#Also to be fair it was just the last nail in the coffin of my joker arc that one time I was justified. Anyways

[ranvwoop]

:]] cfw'd that DS. I can finally . pokemon . amongst other things.

[dreadsuitsamus]

Bleach Men Taking Your Baby to the Grocery Store Headcanons

author's note: yes the premise is random but it's also very cute and perfectly in line with my recent onslaught of baby fever. also, the banners in this post were created by the always amazing @actuallysaiyan!! thank you for the gorgeous banners, babe! 🩷🩷🩷

pairings: kensei muguruma x reader, byakuya kuchiki x reader, grimmjow jaegerjaquez x reader, renji abarai x reader, ichigo kurosaki x reader

warnings: children ages 5 and younger and grimmjow's parenting lmao this is mostly fluff and some mischief mixed in from the babies

Kensei is definitely the tough parent of the two of you, and he relishes in that fact

But goddammit do those baby eyes make him waver

As he carries little Mila into the store, he tells her they're only there for necessities

No candy, no sugary cereals, only what you've tasked him to buy for dinner

Despite being only three and a half, however, Mila has a pretty good idea of how to get her way with Kensei

It's gotten slightly less effective since the pacifiers have been removed from her arsenal, but anything that cracks her dad's tough exterior is remarkable as is

It starts off innocently enough, though soon the way she sings her little song and bops her head around becomes rife with intent

"Daddy, can has hug?" She blinks up at him, holding her arms up

Either he's willfully choosing to fall into the trap, or Kensei is merely blind in the face of his precious girl

"Of course, baby." Kensei picks her up from the cart and kisses her wonderfully chubby cheek, leading the cart behind him as he continues through the store with Mila hooked on his hip

Mila curls up, humming as her eyes scan the shelves for something she wants

"Hold Momma's list for Daddy, okay?"

Mila's little fingers hold the list carefully, and soon Kensei is at a crossroad

"Broth. What kind of broth?" He mutters, fishing his cell phone from his pocket to call you

As usual, it turns into a bit of a squabbling match. He thinks remembering every little detail is silly, and you think you've made this dish so many times he should know you need chicken broth

Kensei is sufficiently annoyed by the time the phone call ends, and Mila strikes then

"Daddy, can has kiss?"

"Yes, baby." She gets a kiss on either cheek, and the kiss she gives his cheek right back is just about the final nail in the coffin

With Kensei holding her, she's able to reach the shelf and snag a little box of animal crackers

"Daddy, can has this?"

Played by the fucking toddler again!! That's three times this week!

"... Don't tell your brothers." Kensei sighs, hanging his head in shame

It's not all bad though; he does get another sweet kiss from his princess

Byakuya is a strict but ultimately fair father

Little Jasmine has grown up under his watchful eye, though through that she's certainly learned just how many of his limits she can press and how to get around them

Going to the grocery store is rare, and even more so if you're not present for the journey

But it's vacation time, and you're busy setting up the cabin for your family's stay, so Byakuya has been tasked with gathering enough groceries to make it through dinner and the morning's breakfast

Byakuya holds Jasmine’s hand and they walk inside together, Byakuya using a tissue to pick up one of the small hand baskets. There's no telling the last time this thing has been sanitized!

“What would you like for dinner tonight?” Byakuya asks the five year old, and Jasmine hums thoughtfully

How can she end the first day of this vacation with a delicious banana split?

Appealing to her father's tastes will increase the likelihood of success, and her father is quite fond of spicy foods…

“Can we have curry?”

The light in his eyes isn't missed by the girl, and she can practically taste an ice cream sundae with a waffle bowl already

“You're becoming more accustomed to spices, I see.” Byakuya hums and begins to survey the store's offerings, whereas Jasmine is mentally preparing her list for dessert

“Daddy?” Jasmine dials up the sweetness in her tone while Byakuya examines the various cuts of chicken on display

“Yes?” He hums

“Can we have a treat tonight?”

“What sort of treat?”

“A surprise treat. Please, Daddy?”

Byakuya pauses. He's no fan of sweets, and in general sugar is limited in the Kuchiki household

But she did say please

“Mm… I suppose.”

Byakuya doesn't meet your eyes when he and Jasmine return from the store with more ingredients for ice cream sundaes than dinner and breakfast combined

He is such a sucker, but he's happy to be played when he receives his banana split with a chocolate syrup drawing of his beloved Wakame Taishi from his darling daughter

Renji tries his best to be a strict father, but his determination wavers frequently. He wanted for many things as a child, and as a parent he doesn't wish to push that same feeling on his child as long as he's capable of providing a warm, loving home

Not to mention, that damn two year is old is just so cute it makes his heart melt at the mere sight of the toddler

“C’mon, honey, gotta get some soup for Mommy.” Renji murmurs as he carefully takes little Rin from his car seat, carrying him into the store on his hip

“Why?” is Rin’s favorite question right now, and Renji’s eye twitches a bit

“Because her tummy is upset.”

“Why?”

“... I don't know.”

“Why?”

“I don't know!”

“Why?”

Renji gently pinches his son's lips between his fingers. “Shhh… Quiet time.”

But of course, the moment he lets go, Rin is back at it again

“Why?”

“Because now Daddy has a headache.”

Rin, as gently as he can while simultaneously not managing much grace in the act, pats his father's sunglasses that sit atop his head

“All bedder?”

Renji's lip practically wobbles at the sweetness. “Yes, Daddy's all better. Thank you, sweetie.”

Rin rests his head against his father, playing with the Renji’s chain while he surveys all of the varieties of soup, Renji occasionally pulling the chain away from the baby's open mouth

Rin whines after his third attempt to eat the necklace, so Renji quickly grabs the first can of chicken noodle soup he sees and makes a dash for the checkout. No baby meltdowns in public, for the love of God

Renji gently bounces the baby, pleading softly with him to calm down. It's not working very well, however, and these damn checkout lines aren't moving at all!

Desperation wins and Renji's grabbing a lollipop before he knows it, tearing the wrapping off and popping the sucker into Rin’s teeny mouth

His plan to calm the baby works, and by the time he's actually able to check out and purchase the soup, the small pop is already gone and the tantrum is starting to blossom again

And just as Renji gets the baby strapped back into his carseat, he checks his phone to see a text you sent twenty minutes ago that practically sends his eyes popping out of his skull

Can you pick up a pregnancy test too?

He glances over at the toddler, and can practically see the boy as a big brother already

Even with a fussy baby in round two of the long lines, Renji's smile doesn't waver and he just kisses and coos at the hopefully soon-to-be big brother

Grimmjow is an interesting parent. Much like how every day with a four year old is a mystery, every day with Grimmjow is a deep dive into the unknown

So when sending the man and his mini-me to the grocery store, you're not quite sure what they're going to come home with. Hopefully it at least includes the items on the list, otherwise dinner is going to be very different from what you've planned

“Oi, keep up!” Grimm looks over his shoulder, the four year old having been distracted by a vending machine

“Want snack.”

“Too bad. Let's go.”

The toddler’s stare is a little too lead paint-y for Grimmjow's liking

“Zen.” Grimmjow looks on, unimpressed as he fishes a coin from his pocket. “Fine, brat. You win, you get a snack. I win, I get a snack.”

That gets the boy to smile, clapping his hands as he jumps in excitement

Grimmjow smirks. “Heads I win, tails you lose.”

The coin is flipped off of Grimmjow's thumb and he catches it easily, Zen waiting with bated breath for the results. Does Daddy win or does he lose??

Grimm sucks his teeth, shaking his head and tucking the quarter back into his pocket. “Heads I win. Tough luck, kid. Maybe next time.”

Zen pouts, watching his father slip a dollar into the vending machine and press the buttons for a honey bun. “Aw man…”

“C’mon.” Grimmjow opens up the snack, taking a big bite and grabbing the front of Zen’s coat, carrying him inside of the store like a handbag

The boy can't help but giggle as he looks up at his father; he loves air jail!

“You're in jail. Stop laughing, fuckin’ psycho.” Grimm shakes his son a bit, hiding his own laughter into the next bite of his honey bun. He's a hardass, but that baby's laugh is precious and melts him like ice cream on a sunny day

Heads turn at the way Grimmjow carries Zen, but Grimm is highly unbothered by such judgment. His kid is happy and healthy, and anyone that thinks otherwise can kiss his ass, for all he cares

“You got the list?” Grimm looks down at Zen, the boy fishing out the neatly-folded post-it note you lovingly tucked into his jacket pocket

Grimmjow perks a brow as he reads off the ingredients you've listed. “Say, kid—” he looks down at his son. “Whaddya say we ditch the list and get some pizza instead?”

Zen claps happily at the idea and Grimm grins menacingly, crushing up the grocery list and tossing it on the floor as he hoists his boy over his shoulder, stuffing the last bite of the honey bun in his baby's mouth whilst flipping off a scandalized woman at the checkouts

Growing up with two younger sisters was good for something after all, Ichigo thinks as he wrangles his twin girls through the parking lot with relative ease

The three year olds are stubborn and independent, having insisted they walk instead of having daddy carry them! But they still want to hold his hands, of course

why no he is not melting like a lava cake, why do you ask?

The girls gasp at the sight of a shopping cart with a racecar on the end that's the perfect size for two little ones!

“We don't even need a cart.” Ichigo deadpans, though it's in one ear and out the other as the babies pile into the little racecar, turning the steering wheels and beeping the (thankfully noiseless) horns

He feels like an idiot but as the dutiful father he is, Ichigo complies with his girls’ wishes and pushes the cart into the store

Chubby fingers point as little voices call out for candies and trinkets, and Ichigo's quick with each of his responses

“No.”

“I said no.”

“No ma'am!”

He's definitely cleaning their ears out when they get home, because clearly they can't hear him! Why else would they ask for things a million times over, hm?

“Daddy always say no.” Indigo pouts, her sister nodding in agreement. All they want is some candy!! Why is Daddy so mean?

Ichigo sighs in frustration as the aisle he needs to go down is absolutely packed, and he's stuck with this behemoth of a shopping cart. Settling it at the end of the aisle, he kneels down to make eye contact with the girls

“Stay put; I’ll be right back.”

Ichigo quickly rushes down the aisle, weaving between people to get to the pasta section

Now… If only he could remember what shape of pasta you told him to buy

Indigo and Imani look at each other, covering their mouths to hide their mischievous giggles

Those Push Pops they were eyeing are still nearby, and Daddy isn't!

As the tag team they are, Indigo and Imani spring into action, Indigo rushing to get the candy while Imani (who turns up the cuteness to a ten!) rushes down the aisle to her father

Ichigo frowns and picks up Imani, scolding her for leaving the cart

It isn't exactly effective, however, as the baby eyes and the cooing let her off the hook easily

When they get back to the cart after Ichigo remembers which pasta you've requested, he sets Imani back into the racecar

Indigo slips a blue Push Pop into her twin's hand, the two of them sharing a conspiratorial smile

They almost get away with it too, though when Ichigo's strapping them into their car seats he notices the lollipops

“Stop stealing!!!!”

