#and before anyone misconstrues what I’m saying

[rosaaeles]

if i see another finnick x reader fic in the odesta tag………🤨🤨🤨

[thoughtofadumbteenprotagonist]

“You should be acknowledging this!” “Um, you should all be reblogging this actually” “think about this thing!” “Be aware of this new awful thing happening half way across the globe that you personally have no hope of every impacting in any way whatsoever, but I will word this post like it’s your fault personally!” No, actually. None of these things are my responsibility personally. Yes they’re shitty, yes they shouldn’t be happening, no I’m not going to be guilt tripped into reblogging your inane rant about it all just so someone else can get guilt tripped too.

[oldyears]

mostly brain scramble rn but i feel like the reason that i’m so drawn to learning about the personal motivations of chefs/restaurant owners/recipe developers/people who are involved w cooking as their work is bc they’re like. somehow in the same vein as writing. because cooking and writing at their baseline are essential skills so it brings the question of why do we care so much about these things and why there are motivations to see it arrive at a certain place in terms of craft/artistry/etc …

[maxlarens]

OP: i can’t complain but i will

pairing(s): oscar piastri x mercedes driver!reader; oscar piastri & driver!reader & lando norris; lando norris x oscar piastri

word count: 2.4k+

an: here’s a little bit of angst a little bit of fluff and me holding myself back from making osc x reader x lan a poly ship😭 disclaimer: this isn’t an accurate reflection of the events of the Hungary GP. i take creative liberties as usual! and sorry to lewis. it’s still a mercedes P3 i guess😭 also here are my thoughts on the race so nothing is misconstrued here. AND gif credit because it keeps disappearing!

I. I choked on such longing I couldn’t spit out

Oscar crosses the finish line in Hungary and it’s fine.

It’s fine.

Y’know, fine in the way where there’s this feeling in his chest. This thing gnawing at his insides. At his gut. And maybe it’s his helmet, maybe it’s the temperature, but there’s something on his cheeks. Heat. Something burning. Maybe.

His mind goes immediately to those clips he’d seen of Lando’s onboard in Miami. The shrill little giggles, the high-pitch of his teammates voice, the cheer of the crowd faintly in the background. Crackle hiss—

No one’s cheering for Oscar—

Tom is on the radio.

Oscar’s not stupid, not by a long shot. He can hear the strained quality of it, the forced cheerfulness.

Yeah. Oscar apologises before he can think twice about it. It just slips out of him. He thinks of you telling him— on a Tuesday night two weeks ago— that he needed to “stop saying sorry so fucking much, Oscar”. The way he’d been distracted by his name in your mouth. Oscar. Not Osc like he’s used to, or the occasional Oscie you’re prone to throw out. Oscar. Like you were serious.

Whatever. He says something to Tom that his publicist would be proud of. Waves at the grandstands. Tries not to think, not like this. I didn’t want it like this.

A sigh leeches out of him. Lando’s car is in his periphery and you’re trailing behind him as the three of you turn. The three of you on a podium… it’s a dream come true for him. But— yeah— not like this.

He’s in the car for too long. Helmet on his head, where no one can see his face. He’s okay, he thinks. He’s fine.

He thinks of being a little kid at Albert Park. Watching F1 in the living room late at night. Getting in a kart for the first time and feeling alive. And okay—

Yes, there’s a sour taste in his mouth. Words unsaid sitting on his tongue. But he’s starting to feel the smile tugging at his lips. The feeling is his chest starts to ease, just a little. Just a bit.

He’s looking up and there’s you and there’s Lando. You’re on opposite sides of the car, Lando’s reaching for him, for his hand. Clutching it tightly. Lando squeezes once, his helmet covered face bobs in a nod that says something… part of Oscar hopes it’s I’m sorry. Another part of him is mad that it may not be.

And you, well you have no idea the half hour he’s just had. But your hand is on his shoulder and then on the top of his helmet and you’re whacking it with a gusto he hadn’t expected. He thinks you might be crying. You keep reaching in through your visor to wipe at your eyes and it’s making Oscar feel sick. You’re crying and he’s sitting here feeling sorry for himself because the win wasn’t perfect.

Fuck.

So Oscar grins and he bears it.

He gets out of the car and he smooths it over until everything is okay again. Because that’s what he’s good at. Because that’s how he’s made it here. Oscar Piastri is a team player, sometimes more than he is anything else. And that’s okay, that’s fine for now, because one day, eventually, Oscar is going to be the reason they need to hire a team player. One day he’ll be the beating heart of some Formula One team and he won’t have to win a race because his teammate had to let him by—

That’s not Lando���s fault either. Lando is…

He’s Lando. Oscar gets it.

Oscar gets it more than anyone.

II. I am obsessive. I contain nothing but the replay

Lando is trying so fucking hard not to have a tantrum.

It’s this infuriating feedback loop where he thinks I had it and then something cuts in to say but Oscar deserved it and then it starts over again. It’s making Lando feel like shit, for losing, for being a bad friend, for jeopardising the relative peace of the team. He’s trying to temper the angry, selfish little spoiled brat voice in his head but it’s so fucking hard to keep that dog on a leash.

He’s trying to be okay.

He’s in the post-race room with you and he’s trying to be fine.

And okay, so he knocks the stupid second place cap to the ground in front of the camera that’s broadcasting you guys to the world. Always second. God. He’d tasted a win in Miami and it’s almost like he’s worse off for it. It’s a win or it’s nothing and it’s tearing him apart from the inside out. There’s a voice in his head that’s saying, you’re just a one trick pony, Lando. Do it again and you might be worth something.

It’s making him crazy.

He bites his tongue. Turns to look at you, lounging in the third place chair like it doesn’t matter, like you’re happy to just be on the podium.

You raise an eyebrow at him, face blank but he knows what it says anyway. Be happy for him. He would be happy for you.

Fuck, and he would—

He would. Selfless and kind above all, Oscar.

Lando frowns, his back to the lens.

Your gaze flicks from him, to the hat on the floor. Pick it up, it says. Pick it up and pretend.

Lando picks it up. He’s the one who gave Oscar the position back after all. He’s his own worst enemy right now. Not you, certainly not Oscar—

Speaking of Oscar.

He’s here. He’s holding the first place cap that Lando wants to be his, he’s putting it on his head and Lando’s okay. Lando’s fine. He’s watching the race replay and seeing Max turn into your car and he’s trying desperately to look at that, pay attention to that, and not Oscar.

Because it hurts.

Not in a good way, not the way Lando looks at him sometimes and feels some yawning sun in his chest.

Instead there’s something bitter and snarling.

Some chained, angry dog on a leash.

Lando turns, goes to sit in the chair he doesn’t want to sit in, and catches Oscar’s eye. He feels the snarling thing strain, it goes to bark, to bite. Then Oscar smiles. It’s not much— it doesn’t reach his eyes exactly. But it’s effort. It’s thank you. It’s I know what that meant.

It’s enough.

III. He forgives you, dogs are like that, so loyal

You know something is off the second that you get out of the car. This isn’t what Oscar’s maiden win is supposed to look like— or it almost is, but the picture is wrong.

It’s not ecstatic, it’s not crowds chanting his name, it’s not Oscar getting out of the car like a shot and jumping into the arms of his team.

Instead, you see grim faces plastered over with smiles, McLaren engineers huddled into groups and talking in hushed tones. Lando’s sulking, you can tell by the set of his shoulders, the way people hover around him, keeping their distance a bit. You blink— there’s something in your eyes, your nose tingling with some emotion—

Whatever. You push it aside, go to Oscar’s car before anything else, before even taking your helmet off. It's you and Lando on opposite sides and whatever the case, whatever happened out there that you're not aware of, Lando's here. Lando's sucking it up.

You find out bits and pieces over the next hour, from your race engineer, from the post-race interviews, from Lando's attitude in the cool down room. The tension between them is bleeding into everything and they orbit around each other all afternoon. They can't quite look at each other, they keep making eye contact for a split second and then letting it slide away. They keep smiling these strained things at each other. Lando keeps reaching out to touch Oscar, but always at arms length. Like an apology neither of them can quite commit to.

You know it's the team that are the issue and it's also this hurt that Lando can't quite get over, and an Oscar who is trying to just be happy but needs more time to get there.

It's making your heart ache.

You've dreamt of this, stupidly enough. Oscar on the top step of the podium, that bunny-tooth grin of his spreading and spreading. Champagne and confetti. You're there, of course you're there. Lando is too. So it's painful to have that dream actualised and to realise it's not perfect— because, well, nothing ever is.

And it's fucking unfortunate.

But it's them. So it's fine.

You're baffled by that sometimes. You still hold grudges against old teammates. There are things you'll never forgive them for, wounds that will never heal. But you come back from your frustratingly long debrief and find them doubled over outside their driver's room, giggling their heads off at something. It's not perfect, there's still something between them, something in the air.

But they're trying.

And Oscar is smiling wider than you've seen in a long while.

So for Oscar's sake you push it aside—

It's always a little different away from prying eyes, away from rolling cameras, in front of which you feel pressure to act like Oscar and Lando are first and foremost your rivals. When they're gone they can just be your friends. Your boys.

Naturally, you're thudding into Oscar before he really notices you're there. Too busy throwing his head back at something Lando had said. He's still in champagne wet fireproofs as you reach your arms around his shoulders, but so are you. He smells vaguely like a wet dog and lets out a soft oft noise as you charge into him.

"Hey, race winner," you say as he threads his arms around your waist.

You put your forehead on his collarbone, close your eyes as a laugh flutters out of him. You hear it rumble in his chest as he rocks the two of you gently from side to side. It's giggly, light and joyful like the one he does when he's tipsy. But he's not tipsy, just happy you think.

"Race winner," he mumbles, low, quiet, to himself more than anything, "Yeah."

"Yeah," you whisper back.

You're like that maybe for too long. Longer than people who are just friends should be. You can hear Lando moving around behind you, asphalt grinding under his feet. His gaze prickling the back of your neck. Eventually, you pull away. You slide your hands to grip Oscar's shoulders, fingertips pressing into warm skin, lean up and press a kiss to his cheek. Accidentally, your lips land too close to the corner of his mouth, brushing against stubble and sweat. You hear something soft escape his lips, barely audible as his brown eyes bore into yours. Pupils blown large, gaze drifting momentarily down to your lips.

"Good job today, Osc," you say, trying not to let your breath hitch.

You pull away a little before he does something in the heat of the moment— and right in front of Lando, of all people. He's high on adrenaline, that's all. That's all.

"Thank you," he smiles, all teeth.

You feel hot all the way down your neck, into your chest. Hm, premature menopause, you think, rather than the obvious— which is that it makes you mega nervous to be that close to Oscar Piastri.

Lando clears his throat.

In a jerky, surprised movement you step away from Oscar, while Oscar fumbles awkwardly for his phone in his pocket. He holds it up, says something stumbling about calling his family and then takes only maybe five steps away before you or Lando can say a thing.

You laugh, just a little.

Then do a pleased little spin to face Lando.

Who seems better, lighter. At least in comparison to how he was immediately post-race. Which you’re glad to see. Especially after catching bits of his team radio from a brief conversation with George. You’re not particularly happy about it, but it’s not really your place to be upset.

“Hey,” you smile warmly.

He smiles back, tighter than you’d hoped.

You move a bit closer into his personal space, watching him carefully. It’s okay you think. He’s more subdued than usual, but you can’t see the seething thing that was under his skin earlier. That would be fine of course, he’s entitled to that, but his sake you’re glad it’s gone.

“You okay?”, you ask.

Lando nods, eyes falling closed momentarily as he hums contemplatively, “‘M okay. Happy for him.”

You nod, stepping closer to pull him into a one armed hug that’s not quite as energetic as the one you’d given Oscar before.

“Yeah,” you say quietly, pressing the side of your face into his cheek, “Upset too?”

He hums again, sighs, “Yeah. ‘Course.”

“Yeah,” because you get it,

Maybe not in these exact circumstances. But you know what it’s like. To chase a win with everything you have, to fall short after it’s been in your grasp. You understand that. So does Oscar—

Speaking of.

