradict myself?

Very well then I contradict myself,

(I am large, I contain multitudes.)

-Walt Whitman, Song of Myself

I think the core virtue of a good writer is marked by the ability to capture the human spirit in many different forms. Humans of all psychological profiles and experiences are capable of living out great love stories – it is time we acknowledge that love is so often complex, unhealthy, and raw, as outlined by Bronte. Cheers to an exceptional love story, Wuthering Heights, which I will be writing about in more excess as Christine on the Moors continues its growth. Until next time! I will be using the next couple of posts to unpack my favorite quotes from each chapter of the book. I am so excited! 

[haleigh-sloth]

I was wondering if you could help me understand this writing decision in the new chapter. I sent this message to a My Hero discord and was wondering if you had anything to say about it.

So, I’ve put my thoughts to the page a little and I think I’ve figured out why this turn on Tenko’s backstory bothers me so much. It’s because it’s twofold…it makes him into too perfect of a victim and also washes society’s hands of the blood it has on them for not paying attention to him when he was wandering the street. I’ll address each of these in its own paragraph.

First, most abuse victims are not “perfect victims.” They often have unhealthy coping mechanisms that are wrong and unhealthy in themselves, and they do bear partial responsibility for that. It’s harder to relate to Tenko’s struggles with self hatred when they’re completely divorced from reality - he only exists because AFO wants him to exist and only destroys because AFO wants him to destroy at this point. He also doesn’t have to wrestle with those feelings in himself to overcome them. I just don’t think a situation where a victim has no unhealthy coping mechanisms they chose for themselves is realistic to how this issue often plays out irl.

Secondly, Tenko only existing because AFO wanted him to exist absolves society of their sin of ignoring Tenko as he wandered the streets. These leaks make it sound like AFO would have groomed him regardless of whether someone reached out a helping hand, meaning it was of no consequence whether someone helped him or not. This makes every problem in Tenko’s world AFO’s fault, instead of AFO being a trigger pressed on a loaded gun (that loaded gun being the idolization of heroes and treating them as superhuman as a guise for complacency).

I’d appreciate if someone could help me make sense of this writing decision because I’m struggling to understand why it’s here.

I really want to accept this direction for Tenko’s arc, and truth be told I do see some upsides to this development, but I’m having a hard time getting past the perfect victim* + the absolution of hero society.

*To further expand on this point, I also think that Tenko’s turn being inevitable causes people’s worldviews to be challenged less. Both the audience and the characters in series are meant to be challenged by the idea of Tenko being both a perpetrator and a victim, rather than just one or the other. AFO being involved in his life literally since conception pushes him so far into the “victim” category that people don’t have to wrestle with the concept of his salvation and humanity anymore. I see this as only a negative but I’d like to know what you think.

Also sorry for bugging you so much with asks lately, i can be really annoying

I don’t think Tenko is anywhere near what could be described as a “perfect victim”. He takes his anger out on the space around him and damn near everyone in it. He’s killed a lot of people who had absolutely nothing to do with his misery and suffering. He’s targeted Izuku and Bakugo (for like, very distorted reasons) but they had nothing to do with his life sucking so bad.

He is far from perfect. If there is one in MHA (doesn’t rly exist tho) it’s Eri, I guess.

It seems like what you’re thrown by is AFO being implicated even further. But this really changes nothing. AFO didn’t make people ignore Tenko on the street. And society’s flaws are emphasized in more than one place.

Tenko learning the truth doesn’t take away the sting of being ignored on the street. It just makes the death of his family way worse because it wasn’t just a freak accident, it was forced upon him. It just turned into something that was done to him. It’s horrific, no matter how involved AFO was from the get go. Everyone who was responsible for their part in his pain, still is. Nothing really changes.

Tenko was always helpless from the start. And he still is, he always has been, he never stood a chance. That doesn’t change with this new revelation.

He’s not a victim that has 0 reasons to feel conflicted about (although, I don’t lol). He’s done a lot of damage to other people. He’s perpetrated the cycle of violence, very much actively participated in it. It is obviously from a place of pain and revenge and hopelessness, but still people who weren’t involved ended up being involved whether they asked to be or not. Not that we’re supposed to care about off-screened people, but that’s what makes him an antagonist, after all. He’s not a black and white antagonist. If you’re feeling less conflicted about him being saved, then Horikoshi’s writing accomplished its goal. You’re supposed to want him saved by this point because that’s how the protagonist feels, and the writing tells you it’s the right thing to do and the right direction for the story.

I don’t think anything about Tenko’s victim status changes. Everyone’s responsibility is still the same. It’s all the same, just AFO sucking more and more.