These girls will surely be the reason he takes medication for his blood pressure, and he dreads the day when they become teenagers!

[adascore]

The Golden War

pairings: alexia putellas x lyonnais!reader

warnings: swearing. for culers the ‘22 uwcl final ig. jona is kinda mean in this.

author’s note: this is the same reader from my ‘one for the money, two for the show’ fic of the lionesses!captain. reader is basically ada hegerberg lolsies :) will be turned into a series.

masterlist

•••••

Turin, Italy - May, 2022

''The final has been dubbed as a duel between you and Alexia Putellas, do you experience it as that?''

The Lyon captain fought the urge to roll her eyes at the question, despite having expected it. ''It is a final between Barcelona and Lyon, nothing more than that.'' She answered, diplomatically- the way they had rehearsed it.

''Lyon is the underdog coming into this final- FC Barcelona has been unbeatable so far. What do you need to do in order to beat them tomorrow?'' Another reporter asked, a pen ready in his hand to take notes.

There was a slight change in her expression as the question left his lips, the man succeeding in poking through her stoic expression. ''Well, we have never lost to Barcelona- I don't know if you remember 3 years ago or even last year,''

Lyon had comfortably beaten the Spanish club in 2019. In that Champions League Final, Y/N had become the first player to score a hattrick in a UWCL final. Their last meeting had been in 2021, in the pre-season, where Lyon had won 3-2, the Lyon captain again putting one in the net.

''We have won this competition many times. There was football before Barcelona, and it was being played by us.''

Her last sentence of the quote had struck a nerve with the Barça captain.

''She acts like she has already won the whole thing.'' Alexia remarked as she read a transcript of the press conference.

Patri and Mapi glanced at one another, a knowing look in their eyes. ''Technically, there is nothing wrong about what she said, Ale. How many times has she won this competition now? 6? 7?'' The defender said, not having a problem with the opposition's words.

''She's just pissed that everyone is talking about us now.'' She ignored Mapi, continuing berating her opponent.

The rivalry between the captains of the two top teams had been something made up by the media, seeking a female counterpart to the famed Ronaldo-Messi rivalry. Both Alexia and Y/N led Europe's premier clubs, won the Champions League, captained their national teams, and earned the Ballon d'Or. This fueled incessant comparisons.

Alexia and Y/N hadn't given it much thought at first. There were also many differences between them; Alexia is a midfielder, while Y/N is a striker. Despite their similar ages, their careers took diverse paths. Alexia remained in the Spanish league, while Y/N gained experience across various countries.

Over time, an unexpected shift occurred. They began caring about each other's achievements. Yet, they knew the comparison wasn't fair.

Despite being younger, Y/N dominated women's football for longer, winning the Champions League seven times – twice with Wolfsburg and five times with Lyon. In contrast, Alexia secured one with Barcelona. Neither had won anything major with their national teams, though she had come close with England a few times. Furthermore, on the accolades side of things, Y/N led with a repertoire that most players could only dream of.

For a long time, it hadn't bothered Alexia. She had watched in admiration as the younger player became the first recipient of the Ballon d'Or, a huge step in women's football. Y/N's advocacy for the sport also didn't escape the Spanish player.

However, her admiration had turned into envy.

The turning point came in the 2019 final against Lyon. She had observed the way the English striker had celebrated with her entire team- how the Lyon squad immediately ran to her once the whistle blew and how Y/N bathed in all the (rightly deserved) glory. Alexia wanted that for herself. For years, Y/N had been the nail in Barcelona's coffin, scoring the goals that made sure they couldn't continue in the competition- in the captain's opinion, the striker had made a joke of her team for years, even if she didn't meant to do that.

Their interactions over the years were limited to polite handshakes before or after matches. Occasional encounters outside the pitch were rare and brief, seldom extending beyond a few sentences.

Alexia's surprise peaked when Y/N congratulated her on winning the Ballon d'Or through both private and public Instagram messages. Despite her reservations about comparisons and rivalry, receiving praise from someone she admired as one of the best in the game left Alexia with a positive feeling.

''No, I think she's just not a fan of being referred to as an underdog.'' Patri defended the Lyon striker.

This explanation didn't sit well with Alexia, evident from the displeasure on her face. ''Whatever,'' she retorted, looking forward to settling matters on the field that Saturday.

Saturday, May 21, 2022

Excitement, adrenaline, nerves, and tension permeated the tunnel of Juventus Stadium as Alexia, tightly gripping her pennant, stood at the front of her lined-up team, awaiting the opposing captain.

The sudden hush among the Barcelona team signaled the arrival of their counterpart. Turning around, Alexia frowned at her teammates' fascination with the approaching striker.

This is not the time to be fangirling, she thought to herself, as she saw most of her players' eyes following the striker's figure.

As the two top players faced each other, uncertainty lingered about whether they should exchange greetings. Y/N broke the silence, deciding to offer some acknowledgment. ''Hey, you alright?'' Her charming English accent filled the air.

''Yeah, and you?'' Alexia almost cringed at her own quick response, not giving her brain time to think.

''I‘ll see in about 90 minutes.'' The younger one grinned.

I'll wipe that smirk off your fucking face, Alexia said in her mind, not a fan of the confidence the striker was oozing.

Ten minutes later, the referee blew the whistle, signaling the start of the highly-anticipated final.

Lyon applied intense pressure right from the start, managing to create two goal-scoring opportunities within the first three minutes of the match.

However, the audience were offered their first initial glimpse of the rivalry in the 6th minute of the game.

Y/N positioned herself strategically, eyes fixed on her teammate readying a precise pass to her. The ball zipped across the pitch, and in a heartbeat, both Y/N and Alexia were locked onto winning it for themselves.

The striker, a master of timing, surged forward. Simultaneously, the midfielder closed in on the target. The collision was inevitable.

Both players fell with a thud, groaning at the contact with the ground. Despite the force of the clash, they both showed resilience as they wanted to use the momentum to their advantage.

They were momentarily entangled, fighting for control of the ball. It was a brief display of the rivalry that had brewed between them.

Y/N rose swiftly from the turf, eyes filled with determination. The collision had only fueled her competitive fire. With the ball firmly at her feet, she accelerated away from the mess, leaving Alexia behind.

The crowd erupted in gasps and cheers as Y/N, now in open space, scanned the field. Seizing the opportunity, she unleashed a powerful strike from well outside the box.

Time seemed to slow as the ball sailed towards the goal. Panos's desperate dive was in vain as the ball found the back of the net. The roar of the crowd echoed through the stadium, a symphony of cheers and applause for a goal that showcased the skills and spirit of the Lyon captain.

A fleeting scowl crossed Alexia's face, frustrated at the missed opportunity.

Y/N turned on her heels as the net rippled, ready to embrace her teammates who were rushing to her.

''Vamos!'' She roared, the Spanish word escaping her lips like a battle cry.

Yet, she found herself face-to-face not with the familiar sight of Lyon jerseys but with the intensity of Alexia's determined gaze.

Her expression froze for a quick second, confusion adorning her features. Y/N's eyes widened in realization, and for a brief instant, the two captains locked eyes in an unspoken exchange.

The celebration continued around them, teammates engulfing Y/N as they screamed with delight at their captain's prolific opener. The air was filled with jubilation, but within the chaos, the tension lingered between the two captains, adding an intriguing layer to the unfolding drama on the pitch.

The match unfolded further, Barcelona grabbing a few opportunities of their own, but not being clinical enough to score an equalizer. The Spanish squad remained calm, showing no signs of panic in their play, despite being behind.

Selma and Melvine played a great one-two with each other, and the young defender shot a beautiful cross towards the box. Anticipating the trajectory of the ball, Y/N skillfully pulled away from Leon, who undoubtedly had the impossible task of marking the striker.

The ball connected with Y/N's forehead, falling perfectly into the mesh. The scoreboard illuminated with Lyon 2, Barcelona 0. The narrative had shifted as the favorites stomped the ground in frustration, while the ''underdogs'' celebrated another goal from their captain.

The first half flew by. Y/N managed to assist Catarina to make it 3-0, but Alexia found the back of the net to get one back.

3-1.

The second half saw more scoring opportunities for Barcelona, but no one managed to finish the job.

After contact with Martens, Griedge cited experiencing a cramp and asked for treatment- a request that the Barcelona side was not having. Y/N, understanding the frustration of time-wasting, especially when behind in a match, stood aside.

However, the Lyon captain didn't appreciate the scolding she received from the opposition's coach. ''Tell your player to stop the comedy, what a shit job!'' Jonatan exclaimed to the English captain, who observed the scene from the sideline.

Y/N didn't budge, paying him no attention, knowing it was all tactics. She gave an unimpressed look toward the referee, who had been observing the one-sided interaction.

The official ran up to them, pulling a yellow card from her pocket and holding it in front of the manager. ''Step back, please. Don't talk to the opposition.'' she instructed him.

The match eventually resumed. In extra time, Paredes almost managed to pull off a header, but it went flying over the post.

In the last minute of the game, Y/N teamed up with Eugénie to score a last-minute beauty, but the volley slammed against the post.

The piercing sound of the referee's whistle resonated through the stadium, marking the conclusion of the final. Lyon emerged triumphant for a record-extending 8th time.

Overwhelmed by her own emotions, Y/N fell to the ground as the whistle echoed in her ears. It didn't take too long for her teammates to rush up to her, colliding in a chaos of hugs, kisses, and jubilant shouts.

They had done it again, proving once more why all the records were tied to their name.

''Y/N, you're a fucking legend!'' Lindsey yelled in her ear, kissing her cheek multiple times.

As her teammates slowly got up from their celebratory cuddle with the ground, they formed a protective circle around their captain. Hands reached out to help her rise from the grass, and she found herself enveloped in a symphony of gratitude.

Eventually, she shook off her glorious daze, a wide grin etched on her face.

Y/N turned her attention to the defeated Barcelona players, spread out across the field with tears and disappointment staining their cheeks. She approached them, offering a helping hand to those still on the ground and sharing comforting words. Acknowledging the effort they had brought, she assured them that they gave her team a greater fight than the scoreline implied.

Before the Lyon squad embarked on their victory lap to greet the traveling supporters, Y/N's gaze fell on a heartbreaking scene. Across the field, the Spanish captain, Alexia, was cradled in a comforting embrace by a Barcelona staff member as tears streamed down her face.

Y/N hesitated, caught in a ''should I or shouldn't I'' moment with herself.

She chose to make an attempt to resolve whatever tension had built up between them.

Tears glistened on Alexia's cheeks, a testament to the intensity of the match and the dreams left unfulfilled. The Barcelona staff member, offering solace in the face of defeat, glanced up as Y/N approached, and let go of her.