Oscar’s back, footsteps crunching asphalt behind you.

“They’re asleep,” he explains, “I’ll talk to them later.”

You half let Lando go, moving to accommodate the race winner into your little circle. They’re a bit weird about it, shuffling into place awkwardly, you’re not surprised after a day like today, but you persevere— wrapping arms around both of them and pulling them simultaneously down into a haphazard hug that you’re in the middle of.

Lando’s face is in your neck somehow, mumbling something about you being overbearing while his hand clutches at your waist to keep himself upright. Oscar’s arm is tight around your shoulders and your face is squished up against his chest. You squeeze tightly— let them go when it’s been a minute too long—

You can feel yourself almost getting caught up in the tangle of limbs. The warmth of your friends. The emotion of it. You think there’s something stuck in your eye again, something wet in your tear ducts.

You sniff, try to ignore it, hope they don’t see.

Then, stupid observant Oscar, “Are you crying?”

You let out an offended noise and shake your head to deny it, but instead something that’s almost a sob, but not quite, slips out—

“No,” you declare, but it’s unconvincing—

and then you’re back in the hug. All sweat and sticky champagne residue, Lando’s too-strong cologne and Oscar who smells like burnt rubber. And it’s not perfect, because nothing ever is, but it’s enough for you.

this was really cathartic for me to be honest. just needed my little driver!reader to hug landoscar after that race. needed to get some big feelings out and then needed a sweet little fluff section to make me feel better.

ALSO DISCLAIMER: this was a work of FICTION it does not reflect the entirety of what i feel about the events of the hungary gp. i am simply playing with dolls! thank you and goodbye!

[dejabooooo]

Ok I’m doing it. Idk if anyone will read this but here’s a compilation of all the stancest crumbs from bill’s book along with a stancest endgame theory:

I say theory because I can’t think of a better word atm. I know this is obviously not the intention of the text. I am merely taking the information we were given and twisting it to fit my sick agenda. It’s what bill would have wanted (Well maybe not quite like this but lol fuck him anyway).

So! Obviously billford was the star of the show here, but as I learned a little bit more about the codes I didn’t just learn what they say. I learned that all the stancest ship fuel is contained within them, and even tho it’s not much in comparison, what we did get is pretty profound!

There was a brand new code alphabet introduced in this book that we’ve never seen before. This cute little bros code that Stan and Ford invented when they were kids. Besides this image, this code is used only three times in the entire book.

The first (and insanely subtle) instance is on this page where ford concludes that Stan is the only person he can turn to after bill drives him to his breaking point:

It’s very small and hard to make out. On the window amid the equations.

It says: “miss you”

Pertaining the contents of this page, my first thought was that this is probably meant to be interpreted as a message directed at Fiddleford. But that wouldn’t really make sense given how it’s presented. This wasn’t written in after the fact. It couldn’t be directed at Fiddleford, they’re standing together arm in arm. It’s a code only Ford and Stan know, and this pic wasn’t taken long after they separated. This message must be about Stanley.

Ford uses the code on the next page, the last lost journal page where he’s talking about reaching out to Stan. It translates to: “have I been too harsh all along?”

This is so gut wrenching to me because he’s never written in this code literally anywhere else in the entire journal. And he says this vulnerable little line about Stanley in this code he probably hasn’t used in years but still remembers, in this code that only Stan would be able to understand besides himself.

The last usage is by Stan. Because the rest of the family is watching him write this, to the rest of them it just looks like he’s censoring his cussing for the kids’ sakes. But to ford, stan’s slyly writing him a little message that only he can see…

And what does it say?

“Love ya bro”

Ford’s arc in this book is realizing he should put his attention and concern in the ones that love him rather than fueling his obsessive hatred toward the one who hurt him. He comes to understand that he’ll be happier if he’s open about his past and rely on his family whose affection isn’t conditional like bill’s was. He moves past his shame, and comes out of the paranoid isolation that bill had encouraged him into.

And of course he receives this comfort from his whole family. But I think it’s very interesting how bill is framed as this toxic ex, Fiddleford is framed as the one he should have put his trust in during that pivotal time in 80s where ford ultimately blew his chance, and then there’s Stan.

Stan is hardly brought up at all but his presence lingers in more than few of Ford’s vulnerable journal entries. Stan is the one who put Bill in his place. Stan is the one who made Ford realize where his priorities should be. Stan is the one who’s accepted him all along and is the one remaining by his side in the end.

Bill even blames Stan for stealing ford from him like a jealous ex who can’t stand the fact that ford has moved on with someone else. (This is directed at the reader but it mirrors his frustration with the stans when they worked together to defeat him)

In conclusion: incest somehow ended up being the healthiest partnership option all along. Who knew?

BONUS CODE THAT CAN BE MISCONSTRUED IN A MORALLY REPREHENSIBLE WAY:

At the bottom of the first lost journal page where he’s talking about his loneliness and yearning for human connection, he mentions Stan in a code again. After embarrassing himself in front of the waitress he says: “Stanley could have made her laugh” 💔

[minniiaa]

Zolu is the more popular pairing but I feel like in Luzo is the more realistic one. Like one day Luffy decides he wants to try sex and well, Zoro is his closest friend and he’s the coolest ever so he just approaches him and straight up says “Zoro let’s have sex!” Zoro considers it for about .2 seconds in his ape brain before he shrugs and says “Sure” because 1. He’ll do anything to please his captain 2. Luffy never gives up on anything and for whatever reason he decided he’s wants to fuck Zoro and therefore that means it will inevitably happen, might as well not resist and 3. If Luffy’s interested in sex now he’ll do it with someone there’s no way in hell it’s not going to be him. That’s HIS captain after all and who’s he going to sleep with if not him? That Erocook? (Bonus: 4. Zoro always been mildly curious how Luffy’s rubbery traits would work in bed.)

People naturally make Zoro this dominating top because he’s physically strong and (generally) mentally sound and more stoic especially post TS. But let’s be real he’s been focused on nothing but being the worlds best swordsman since he was a kid, he hasn’t been out there fucking bitches getting money. (He’d get lost trying to find the hole tbh) He’s also a head empty chaos demon running around with Luffy especially pre TS. I just don’t see him having the time or wasting the effort to seek out sex, he’d rather drink and pass out.

Zoro would be more than willing to let Luffy do whatever he pleases and he’d enjoy it too. Luffy takes control of every room he enters and two of his biggest character traits are being hungry and never listening to anyone so why wouldn’t he be the top between the two? Yeah he’d be sloppy and maybe even a little selfish but that’s Luffy for you and Zoro accepts that.

I think Luffy would probably misconstrue their relationship and say that Zoro is his boyfriend out of the blue because from his POV someone you love, want to be with forever, and have sex with is your boyfriend and Zoro checks all those boxes.

Zoro would probably just accept it. He’d just let Luffy think that if it makes him happy and you know what, he WOULD be his boyfriend. He already devoted his life to the guy and would follow him into death, Luffy’s been clingy since the day they met, and looks at Zoro like he’s the sun in his fucking sky. If you add sleeping together into the mix, they really are just dating even if Luffy doesn’t necessarily know what that means. Or maybe he does know, he’s smarter than he lets on. He says things like “you’ll never leave me” and “we’ll be together forever” like their statements and not question. Zoro never denies it because he’s right, Zoro’s either going to die for Luffy or live beside him until he dies another way. If that’s not love than what is?

Yeah so cute top and big scary guard dog bottom have a grip on me. I think I’m on the Luzo train now.

(ps. I still ship Zolu and switch Luffy and Zoro this is just my brainrot of the day)

[ghost-proofbaby]

SO SCARLET (IT WAS MAROON)

CHAPTER FOUR: CASTLES CRUMBLING

AND HERE I SIT ALONE, BEHIND WALLS OF REGRET. FALLING DOWN LIKE PROMISES I NEVER KEPT.

☆ pairings: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

☆ warnings: no use of y/n, strong language, angst, mentions of RUMORS of workplace sex scandal, minors dni

☆ WC: 5.4K+

☆ A/N: if you would like to listen to the song that eddie is recording at the end - it is an actual, real life song. :-) it is called "blood sport" by sleep token (one of my favorite bands i get to see live next week!!), and i highly recommend listening to it during your reading. especially the latter half of this chapter.

thank you to my love @hellfire--cult for the divider!

masterlist

“Alright, so – anyone care to fill me in on what the Hell that was?” 

Matt stands like a disapproving father figure as the band lines up opposite of him just outside the building. Eddie had hoped nothing would be mentioned until they were in the car, but the driver was clearly running a few minutes late.

Three of the boys glance at each other, worried expressions immediately giving up the hoax even as Eddie only shrugs and says, “What do you mean?” 

“Cut the shit, Munson,” Matt had never appeared so livid, so undone by irritation. His usual patience with Eddie is nonexistent, “What’s going on between you and that girl? Is she a past groupie?”

The insinuation gets a scoff out of Gareth. Jeff side-eyes him in warning, but Eddie couldn’t care less, “No, she’s not a past groupie. This was the first time I’d ever-”

“Don’t lie to me,” Matt points an accusatory finger at Eddie, narrowing his eyes, “I am your manager. If you have any unsavory connections with that girl, I need to know so I can decide if we need someone else to organize the event. We are not having another repeat of the Lewinsky scandal.” 

“I knew it! I fucking knew you called it that, too!” Gareth cheers, but he’s quieted by one look from their furious manager.

The Lewinsky scandal had been their code-word for when the tabloids had become convinced that Eddie was fucking an assistant at the label. A girl had even come forward and claimed to have had sexual relations with Eddie, and he had taken heat for it for a full month before the buzzing novelty worn off.

Eddie had only spoken three words to the girl. No, thank you when she’d offered him a mug of coffee during a late night at the studio. He wishes now he’d been less polite. 

And he also finds himself wishing that’s all this was. He wishes you were just another scandal, another terrible rumor spread around. If all the accusations between you two were false, if all the hatred was based on misconstrued circumstances, it would be so much easier. He can talk himself out of that. He can confess to those sins and get off with no more than the order of one hail mary from Matt. 

But you? The reality of all that had happened, both all those years ago and just thirty minutes ago? He can’t find the words. They choke him up, unwilling to leave the cavern of his chest and enter the world, just like all the songs gathering dust as demos. 

“It’s not going to be another Lewinsky scandal,” Eddie scowls, feet shuffling against the concrete below him. Can’t be another Lewinsky scandal if she wants nothing to do with me anymore, “Maybe she just doesn’t like me. I am allegedly a very polarizing public figu-”

The car pulls up, and Matt is quick to grab Eddie’s shoulder before glaring at the boys, “Get in, I’m not finished with our polarizing public figure yet.” 

Grant and Gareth only let out low whistles, following instruction without lingering as they clamber into the back row of seats in the SUV. Jeff takes his time, though, going as far to pause beside Eddie and place a hand on his back.

“Just tell him the truth, Eds.” 

It’s the final nail in his coffin. Eddie is cursing Jeff’s retreating figure as he climbs into the vehicle and shuts the door, leaving him alone with Matt. 

“Explain,” Matt demands, “Now.” 

Eddie’s eyes focus on a gaping crack in the sidewalk, jagged and uneven, right down the center. 

He has two options. He could continue to lie, insist he knows nothing about you until Matt just gets bored of not being offered the truth. Or he could admit it all, reveal the muse behind the art he had been fiercely protecting over these last few months. Every line, every chord, every broken note that had left his lungs during those witching hours in the studio. 

On one hand, it’ll rip away the opportunity that has been offered to him on a silver platter – the opportunity for closure. Selfish, bloody closure that neither of you had gotten, it seemed. But on the other hand, it might grant him some sympathy. Matt, the label, the producers – they had all grown tired of the dance Eddie led them in every time they’d inquire about the music. But if Matt knew-

It’s a dead end trail of thought. He knows he won’t admit to the worst of his atrocities he’s committed. No scandal, no late night ending with him in handcuffs, no fraudulent headline is going to compare to what he did to you. What you did to him.