[beautifulrebelglitterwitch]

Perfect

I hate the word perfect. Perfect is a lie. I started to despise it at work. When you’d explain to a leader what you were going and they’d say “Perfect!” and leave you alone only to come back and tell you everything that was wrong, according to them.

I used to have a friend who over used it and it occurred to me one day that nothing was ever perfect for him. That was the beginning of the end of that friendship. He said one thing and did another, I couldn’t stand it.

When I stated reading dark romance and listening to audio erotica it popped up again. Perfect body. Perfect tits. Perfect pussy. Perfect cock. No such thing. I know my pussy isn’t perfect. But I do know that it gives me immense pleasure and has given others pleasure as well. I know for a fact my tits aren’t perfect but I love them, they are one of my favorite parts of my body. They are warm and soft and freckled and sensitive and give good cleavage.

I know the there are nuances to perfect. Like that person is perfect to me. One person sees another as perfect for them regardless of societies standards or expectations. I’d still rather stay away from that word. It’s dangerous.

Perfection is something I don’t want to ever feel I have to live up to in any way. I am already hard enough on myself as it is to add perfectionism into the mix. I prefer to happily live as a perfectly IMPERFECT soul living a human existence. I love and embrace imperfection. That weird thing you hate about yourself? I probably love it. When you ask someone a question and they genuinely do not know the answer and say I don’t know. Let’s find out together. I’m already in love with that person.

I want honesty and awkwardness and flaws and learning and yearning and acceptance and growing and kindness and love from myself in all aspects of my life. If you are like that, too I’m sure we could be friends, perfectly imperfect friends together.

[alexstorm]

I know it’s easier to romanticise him and make him up to be this Disney prince but I’d rather have something real and that includes flaws // I hate putting people, especially celebrities that you don’t even know irl, on a pedestal and romanticize them and think that they’re perfect. It’ll only backfire at one point, when you finally realize someone you idolized wasn’t as flawless as you wanted them to be. We’re all humans capable of making mistakes. And it doesn’t make sense when people say “he’s 37 years old, he’s learned, blah blah blah” I think they’re mostly teenagers who think that entering your 30s somehow automatically makes you immune to mistakes. Surprise, you won’t change unless you actually want to and make effort. He literally talked about being under the influence of some drug in the track by track interview for tbhc, who would deny that? Probably the same people who want don’t want to believe that he traveled in 2020.

People fail to see that after all he’s just a 37-year-old with a shitload of money. A dangerous combination! With money you don’t automatically get maturity or common sense. Just ask Elon Musk. Like you said, if he doesn’t wanna change he’s gonna stay immature and fuck around. Nothing you can do about it.

Also could people stop referencing conversations we didn’t have here? Thanks!

[soleriana]

Is it rant time? No it’s not, please go to bed

Whatever since I’m the boss of my own self-

I just wanna say for me, remember emphasis on “me”, people who appear purely good or without flaws might be hiding something or lack depth.

I don’t think I can trust anyone without a dark side. Not that kind of dark side lol. And also there’s technically nothing wrong with lacking depth as well, I mean to say everyone has their own “depth” but I need someone to align mine with. Also not saying I’ve more depth- ugh whatever forget it.

Think about this though, a person who doesn’t acknowledge or show theirs might be suppressing it, which could make them unpredictable or even dangerous. In contrast, someone aware of their own flaws is often more trustworthy because they have control over them rather than pretending they don’t exist.

Which is why I love villains, anti-heroes or morally grey characters especially.

I guess you could say true morality isn’t about being perfect but about recognizing one’s capacity for wrongdoing and choosing to do good despite it.

Even- uh oh…this post’s gonna be longer than I thought- yeah even Carl Jung ( Sigmund Freud too- ) himself argued that every person has a darker, repressed side of their personality, full of instincts, desires, and traits they might not want to acknowledge aka the whole shadow self concept by him.

Assuming that, people who pretend to have no dark side, could be dangerously unaware of their own potential for wrongdoing ( as they are more likely to be controlled by it ) or may even project their faults onto others. Am I excluded? No, even myself. There’s something interesting though- I’d like to delve into another topic about self awareness and self actualisation and then some metacognition..was it? Later another time.

Anyhow moving on, someone who’s more open about their flaws doesn’t pretend to be morally perfect, and in that way they’re more predictable than someone who hides behind a false image.

Sighhh- just like leaders who admit their struggles and mistakes tend to be more reliable than one who insists they’re beyond corruption.

I guess this also fits the “idealist vs realist” worldview.

Idealist: Some people believe in pure goodness, figures who are untouched by corruption, always making the right choices.

Realist: If someone is truly without flaw, then either they’re lying, or they haven’t been tested.

But this makes me question though-

Can you trust someone who has never struggled?