''Alexia,'' Y/N greeted her softly, putting her arm around the Spaniard, ''thank you for the great battle.'' She hadn't prepared what to say, because what do you say against someone you feel like you are supposed to hate? What do you say against someone you've been constantly compared to for over a year?

To the striker's surprise, Alexia reciprocated, feeling an arm on her lower-back. ''Congratulations, you deserved the win. You played phenomenal.'' The midfielder told her, a forced yet genuine small smile making a way onto her face.

''Don't let this hurt you. You are literally one of the best players I have played against- your team is amazing. Use this, like in 2019.'' Y/N advised her, not particularly caring if the opposing player would take it or not.

''We will. I hope we can play many more finals. You make me- you make us grow.'' Alexia stuttered.

Y/N nodded. ''I hope so too. It's been fascinating to see the growth you guys have made these last years.''

The stadium now bore witness to a quieter exchange between the two captains. Almost every camera lens and watchful eye fixated on them.

As Y/N and Alexia exchanged words of mutual respect, their moment of shared understanding was abruptly disrupted by the Barcelona coach.

''Congratulations on the win, Y/N.'' He acknowledged briskly, his gaze quickly turning toward Alexia. His extended hand to her seemed more like a formality, but Y/N accepted it.

Almost forcibly, he placed a hand on Alexia's shoulder, a non-verbal cue that spoke volumes. ''Come on.'' He declared, his tone leaving little room for negotiation and they were off to wherever he needed her to be.

Alexia casted an immediate glance back at Y/N, a mix of emotions played across her face- gratitude for the moment, and frustration at its abrupt end. She hadn't responded to her words yet.

As the Spaniard was led away, Y/N's eyes lingered on the departing figure, a tinge of melancholy in her gaze.

The brief encounter had sparked a momentary connection- a bridge attempting to break through the perceived rivalry and show praise for a strong opponent. However, Jonatan's swift intervention acted like a pair of scissors, cutting through the threads that held that connection.

In Y/N's mind, Alexia had seemed appreciative of the opportunity to have a genuine conversation. She figured there must have been a good reason for her to have been pulled away like that, especially by the head coach.

The Barcelona captain had reacted with a hint of irritation when her coach suggested to the Lyon player to remove her arm from Alexia's shoulder. She tried asking Jonatan why he had coaxed her away, but she didn't receive a proper answer.

The whole thing had left a bitter taste in her mouth. The potential for a more extended, sincere exchange was cut short, leaving Alexia with lingering frustration. There was a desire to understand Y/N beyond the competition, but it was cut short.

She hoped her last glance had worked as a silent acknowledgment of what could have been.

[metalhoops]

The place was Chicago. The year was 1990. 

It was early enough into the year that the term ‘1990′ still sounded space aged. It’d been the 80s for as long as Eddie cared to remember. It was late enough in the year that everyone kept telling him winter was over. Nevertheless, he wore the leather jacket he’d ‘borrowed’ from his ex-boyfriend. Spring in Chicago was worse than a million L.A. winters. 

Eddie hated California on principle, but his record label was in Burbank. Despite the band being one of the biggest rising stars in the metal scene, he didn’t have room to get cocky. He’d spent the break between tours last year with his aforementioned ex-boyfriend in his New York apartment. 

The place had been small enough that smoking with the windows open felt like a hotbox session. There was one window in the apartment. It was in the bathroom and only opened an inch if you could get it to open at all. It wasn’t the rockstar life he’d fantasised about back in high school, but he was getting by. 

So how the hell did he end up in Chicago? He was getting there. 

As the filmmaker he’d slept with in Toronto had told him, opening in media res was the best way to hold an audience's attention. Was that what Eddie was doing? Trying to retell the shitshow of his life back to himself? Trying to make sense of it all, make it climax to something meaningful? Maybe. 

Eddie had gotten into the habit of keeping a journal, mostly for lyrics. The band was meant to be recording their third full-length studio album in a matter of months and Eddie only had three songs that were worth anything. To make matters worse, the other two had been concept albums. 

Corroded Coffin’s first and sophomore albums had been different enough that the band hadn’t been boxed into anything. Yes, they were a metal band, but they got their fair share of punks, goths and even a handful of yuppies that’d shown up to their gigs in the past. Hell, their opening act had been a grunge band. It sounded pretentious as fuck, but Eddie wasn’t afraid to transcend genres. The metal scene was changing. They had to learn to change with it.

The nail in his goddamn Corroded Coffin was that the band were known for their concept albums. Their first album Knightmare was a D&D-inspired thrash, metal album. Think Ritchie Blackmore's Rainbow, with a few more homoerotic undertones. Their next album, Dream Dimension was more sci-fi leaning. It told the story of an unnamed group of kids who’d stumbled into another dimension. It was a little more glam metal. Some of the B-sides like ‘My Year’ and ‘Lakeside Interlude’ had been downright shoegaze. One magazine had likened the story to Dream Warriors, which Eddie thought was fitting. 

It wasn’t like Eddie didn’t have ideas for the next album. That was the problem. Eddie did have an idea. He just couldn’t write the damn thing. It was meant to be his magnum opus, the third album that’d stand on its own but also interconnect with the other two. 

He’d call it Daydream. It followed the story of a white-collar guy living the perfect nuclear family life, complete with a white picket fence and a Malibu Barbie, dream house. The thing was, the dude was miserable. He’d spend all his free time daydreaming about adventure and forgotten realms. 

The kicker was halfway through the album the listener would realise the guy was the titular knight from Knightmare. His perfect suburban life was turned upside down when his kid disappeared à la portal to another dimension. It’d be perfect. All Eddie had to do is write it, and that was the damn thing. He couldn’t.  

All his albums were about something. There was always a meaning beneath the meaning. Knightmare? Easy, that was about escapism. Dream Dimension? It was about growing up too fast. Daydream? That was more complicated. 

Daydream was why Eddie needed to write in his journal. It was why he needed to remember that the year was 1990 and that he was in Chicago. 

The thing was, Eddie didn’t remember writing Dream Dimension. There was a 1988 sized hole in his memory between their first and second US tours. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew exactly what caused it. In their early days, they were practically paid in 8 Balls and party favours. Eddie always had an addictive personality and getting into anything stronger than weed had been a bad idea.

It wasn’t until his bandmates had an intervention that he’d been able to see the forest through the trees. Realising there was a whole chunk of his life he’d missed out on was petrifying. So, Eddie kept a journal. 

He’d been sober for almost a year. He was practically fucking straight-edge without all the pretentiousness that came with it, but he knew one slip-up was enough to send him spiralling. That was how he ended up in Chicago.

It was the last show of their Dream Dimension tour, and they were in Chicago. Eddie was always lively on stage. Gareth had abandoned one of his drumsticks during a solo only for Eddie to run across the stage, slip and bite the dust with his ankle going one way and the rest of him going another. 

He’d woken up in a hospital with a lump on his ankle the size of a baseball and the uncomfortably familiar feeling of being high off his face on painkillers. 

To answer the question, Daydream was about getting older. It was about being okay with getting older. It was about doing it your own way. Back in the thick of it all, it’d looked like Eddie wasn’t going to make it to thirty. He was trying to be okay with the idea that he might. 

Last year, Jeff got married to a nice girl who’d been their costume designer for their first music video. It’d shaken him in a way he didn’t know how to explain. He was in his mid-twenties, yet suddenly he felt old. Wayne had retired and with Eddie’s help brought a Winnebago. He was probably fishing in Nebraska right now. 

See, the thing about the titular character in Daydream, was that he’d conformed to what life was supposed to be. By the end of the album, he’d have left that life behind for another, one of action and adventure, because Eddie could never understand why Dorothy wanted to leave Oz for fucking Kansas. Fuck Kansas, on principal.

Something about the album wasn’t clicking. Knightmare was leaving his boring life but ultimately, he was alone. Was that what getting older was all about? Being okay with being alone? When you were gay in 1990, it might be. 

After the tour ended he hadn’t wanted to go back to his apartment in Burbank. He hated it there. He’d entertained the idea of heading back to New York but it was depressing. It reminded him of Jack, and how so many of their friends weren’t around anymore. 

When all was said and done, he and Gareth decided to stay in Chicago. He never said it out loud, but Eddie was sure his friend had stuck around to keep an eye on him. 

Sometimes, Eddie just wanted someone to come home to. Maybe that was why he’d had a string of shit boyfriends. If you weren’t picky, people would walk all over you. 

Jack had been the one that’d made Eddie swear off dating. It wasn’t worth the trouble. He’d rather die alone. His name wasn’t even Jack, it was Corey, but everyone called him Jack. Short for Jacket. Eddie wished he was joking. That should’ve been the first red flag. 

The thing about Corey was he always wore the same goddamn custom-made, leather jacket, all year round. He’d liked having sex in front of his full-length mirror with Eddie always on his knees, which should’ve been at least a yellow flag. He never liked anything gentle. Corey liked the idea of having a rockstar boyfriend more than he actually liked Eddie or monogamy. That was why when Eddie left, he took his jacket. 

He didn’t know why he was still wearing it, but he was. He pulled it on as he hobbled in his moon boot across the street from his and Gareth’s rented apartment to the record store. He hadn’t gone outside in a week, and he was about to start climbing up the goddamn walls. He just needed to go somewhere, and Eddie loved record stores, especially little indie ones. 

Once inside, Eddie noticed the place was practically empty save for the guy behind the counter. They had an eclectic mix of records and zines lining the shelves. Eddie was glad the place was quiet. He didn’t have to worry about being spotted. It wasn’t like they were The Beatles. They could go places but in a big enough crowd, he was sure to turn a few heads. Some days, Eddie just wanted to disappear. 

They had Corroded Coffin records on the display shelf and a couple of magazines with his band's name on the cover, which made pride swell in Eddie’s chest, but he wasn’t here for stroking his ego. He wanted to know what other people were doing and get back in touch with the scene. 

He was busy sifting through the bargain bin when he felt someone slide in beside him. He cringed, almost expecting it to be some over-enthused metal head with a pen and a Corroded Coffin tee shirt, but it was just the dude behind the counter.  

“Sorry, can I squeeze past?” the guy mumbled, a crate of records awkwardly tucked beneath his shoulder.

Eddie did his best to make himself small, his dumbass ankle making a simple task seem like an effort. He didn’t miss the way the man’s free hand brushed over his side as he passed, as though trying to assure Eddie stayed stable. 

“Place sure is quiet,” Eddie observed glancing over at the man.

His jeans were fitted, tight in all the right places. He’d rolled up the cuffs of his shirt to reveal more of his bicep than Eddie deemed necessary and god his hair. There was something about his hair. Something about him seemed familiar. Eddie really hoped they hadn’t hooked up once. That’d be awkward as hell. 

“Yeah, we usually close around five,” The man replied putting an album on the shelf. 