It’s a little too late for damage control, anyways.

“I went to high school with her,” the lie works well enough, easing some of Matt’s frustration, “I was just shocked to see her. All of us were shocked to see her. No big deal.” 

Eddie knows the people around him have come to learn that they must pick and choose the battles they engage in with him. And he can see that decision flash across Matt’s face as he decides that this is not a battle necessary to the war.

“Alright. But if you’re lying to me-“

“I’m not lying.”

“If you are, that’ll be one of my last straws, Munson.”

It won’t be. Eddie knows it won’t be. Everyone, every single goddamn person in this world it seems, is capable of giving Eddie Munson unlimited chances — except you. You, it seemed, were the only person who had come to their senses. 

You always were smarter than people gave you credit for.

—

“Run the track again.” 

They’d spent a few hours in the studio already. It was an odd hour for them to be haunting the space, more used to visiting in the dead of night rather than the middle of a weekday, but it was down to the wire now. Vocals needed to be recorded, instrumentals fine-tuned, tracks properly mastered. Eddie could no longer hide in the night when it came to recording the haunting melodies stained with the blood of his past — no matter how wrong it felt to see a sliver of sunlight breaking through one of the windows, just through the top of the blackout curtains.

“I really think that was the one, man-“ the producer starts, probably just tired after repeatedly running in circles with Eddie’s perfectionism.

He doesn’t care. He’s paying them, they can stand to let him re-record as many times as necessary to satisfy Eddie, “Run it again.” 

The silence only continues to buzz in Eddie’s headphones. He’s ready to cuss out the producer as he angrily shoves them down, off his ears and hanging loosely around his neck, the wire a leash as he whips to face the one-way glass wall. The lights are off at the main board, guaranteeing that they can see Eddie but Eddie can’t see them.

Until suddenly, the light comes back on, and the reason for the absence of the repeated track Eddie had requested becomes obvious.

Gareth.

He stands at the center of it all, a few paces from the seated producer with a deep scowl on his face. 

“What the fuck?” Eddie says, mouth just close enough to the mic for them to catch his overflowing annoyance, “I said-“

“We heard what you said, Eddie,” Gareth interrupts, his voice just loud enough to be faintly heard even as the headphones curl around the nape of Eddie’s neck, “But I need to talk to you.” 

It’s the strictest tone that Gareth has used on their lead singer in an unfathomably measure of time. Probably because it’s the most words he’s said to Eddie in a very long time, as well.

Eddie finally removes the headphones, hanging them carelessly on the mic stand and moving towards the door — surprisingly, without putting up a resistance.

The control room is warmer than the fairly large area that served as a ‘booth’. Smaller, as well. Cramped with a low couch and one too many chairs available to trip over, the control board spanses the entire wall that holds the oversized window into the recording room. A plethora of small lights twinkle like stars, and numerous switches that Eddie had come to know better than the back of his hand alternate positions to guarantee the clearest sound. Only Gareth and the producer occupy the room, the rest of the band having taken off around the fifth time Eddie had requested a redo of his vocal tracking.

“This better be good,” Eddie complains, furrowing his brows, agitated at the interruption. 

But Gareth shows no remorse, “We need to talk.” 

“Yeah, you said that already.”

“We need to talk,” Gareth repeats, eyes flickering to the poor soul still seated at the controls, “Alone.” 

Eddie hardly has to open his mouth, the man jumping out of his seat the moment the lead singer flicks his wrist to signal for him to leave.

Whatever Gareth was about to say had to be important, and it’s that thought rather than the difference in temperatures that has sweat building on Eddie’s brows.

Is he about to quit the band? Is he about to tell me he’s had enough? Maybe he’s done with my bullshit — I would be.

“Speak, Emerson,” Eddie flatly insists, grabbing a small water bottle out of one of the mini fridges in the room before he throws himself onto the worn leather of the couch, “And make it quick. We’re on a time limit, you kno-“

“We’ve gotta talk about her, man.” 

Her as in you. 

For a moment, Gareth sounds like a friend again. He’s dropped all the persistent perturbation he’s taken to defending himself with when it comes to  Eddie, his voice pleading as he stands before the distant man. All the rueful power plays that had developed over the last year vanish. It’s just Eddie and Gareth, bandmates who started out in the latter’s garage in some small Indiana town. Not Eddie Munson, infamous rockstar with a chip on his shoulder. Not Gareth Emerson, passionate drummer overshadowed by the ego of his lead singer. Just Eddie and Gareth.

 “We all know you didn’t tell Matt the truth.” 

“I did tell him the truth-“ 

“Not the whole truth, then. There’s no way he’d let it slide if he knew that she was your ex-girlfriend.” 

The defiance vacates Eddie’s body quickly. He doesn’t even attempt to prowl his mind for a quick quip in response. All he does at the words is drop his shoulders, the defeat creeping up on him as he deflates. 

Ex-girlfriend. The title feels so pitiful to truly describe what you were to him. 

But to be fair, even when he had been in your good graces, girlfriend had also never felt significant enough.

“Did-“ Gareth starts after a beat of silence, noting the way Eddie couldn’t quite hide his wounds on the topic, “What did you guys talk about? When you went after her, what did she say?” 

“Nothing important.”

Eddie turns into a shell, a zombie as he stares straight ahead and tries to compartmentalize. That always worked; with meetings, with arguments, with lectures. Even before the fame, it worked.

It doesn’t work quite as quickly when it comes to you. His brain, it seems, is incapable of uncrossing all the wires you twist within his brain.

“You two were alone for, what, ten minutes? And you’re telling me she didn’t say anything important?” 

“What the fuck is there to say?” Eddie laughs soullessly, “Oh, hey, stranger! Remember me? The guy you up and left without a word?” 

“Yes!” Gareth shouts unexpectedly, “Yes, that’s exactly what you should have done! She left. Not just you, but all of us. We never even really knew why. And now- what? Are we just supposed to pretend we don’t know her?” 

Eddie knew why. She’d never had to say it, and that was the issue. He always thought about all the answers he swore he craved, and always let every question he claimed to have haunt him during the waking hours. But when the day turned to night, when he was left to nothing but his own devices in a dark and empty apartment during the witching hours, he knew. The question of why had been answered since the first phone call cut short with you during that goddamn tour.

The songs knew, too. He supposes it had been an arrogant assumption to believe the band had read into his lyrics and put the pieces together. 

“That’s exactly what we’re going to do,” Eddie nearly whispers, throat tightening and fighting him on the words. It’s the opposite of what he wants and needs — but it’s what you want and what you need. And so he plays the messenger, even as it kills him, “We are going to completely disregard my past with her. We are going to treat this entire situation as professionally as possible. I’m talking the full nine yards: you will not mention the fact that we know her, you will not question her about anything from the past, and you will not, under any circumstances, ask her why.” 

His own set of rules he’d privately set for himself in his own mind during the car ride over. 

Gareth squints his eyes in disbelief, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Are you serious?”

“Deathly so.”

“This isn’t just about your past with her,” the boy nearly passes, starts to reach up to tug on his hair before he thinks better of it, “This is about the way she left all of us. Not just you. She was a friend to all of us. She was the one who taught me how to tape my drums when I’d bust a hole in them, she was the one who helped us design our first merch, she was the only person any of us would let be in the room during practices. And not just the band stuff, either,” Eddie watches tears form in Gareth’s eyes, “She was the only one who had the patience to help me with my fucking math homework back in school, man. She was the one who nearly curb stomped Jason Carver the week he sent Grant home with a black eye. She was the first person Jeff called when his parents broke news of their divorce, for fucks sake. Not me, not you, not any of us — her,” Gareth’s breaths come out as pants as he stops his pacing and stands before Eddie. The tears continue to lace his bottom lash line as he heaved silently at the end of his rant, his pained expression completely unexpected to Eddie. 

This is the part Eddie chooses to forget. He’ll let himself swim in the memory of you late at night, he’ll indulge in vices that always amplify his pain rather than succeeding in his attempt to numb it, he’ll stare down the mirror each morning and curse the reflection he finds with all the blame in the world he is capable of holding in the palms of his hands. But in all the ruptures of his own old scars, he fails to consider that he is not the only one burdened with loss. 

They all lost you. When Eddie lost you, so did the band. You’d become a ghost to more than just your abandoned lover — you’d become a tired haunt to boys you’d known, boys you’d befriended and burrowed your way into the lives of, just as well. 

“She was our friend,” Gareth chokes out, fists curling at his sides, “Jesus Christ, I- I get it. She was everything to you. Whatever. But she meant a lot to the rest of us, too. Whatever happened wasn’t just some isolated event — you two didn’t just hurt each other. You set off whatever bomb erased her from our lives, but it left the rest of us with some damage, too. Don’t forget that.” 

This is the part where Eddie should apologize. This is the part where, once upon a blissful time, he would have said his repentance. 

He doesn’t.

“I don’t care how hurt anyone is,” he lowly responds, eyes unable to meet Gareth’s any longer, “I’ve told you the rules, we’re going to follow them. End of discussion.” 

Gareth throws back his head, and Eddie winces at his scoff, “She’s not your fucking property, Eddie! She isn’t solely yours to keep or whatever the fuck you think you’re doing!” 

Eddie can’t even deny the action of keeping you. All the demos, all the songs laid to the grave because he couldn’t stomach the thought of releasing them for others to experience. 

But that’s not what this was. This, the cataclysm that was sending Gareth to finally release all this pent up frustration, was him following your rules. You’d made your wishes for this project very clear, and he needed to at least try to respect them. They all did. 

So he takes on the role of the bad guy. He lets them paint him as the villain if it means no red will stain your ledger. 

“Oh, I think she’s made it very clear that she isn’t mine,” the mask slips on far too easily for Eddie. Cool demeanor, compartmentalizing. Not you, but his emotions towards his friends, if he could even still call them that. His bandmates that he had once seen as brothers. “Doesn’t change what I said. Don’t push it, Emerson, or there’ll be Hell to pay.” 

“What are you going to do? Disappear on us?” Eddie finally looks back up to meet Gareth’s fiery gaze as he spits out hateful words, “Hate to break it to you, but you already left this band behind two years ago. And if you ask me, you should start leaving the vanishing act to her. At least she doesn’t make us pay for her mistakes.” 

Eddie is by no means done with the conversation, more than willing to continue fighting with Gareth, but the other boy clearly feels differently. He leaves his words hanging in the air as he spins away, storming out of the door, the air in the studio now several degrees hotter now with the irate fuel of the fight.  

It was all a blood sport. All of it. It didn’t matter if Eddie was fighting with the band, the management, with you. It was all bloody and fruitless, and it all left him the same awful type of hollow in the end. 

He stares blankly at the wall as he makes a silent decision.

By the time the producer has timidly returned to the room, Eddie has already set up his laptop to connect to the studio's system, prepped so that any recording would automatically copy into his personal hard drive. A way for him to listen and ruminate in the privacy of his own apartment. 

The sheet music torn from his notebook already lays at the table besides the entrance to the booth. 

“Do you… want to run the track again?” the man, the stranger, asks. He clearly heard the fight. Eddie and Gareth hadn’t been exactly quiet in their screaming match. At least, Gareth hadn’t been. 

Is it really a screaming match if only one side fights back? 

“I want to lay a new track,” Eddie’s voice is deadpan as he clicks a few buttons, finalizing everything. He only needs the man to click record, “A raw piano and vocal demo. We can add the rest of the band later.” 

“I-“

One look from Eddie, hardly passed over his shoulder with a glimmer of unbridled determination, and the man quiets as he takes his seat. 

Eddie storms into the booth without another word, fist curled around the page of lyrics and terribly hand-drawn music clefts. 

She isn’t yours to keep.

Eddie was aware of that. Painfully, painfully aware. But it had never been about his claim to you. 

Gareth was right. Eddie never wanted to own you. Keeping you, however, had been something he should have taken more care with.

The chill of the small room to record in does little to lessen the flames eating Eddie up as he bypasses the assembly of various instruments all crowded in the space. Gareth’s drum set, Jeff’s guitar, Grant’s bass — he storms right past them, eyes locked on the grand piano in the fair corner. It took up the most space, far too large to have been forced to be contained within this compact room. 