And what’s the issue behind not “being tested?” (It’s not like our mind filters “oh you haven’t been tested, so you’re a dangerous person” like huh??? )

Is it that people who have faced internal struggles often develop stronger moral compasses than those who have never been tested? Idk but sounds very black and white thinking to me, that kills nuance.

But what or how does that make someone more trustworthy? Especially compared to someone who hasn’t been tested? If your “moral compass” is already strong without needing any internal struggles, then that’s good enough no?

Just because someone hasn’t faced temptation or been tested in obvious ways doesn’t mean they’re shallow, naive, or less trustworthy.

Because I know some people are wired with such a clear inner compass or a naturally pure heart that they instinctively turn away from wrong without needing to wrestle with it.

So yeah, coming back to the earlier question;

The reason people often say someone who’s been “through it” is more trustworthy is because they’ve been tested and proven themselves. It’s not that they’re better, but they’ve had the opportunity to act under pressure and still chose what’s right.

For most people it does give a sort of comfort knowing that. So the experience-based trust is about certainty under stress, not about moral superiority.

There seems to be a bias toward romanticizing the “flawed but redeemed” character, the one who’s gone through chaos and come out good. ( like myself, I love em, except I’d still like them even if they aren’t redeemed simply because for me, I can’t really control who I like and I don’t..in that aspect. )

Sometimes the purest souls don’t battle darkness because they carry too much light to be attracted to it in the first place.

And ironically, that makes them harder for cynical people to understand or trust because their goodness doesn’t come from “been there, done that,” but from an inner alignment that’s harder to measure.

Not saying I’m some pure hearted soul, but there was this one time, some guy was like “I hope you don’t lose your innocence and view of life like i have” tbh I took it as an insult back then because it seemed a little condescending haha. I didn’t get it back then but yeah i understand, I feel that way towards little kids too. And that’s exactly why I saw it as an insult :)

Okay time to wrap this up;

It’s not the presence of a “dark side” ( I really don’t have anything else to describe it with ) or the absence of temptation, but rather their consistency in choosing what’s right, whether they had to fight to get there or not.

Some gain trust by overcoming internal war. Others gain it by never wavering in the first place.

Both can be deeply trustworthy. One isn’t more valid than the other.

It’s just… a difference in path, not worth.

Most people want to see the struggle to believe the goodness, but sometimes goodness doesn’t need a backstory. It just is.

The end..goodnight

[dreamerwriternstargazer]

I was literally thinking about this last night

The way I feel guilty sometimes about not looking like the perfect victim

The way I remember how my extended family found out about my sexual abuse, and some of them started to interrogate me because I wasn’t timid and ashamed about it the way they expected. The way my parents keep assuming I’m fixed now because I’m in therapy, the way people forget and don’t care as soon as you don’t look like the perfect victim

In my case it’s also because for a variety of other reasons, I have never once felt safe enough to let them see the damage even at my lowest

And I abhor it. I hate that thought in the back of my mind almost longing for the days where I appeared more broken… because what if people stop caring? Except I’m not, I still struggle I just can finally breathe and live a bit more beyond it, I don’t want to go back

But maybe I do, no I don’t, I don’t owe them my victimhood but… at least then people would treat me better

In reality if you’re thinking like that, they’d be crap anyway. If you need to be in the depths of despair to get help, then what is that help really worth?

Idk I’m struggling with this currently. When I am suffocating under all the trauma I’m grateful to make it to the surface, to break free of the riptides and gasp in the fresh air.

And then I feel guilty because maybe I’m not really a real victim… someone else deserves this help more, I shouldn’t get help, or rather, of course no one cares to help I’m not suffering enough. Maybe I should stop getting the help I have (therapy) and they’d believe me/care for me/pay attention.

And I know from experience they won’t and if anything like any chronic illness people get sick of putting up with it, that typically what they do express at the start is driven by pity and their own guilt and it means nothing in the long term. Actual long term support and care is few and far between, in my life something I’ve only received from specific friends ^_^ and it’s unconditional as it should be, but I do hate how the neglectful and honestly entitled mindset of pitying family has affected my psyche

They’ve affected me by making my trauma feel both this huge disgusting flaw on me, as well as a tiny stain barely worth noting because they doubt it ever happened and besides “don’t ruin his life”.

I know honestly that most days despite the help I’ve received I’m still just barely hanging on and some days even that isn’t possible. So to have this mindset of “I’m not suffering enough” is entirely fatal, because God I know if I gave into it…

I doubt I’d still be here. I’m here because I’ve fought tooth and nail for the little peace I do have, so honestly if anyone ever presents themselves as entitled to your trauma, to the worst of you before you can be believed or supported? Tell them to go eat a bag of rusty nails. You have fought for your life and they have no right to belittle that.

ive found that partially treated mental illness can sometimes look to uninvolved onlookers like faked mental illness.