It was almost six. Shit. 

Eddie hated when people did that. They treated him differently because his name was in the papers. Everyone wanted something from him, and they thought doing favours was a good way to win him over. It wasn’t. The guy could clearly see something shift in Eddie. 

“It’s no big deal. I have to stay an hour late to replace the stock, plus my roommate has a girl over, so I’d rather be here,” The boy laughed, shooting a look at Eddie over his shoulder, a stray strand of his perfect goddamn hair falling in his face. 

The boy paused, teeth worrying away at his lower lip, his hand falling to his hip as his eyes searched Eddie's face. 

“Do I know you from somewhere?” He asked. 

And there it was. Sometimes people did that. They played dumb about who he was before making a big goddamn deal out of it. Eddie suddenly wanted to crawl back to his apartment and spend another month in isolation. 

The boy snapped his fingers in triumph.

“Munson,” He practically shouted and holy fucking shit, that wasn’t what Eddie expected. 

No one knew his last name, not his real one. Everyone changed their names when they got famous. He’d gone for something simple, Eddie Emerson, it had some alliteration, just like Corroded Coffin. It wasn’t too far from his real name but not even the die-hards knew him as Munson. 

Then Eddie remembered. 

This guy was Steve goddamn Harrington. He didn’t remember many people from high school, but he remembered Steve. 

“Harrington,” Eddie breathed in disbelief. To his surprise, Steve screwed up his nose. 

“Unfortunately,” He admitted and stuck out a hand expectantly. Eddie leaned down and clasped Steve’s hand. From what he remembered of Steve, the guy had never been this friendly. 

“Nice to re-meet you I guess. I’d like to think I’ve changed a little in over five years.” He had, Eddie didn’t know how to explain how he knew, he just did. It was something about the way the boy held himself. 

“What brings you to Chicago?” He asked, seemingly oblivious to the fact that one of Eddie’s records was sitting on the shelf beside him. Honestly, it was a breath of fresh air to find someone who didn’t know who he was. He could keep the charade up a little bit longer. 

“Oh you know, work stuff,” Eddie answered vaguely, toying with his hair. 

That was something he did when he was flirting and holy shit, he needed to squash that right goddamn now. He wasn’t looking to date anybody, and he remembered Steve being very straight in high school. He needed to save himself from another heartbreak. 

“You live in Chicago now?” Eddie asked. The‘ because you didn’t seem like the type to ever leave’ was implied. 

“Yeah. Rob, my roommate, she practically dragged me here. We’ve been attached at the hip since I graduated. It wasn’t like there was anywhere else I wanted to be,” Steve answered. 

A little detail about the statement screamed for Eddie’s attention. 

“The same roommate that has a girl over?” He pressed and watch Steve fold his arms over his chest, all huffy indignation locked and loaded, begging for Eddie to choose his next words wisely. 

“The same,” he confirmed. Now that Eddie knew, he noticed they were selling a couple of queer zines. It didn’t necessarily mean anything. Steve might just be progressive. 

“I thought you were meant to be the lady's man, Steve,” Eddie tried hoping that was enough to make Steve’s defences fall. To his surprise, Steve snorted and shook his head. 

“Like I said, lots changed since high school. My luck in the dating department couldn’t be worse,” he admitted as he returned to stacking the shelves. 

Eddie watched the planes of his back move beneath his shirt, wanting to push himself against him, to feel what it was like for Steve to move beneath him.

He really needed to get a hold of himself. 

“Couldn’t be worse than my luck,” Eddie rebutted offhandedly. 

Steve shook his head and shot Eddie another glance over his shoulder. He inhaled deeply as though preparing to tell a long story. Eddie leaned against the shelf to show Steve he was all ears. 

“Last month, I went on a date with a girl and she asked me if she could call me by her ex-boyfriend’s name,” Steve began. 

Eddie screwed up his nose in response. 

“Worse still, I was so shocked she’d asked, I just agreed to it.” It was Eddie’s turn to snort. 

“Stevie, you didn’t.” 

Stevie. Goddamn Stevie. Don’t do this to yourself, Munson. Pet names are one step away from a full-blown crush. 

“I did. Do I look like a ‘Juan’ to you?” Steve asked honestly. The question had Eddie doubled over in stitches. 

“Alright, alright. That’s pretty bad, but that’s one bad date,” Eddie reasoned. 

“Dude, I wasn’t finished. The girl before that realised she was a lesbian, while on a date with me. Which is like... the third time that’s happened,” Steve admitted.

Eddie’s hand had betrayed him and returned to toy with a strand of his hair. He hid behind it as he tried to mask a laugh. This guy did have shit luck. 

“You’re a lesbian magnet,” Eddie reasoned watching as Steve hid behind his hands. 

“And the time before that, I thought I was getting somewhere with a guy. We’d been on three dates before he told me he had a wife.” 

Steve made the next confession a little quieter than the others, a little more reserved. Eddie felt the hairs on his arm stand on end. Steve had changed since high school.

“Once I hooked up with a guy who’d only give me head if I sang to him while he did it,” Eddie admitted, feeling the need to get Steve off the defensive and add to the pity party. He watched the boy’s features shift.

“Oh wow, that’s bad. You should’ve pretended to be tone-deaf,” Steve reasoned, once more proving he had no idea what Eddie did for a living. 

“See I was torn between that and singing La Cucaracha at the top of my lungs.” Steve snorted, honest to god snorted.  

The two lapsed into silence but it was a comfortable one. Steve smoothed down his hair five times within the space of a minute before taking a deep breath. 

Eddie knew what was coming. He wasn’t dumb, but a part of him would always be trapped back in high school. It kept screaming there was no way a popular kid like Steve would talk to a loser like him. He thought he’d buried that part of himself, yet here it was, rising from the dead. 

“Do you want to get a drink?” 

And there it was. Eddie didn’t mean to cringe, but Steve caught it, his hands stuffed themselves into the too-tight back pockets of his jeans. 

“Or not,” He muttered averting his gaze. 

“No. It’s not that. I... I don’t drink.” 

There you go Gareth. He was responsible enough to look after himself. 

“I could do dinner though,” Eddie tried to throw Steve a bone. 

Eddie waited for Steve to throw up one of the red flags he’d gotten used to seeing with all the men he’d dated or hooked up with. Eddie would say he didn’t drink, and they’d give him a funny look or mutter something about him being a killjoy. 

“There’s a place that does a wicked deep-dish pizza not far from here. You said you weren’t from Chicago, right? You’ve gotta have the pizza, it’s a rite of passage,” Steve ploughed on.

“Sure,” He muttered trying not to look as surprised as he felt. 

He watched Steve buzz around the record store, shutting up shop and then extending a hand shyly to Eddie. Right, his stupid goddamn leg. At least it gave him an excuse to get up close and personal with Steve in the street and not draw too much attention. 

The two made the short walk to the pizzeria at a plodding pace, talking about nothing in particular. 

“What happened to your leg?” Steve asked as they slid into the booth. 

“Slid on a drumstick and took a nosedive off a stage,” Eddie admitted. He wasn’t going to outright lie to Steve. 

“Ouch,” Steve mumbled, passing the menu over to Eddie. 

“So, you still do band stuff? I remember that high school talent show,” Steve noted, and Eddie cringed, letting his head drop to the table. 

“I really wish you didn’t,” He chuckled before confirming,

“Yeah, I still do band stuff,” as he raised his head and chanced a glance at Steve. 

“Cool,” was all he said before they shifted the subject. 

They were swapping stories about best friends, roommates, shared high-school trauma and generally flirting when a figure approached their booth. It was a kid, who couldn’t be older than fifteen with a shaved head and a battle jacket. He reminded Eddie of himself at that age. He knew what was coming.

“You’re Eddie Emerson, right? From Corroded Coffin,” the kid asked, his hands shaking. He watched as a furrow appeared on Steve’s brow before his jaw dropped. So Steve wasn’t totally clueless. 

“One and only. You want me to sign something for you?” Eddie asked, having gone through this song and dance a million times before. He tried to be nice, after all, it was a kid, but sometimes he got tired of always having to be on. 

To make matters worse it happened in front of Steve. Something about people coming up to him always sat wrong with other guys he’d been with. He wasn’t sure if it was jealousy or ego that did it, but he knew if he ran into a fan on a date, the rest of the night typically went sideways. 

He signed the back of a napkin as he listened to the kid rattle off praise for their music. He talked about his favourite songs and lyrics. Eddie wished he knew what to say, wished he knew how to take a compliment but he didn’t. To his surprise, he heard Steve speak. 

“Hey, did you make this?” Steve asked indicating the kid's battle jacket, forcing him to come up for air.

“Yeah, all on my own.”

The kid blinked and ran his hand over a couple of the hand-sewn patches. Steve obviously knew nothing about the scene because if you didn’t make your own jacket people would call you a poser. It was a nice shout though because he watched the kid light up. 

“Even the safety pins?” Steve asked curiously.

Eddie watched as the kid launched into a story of every little pin and stitch in the jacket, turning his attention away from Eddie, and giving him space to catch his breath. It was nice. He felt like Steve had seen him.

After another few minutes, the kid’s dad came to collect him and Eddie felt his body sag against the diner booth. 

“You get that all the time?” Steve asked, his foot nudging Eddie’s under the table. 

“You wouldn’t believe it,” He grumbled scrubbing his face. Steve nudged his foot again, giving him a goofy grin. 

“At least he liked your stuff,” He proposed. 

“I’m guessing it’s not your thing,” Eddie reasoned. He wasn’t one for stereotypes, but he really didn’t look like the typical Corroded Coffin fan. 

“I’m not too picky when it comes to music. I just listen to top forty stuff.” Eddie shot him a disbelieving look.  

“Dude you work in a record store,” he laughed and Steve shrugged.

“Among other things. I just got the job to hang out with Robin. She works there too. She only took the job to try and peddle her girlfriend Nancy’s zines. Sometimes I write the sports section because Nancy, Robin and Jonathan don’t know anything about sports.” Eddie rested his head in the palm of his hand, listening attentively. 

“Wait, is that the same Nancy that you dated back in high school?” He asked, trying to sound scandalised, glad to have a break from the rock star bullshit. 

“Like you said, lesbian magnet,” Steve grumbled, mirroring Eddie’s gesture, resting his head in his hand. 

“What are you actually doing in town?” Steve asked, more curious than nosy. 

“Trying to run away from writing our third album,” Eddie spoke. 

It’d been the first time he admitted it out loud. He didn’t talk about his music until he thought it was worth something, but Steve was a good listener. To Eddie’s surprise, he found himself spilling his guts to Steve. He told him all about the third album, about the goddamn symbolism, and the way things just weren’t clicking. 

“Why don’t you give him a reason to stay?” Steve asked when Eddie finished his monologue, as though it was the simplest solution in the world. 