Eddie drags the mic from where it had been stationed previously with him, quickly and recklessly resetting it at the piano. 

Once he’s seated on the bench, crumpled pages thrown up onto the music desk of the piano and headphones snug over his ears again, the producer finally clicks on his mic to speak.

“Hey, uh… Does this demo have a name by chance? Or do you just want to label it as an unknown for now?”

It certainly does have a name.

“Blood Sport,” Eddie spits out. “Just name the file Blood Sport.” 

The hum that would indicate to Eddie when those on the other side of that glass window were speaking clicks off, and he takes it as his cue.

He’d written the song a while before. There were some gaps in the lyrics, some notes he’d played with on his personal piano scribbled over and never replaced. He’d never played it in its entirety before. 

It starts slow. His fingers hold the ivory keys delicately, arranging for the first opening notes as if he were slotting his knuckles against your own for the first time over again.

She isn’t yours to solely keep. 

Were you ever his to keep, ever? 

Even the ivory keys of the Steinway are more solid than you ever were. You were nothing more than water, than blood, destined to slip between Eddie’s fingers. He never stood a chance in having you, in holding you, in keeping you. 

Not just now, but before all the blood shed, as well. He should have recognized Cassandra’s curse the first day he looked into your eyes. He should have known the twist in his stomach was only Fate sinking its claws into the two of you. 

A tale fit for a Shakespearean stage — a tragedy always meant to be.

“I want to roll the numbers, I want to feel my stars align again.” 

Eddie’s voice is soft to match the steady beat of piano notes that emit from the crooked curl of his hand against the keys. A soft thump, a gentle lull. And instead of losing himself in the music, he finds himself wrapped up in one of the many memories he’d chosen to lock away for the last two years.

Something was off. 

Eddie’s stomach had twisted with anxiety of something being wrong for weeks. You stopped answering his calls, his texts, every form of connection with him. But as he stood in front of the door to your shared apartment, the bile rose even higher in his throat. 

He smelt the decay of what he had done before his key had even entered the lock. 

“Would you invite me again? Won’t you pay for your arrogance? Won’t you show me your weakness?” 

You were never his to keep. 

His voice nearly cracks as he approaches the first chorus, not finding the strength behind the vocals he’d always envisioned for the song.

The click of the door opening echoed through the apartment. It felt empty the moment he’d crossed the threshold – you could have just been tucked away in the bedroom, or even in the bathroom, but he knew. 

You hadn’t been returning his phone calls. You hadn’t been returning his texts. He knew something had happened, something had changed. Irreversible damage had been done, and he would now have to face the mess he’d created to return home to. 

“I made loving you a blood sport.” 

He repeats the line until it rings in his head, over and over. Until he swears the words could crack his bones, and the stars that will show in the night sky will do nothing but mock him for the self-inflicted pain.

At first, he convinced himself you just weren’t home. You’d gone to the store or to see friends. You’d be home soon enough and then, the two of you could scream at each other all you wanted. You were angry with him, rightfully so, but he’d rather you yell and scrap with him than the alternative. He didn’t care. Because he was here, back in the flesh and willing to take any and all cruel words you had sharpened for him. The two of you would fight, yes, but at least that meant there was still something there worth fighting for.

After the first three hours, he realized with a sinking stomach that the alternative might just be his reality. 

“I want to be forgiven.” 

He recalls the look on your face when you’d first seen him today. The fall of your act, the discarding of grace and composure.

The look that told him that he can want all he’s capable of. He can want, he can crave, he can yearn, he can tear himself apart bit by bit with his feeble yet shattering cravings — it won’t change a thing. 

You were never his to keep.

After the clock struck the fifth hour of his return, he started his calling.

Over and over and over, he was met with your voicemail. Endless messages spoken and sent alike. Every single one trying to be gentle as they inquired where you were. Letting you know he was back. Going as far as to ask you if the two of you could talk. 

He wanted to fight. He wanted to fight, because it meant you still saw something worthy within him.  

But even more than Eddie wanted a fight, he wanted you to come home. He wanted you to be there, to welcome him into your safety and remind him he was human again. It was selfish – he was so goddamn selfish – but he needed to feel your skin against his and remind him that he was still a person beneath it all. Beneath the demand, beneath the unwarranted adoration from strangers, beneath all the fractures the sudden traction had left him with – he was still a breathing, living person. He was still your person. 

Eddie’s fingers begin to slam against the keys with increasing urgency as his chest heaves out with every syllable. Repeating, and repeating, and repeating the chorus as if it changes a single thing. He loses himself in it all; in the music ringing in his ears and the memories now drowning him as he confesses all his sins to the microphone. 

You never came home. 

There was no fight, and after the hours reached double digits right along with his ignored phone calls, he had to accept the truth.

You weren’t just at a friend’s, or the store. You were gone. Truly, truly gone.

The drawers once filled with your belongings were vacant. The smell of your perfume was nothing more than a whisper across the pillows. Eddie scoured the entire apartment for signs of you, turning every single piece of furniture over looking for clues. He never thought to check the counter until he’d already ruined the space, terrorizing it in a frenzy before his eyes landed on the letter and the key.

He had approached them both hesitantly. All his denial drained from his body, like the blood pumping through his veins, as his fingers pinched that silver key so gingerly.

A past he can never return to. A home he will never hold the key to again. 

The joints of his fingers ache and his lungs begin to burn for all that he lost — all that they all lost — because of him. His  own foolishness, his own downfall. He did this. 

The aftermath is blurry.

He read the first few words of your letter before promptly crumbling it with his tortured fist, knowing exactly what it said without needing to fully swallow all the words just yet.

He never fully read the letter. He skimmed it, a week later, but not that night. 

Then came the flashes of the pain. The way he’d swung his fists at air and menial objects alike. A vase holding wilted carnations met its demise on the kitchen floor, a hole in the wall appeared that he later had to patch up, one of the coffee tables ended up across the living room with a leg splintered half off. 

He never dropped the key. 

Even as he dropped to his knees in the center of the broken glass, bleeding shins to match his bruising knuckles, he still held that small piece of silver fiercely. He pressed it so tightly, dug it so deeply into his palm that it later left a scar. And not even the way he had grabbed at the broken glass surrounding him had the capability to mar it away as he let it slice his skin, crying out, hopeless and devastated. 

You were gone. He had lost you, and he had been arrogant enough to never even notice it.

“You say it doesn’t matter.” 

The headphones had long since slipped off his head, and he makes no move to adjust them. He hadn’t even noticed that his body had begun to fall forward and curl into the piano until he’s weakly choking out the final lyric that he hadn’t even written down onto the page. 

He hadn’t noticed the tears falling, either.

What were meant to be gasps for air as his fingers fly across the keys in a haunting melody are only sobs. Cries of pain as he no longer can see mere inches ahead of him, a scar of the center of his palm stinging as if brand new, his heart and head pounding in sync. He isn’t even sure if the producer he’s forgotten the name of is still recording. He lets the sobs slip out as he continues to play. 

He can’t quite end the song yet. The moment he does, he’s terrified of the version of him that he will have to face once more. All those surface blemishes from the beginning of the end had run deeper beneath his skin. He was nothing more than rubble and fractures now, splintered every which way until he had become unrecognizable. When he looked in the mirror, all he could see was a creature of destruction.

“You set off whatever bomb erased her from our lives, but it left the rest of us with some damage, too. Don’t forget that,” Gareth’s voice echoes in the silence beginning to gather between the notes.

Another wrecked sob leaves Eddie as he finally finishes off the melody, playing entirely unaffected up until that point. Reality crashes down. His body shakes, shoulders hunched as his forehead connects against the freezing wood of the piano and he pinches his eyes shut tightly enough to be left in total blackness. 

He couldn’t play another note if his life depended upon it.

The memory fades with the final note before his head rattles with a new image. The smile, the grimace, you had offered him before you two parted ways today. An effort at professionalism that Eddie had seen right through. 

Pain. That’s what had twitched in the corners of your mouth. The same pain, if not worse, as the one that now radiated through every atom of Eddie’s broken figure on the piano bench. 

He can’t fix it. Not your pain, not Gareth’s pain, not his own pain. The time for damage control, for sincere apologies and any reconciliation has passed. Just like watered-down blood through his fingertips. 

Eddie hopes that the producer has had half the mind to stop the recording when he stands and slams the drumset behind him into the wall. Destructive, just as he had been the night he returned to an empty apartment. Just as he had been when he’d been the one to rot and wither away all that you two had once held between you. 

They can replace the drum set. Surely, he has a person for that. 

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[jaegeraether]

Sunsets and footballers (Part 61)

Alexia Putellas x Character (21)

Masterlist (other parts here)

Join our WOSO Discord chat! Link in bio :)

((**2.8k**))

Just a small one tonight! :) I split this chapter.

Alexia POV

Ridley’s jaw was tight, but her face was kind. To anyone, she’d be hospitable – though to Alexia, she was hiding something very well.

Meg looked from Alexia to Ridley and back, realising that something was going on. She took the quick escape option.

“I was just leaving...” Meg muttered and stood.

Alexia was still in a state of shock, but she knew she had to take control of the situation, like she was so used to in football. She needed to show Ridley just how committed she was to being there for her. She stood.

“Meg?”

The physio spun, wide-eyed.

“Yes?”

“Thank you for the past few day. Please send me the… cost.”

Meg hesitated. “You don’t want another session?”

“No, thank you. That was my last.”

She looked a little upset. She thought for a minute or two before taking a step towards the footballer and stopping herself. She looked to Ridley and back, a little embarrassed. “I’m sorry if I crossed the line…”

“No, it is okay. I have not made myself very… understandable the past few day. You’ve help my knee a lot.” She gave her a gentle smile. “Please send me the cost.”

She looked over at Ridley who was watching the exchange interestedly. She looked like she was going to speak; to tell Alexia she didn’t need to push Meg away, but she didn’t when the footballer flashed her a look to say she’d made her decision.

Meg nodded and walked towards the exit where Ridley stood. Alexia watched her pull her hand from her pocket and extend it towards Meg on the way out.

“This should cover it and then some,” she murmured.

Meg hesitantly took the cash and nodded, exiting. She’d kissed Alexia without consent, though it didn’t stop Alexia feeling guilty having led her on the past few days with some light flirting.

Silence hung for a few seconds as Ridley stepped into the room. “Well, it seems you’ve taken my advice.”

“I think she misconstrued…”

“Alexia,” Ridley responded in monotone Spanish, the footballer wincing at the use of her full name so seriously. She missed her nickname. “It’s okay. You can be with who you want – you know that. We don’t owe each other anything.”

Even though she was just repeating their words from the other day, it still hurt Alexia because they both knew they owed each other something.

She knew she shouldn’t, but she bit back.

“Are you saying that because you feel like it would only be fair after the women you’ve slept with?”

Ridley looked almost distraught. This wasn’t the way either of them wanted this to go. She stepped forwards.

“No, Alexia. I just want you to be happy. You deserve that.”

Alexia stepped forward also, her head now having to look up slightly. “And those friends with benefits make you happy, do they?” She asked huskily with emotion. “Do they fill that void left by you not able to get me out of your head?”

Ridley’s eyes flashed at her audacity. Alexia could tell she couldn’t deny it and had never had she been so called out like that before. She stepped forwards until they were almost touching. Alexia could feel Ridley’s gaze on her hazel eyes. Sharp jaw. Soft lips. Strong nose. And then the frustration was gone and Ridley reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “They’re not you.”

Whatever Alexia expected, it wasn’t that. That was as close to an admission of feelings she’d gotten thus far. Her own frustrations sidled away, especially as she realised she’d just done the opposite of what Blau said.

Ridley continued. “Besides; who do you think they looked like?”

Alexia thought back to that night she’d touched her. The woman on the bed… her hair was dyed blonde. And she did… look like Alexia.