“I mean, Dorothy doesn’t go back to Kansas because she doesn’t like Oz, she misses home. She misses her family. You want your knight guy to stay in fantasy land? Give him someone to stay for,” Steve proposed, and it was like the final puzzle piece sliding into place. It was brilliant.

“Stevie, I could kiss you,” Eddie spoke.

“Is that a promise?” Steve asked with a cheeky grin.

“Let’s get out of here and find out.”

[kiddbegins]

Story of Us - James Wilson

Requested: no <3

Word count: 1,060

Warnings: no happy ending, also no dialogue?

A/n: see listening to Taylor to write helps… not with updating my fics but giving me random new ideas :)))

Masterlist

Falling in love with James Wilson was like eating cotton candy. First it’s fluffy and sweet, then it melts and you’re left with a rotting tooth ache. That was exactly what your relationship had been like.

Going to work at Princeton Plainsboro was meant to be temporary, just a fill in for a doctor that was on medical leave. Then you were offered a more permanent role. One you happily took considering you had fallen into a nice routine there, made friends.

One being the head of oncology. He was nice, he was sweet. He brought you coffee when he came in, stopped by on his way out to have small conversation. How could you not fall for him?

Short answer is that it was inevitable. Stopping by turned to leaving together, which led to getting drinks together and suddenly you were going out to dinner, watching movies at one of your places or the other.

And then he kissed you. You were leaving to head home and before you knew it he had put a hand on your cheek and kissed you. That moment was when you truly realized that there had been building feelings the last couple months that you weren’t even aware of.

That was the sweet part. The waking up next to one another, making breakfast for each other and just knowing how they liked their eggs made, knowing that he wasn’t as fond of regular bacon as he was of turkey bacon.

The two of you just worked. Fit together like two pieces of a puzzle that you were so glad you got to put together. And unlike cotton candy that part of things lasted longer than expected. There was a year and a half under your belt.

Things were good, they were nice. Dinners out, nights in. Until he started staying away longer. Which at first you chalked up to simply work. Except when he stumbled in just a little too late, just smelling a little too much like alcohol.

Now you didn’t mind when he went out with House, it wasn’t the fact he wasn’t there as much. It was more so the lack of communication. How he could just go along without at least a mention of going out, or staying late.

It got to a point that you just couldn’t do it. Not when you were sitting at a restaurant, single lit candle in front of you. If it were a normal date sure, maybe you’d suck it up, get over it. But it was your idea to go out. His birthday. His. 

Surely he’d want to be with you, right? 

Apparently not. After thirty minutes you gave up. Maybe it was too soon. Maybe he would have shown up minutes later. But you didn’t want to see him at all anymore. Maybe ever. That wouldn’t exactly be too bad now would it.

So you went back to the apartment that you now shared and started shoving clothes into a duffle bag. You didn’t exactly have anywhere to go but you’d find something. A friend. A hotel. Anything that meant not being there when James came home.

That night was the final nail in the coffin. No matter how much you voiced the fact him going MIA got on your nerves he still did it. So the next time you saw him that was it. One final goodbye, the rest of your stuff officially moved out and that was that.

He did offer to move out instead but you already had less stuff so it just felt fair. You didn’t want to be reminded of everything anyway. 

Work was tricky. It wasn’t like you could just completely ignore his existence. Your paths crossed more often than you wished they would. Granted you were both adults and both entirely professional.

It didn’t affect your practice and for that you were grateful. At least you still had something to hold onto. Sure half the time it ended in you excusing yourself and crying in a bathroom stall but regardless, it never affected the patient’s care.

Tonight was harder though. A gala to gain more money for the hospital. After losing one of the biggest donors, Cuddy was a bit desperate to make up for what was lost. Which meant the heads of each department schmoozing with a bunch of rich people.

Which would usually be fine. Last time they had one you were able to latch onto James and weave through the crowd of people. He always soothed the anxiety big crowds gave you. So yeah, standing in the corner now you were just trying to keep calm.

It wasn’t horrible. Not entirely, you had eyes on at least three people you knew at all times, only talked to people that came and talked to you first which was okay until the guy in front of you tried to get more than just a hospital donation.

Your face went red with both embarrassment and anger as you split away from the table he was leaning against, trying to find anyone. Hell, even House would be a better option than being in your state right now.

Instinctively you looked for James though, he was really the only one that could do it. Cuddy had tried before, didn’t get any further than you crying your eyes out in an empty hallway while she went and looked for him.

You did manage to find him, a bit aways talking to some redhead in a red dress. You desperately wanted to interrupt. To pull him away and out into the hall but when he glanced over and caught your eye you froze.

Something told you not to. To let him be. Standing there felt like having a big spot light right above your head, shining right down onto you. In a way it was. Even now, weeks after the breakup, seeing you was like everything else faded into the background.

But you weren’t speaking. There had been no conversation with the slightly older man so you had nobody. You were completely alone in a crowded room and there was nothing you could do about it.

Nothing James could do about it.

That was how your story together ended. No happily ever after. It was a bitter ending but that was fate. It was all fate.

The end.

JOIN WILSON’S TAGLIST HERE!

tags: @morketheduck, @cuntyvicodin, @dejerw,

[notaplaceofhonour]

I’ve been a listener of Behind the Bastards (as well as other Robert Evans podcasts and the leftist podcast network he co-founded with Sophie Lichterman, Cool Zone Media) for years. There have been iffy takes along the way, due to Robert Evans’ over-the-top persona & edgy sense of humor, and I obviously haven’t always agreed on everything on the show, but I found the show entertaining & informative. This last year, however, I’ve been increasingly concerned about BTB and the broader Cool Zone Media ecosystem.

Since 10/7, coverage of I/P on It Could Happen Here (a podcast that started as a series of speculative essays by Robert Evans about what a Second Civil War might look like if it happened, and has since been turned into a daily/weekly show covering topical leftwing topics, hosted by other people on his team) has been iffy at best. I tuned out the second they hosted Sim Kern—someone I was introduced to pre-10/7 as a queer Jewish booktok-er who had some out-there takes but some decent ones but has since pivoted to hardcore promotion of JVP & their talking points. From what I have listened to, ICHH’s coverage of I/P has not been The Worst™️ I’ve seen, but definitely has some serious issues that have pretty heavily shaken my faith in CoolZoneMedia’s judgment regarding the content they produce.

Jason Petty (aka Propaganda), who is a frequent BTB guest, also has a show on the network (Hood Politics), and I’ve had a glowingly positive view of for a while, but he’s said some stuff recently about I/P that rubbed me the wrong way. I know he also recently started a mini-series on Hood Politics about I/P that I haven’t listened to yet (I may not ever; I think I’m at my limit for what I can handle, media diet-wise tbh), which I can’t comment on besides my initial gut feeling of “this gives me pause”.

But what has been the nail in the coffin for me in terms of interest in BTB and the entirety of Cool Zone Media has been this:

The most fair I can be to this is to acknowledge that Robert Evans stops just short of advocating for copycat suicides, but that is a grotesquely low bar that it physically churns my stomach to entertain as somehow a point in anyone’s favor.

This goes so far beyond irresponsible coverage. This is active lionization of self-harm and suicide. Robert’s “willing to give up their own life” is such a repulsively fucked up way to spin suicide.

Aaron Bushnell did not “give up his life”. He killed himself.

Cut the euphemistic bullshit, using indirect, flowery language to spin a guy fucking drenching himself in gasoline and burning himself to death while calling Jews genocidal colonizers as somehow romantic and commendable.

He killed himself.

He believed fucked up shit disconnected from reality and tried to “protest” it by killing himself—an act of self-harm with no material connection to improving the world in any way. If you’re promoting that as a “principled” act of “moral courage”, there is something severely fucking wrong with you—whether that’s mentally or morally, I do not care.

You are harming people and I want no part in it.

[jiangshinigami]

when I came across r/mildfemboys through other communities I'm in, I thought it would just be a nice wholesome place

Then one of the first things I see is misgendering of a trans character (bridget, to be specific)

Not even her old design, where there's some plausible deniability, but her strive design.

And, when I pointed out that she isn't a femboy, but a girl (which was confirmed, like, 5 times at this point or something?), I got downvoted and was called a fake guilty gear fan, who "barely knew anything about strive". (bare in mind, i've 100%ed strive in steam achievements and have 214 hours)

Wild how people who "love" bridget show such little respect for her character, only seeing her as a cute femboy, and nothing more.

Now, the thing is, the rules are clearly contradictory, in a way that the mods there can easily shift them around to ban whoever they think doesn't fit their narrative:

Here, clearly stating that subreddit is about male-identifying people who dress and act in a feminine way. A fair rule, makes sense

But here, they say it's "not for discussion of lore or canon", kind of in a way to weasle out of anyone bringing up characters not identifying as male in lore.

but here's the final nail in the coffin

Anytime people will say that bridget literally said "I am a girl" or daisuke said that she's a girl, they'll always bring up something along the lines of "well the artist tagged the art as femboy, and the artist's say is final"

And, as much as it annoys me, it also got me thinking

Just how would they react if someone posted art of a canonically cis woman, but in the source, she was labelled by the artist as a femboy?

I bet then, they would care a whole lot about what the character canonically identifies as.

also one last thing

they constantly say this

"Ok, you've shown me proof, but can you show me anything other than proof directly from the game or the creator himself? hmm? checkmate!"

It's so dumb

(sorry for the long rant i just gotta get this off my mind somewhere)

[fudanshidaily]

I mean...

Free! ran its entire course and is over, plain and simple. (I know, not even news at this point. Still.)

Last year we got B-Project season 3 - if not completely out of the blue (I legit don't know), I think it's fair to say it was at least outta left field. I sure didn't expect that.

Also last year, HypMic also got a 2nd season, another thing I honestly had no real hope for (but was, ofc, happy as hell for it) - and now they're even releasing a second game (which, lbr, they're dropping the ball HARD with, not doing it in English as well, but I digress).

Outside of manga/anime, but also lastyear, and to me personally, still just as completely and absolutely incomprehensible, both BUCK-TICK's Sakurai Atsushi, and (just ten days later!) X JAPAN's HEATH passed away.

Haikyuu!! is ... well, at this point we're just waiting for its coffin lid to be nailed down with the last movie (pardon the morbid).

But - in May this year, we got news that a DAIYA sequel is in the works. (While Boukyaku BATTERY was doing a damn fine job of tiding us over.)

KnY is in its final stretch with a trilogy coming up ... er, well. Sometime. Fwiw, it's definite.

The BNHA anime just passed some major manga milestones.

Amidst all this, BLUE LOCK has absolutely taken the world by a storm, I'd say especially with the anime. Then the mobile game which also got an English (and quite actually global!) release, a second mobile game, the second season of the anime coming in October - and the sheer amount and range of various collabs and promotions is just bloody mindblowing - seriously, try following it on Twitter, you'll be overwhelmed in a week. (I'd also say it's breaking some new ground and pushing the envelope in terms of fanservice and attention to certain ... ahem, details, point being the thirst gets quenched more than adequately.)

--- SIGH ---

And then the BOUEIBU crew announces a NEW MOVIE for next year?! For the tenth anniversary - the HELL do you mean it's been a DECADE?! Like, holy shit, I'd felt old enough already, now I feel positively ancient. Just.... idk, sorry, I can't quite put the mindfuck of this (of all this) into words.

Meanwhile, the Twisted Wonderland anime seems to be ... well. It seems not to be. Even though the game, the English version at that, is just now celebrating it's 2.5th anniversary. (Wdym it's been 2.5 years??)

Still though... What's next? My beloved Dream Festival! awakens from its ... not-quite-death, seeing as they have been doing all sorts of limited merch runs and collabs and concerts and limited screenings ever since the franchise's complete emergency shutdown??? Hey, what with everything here, I'm almost willing to say: one can dream... and hope, right?

[helianskies]

NedSpa for 22?

a 🍪 and a forehead smoochie for anon!

Rest

A voice, somehow so loud yet so soft, penetrates the sanctity of his dreams and cries out to him, “Wake up!”, a command that startles him so violently that he nearly falls right out of his chair.

It takes him a moment to realise and remember where he is: at home, at the kitchen table, at ease. Antonio takes a breath. His eyes find Abel through the haze.

“Sorry,” he says, apologising meekly for what he assumes must have been another bout of microsleep. He’s been having those more often lately, and always at such rude and inconvenient times. “You were… saying something? Before?”

Abel, however, seems to already be over their previous conversation. Their dinner continues to cook in the background, sauce simmering away along with the other’s patience.

“This isn’t good for you,” Abel remarks after the pause.

“Tell me about it,” Antonio returns, trying (perhaps futilely) to keep the mood light, “I don’t think I can take many more heart attacks before I drop dead for good…”

“I’m not joking.”

“Neither am I.”

“Antonio.”

It’s stern, sharp, serious. It’s all the things that Antonio doesn’t want—things he knew were coming.

“How much sleep did you get last night?” Abel asks him over the table. This has become an interrogation, and Antonio is not really a willing participant.

He says, “I got as much as my body let me have,” and diverts his attention towards the food. The potatoes are still boiling. He wishes they’d boil over and give him an excuse to get up, to keep busy, to do anything other than this again.

“You still haven’t gone to see a doctor, I take it,” Abel muses, not really needing an answer. "Is there a reason?"

Antonio bites back a sigh. "You know," he says, "that human doctors can only do so much for us."

"Hasn't stopped you from popping pills before."

"That—"

Antonio is stunned. He's impressed, but also wounded.

"That's beside the point," he replies, struggling to stay composed. "A doctor can never find the problem. They just give us a temporary fix and usher us back out of the office…"

Abel hums. "Then maybe you need a different kind of doctor."

"…That's not fair."

"They might help."

"You promised me you'd never bring it up."

"I only promised you that when I thought you were doing better," Abel tells him sordidly, however. He doesn't say it in a mean way. He doesn’t… mean harm, or to cause upset. He's doing it because he cares, Antonio reasons with himself, even if… that doesn't make it easier to listen to. "You've gone to one before," Abel adds, "you'd know if it helps."

"I don't need to see a— a shrink," Antonio asserts, wary. "I'm okay. It isn't unusual for people like us to struggle sleeping! Even you have your moments—!"

"I wouldn't suggest it," Abel bats back, "if I wasn't worried."

It's like a final blow, a final strike—the last nail in the coffin that Antonio finds himself lying in, barely able to breathe. Abel doesn't look angry. He doesn't look disappointed. He just looks… tired. Tired, like Antonio, yet in such a different way.

This is a back-and-forth they've been having for a while. Antonio knows Abel is only trying to look out for him (mostly because the Spaniard gave up on doing so himself a long time ago) and he wishes the other would lose his compassion, sometimes. He didn't deserve the care. He didn't deserve the concern. And especially not from him.

The pot bubbles. The water sputters and begins to spill. Antonio silently thanks the universe for its intervention and gets out of his chair in a hurry to rescue his stove. Only, in the process, he knocks his knee, kicks the table leg, and almost trips over his own feet; Abel is quick to prevent him from toppling over (God, why did you have to make him so… him?) and tells Antonio to sit back down before he hurts himself.

Antonio has neither the energy nor willpower to argue with him further.

Abel takes the potatoes off of the heat and turns down the ring. He mutters to himself—no doubt huffing about the mess he'll insist on cleaning himself—and Antonio in the meantime settles again at the table, elbows up, head in hand.

He… understands, to some extent, where Abel is coming from. It's a wonder he managed to prepare dinner without losing a finger…

"Just think about it," the other says, a mind-reader. Antonio is tired of his wisdom for now… "I know you don't want to hear it," Abel adds, "but we both know what your demons are."

"Nice… Nice choice of words…"

"But you understand what I'm saying. As tough as they seem," Abel goes on, "you don't have to face them alone. João has told you the same. Even Francis has told you the same. So now I am telling you the same. I don't… want to seem pushy, but of everyone I know, you really are your worst own en—"

Abel ceases. The only sound in the kitchen that remains is the gentle sound of the stew which, after a few moments, Abel turns off so that sound, too, eventually fades.

Antonio is asleep again. He's reluctant to disturb him, this time.

He feels bad for having done it in the first place, truth be told, but there's a point to be made. He isn't well. He isn't himself. But Antonio's stubbornness is undying, and Abel knows that although you can lead a horse to water…

…Dinner can wait. It can wait a bit longer. As uncomfortable as it must surely be to sleep whilst sat at a table, the fact that he's sleeping at all is perhaps not a gift to snuff at, now.

Abel doesn't have the heart to wake him twice.

[ wordcount, 977; prompt list here! ficlet collection here! ]

[reluctanttorturedpoet]

Really sick of Joe Alwyn stans/Taylor haters for pretending the only reason she was unhappy with him and falling for Matty was because "Joe wasn't ready for marriage" and so she threw a stable, healthy, loving relationship away just because it didn't involve a ring right now/anytime soon.

That was not the issue, or at least not the core of it. Taylor painted quite a vivid picture in her songs for years.

Silent dinners because the chatter got old. Because he was indifferent and simply tolerating it whenever she tried to express her love. Because she was sick of confronting him on things, and people, that made her feel insecure in their relationship just to be told it was all in her head, even with all the evidence to the contrary.

"My face was gray, but you wouldn't admit that we were sick"

Nearly seven years together, but he rarely showed up at her concerts, didn't really speak about her or about the dozens and dozens of super emotional songs she had written about him, about them, about their love - when she has been very public about how hurtful it was when past lovers were indifferent or downright dismissive of her music and it's merits.

"How can you say that you love someone you can't tell is dying?"

"I made you my temple, my mural, my sky - now I'm begging for footnotes in the story of your life"

Yes, she wanted to get married. As early as Reputation it was clear that Taylor already thought maybe Joe would be the one for her. But it's very clear that, by the time Midnights was out, marriage had stopped being just a stage she hoped they'd eventually reach in their relationship and became the promise that this crisis would go away. That, despite all the clear signs of trouble, they would make it. That he really did love her despite his obvious apathy. That she didn't have to be afraid of him suddenly leaving her.

This wasn't a minor issue that Taylor obsessed over until it made her stupidly, selfishly throw away a good thing. This was the last nail on the coffin of a relationship she could now see was dead on arrival, and that would have inevitably ended up with them going their separate ways even if he had married her.

"Putting someone first only works when you're in their top five"

"I miss sparkling"

She thought Joe was the guy that loved her in spite of her life going up in flames and her career potentially being over. That he would be there for her no matter what, comforting her if things didn't sort themselves out, yes - but also being her number one supporter and wishing nothing but the best for her because he cared about her happiness.

But she was wrong. He loved her BECAUSE her life was a mess, BECAUSE her career was seemingly dead. That's why the more popular her new songs became, the more we see the theme of "You are not the supportive partner you seemed to be" in those "totally fictional/not about Joe" songs.

Even if we give him the benefit of the doubt (which I am more than willing to do) and assume he was not an evil, manipulative bastard, just a human being as flawed as any other who was not aware of what he was doing, never meant to hurt her, and just genuinely couldn't handle the impact that level of fame has on someone's life: it's not fair to expect someone to stay down because you can't handle it when they are on top of the world.

He should have reached a compromise with Taylor or accepted that they were not compatible and broken up with her - and sadly enough, if he had done the latter, people would have made him out to be the heartless one, despite that being the mature, graceful thing to do.

Instead he put on a fake smile and said everything was okay, while quietly resenting her ambition and success. Leading her on for years and years until she simply couldn't lie to herself anymore and decided that, since he couldn't be bothered to put them both out of their misery, she'd step the hell up and do it for him, and go as far as admiting her biggest mistake - the emotional cheating with Matty Healy - even if it meant the entire world would label her a snake again.

It's really ironic that the exact way in which their romance would end was already spelled out for us in Reputation, the album in which Taylor was being super optimistic about this relationship.

"This is how the world works, you gotta leave before you get left"

[janthonyfell]

16 please!!! On the drunken love confessions

Prompt writing: Drunk Love Confession

Prompt: “This is not a dream, I think. I'm my dreams we're usually kissing.”

Ship: Terzo x Copia (if you consider them brothers that's on you, for me they're not related.)

"This is not dream, I think. In my dreams we're usually kissing."

Terzo let out a sigh as his head rested against Copia's; his eyes had been closed for a while, maybe so the world would stop spinning or maybe so he could remember in as much detail as possible Copia's body lying next to his in that little chair they had decided to share believing they would actually fit in there together. He couldn't really complain. Even without being in such direct proximity Copia's body was radiating the heat needed to keep him warm in the cold of the night.

"What do you mean?" Copia moves from his side and Terzo almost falls to the ground before picking himself up. Papa lets out a groan at losing touch with the other man.

"I mean tonight has been perfect, you've been perfect and when things are this good they're dreams, and whenever I dream of you we kiss because even when I'm sleeping I can't help but want to be with you " he speaks slurring his words in his sentence and too defeated to face the cardinal.

Instead, the Papa rubs his face with both of them. He might lament that he is not having full control of what comes out of his mouth but to be fair neither of them will remember in the morning those words.

"That's why I think this isn't a dream” Terzo continues. “We never last long enough to live through that kiss and the silly 'they lived happily ever after' as much as I'd love to."

The silence after that is a bit devastating, to be honest. Whether it's seconds, minutes or hours, Terzo feels every instant after that fall on himself like nails in his coffin. He wishes the cardinal had fallen asleep at that moment so the silence doesn't feel so hard.

But anyway, he dares to look at Copia, with the heart suddenly rushing and the throat tight.