She inhaled sharply, stunned. Her eyes moved to her lips and back. “I’m right here…” Alexia said like Blau had suggested. She saw something flash behind Ridley’s eyes for a moment. Blau was right. She just needed to know she was there to stay; that she could rely on her.

Alexia reached out and smoothed the lapel of her button up, her thumb tracing over her neck as she almost whispered in Spanish. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Ridley was incredible at hiding her emotions, though little things gave her away like the jump in her pulse that Alexia could feel under her thumb when she reassured her. She caught her eye. “I’m right here…”

Even though Ridley’s eyes were dark, Alexia could still see her pupils dilate. Her reassurance hit her, hard.

“I know you are,” Ridley murmured as if she weren’t affected.

Alexia smiled, her palm now flat on her chest, just below her collarbone. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Ridley’s jaw flexed. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“I’m right here.”

Ridley’s strong expression faltered just the slightest. She closed her eyes. “Stop.”

“You’re not listening to me,” Alexia murmured. Everything she said was gentle and supportive. She took Ridley’s hand in her own and placed it against her chest, right over her heart. “I’m right here.”

Alexia wasn't attempting to break her. She wasn’t arguing about her being distant or having her boundaries up. She just wanted her to know that she could depend on her, as Alexia knew she could on Ridley.

‘Let her pull you into her bubble herself,’ Blau had said.

She released her hand and shuffled that last half a step forward to put her forehead on her shoulder. This was unusual for Alexia as well, as she wasn’t used to being so openly emotional. She exhaled a large breath as her arms went around Ridley’s waist. Ridley stayed still.

“Whatever you need. And that’s my choice… and I hope you can do the same for me… because tonight I could use a friend.”

The Australian’s tension disappeared with those words and perhaps even at the feel of Alexia’s body pressed up against her.

Alexia felt her relax and her arms come around the footballer, her cast hand on her back and the other cradling the back of her head. She felt enveloped, and safe. Everything was Ridley; the soft, the warmth, the spicy musk smell, and the reliable pulse of her heart. Ridley’s cheek touched her hair, and the best Alexia could describe it was that it felt therapeutic.

“I can do that, Lex.” Ridley murmured quietly, her jaw moving against the footballer’s hair.

They stood like that a while, Alexia not pulling away until Ridley lifted her head. She was pleasantly surprised by just how long it had taken her and thought maybe she needed that just as much as she had.

She unwillingly retracted her hands and took a small step back to smile up at her. “How was Switzerland?”

A little smile now played around Ridley’s lips. “I managed to get a little skiing done, but most was work. So, I’d say it was… successful.” Her eyes averted to her leg. “And how is your knee?”

“It’s doing okay. The boxing helped.”

“Ah, Blue said Lucy took you.”

“Mmn. Didn’t you say you’d teach me to fight?”

She smirked. “Would you like to use one of your favours?”

“I don’t think so. I think you want me to be safe and know how to defend myself.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes… so I think I’ll keep my favours for now.”

Ridley rolled her eyes. God, it was attractive.

“I’m really glad you got here earlier…”

“I managed the earlier flight,” she murmured, her eyes back to wandering over the features of Alexia’s face as if memorising her.

“It means we have a few hours before dinner. Do you want to have a swim? Unless your cast…”

“It’s waterproof. And… only if we’re skinny dipping.”

Alexia rolled her eyes and didn’t take the bait – another one of her methods to take some pressure off of ‘pushing’ Ridley.

“Okay, your loss.” She replied as she headed for the door. “Come on Chiquito.”

The little grey cat who had been watching the proceedings was now so used to Alexia that he followed her while Ridley watched; her smirk unable to disappear.

Ridley was already swimming by the time she’d arrived. She was doing laps, of course, because how else could you keep a body looking that good? Alexia set her towel down on the sunbed next to Ridley’s and watched as she exited the pool, pulling herself up in one easy move, even with one working hand.

“La Reina.” She said almost cockily as she wandered to the table to get a drink of water.

Alexia couldn’t help her eyes wandering over Ridley’s body in between her black bikini; her thighs, her ass, her abs, her tits… and even her throat as she swallowed. So many scars. And the tattoos… she wondered what they meant, and where each scar was from. Knowing Ridley, definitely something important. She wanted to ask her, but she didn’t want to push something so personal. Not yet anyways.

“Like what you see?”

Alexia wasn’t embarrassed she’d been caught out. “I do.”

She tilted her head and let herself obviously look the footballer up and down in her white bikini. “Me more.” She moved closer to Alexia and brushed the back of her finger over the strap of her white bikini. Alexia wasn’t able to stop the shiver that ran up her spine. “And you’re lucky I’m in a polite mood. I’m so used to being topless in Spain.”

Alexia reached behind her back, as if to hug her again, instead swiftly pulling on the strings holding her bikini top on. “Don’t let me stop you.”

Ridley gave her an impressed look as she removed the top. Alexia let herself look at her tits, obviously hard in the cool breeze and desperate to be sucked on. Ridley brushed her wet shaggy bob out of her face and stepped further into Alexia’s space and for a second, Alexia almost did fall to temptation of tasting her nipples until Ridley’s fingertips on her lats distracted her. She looked up from her chest as her fingertips slid around her back, leaving a trail of tingles and goosebumps behind.

“Fair is fair.” She tugged on Alexia’s strings and then took a step back, shrugging. “Up to you.”

Ridley was giving her a choice, like she always did. Like she had that night she’d touched her.

Alexia was Spanish, so being topless wasn’t a problem to her at all, and even less so in front of her. She was so… understanding and nonchalant about everything. That confidence was palpable, and it made other people feel the same. She watched as Ridley walked to the edge of the pool and looked down at Chiquito who was dipping his paw in to see if he wanted to swim. Alexia removed her top and took advantage of the opportunity in front of her. She took a few steps forward and shoved Ridley in the back, watching her splash into the pool. She came up quickly.

“Really? We’re going to play that game?” She asked, treading water.

Alexia was chuckling but stopped as the look on her face changed. Suddenly, Ridley was out of the water and Alexia’s flight mode had her running. There was nothing she could do to escape, though. Ridley caught her within a few long strides, and a leap over the sunbed and suddenly, she had Alexia over her shoulder. The footballer protested and slapped her back, though she knew it was in vain.

“Put me down.”

“You started it. Keep trying though, I like a good massage.”

Alexia slapped her again as she walked towards the pool. It did nothing but earn her a loud smack on the ass so hard and unexpected that she yelped. Ridley stopped walking and Alexia tensed.

“Are you going behave?” She asked.

“Never.”

And then she was thrown into the pool.

That hour or so was bliss. It wasn’t nervous tension or shameless flirting, well perhaps a little flirting, though it was mostly just fun. They swam, splashed, and played. The weather was cold, but the water was warm and even more so as they moved around. Chiquito jumped in for a paddle eventually, and only because he was watching them enjoy themselves.

“Is this right?” Alexia asked. She was on Ridley’s back, her legs around her waist, her tits flush against her bare back, and her arm around her neck.

“Yep, just put your other arm here…” she moved her arm onto her shoulder and tucked her choking hand into the inside of her elbow. “Now pull with this arm, and press my head forwards with this one…”

Her instructions were too helpful and she immediately had her oxygen cut off as Alexia choked her until she tapped her arm.

Alexia released and dropped back into the pool so her shoulders were warm again. “Did I do it?”

Ridley turned to her with a bright red neck. “Oh yeah, Lex. Another ten seconds and I would have drowned.” She grabbed her bicep and squeezed. “You’re so strong!”

Alexia pulled her arm away and splashed her. “Don’t mock me.”

Ridley swam close, so close Alexia thought she was going to kiss her. Their lips almost touched as she spoke. “I wouldn’t dare mock you, la Reina.”

And then Alexia was under the water.

Alexia was almost finished getting dressed as it hit 8pm, though she had one concern, and it was that she couldn’t find Ridley. After searching downstairs, she moved upstairs where she found her in the library. Her back was to the door so she could only see her stunning tailored suit from behind and as she came closer, she saw that she was staring at the painting Alexia had been working on the past few days.

“It’s not finished.”

“It’s Chiquito.”

“Yes…”

“It’s… really, really good, Lex.” She reached out and her fingers hovered over the painting. “And the fur? Those lines are so delicate. It must have taken hours.”

She turned to Alexia, her expression wondrous.

“All good things take time.” Alexia murmured.

Ridley smiled at her words and then looked her up and down. “You look… absolutely beautiful.”

“I will once my dress is zipped up. Can you?” Alexia turned and pulled her hair aside. She figured having her hair down may help her a little with the UK cold.

She held her breath as she felt Ridley’s warmth close to her back, and her breath teasing the nape of her neck. The knuckle of her finger traced up her spine as she zipped the dress to the very top. She went to move her hair back and Ridley stopped her gently.

“Do you have a necklace?”

Alexia touched her neck, suddenly feeling a little bare. “No…” she admitted.

“Would you like one?”

There’s that choice again.

“Yes please…”

“I’ll be a minute. Stay put.”

Alexia watched as Ridley disappeared from the room, reappearing moments later with a dark blue velvet box. She stood in front of her and opened it to reveal a thin gold chained necklace with a small pendant in the shape of a sun. She leaned forwards and reached out to touch it, her lips parting in awe. On one side of the sun was a simple engraved smile, eyes closed, and she turned it over to reveal the other side which were tiny diamonds sporadically spread and filling the engravings of stars.

“I thought it would remind you of home,” Ridley murmured as Alexia admired its minimalistic beauty with tears welling. “And, well, it reminded me of you.”

She looked up at those words, her eyes finding Ridley’s. She reminded her of the sun? Her heart squeezed and her question must have been obvious in her eyes because Ridley answered it. “The sun… sunshine. Lightness. Happiness.”

That’s how beautifully she saw her?

Alexia didn’t realise a tear managed to escape until Ridley was cupping the side of her face, her thumb wiping it away.

“When did you get this?” Alexia whispered.

“A while ago.” Was the only answer she gave, her thumb still stroking her cheek even though her tear was gone. “Do you like it?”

Alexia nodded into her hand and smiled at her before she turned and held her hair away from her neck.

She heard the box snap shut and then Ridley’s hand brushing a few strands of loose hair away.

“Would you like the happy or the stars this evening, la Reina?”

“Happiness please,” she replied huskily.

Cool metal touched the oval at the base of her throat and Ridley’s hands brushed against her neck as she expertly clipped shut the clasp.

Ridley moved her hair back with careful hands, ensuring it was perfect before she was in front of her again, smiling down at the necklace and back up to Alexia.

“Happiness it is.”

To be continued…

[captinamericashusband]

The Love Letter | Steve Rogers/Captain America x Male!Reader

A/N: Another Steve Rogers fanfic because he is a cutie. This one is way shorter than my first fic and not the best writing I've done admittedly. Anyways, enjoy!

P.S. Stream Short n' Sweet by Sabrina Carpenter 💋

The Love Letter

Word Count: 2.4k

Summary: Y/N, too afraid to verbally confess his feelings for Steve, gives him a love letter instead

Warnings: Sad

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Natasha stared bewildered at Y/N, aggressively punching the boxing dummy in the team's training room. With each continuous whack, growing strength with each successive hit, the dent in the dummy's torso grew larger. Natasha observed that he only acted this vehemently if something was bothering him. The last time this occurred was after a botched mission that resulted in numerous accidental deaths and tonnes of paperwork. As Y/N began winding down from his strenuous training, Natasha approached him, already having a slight idea for the cause of his trouble.

“It’s Steve isn’t it?” she abruptly asked. 

Y/N glanced towards her with a questioning look. “I’m sorry?”

“You like him, but you’re too scared to tell him.”

Y/N stared at her, trying to maintain a look that conveyed he was completely unsure as to what she was on about. However, he soon cracked under the pressure of her intense piercing gaze and gave her a resigned look. Sighing, he said, “Was I that obvious?”

"Y/N, we all see the way you ogle him." Y/N's jaw slightly clenched at his obliviousness to his obvious crushing. "The whole team knows, and I wouldn't be surprised if Steve himself did too."

Y/N let out a frustrated groan, running a hand through his hair. He always hated Natasha’s cunning observational skills. But he was aware this time his long-term crush was exposed at his fault. “I just don’t know how to tell him. I mean, what if he doesn’t feel the same?”

Natasha lightly placed her hand on Y/N’s shoulder. “You’re not going to ruin anything by telling him. There’s nothing wrong with being honest. Plus, there could be the chance he likes you also.”

Y/N’s head shook slightly. “I’m not sure how to tell him without completely embarrassing myself in front of him.”

Natasha’s expression turned deep with thought. Then, the metaphorical light bulb lit up in her head. "Maybe you should write him a letter. That way nothing you’ll say will be misconstrued. It's the most objective way to say your feelings for him, Y/N."

Y/N glanced towards Natasha, unaware if she was serious or saying everything in jest. "Wouldn't it be easier if I sent him a text message?"

Natasha shook her head. "Letters are more romantic. Plus, Steve is old-fashioned. I'm sure he'd appreciate it more than some lacklustre text."

As Natasha left the training grounds, Y/N began thinking deeply about her suggestion. He never imagined telling Steve about his feelings, let alone confessing through a handwritten letter. The worse that could occur, he thought, was that Steve would reject him and the entire trajectory of any friendship they had would completely change beyond recognition. However, the idea of Steve being whisked away by anyone else was enough to fill him with dread. He couldn't have a repeat of his emotions during Steve's brief fling with Sharon Carter. Tear-dampened tissues filled his room the week he heard the news – he reached a new low during that time. After his shower in the gym's adjacent locker room, Y/N began devising what he would say and how exactly he would say it.

Walking back to his room, Y/N made a brief detour to one of Tony's several printers scattered around the compound to grab several sheets of paper. He was already anticipating the inevitable drafts that would end up in his garbage bin. As he sat on his desk, cracking his knuckles before putting pen to paper, he hoped whatever monstrosity he would conjure would convey his feelings in a way that Steve would fully reciprocate them.

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

After three hours and several tossed crumpled balls of paper in his garbage, Y/N finally created what he thought was the best thing he had ever written. Skimming through it again, he started thinking otherwise and that it was actually really bad. The letter read:

Steve,

I've been thinking a lot lately, and I finally decided I needed to air it out. Natasha suggested writing you a letter, and honestly, I was hesitant at first. But the more I considered it, I realised it was the only suitable option for this situation. I know you're not the type for overly grand gestures, so I'll keep it simple.

Ever since we met, I've been admiring you. Not just for the reason that you're Captain America, but also for what I've seen in who you are as a person. Your kindness, bravery, strength, and dedication amongst many more of your qualities are things I've come to deeply respect. Over time, these feelings I felt for you have grown from something more than admiration – something I never expected.

I've tried to hide it, but I'm not sure I can anymore. I like you, Steve. I really like you a lot, as more than a friend. I know you've been through a lot, so I don't want any of this to complicate you any further. I just needed to tell you how I feel. I value the friendship we have, and I don't want this to negatively change that.

I understand if you don't feel the same way. If you'd prefer it, we could both pretend I never wrote you this. But if there is a chance you feel the same, maybe we could both see where this goes. No pressure, no expectations – just honesty.

Y/N

After rereading it for the fifth time, Y/N decided this was the best it would get. If Steve hated it, then so be it. Y/N put the letter in a sleek dark brown envelope from a stationary set he bought earlier from a high-end arts and crafts store. Since it was for Steve, he had splurged on whatever he could in hopes it would convey the seriousness of his feelings.

As Y/N walked towards Steve’s room, a feeling of severe anxiety washed over him, causing him to fidget with the letter between his fingers. The outcomes of the letter-sending were so polar that he wasn’t sure if his feelings were worth the chance. On one hand, Steve would feel the same and both would live happily ever after. On the other, Steve would downright reject him, their friendship would be destroyed, and the awkwardness would find a way to infiltrate its way into the team, getting in the way of their world-saving. 

Steve’s door came into view, and the urge to turn around and leave became stronger for Y/N. Before Y/N could back down, he heard footsteps descending the hallway’s corner. After quickly slipping the letter under the door frame, Y/N ran in the opposite direction. Whatever was to ensue after was up in the hands of whichever deity was out there.

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

The team assembled for dinner shortly after Y/N’s letter made it to Steve’s room. As he sat in his designated spot beside Natasha, his hands started becoming clammy, and his head became nauseous with worrying thoughts. Steve has yet to arrive at the table. Coughing lightly, Y/N turned towards Natasha. 

“I did it, Nat.” Y/N quivered softly. 

“Did what, Y/N/N?” She said in between her chewing.

“I sent him the letter. Earlier this evening, I sent him the letter. God, I can’t believe I listened to you.”

Natasha turned her head, eyes wide in disbelief. Before she could respond, Steve walked into the dining room. The team greeted him, including Y/N whose voice wavered slightly upon seeing the man he so recently confessed his feelings for. Steve’s eyes wandered around the table until they stopped on Y/N. The two looked at each other, and Y/N’s stomach churned. He tried to read Steve’s expression, but it was indistinguishable. As his heart pounded, his hands trembled under the table. 

Natasha slightly nudged Y/N with her elbow. “Relax, Y/NN. Just see how he acts.”

Y/N nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. As Steve approached the table, he pulled the chair directly in front of Y/N, sitting down with a small smile. “Hey, everyone,” Steve greeted, his voice soft and supple, smiling brightly at the team. 

Y/N managed to contort a crooked smile in return. “Hi, Steve.” His voice wavered once again and his cheeks blushed. He looked down towards his plate in hopes no one noticed.

As the team continued with their conversation – Bruce and Tony bantering about lab tech, Thor sharing a story about Asgard, and Clint making sarcastic remarks near the table’s end – Y/N kept glancing towards. Steve looked relaxed, but every so often, his eyes would also meet Y/N’s, and Y/N’s stomach would be sent into a spiral of front flips. 

At one point, Steve met Y/N’s gaze and held it for longer than usual. Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. He knew at that point that Steve must have read the letter. There was no other reason for the glances they shared with each other, and the slight glint of something in Steve’s eyes. He could already sense the inevitable conversation Steve was about to confront him with in the not-so-distant future.

Dinner continued, and eventually, the team started to disperse. As for Y/N, his heart sank as he remembered it was his turn to wash the dishes today. Today of all days. Even more troubling, Steve had volunteered behind to help with cleaning. Y/N already knew where this was going to lead. With one last glance at Natasha who offered him a reassuring smile, it was just Y/N and Steve left together.

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

The kitchen was dead silent as the two men cleared the table, the clinking of dishes and the sound of running water from the sink being the only interruption. Y/N could feel Steve’s presence beside him – comforting and warm, but tonight it felt different. Heavy. He couldn’t conjure the courage to look at him, instead focusing on aggressively rubbing a stubborn stain on one of the plates.

Finally, after what like an eternity, Steve finally broke the silence. “Y/N,” he said, his voice carrying a certain softness that made Y/N’s heart beat faster. “About the letter…”

Y/N froze, squeezing the sponge in his hand hard. He knew this was bound to happen, but hearing Steve’s voice mention his letter still made him incredibly nervous. Slowly, he turned towards Steve, ready for whatever he was about to be hit with. “Yeah?” he managed to whisper, his voice barely managing to make it above a whisper.

Steve fully turned towards Y/N, setting down the dish he was currently drying and meeting his eyes. His expression was serious, and his blue eyes were holding a feeling Y/N couldn’t decipher – nervousness, maybe, or regret. “I read it,” he said quietly. “And I want you to know that I’m honoured that you trust me enough to share your feelings with me. I really am.”

Y/N’s heart clenched. He felt the impending doom through Steve’s tone. Y/N nodded slowly, attempting to keep his emotions in check. “But…?”

Steve took a deep breath, he turned away briefly before meeting Y/N’s eyes again. “But I don’t feel the same way,” he said, voice firm but soft. “I care about you a lot, Y/N, as a friend. I value our friendship and I don’t want to hurt you. But I don’t see you the same way as you see me.”

Y/N’s felt his heart shatter, the pieces were spiralling into a million jagged edges. The pain was worse than anything he experienced. It felt worse than any gunshot or stab wound he ever endured. “I understand,” he said. It was evident he was trying to hold back tears. “I just thought… maybe…”

Steve’s hand hovered above Y/N’s. He hesitated before retracting it, unsure if Y/N wanted to be touched or not. “I really am sorry, Y/N. I don’t want to make this awkward between us. I value our friendship too much for that.”

Y/N could only nod again. His chest swelled with a numbing feeling. He then realised what the glint was in Steve’s eyes. It was pity. “Yeah, no I totally understand,” he muttered. He stared at the soapy water. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I shouldn’t have said anything. It was stupid – I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Steve said gently. “It was not stupid at all. You have every right to express your feelings. I’m just sorry I couldn’t give you the answer you were looking for, Y/N.”

Y/N could feel the tears pooling near the ducts of his eyes. The weight of the rejection fully settled on his shoulders. “Yeah well…thank you for being honest. I appreciate it, I guess,” he whispered, turning back to the dishes to hide the tears now streaming down his cheeks. He scrubbed at the plates more force than necessary, trying to channel to pain he was feeling towards his hands. 

Steve hesitated. It was clear he wanted to say more, but he could tell Y/N wanted him to leave. “I really am sorry, Y/N.”

Y/N couldn’t trust himself to speak again, afraid his voice would hint at the tears leaving his eyes. After a brief moment of silence, he could hear Steve’s footsteps retracting from the kitchen.

When he was sure Steve was gone, Y/N let out a shaky breath before letting his tears fall freely. He gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles turning white in an attempt to hold himself together. But it was to no avail. He slid down to the floor, back against the kitchen sink. The pain was too raw to hold in. As he buried his head in his hands, he sobbed and prayed that no one would walk in and see his miserable self.

He was fully prepared for the possibility of rejection. But everything in him was hoping Steve would feel the same. That the future he envisioned for both of them together would become real somehow. The heartache he felt was unbearable, and each breath he took was a struggle as he attempted to calm himself down. Was he not good enough for Steve? Was he not attractive enough? Y/N started internally beating himself, trying to find the reason he wasn’t desirable for the only person he could ever want.    

Minutes passed, maybe hours; Y/N wasn’t sure. Eventually, the tears started slowing down and his breathing became more shallow. He wiped his tears with the back of his hand, taking a few shaky breaths before standing up. He knew he had to pick himself up and move on. But for now, Y/N could let himself wallow in his grief. 

As he walked back to his room, he couldn’t help but think if he could ever face Steve without breaking all over again. 

FIN

A/N: Sorry! Hope you enjoyed! Next one will be cute as fuck I didn't enjoy writing this one that much actually it didn't fill me with happy giddy feelings.

[sunniedesi]

In Defense of Future Diary...

TW: lots of yapping.

Making a small essay for Future Diary is something I’ve been meaning to do for a while. Since my entire blog is dedicated to the series, it only feels right to put something like this out into the ether. However, I’m never sure of the topics that I want to discuss the most. Do I write a defense for the show? My reasons for loving it so much? Its relevance and importance for anime culture? An analysis of Yuno’s character? There’s so much I feel you could say, but I never find the right words to express my feelings coherently. Today, I’ll make the attempt, though. I’ll go over all of the aforementioned questions here, mostly focusing on my personal opinions and feelings regarding the show. I don’t have much experience writing essays or analyses of media, so sorry in advance if my yapping is all over the place.

To begin, I should probably address the elephant in the room: Future Diary, despite its popularity and almost cult-classic status, has turned into a show people love to hate. You see it everywhere, when it comes to reviews, comments, opinion pieces, you name it, if it has Future Diary on the title, people will let you know all the gripes they have with the show. And while I tend to feel defensive or even saddened when I see so much hatred directed at my favorite show… I don’t necessarily blame anyone for feeling that way. I don’t want to be one of those people who pretends to hold the intellectual high-ground, acting as if everyone else is media-illiterate and I’m the one who truly gets the meaning of the series. At the end of the day, it’s just an anime, it’s not that deep. Everyone’s gonna like what they like; we all have different tastes and interests, so it’s only natural we all hold such different opinions about the show, especially given its campy, gory and almost edgy nature. Future Diary is definitely a product of early 2000’s trends, which some people (me lol) appreciate, and others certainly don’t.