"I guess it might as well be a nightmare if it's going to end like this" he whispers although he's not quite sure if the words came out of his mouth and just passed in his thoughts.

The first idea seems accurate because Copia turns to look at him at last. His face is that puzzle that will take Terzo years to solve but that he want that enough to put in the effort to learn all its complexity.

Finally Copia smiles. He laughs too. And Terzo feels even his ears turn red with embarrassment.

"You will never cease to amaze me, T." Copia keeps that smile on his lips, the one that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle and he looks somehow more beautiful.

"Should I be offended by that?" the Papa frowns. "I'm too drunk for this, Copia. Don't play with me."

"Maybe you should be offended. Anyway my point is: you know you could have asked me for a kiss from the start, right? You are literally our Anti Pope how can you be so terrified of asking someone for a kiss?"

Well, it does offend him a little but Copia has as point too. Terzo doesn't answer him but he knows the answer very well: it's because it has to happen naturally, he doesn't want to ask because he doesn't want to live through the rejection but he also doesn't want to make it seem like he wants a kiss just because he can ask for it.

Terzo really needs to feel Copia's mouth against his, just to confirm if it's as perfect as he dreamed.

"I'm too drunk for this Copia, I told you" he mutters in frustration, snuggling against himself though not for long. Cardinal grabs him by the cheeks until they are face to face.

"I'll prove to you it's not a dream" he says so softly and then he keeps his word. Copy kisses him. And if Terzo didn't have his senses numbed it would be even better but it still fills him with a unique warmth in his chest.

The kiss lasts barely a few seconds but it's enough to stick in the memory.

"I really like you Copia."

"I can't believe it has taken us so long and so many bottles of wine to get to this but I like you too" The Cardinal lets out a laugh and that causes a thousand bats to flutter in the Papa's belly. "Now, are there any other dreams that can come true for you right now?"

“Actually...”

[justmybookthots]

Once Upon a Broken Heart / A Ballad of Never After

1.5/5 stars

What can I say about this series except that it was so terribly disappointing? 

The most vexing part was that I actually found the first book decent - not very good, but it was decent, and I enjoyed it. Also, a lot of people said that this book was much better than Caraval, so I’m kind of scared of / morbidly fascinated by how bad Caraval must be now.

But anyway, that is beside the point. The first book is decent, with a very pretty writing style and a simple but engaging plot. The writing was very redolent of a fairy tale; it actually reminded me a little of Enid Blyton’s writing in her children's stories. However, it did give me the feeling that the story was a little vapid at times - maybe I just needed more grit, blood and strife, and less focus on true love ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Not that there wasn’t any in the story, but the conflict rang kind of hollow, and I can’t exactly pinpoint why. I felt as if I were reading a series of tropes and mechanisms rather than an actual person going through all those things.

I must say that I disliked Evangeline, even in the first book. Here is a picture of her:

Before I elaborate on why she looks like that, let's start with the early parts of her I disliked. She was naïve and stupid, and had some real Main Character Syndrome (to be fair, she is the main character, but she's not supposed to know that). I cringed when she entered the North and immediately dreamed of marrying Prince Apollo, when she didn’t even know him yet, all for the expectations of a happy ending for herself. The secondhand embarrassment was at its peak when Apollo stepped towards the girl he would choose for the first dance, and she stepped forward, thinking he was about to choose her.

He didn’t. 

:)

I should probably talk about Jacks, who is arguably the heart of the story. Or the broken heart, because he, uh, is the Prince of Broken Hearts. 

I hate him. 

See, it's a pity because I actually liked him in the first book; his characterisation was intriguing, clever and to my taste. I thought he still had a lot of untapped potential, though, because I’d barely scratched the surface with him in Book 1. And with BookTok wanking him to oblivion - someone chose him over a gazillion book boyfriends - I had hopes that the sequel would blow my socks out of water. (Yes, yes, my misplaced faith in BookTok's credibility is my own vice)

Well, it did! Without a doubt, the sequel certainly blew all my hopes that this story would ever be decent 👍

Jacks is a coward. That’s all he ever is, and does. How does one do cowardice, you might ask? Well, you run and hurt the person you’re supposed to love, over and over again. Because he’s afraid of hurting Evangeline, he, uh, hurts her. Yes. And he spends the sequel being an ass - he flirts with girls frequently, while rudely barging in the moment Evangeline strikes up a conversation with another man. My teeth were grinding when she caught him in that deserted corridor with that girl, about to kiss her after spending the evening constantly sabotaging Evangeline’s attempts to get over him with other men.

If you don’t want her, fine. If you’re too much of a wuss, whatever. But what you don't do is stop her from starting something with someone else. You can’t have your cake and eat it, too.

And Evangeline? She actually started the book writing a letter to herself as a reminder that she must never fall for Jacks because he was dangerous. And how does she spend the last half of the book? Spoiler: Mooning over Jacks and acknowledging she’s fallen for him (which I was… very unconvinced about because the build-up to their romance SUCKED) and telling herself she was going to save him from his fear of love.

My dear, you are not Bob the Builder. No woman should be for any man. I think you should go fix your head first.

The last nail in the coffin for me was when Jacks revealed that all along, he was planning to turn back time to be with another girl (whom he didn't even love, but hoped to score a second chance with). 😂 Hilarious. You could turn back time to before the curse befell you, and you choose to go back... for some chick you didn't like? I get his theme is wanting to find true love, but I always found that so frivolous, and of course, so insulting to poor Evangeline. And after she “died” and he decided to turn back time to save her life - which, by the way, does not redeem anything for me. This girl practically risked her life to help you get the stones to help you find your true love. This is the least you can do, loser - he was such a rude ass to her to “protect her”. 

For once, Evangeline grew enough balls (it lasted for about as long as the dialogue went before she lapsed back into Bob-the-Builder mode again) to tell him this after he yelled at her:

EXACTLY. 

Anyway, I have ranted enough about this book. I don’t want any part of it anymore, and will not be abusing myself by reading the next book. I MAY read Caraval, mainly because I want to see just how bad it is. And also, I want to be sure Stephanie Garber is really a lost cause before I write her off completely. 

- 15 July 2023

[just-nebularomantic-things]

Also really glad to see that your blog is cluster-B safe! Despite what I said in my other asks about me feeling hesitant to label myself as nebularomantic due to it falling under the aro umbrella and me not relating to aros at all (but also not relating to allos because most of them draw a very hard line between platonic and romantic love and their experience of it is very alien and foreign to me and has actually led to some very unpleasant social interactions in the past), I do relate to the experience very much and I am pretty sure it's caused by the combination of all my personality disorders.

I also have diagnosed ADHD and used to be considered autistic as well (that was later changed to a misdiagnosis and now I'm considered ADHD with a lot of autistic traits) but for me, the problems with differentiating between platonic and romantic love seems to be directly caused by my 3 diagnosed personality disorders specifically. I have Schizotypal, Borderline and Avoidant. And like if I had just one of them this wouldn't be happening, I think, and maybe even the killer combo itself wouldn't be that much of a problem but I also have a lot of symptoms of NPD. Which isn't that weird, cluster B disorders tend to kinda overlap and while most of my BPD friends don't show NPD traits, coincidentally my one friend with NPD does have a lot of BPD symptoms. But yeah I have a fair share of NPD traits as a cherry on the top of my BPD cake, and when that combines with my STPD and my AVPD, it creates this unholy concoction. Oh yeah and the asexuality was probably the last nail in the coffin because if I could feel sexual attraction I might be able to differentiate platonic and romantic based on my sexual feelings. But alas I am not sexually attracted to anyone at all, I just think that all bodies look cool as all hell and I am an admirer of the human form. People and the diversity of the human experience, both physical and psychical, always moves me to tears because people are just so beautiful and perfect aaaand sorry got carried away by the star bright perfection of humanity again.

your reasoning is exactly why nebularomanticism is not specifically an "autistic" label, but a neurodivergent one!

cluster b disorders are so unfairly demonized. this is totally a place where that will not be tolerated towards any personality disorders (or anyone at all.)

personally, mine is because of my autism- but I do have some NPD traits also (enough to make my life a more difficult, but not enough to be diagnosed.....) which may have something to do with it. i naturally don't have many friends, but if i do want a friend, it is strictly in the "acquaintance" category, and i just want the company, without the strong emotional connection. i've had friends who i care deeply about, but that same platonic love for those people..... could just as well be called romantic. if i were to date one of those people, my behaviour towards them wouldn't change- because it's the same feeling, with the same behaviors (TO ME). i don't understand the difference between taking a friend out to the movies, and taking your boyfriend on a date to the movies. that should be the same thing.... right? hahaha

it is interesting to me that some people do feel a real difference with those two types of "love."

thank you for sharing your experiences! i do agree a lack of sexual attraction may cause some difficulty in differentiating those feelings too. i can see what you mean.

humanity is beautiful! one of the reasons i made this blog was to have a place for all sorts of people to be able to share their feelings. it's been nice hearing from you!

[peachesncats]

Low key hate the way I had to binge Jujutsu Kaisen to avoid spoilers. I swear even with having jjk/jujutsu kaisen leaks/spoilers blocked here. It was still IMPOSSIBLE to avoid shit cause some folks ain't tagging their shit. I can't imagine how anime only folks are fairing because, if as some who is keeping up with the series I still find it hard to avoid spoilers. The people who've only watch the anime have to be in ABSOLUTE SHAMBLES because I know folks ain't tagging the culling games stuff with spoilers.

When I saw that the scan group I follow for Blue Lock also dropped 261 of JJK I knew it was a sign from the gods to just catch up. Last chapter I read was 256 so I wasn't too far behind. But still hella annoying folks have no self control.

I have don't know/not sure how I feel about the whole Yuuta in Gojo's body thing. Other than it just really puts the final nail in the coffin that Gojo is really dead. Will Yuuta be able to go back to his body after everything? Or will he have to remain in Gojo's?

Pour one out for Choso. The best big brother to ever big brother.

I just hope that this means that the battle will end soon. Because I have been checked outta these fights.

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

[purplemoonabove]

I made it worse

😂😂😂

I came up with something and I made it worse! 😂

I’m so sorry, but I’m also not sorry!

I made it worse!

And you’re gonna read what the hell I’m talking about!

God, I made it so bad! People, writers, take notes!

No beta editing. This is just straight out, errors and all. Possible OOC and all. I’m just gonna do it and make us all whoever reads it suffer with me 😂😂🤭

.

.

.

Starting with Aziraphale’s line: “Come with me. Back to Heaven… I’ll run it and you’ll be my second-in-command. We can make a difference.”

But even with such a thought, Crowley sighed through his nose, bowing his head. “I’m not going back there, Angel. They did what they did. I’ve seen it long before the Fall, and that was the final nail in the coffin.”

Aziraphale blinked. “We, we don’t get buried, Crow–”

“I won’t go back there,” Crowley growled. “And even if I did to stay, it will not change. And it never will.”