That being said, while I respect people disliking the show for personal reasons, there are certain criticisms I see thrown its way that are not necessarily warranted. These issues can be boiled down to the following categories: “plot-holes,” a weak protagonist and toxic pairings. I’ll delve into all of these in a second, but I must say, the amount of times I’ve seen these specific points parroted over and over again makes me believe that many of the people making these arguments are piggybacking off of one another. It’s almost like they’re following a trend, repeating how the protagonist “sucks ass” and that the plot makes zero sense, without showing any examples as to how. 

It’s really common to find shallow arguments like those in comments sections and forums, but since I don’t want to feel like I’m barking up a tree in writing this essay, I decided to look for a source that encapsulated all of the common criticisms, while also backing them up with examples. Now, there are many good video essays out there on Future Diary, my personal favorite is by The Hot Box. But as far as critical pieces go, the one I found that goes the most in-depth is by the creator NezumiVA, titled: Mirai Nikki is Garbage, and Here’s Why. I’ll be referencing the video as I go along, but please note that while I disagree with many of this creator’s arguments, I don’t intend this to be a personal attack. As I said earlier, we’re all entitled to our different tastes and opinions, I can respect them disliking the series while having my own criticisms to give regarding the video. Just a little disclaimer so my intentions aren’t misconstrued here. 

With that out of the way, let’s take a deeper look into the main three arguments I mentioned before:

“The plot-holes eat up the show”

If you’ve been in the fandom for a while, you know that this is probably one of the most common criticisms levied towards Future Diary, and perhaps the one that holds the most weight. Or at least it would be, if it weren’t for the fact that “plot-holes” aren’t exactly the issue people are pointing at here. To explain, I believe people who dish out this claim all have different understandings of the definition of “plot-hole,” so to clarify: a plot-hole is an inconsistency, a contradiction in the narrative. For example, Yuno’s diary is all about Yukki, if she were to have diary entries not about him, that could be considered a plot-hole, as it contradicts the original narrative. A smaller detail being unexplained or overlooked for the sake of pacing is not a plot-hole. A flaw, yes, but as long as it doesn’t contradict what’s already been established in the story, it’s not a plot-hole. 

On one hand, it is true that there are certain Deus Ex Machina moments that aren’t properly explained in the show (heck, the god of this universe is called that for a reason), such as: how does 5th acquire all of his booby traps? Or where did 9th pull that motorcycle from? Why are characters so quick to forgive/forget certain events? These are smaller details that aren’t properly justified on-screen for the sake of pacing and making the show more interesting. You could possibly count this more as a case of poor characterization, particularly with 5th’s character having a lot of knowledge despite his age or Hinata quickly accepting the coin toss challenge despite having an advantage. Given the show only has 26 episodes, it’s only natural that detailed explanations for smaller details are omitted to make the show flow quicker and be more entertaining. While this may bother some people, I don’t find it to be such a big deal, or at least not a reason to dogpile on the show, when many other animes with shorter runtime fall victim to poor characterization as well. 

Many deem the plot nonsensical for missing these smaller explanations, but again, I find that exaggerated as they’re much, much trivial details that the majority of people don’t think of or focus on when watching the show. The video I referenced touches on the plot being illogical several times, not necessarily mentioning plot-holes per se, but complaining that many of the justifications behind certain plot points are unrealistic or contrived, though let’s be real here… since when is anime realistic? Future Diary, I would argue, does a good job of balancing very unrealistic scenarios with some realistic characters (like Yukki, but we’ll get into that later), which is what makes it interesting to watch. After all, what’s the fun in watching a fantasy show if it’s completely grounded in reality? Not to mention that many of the points brought up in the video aren’t contrived, especially if you were paying attention to the show. For example, the scene of Yuno meditating to figure out Reisuke’s plan. This wasn’t a Deus Ex Machina moment, it was foreshadowing of the fact she has her first-world memories locked away, and the meditation was her trying to access those memories. Same thing with Bacchus having an overpowered diary, it isn’t for the sake of it, he literally designed it to be that way, because he was the one who presented the idea of the diaries to Deus in the first place.

I’m getting a little side-tracked here, but you get the point. Ultimately, the worst sin a show can commit is being boring, and while Future Diary has its flaws in pacing and characterization, it contributes in keeping the viewers hooked to the action, packing its small run of 26 episodes with quite a bit of entertainment. Moreover, a lot of people overreact to these so-called “plot-holes”, yet they also fail to pay attention as to why things happen as they do in the show. Many of these criticisms can be summed up as either: trivial details that are omitted since they have little relevance to the plot and/or people not paying attention to what’s going on. 

Moving on, let’s tackle another very, very popular argument:

“Yukiteru is a total pushover (to put it nicely).” 

This is, without a doubt, the most common criticism I’ve seen people have of the show. I’m not sure if this is because people are used to the upbeat, overpowered protagonist trope in anime, but people don’t realize that Yukki being frustrating, awkward and terrified is an important part of the show’s storytelling, not to mention relatively unique. Very rarely do we see a realistic portrayal of a teenage protagonist in anime, and it is important for the show since it serves as a contrast to the other characters, all dark, callous and obsessed with the goal of becoming a God. Yukki is the only character not interested in any of this at the beginning. All he wanted was to escape reality with his phone and imaginary friends, and he's now thrusted into this terrible and hopeless situation. How exactly is a young boy expected to react under these circumstances? 

Teenagers are naive, dumb, selfish, all characteristics portrayed in Yukiteru, and these characteristics are put under scrutiny by every one of the diary owners, constantly telling him to grow a pair and stop using Yuno. This is easier said than done when you’re used to avoiding every little bit of responsibility in your life, and a girl who’s self-reportedly “crazy good at killing people” suddenly thrusts into your life ready to do all the work for you. Yukki is indeed a very flawed character, but that isn’t an accident, it is an intentional addition. It’s what makes him interesting; it pushes conflict into the show, and most importantly, drives home one of the main lessons of the show with Yukki’s development: fear doesn’t mean you’re not brave, it’s having that fear and pushing forward that makes you brave. A little corny, I know, but a valuable lesson for the Survival Game. 

Every character has an incentive for becoming God, and they’re utterly consumed by it to the point of insanity. Even a character like 4th, who was originally concerned with the goal of bringing order and justice rather than more carnage to the game gets carried away when a proper incentive for God’s seat comes into play: saving his son. In a Survival Game where we're surrounded by the most cunning and twisted of characters, killers, terrorists, people in corrupt positions of power, Yukki stands out like a sore thumb for retaining his humanity throughout it all, unwilling to get his hands dirty, rather willing to see hope in everyone else. It comes across as naive and all-too trusting. This is especially true for his father, but considering how little people he has to rely on, plus his childish hopes of seeing his family back together, his forgiveness towards him makes sense. And the same can be said for Yuno, the one constant he’s got all throughout the game. Despite the abuse and manipulation, she’s ultimately got his best interests at heart, but I’m getting ahead of myself with this point.

Eventually, the circumstances that Yukki goes through (namely his parents’ death) put that humanity, kindness and mercy, the staples of his personality, to test. It’s a testament to how desperate situations can corrupt even the most innocent of individuals. Yukiteru goes from a hopeful individual to a callous killer, no different from Yuno and equally as selfish. Similarly enough, we know thanks to her third-world-self that Yuno was originally a normal, happy girl with the hopes of finally having a loving family taking care of her. All of this, to then be tortured by the people who were supposed to bring that peaceful family life to her. 

Yukki being a weakling may be frustrating to some, it is certainly brought up many times during the video essay, but it’s an important factor that drives the plot and many of Future Diary’s lessons about growth and accountability. Besides, the anime certainly wouldn’t be as interesting to watch if every character was just an OP know-it-all like Akise. Which no hate to him, but the show wouldn’t be the same if every character were like him.

And speaking of Akise, I’ll take the opportunity to mention a point in the video essay that bothered me a bit. The creator says the show is “queerbaiting” with his character, because Akise’s attraction towards Yukki is forced, but I don’t see exactly how this is queerbaiting. Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t queerbaiting when a character is insinuated to be gay, yet it’s kept ambiguous enough to never address it? The show straight-up explains the reason behind Akise’s attraction to Yukki. His love is forced because it was created by Deus to further his investigation about Yukki and Yuno. Akise himself is a fabrication of Deus. It is literally explained in episode 23. You can’t bait the audience into believing a character is gay if you explicitly tell the audience the character is gay lol.

But that’s one of the smaller issues I had with the video’s criticisms. My biggest gripes were actually the following: at the beginning of the essay, this creator talks about how many of the plot points in the show are contrived and illogical, but at the same time, they dislike the characters having tragic backstories that explain how they went on to become twisted individuals. Isn’t it a little contradictory that you complain about a character acting unnatural, yet when the explanation for their behavior comes up, you completely disregard it? They go as far as to say Esuno hates women and is misogynistic for his portrayal of female psychosis, and the use of SA as a tragic backstory being distasteful. Because, according to this creator, people who have been victimized never go on to become terrible people themselves, and that this is a “problematic stereotype.” 

To say that this worldview is incredibly simplistic and naive is putting it mildly. Being a victim doesn’t exempt you from the capability of hurting others, and in fact, the opposite is often true. Hurt people hurt people, that is another main theme in Future Diary, and one of the things I love about it so much. It doesn’t make its characters victims of terrible situations for the sake of pitying them, but to portray their natural descent into madness from being corrupted by a cruel and unrelenting world. Yuno, Yukki, Minene, Tsubaki, these characters all started out as normal until life turned them into the nihilistic monsters they became. They’re morally gray, an example of what you can become when your ethics and moral worldview is tested by society so many times, it ultimately turns you into a societal outcast. Which only makes it funnier that one of the questions asked in the video is “are we supposed to like these characters?” Yes and no, that’s the fun of writing morally gray characters.

I often see these takes with people who fail to understand that the portrayal of something in media ≠ endorsement. It’s the crux of people who lack media literacy, the failure to understand morally gray or just straight up evil characters as protagonists. The media itself isn’t telling you to repeat their actions, it is an exploration of how these actions manifest in the first place, a cautionary tale, if you will. I know that having evil or twisted protagonists isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but to accuse the story or the author of malicious intent would be completely missing the point of the story’s purpose. Not to mention, that it is important for stories like this to exist, to put us in the shoes of those who enact harm, to understand why they do it and keep us from becoming like them.

The show doesn’t justify any of their actions, in fact, it often shows them for what they are: twisted and morally corrupt; it is on the characters themselves to bear the burdens of these actions. A clear example of this is the confrontation that Yukki has with his friends nearing the end of episode 22. It is probably one of my favorite scenes in the entire show: Yukki being forced to face all of his demons at once, realizing just how much damage he has caused, damage that he later has to mend in his final confrontation with Yuno to finally put an end to everyone’s suffering. It is dense, crude, and it is certainly necessary for both him and Yuno. 

Funnily enough, this youtuber goes on to say the following about Yuno’s background: “I really don’t care what her (back)story pans out to look like… her actions are still not excusable.” Which is true, just because someone was abused doesn’t justify them perpetuating the same abuse later. However, they then crush their own point by claiming that Yuno’s obsessions started all because of “a passing conversation.” I guess they weren’t lying when they said that they didn’t care about Yuno’s backstory… because chalking up her obsession as solely a result of that scene is completely disregarding her background. That conversation in the classroom did start Yuno’s fixation towards Yukki, but it is not the root of her obsessive tendencies. Yuno herself believes it to be, but this is an idea that is squandered by Yukki in his final confrontations with her. Moreover, if you paid attention to her backstory, you would understand it is all due to her childhood neglect. And similarly, Yukki’s attraction towards Yuno stems from this as well.

This brings me to the final criticism:

“Yuno and Yukki’s relationship is problematic, toxic and makes no sense.”