His excitement, or at least the rest of it was beginning to fade fast. “That is why I will be the one in charge! To change everything for the absolute better and fairness in everything, including your Fall!

Crowley brought back his scowl. Not hiding anything but his inner truth. “You can’t force me to come back.”

“I’m not forcing you. I am merely suggesting–”

“Some suggestion you got: bringing me back to that blasted white-walled hell!”

“Heaven is not like that.”

“It has always been like that!”

“You don’t understand!”

“You don’t understand!”

“This will be for the best–”

“Everything on Earth is enough for us–”

“We can make a difference—”

“Our lives are just fine as they are—”

“We can do this together—”

“We can stay on Earth, and be happy—”

“Please—”

“Angel—”

“I just love you not to let you go!”

Heated tempers were frozen. Gold and blue stared still as the sun and sky, bright and true as their emotions rested in their irises. Eventually the mental pause on Time resume; the sound of a passing car honking, and a passenger walking pass the bookshop has Aziraphale’s eyes blinking. Whether out of return to reality – or the growing of tears about to form under his eye lids.

“You… You love me?”

Crowley’s shock long faded with defeat and truth. His voice was hoarse from his exclaim, but the truth was there to hear with clearance. “I’ve always love you. Since the beginning.”

Aziraphale’s eyes were beginning to blur his vision. An new urgency came to him: a want to touch this demon. To hold him close for grounding. To grasp his face. To… to kiss away that scowl, slightly shrinking as his anger wasn’t as strong from before.

“I…” He hiccuped to a smile. “I have, too, love you.”

“No, you don’t.”

Aziraphale felt a struck at his face that lost his grin. Crowley looked away before it was finished. “What? What are you—”

“You want me to go back to Heaven.”

Aziraphale blinked, his tears beginning to return where they came. “Yes, and–”

“Which shows that you never cared for who I am now.”

His lips were sealed.

“Hell has the bad guys. I’m the bad guy.” Crowley looked at him. Aziraphale never saw such defeat and tiredness in his eyes before, sober and drunk. “You never liked me, just who I was before. That’s all you’ve been focusing on, hasn’t it? Get rid of the Great Demon Crowley, and return him to the Angel Whoever-I-Was again.”

His throat was constricting and no second snake was present for the job. The tears came back, ready to fall over this time as the angel shook his head.

“N-no.”

“No surprise there.” Crowley brought up his glasses. “Nothing can last forever, after all. Guess there’s nothing else to say but… good luck.”

Hands stuffed into his pockets, Crowley moved aside the angel and headed to the door. Only to get a crushing hold at his bicep and forearm.

“Crowley, I do love you!” Aziraphale burst, his tears falling without a care to wipe away. “I love everything about you! From your gorgeous hair, in the most unique of hairstyles you possessed in the past. The outfits you worn to adjust with the time, and have been so gorgeous on your person. How… how breathtaking your eyes are, bearing more gold than what the world could obtain.

“Crowley, I don’t want you to go to Heaven because of turning you back into an angel would make you better. I want you to come back with me because you are better! Just as you and have been for the past six thousand years together! You are a good person!”

Crowley ripped the glasses off, his scowl back. “I am not!” He hissed.

“Yes, you are!” The angel shouted back, stepping up closer to him. There he can see clearly the demon’s own tears resting at his eyelids. “You hold a better Goodness than… than everyone in Heaven!”

The scowl faded, his lips tightening.

“You may be a demon but you have done so many good deeds not because you were told to do them, or because it was to rattle Hell on doing the opposite. There is a goodness within you that would, that would make… loopholes! Little changes to satisfy your side and yourself!

“You’re not like any demon I would learn about, nor were you like any angel I’ve ever met back then. This goodness in you — is freeing! It’s open to all on what you see before you! Your goodness is… is like the universe you made. You expand your mind, your choices, your own intentions without problem.

“When…” He stopped when his throat clenched, his eyes closing for grounding. He sniffled. “When I lied to Gabriel’s face about Job’s children, and you said you would not tell anyone the truth about it… No one in Heaven or Hell could be like you, Crowley.” Aziraphale then had a hand let go to be lifted up and grasp his cheek. The tension slowly left the demon’s face, taking in on every word given as he stared with wide teary eyes.

“I love you not because you should go back to Heaven and be an angel again,” he whispered, his voice cracking too much to talk properly. “I love you… because you are what Heaven is supposed to be.”

Aziraphale managed to wipe the fallen tear from the left golden eye before bowing his head, his emotions getting the best of him.

Only for thin fingers to grasp both his cheeks, and lift his head. Just for a pair of eager lips to crash into his own.

Blue eyes widened at the actions, never to be done before angels let alone angels and demons. And yet, his eyes closed and his lips pressed in return, his arms now going behind Crowley’s back to hold him close as he wanted earlier.

Hold him. Kiss him. Love him. Everything about the demon, the angel, the dear love of his life, in his possession than any of the books he acquired in the years.

Practice was new to them, but that didn’t stop a try. A try to feel a new dance they’ve never learned before, one with their lips than with their feet. No music of instruments and vocals, just the pounding of their corporate’s hearts. No understanding of what is correct and exact to do, just a feel of emotions inside and adjusting for comfort as they take each other’s breaths away. Soft smacks of their urgency has him also hear of their speed, the feeling of each other as one coming to them as they took their time. Their holds on each other hardly tightened but neither lightened. Refusal to leave each other felt ineffable.

It should be with their six thousand-year history.

An angel and a demon. Falling in love as the tempted Eve and Adam, from biting the fruit.

They didn’t need the fruit. They didn’t need the stars.

It was done the moment they were created.

Aziraphale let a breath, combining with Crowley’s as they pulled apart for a necessary deep breath. Their foreheads touched, grounding as they still refused to let go. A longing rested in the angel, a desire as trying food then wine and eventually more delights to follow after. This was a delight he wanted for all eternity.

As they calmed down, blue eyes opened, looking towards closed lids.

“Come with me.”

A moment lasted. Then lids revealed the gold he loved. The love was there, making his heart soar…

But.

“Only if you stay with me.”

So was resistance.

Crowley’s love was infinite for the angel. But not for Heaven.

He made his choice, kiss or not.

Aziraphale closed his eyes once more, feeling a crumbling at his lips. The hands at his cheeks pressed a little for a grip. Then warm kissed lips shared a gentle and long peck at his forehead.

Warm breath then whispered love at his skin.

“Je t’aime, Angel. Au revoir.”

Tears shed free again, eyes open and towards the floor where black shoes stepped away from his beige pair. The angel stayed where he was as his ears echoed every step heading to the door.

I forgive you.

Such a simple statement never left his lips, nor did—

Please don’t leave me.

The door closed with a slow close. And Aziraphale raised a shook hand to cover his loud sob, failing as it broke the silence. Legs trembling when walking, he finds grounding on the familiar touch and smell of old books that may be close to dampening their spines if were any closer to his cries.

Then the bell rang at the door, a cut off choke of his gasp done.

“So, how did he take it?”

A silent miracle to wipe away his distress, physically inside and out, Aziraphale turned with a calm and respectful smile.

“Not well, I’m afraid.”

May only the books know the truth behind his smile now. They’ve seen his emotions long enough since opening the store. They will always know the truth behind his welcoming and respective actions towards the Metatron.

And the shattering heartbreak in losing his best friend.

.

.

.

😅

[nekropsii]

About the Cronus ask you answered a few days ago do you have any examples of the stuff you're talking about? (It's not that I don't believe you I just never played Open Bound so I never met Cronus in canon and the stuff you talked about really suprised me)

Sure, I absolutely can do that! Apologies for the delay- I’m currently stuck with just mobile, so I had to enlist the help of my good friend @scalematez to get these!

Here’s the post, for sake of reference. Let’s get into this.

Content Warning: Long, Cronus Being Cronus (I.E. Incest, Child Predation, Violent Ableism.)

I will be upfront and say there are a few minor details I misremembered. I was working off memory- with mine being particularly faulty- and while that post was largely correct, you may notice there’s a detail or two in the original post that is not fully, 100% accurate. However, since I am quite literally going to be providing screenshots to back up the correct parts of my claims, there’s no need to render the entire post as null.

I will use the text of the original post like a bullet list to run through, and if there’s any corrections I need to make to my original text, I will point it out after the images. Hopefully this makes up for any facts I did get wrong.

Remember that time Karkat, who was 14-15 at best, wouldn’t let Cronus hit on him so Cronus followed him home and tried to unlock his door/break in to keep at it and called Karkat selfish for locking the door in the first place?

[CORRECTION TO ORIGINAL POST: Cronus did not, in fact, call Karkat selfish. He did, however, call him rude, and said he “sure knows how to give a guy the cold shoulder,” which is… Approximately the same thing, just significantly less direct.]

Remember that time Cronus told Mituna that he’s broken and there’s no way anyone could actually ever genuinely love him and that Latula was just lying to him out of pity?

[CORRECTION TO ORIGINAL POST: Cronus did not call Mituna broken in this exact quote. He has, however, called him broken in other exchanges. Proof of this posted below.]

[MINOR NOTE: I do not like the separation of “cats” and “kittens” here.]

Remember that time Cronus sexually harassed/assaulted Eridan, who was like 14 and related to him, in a public space- by which I mean in the middle of a literal crowd- to force him into going out with him?

[NOT SO MINOR NOTE: This was Hussie’s way of finalizing the nail in the coffin of Eridan’s character ultimately amounting to a cruel punchline. It’s no secret to anyone that Hussie… Really didn’t like Eridan, and had no intentions of treating his character kindly. I wouldn’t normally make such a fuss about a throwaway line like this, but this does show that Cronus’s weird behavior towards literal children is, in fact, a pattern, rather than a one-off weird event.]

[NOT SO MINOR FOLLOW-UP NOTE: Since I know twice doesn’t exactly constitute as “a pattern” in some people’s minds- which is a pretty reasonably fair argument in most situations- here’s him doing the exact same thing to Tavros, who is also a child of roughly the same age.]

Remember that time he told Mituna that “if culling meant what it should have on Beforus,” he would have killed Mituna himself as a literal hate crime?

[Bonus Round of this included below! I find it noteworthy that he said this to Mituna’s face. Can you imagine being told something like this?]

… I appear to have unfortunately run out of image space… Tumblr only allows 10 pictures per post, I’m afraid. I’m not sure I need to further convince you, though, unless there’s a specific bullet point you’d like me to elaborate on. Anyone is open to send me an ask if this is the case! I have no problem with backing myself up here, and debunking my own poor memory in the process.

Last thing we need is more misinformation on the Alpha Trolls. I try my best to contribute as little as possible to that trend, but alas, I’m only human- and a human with severe memory issues, at that, lol. As I said previously, I can only hope the images and clarifications make up for this!