There is no denying that Yuno and Yukki start out as an incredibly toxic and troublesome pairing, using each other for their own selfish wants instead of working with each other. This is the Achilles heel in their dynamic, and it is often the cause of their troubles. Yuno acts impulsive, unstable and manipulative towards Yukki due to her insecurities and debilitating obsession, while Yukki pushes all responsibility to Yuno due to his own lack of a spine. They hurt each time and time again, yet they can’t help but be with each other. And this is because, in a twisted way, they compliment each other. 

On one hand, we have a social outcast, ignored by everyone including his family, visibly alone and afraid of being hurt by others, but still seeing the best in people. Then on the other hand, we have a popular girl from a prominent family, visibly perfect, but in reality just as alone due to abuse she experiences at home, making her view people as fundamentally cruel. On the outside they’re opposites, but deep down, they’re both lonely, and terrified of said loneliness. It is only when they meet, when Yukki shows her the kindness she was missing for years and when Yuno gives him the support he had always craved, that they fulfill each other’s needs. By becoming acquainted with Yuno and the Survival Game, Yukki becomes increasingly darker, eventually maturing at the end of the show, while Yukki awakens Yuno’s empathy and pulls her back from the darkness, as we see when she falters to hurt third-world Yuno and her parents. 

Their complementary personalities are even referenced by their diaries, which only work seamlessly if paired. They balance each other out perfectly, bringing out the best of each other, but only after learning to push back on their worst characteristics, which is also true for real-life relationships. In truth, just like these two, people are flawed, traumatized and generally toxic to one another. There’s no such thing as people or relationships that start out perfect from the get-go, they need to learn to grow together. 

In that sense, this is what makes the ending of the show so powerful to me. Yukki isn’t set on killing Yuno or becoming God anymore. He’s finally taking responsibility, coming to terms with the awful deeds he’s done, and the fact that he can’t undo them. Instead, he wants to help Yuno come to terms with her own demons, finally giving back to her what she needs and not something for his own benefit. Similarly, Yuno realizes just how off the deep-end she’s gone when she meets her past self, acknowledging that she’s lost her original goal, and that repeating the cycle of hurt won’t fix her already broken spirit. That world isn’t for her, and so she finally ends the hurt, giving her and Yukki the peace they need. 

Many people don’t like Redial because they see it as an undeserved Happy Ending for two awful individuals, but the way I like to see it is as a form of redemption. Both characters, in the end, do what they have to do to restore order in the world. Yukki pays for his sins in the void, finally a God but at the cost of mourning what could’ve been. First-World Yuno ends the suffering she’s putting herself through so her new self can thrive, almost akin to breaking free from her past traumas to finally heal. The new self regains those memories, not to sulk, but to build from them, going back with Yukki to start a new world that isn’t characterized by their original hurt. In a way, it's a story about how the most downtrodden of individuals can find solace in love, break from their past and learn to heal together. For me, it’s cathartic and fulfilling to watch.

To finish this lengthy post, I feel it’s appropriate to mention the importance of Future Diary’s characters, and more specifically, Yuno. The video describes her writing as shallow and contrived, but I’ve already addressed that in the previous paragraphs. Many people love chalking her up to “cRaZy YaNdErE gUrL™ 🤪​,” but she’s so, so much more than that. Her character actually has a lot of depth if you pay attention to her story: she’s a girl, an orphan who went on to be neglected by her foster father and abused by her foster mother, resulting in complex trauma, insecurities and fear of abandonment that she tries to hide and overcompensate for in her overly aggressive tendencies. Her obsession in avoiding the loss of the only person she has becomes her demise, as she lives in a loop of torment all for the sake of not being alone again, a cycle of hurt only she has the power of breaking if she finds the strength to do it. Whether it was intentional or not, Yuno portrays a lot of the issues people with mental illness, such as BPD, struggle with. 

Now, claiming that Yuno is a perfect, one-to-one representation of BPD would be reducing this disorder to a caricature, there’s obviously so much more to BPD than what you see in this portrayal. But, I feel like out of the huge list of characters that fall under the “yandere” or crazy girl trope, she’s probably one of the best written ones in anime. I know she’s often dubbed the “yandere queen,” but seriously, it’s rare to see media committing to this trope and properly characterizing it. I would go as far as to say she’s the best character I’ve seen written in this genre, only sharing that spot with another character from a certain game (but given that the mere mention of its name is enough to ensue controversy, I’ll abstain from talking about it here 🙄​). A big portion of characters within this trope are quite two-dimensional, without clear motives for their obsessions, or having their issues played up for laughs (I’m looking at you, Anna Nishikinomiya). Heck, many of the characters associated with the trope aren’t actual yanderes, like is the case for Shion Sonozaki or Lucy from Elfen Lied. 

Yuno’s character is rich and interesting to watch, she isn’t just some “crazy girl” for the sake of it. She’s a product of tragedy, only motivated by the hope of finally having Yukki alleviate all of her insecurities and sorrows. I’ve always found the “yandere” trope interesting since it delves into the lengths people are capable of going over an obsession, and how these form to begin with. Given how complex, sensitive and even personal this topic can be, it’s important to have characters like this be properly written, and I’m glad that Yuno set a standard for this back in her day, even if many people don’t take her character seriously. 

I think it’s important to close up this post repeating the sentiment I had at the beginning. My purpose in writing this defense isn’t so much to force people into liking the show, and even opinions I disagree with like the ones in NezumiVA’s video are valid in their own right, as everyone has different perspectives in interpreting media. This is simply my take as someone who’s been a fan of the show for a really long time, since I don’t see many in-depth essays for Future Diary out there. It is a show that has stuck with me for its lessons on learning to be brave, healing from the past and selfless love. As silly as it may sound talking about an anime, it’s something that I can always look back to and smile, laugh or cry along with. Despite people’s conflicting views and endless criticisms, it will never fail to have a special place in my heart. Given how much time I’ve dedicated to this series, it’s only fair I dedicated a little bit of that time explaining my love for it too. And if you made it this far down the post, I would also like to thank you for dedicating a little bit of your time to my shower thoughts as well!

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA If I told my neighbour (40 F) to stop sending her kid (9 M) to my (24 M) house whenever I come home?

Long story short last summer I was an unemployed grad student who wanted to make some extra cash. I am a certified swim instructor, so I decided to run some lessons for the neighbourhood kids out of my parents’ backyard. I advertised around and I got a few bites and I ended up doing fairly well for myself between my classes at Uni, with around 7 different family’s joining my lessons.

Well now I’ve graduated and I’ve started a career job around 2 hours away. This summer I have been coming home almost every weekend so I can see my family and use the pool, which has been a really nice break from the city.

The problem is this kid (who is honestly a really great kid, and I don’t fault him) whose mother is using me like a free babysitter. Whenever I come home (i.e. whenever they can see my car in the driveway) the kiddo comes over so say hi, and asks if he can hang out. I kind of assume the poor guy doesn’t have a lot of friends, and I’m worried that if I tell him no I’ll really hurt his feelings.

The first time I texted his mom to make sure she knew where he was and if she was ok with him being in my house. She said yes and asked me if that was ok with me, and I said it was cool. We mainly played some age appropriate video games, and chatted, and I made sure my mother was in the room with us the whole time (because I honestly feel a bit awkward and I don’t want to be seen as a creep or anything). I sent him home and I was happy that I could make him feel a bit better, but then the next time I came home he was there again. And then again. And then again.

It’s getting to the point where it feels very inappropriate. I would never do anything to hurt a kid, but I keep feeling more nervous that this could be misconstrued as some kind of grooming. I see him a lot like my little cousin (7 M) and I want him to be happy, but I’m just not feeling comfortable with the situation. I also feel like I’m being taken advantage of, because his parents keep letting him come over, sometimes for multiple hours at a time, without asking and with no warning, and of course no pay for what is technically babysitting.

I really don’t want to hurt the little guys feelings, but this last time I was home without my parents and I just got out of the pool so I was in my swim trunks. I didn’t want to turn him away but I also didn’t want him to stay because of the way it looked. I didn’t know what to say so we hung out for a bit in my front yard (in clear view of the whole neighbourhood) and chatted for a bit before I sent him home.

It’s getting very disruptive because I feel like I can’t have a few drinks with my buddies just in case this kid comes over and I need to pull out my camp counsellorsona, and again it’s not like I’m getting paid. To be blunt, I want to be able to relax.

He’s moving away in a few months, so I figured it wouldn’t matter for much longer anyhow, but after this last time I really don’t know anymore.

I have a hard time saying no to anyone, but it’s especially hard to tell this little kid no to his face when he comes to my door so excited to see me, so WIBTA to text his mom and tell her not to let him come over again? I really don’t want to hurt his feelings, and I really don’t want his mom to tell him I don’t want to see him again, but I’m running low on options here. I’m uncomfortable and frustrated, and I don’t know what to do here.

What are these acronyms?

[jkftkth]

Why did you leave? Did your belief in Taekook change?

absolutely not 😂 there’s little chance of that happening and i’m pretty sure i’ve made that clear before!

personal life reasons aside, let me tell what got tiring on here fast:

- “so xyz happened but i feel like if taekook were really in a normal romantic relationship it wouldn’t have.” this would happen, every morning and every evening 😂

i couldn’t quite figure out the intention behind, if they were just a little immature, or if they were pretending to be someone they weren’t.

first of all; 9 times out of 10 the “xyz” in question is a casual bts update/piece of content where over analyzing and purposefully misconstruing the reality (often led by anti tkkrs or jkkrs) leads to this debunking or should i say attempt to convince one self. and i personally don’t think i want to play the role of convincing otherwise just because you think it’s cooler or less delusional to not believe nor do i want to play the role of entertaining arguments from a group of shippers who have made their entire ship based on running a smear campaign against tae.

and secondly; what the heck is “normal.” in what way does this word apply to taekook individually and as a possible couple? seeing the lack of knowledge around queer reality again and again, irked me.

- speaking of smear campaigns, does it not take a toll on anyone else to go from twitter to tumblr and see the same hateful rhetoric about the sweetest man ever? i know i know, curate your space, but sometimes you just get baited, and sometimes lurkers think your space is their second home 😂

- lurkers who are basically lying in wait to catch you out. i became wary of something i said being taken out of context or just straight up twisted, at the expense of taekook’s bond. i know, again, that sounds a little like taking the blame for someone else’s misperception, but who wants to read such bs about two people who care about each other in a way no one else does? we are only responsible for our own words, but the average taekook-anti doesn’t think of it that way.

- basically i don’t think i’m built like other blogs (@stupendousfoxthing , @dearweirdme , @kookiecrush , @thv-jk97) who are actually incredibly useful and strong minded in their approach to responding. i really do admire them for their thorough replies to those who are really just unwilling (whether they admit it or not). i don’t think my replies did much for the community except give me a headache 😂 and in the end, i wish the unwilling would just leave us all alone so we can cry about hello kitty plushies and pinkies reaching out to be held instead.

[trans-androgyne]

I would appreciate if people read the relevant parts of this before sending an ask or following me:

Hi, I am an autistic transmasculine non-binary lesbian of color & mostly use they/them but he is fine. I do not identify as a man or woman, and calling me one is misgendering. I am fine with boy/most other masc terms. I first & foremost identify as an androgyne.

F.A.Q. Post

About the blog: This is a sideblog dedicated to discussing trans issues & the trans community, especially regarding transandrophobia & exorsexism. I am willing to engage in good faith discussion. || Block the “anonsense” tag if you don’t want to see me respond to people arguing in bad faith, misconstruing what I’ve said, & other things of that nature. || I am terrible at responding to asks. So sorry in advance. Always feel free to nudge me or send them again. || I hate the infighting within the trans community & love all my trans siblings. || Do not argue about the semantics of transandrophobia to me. I will no longer engage.

Interacting with me here: Do not call me pet names, especially feminine ones. I do not care what they mean to you or whether they are considered gender neutral where you’re from. || I’m autistic & use tone tags sometimes. Say anything ableist at all or support cringe culture & you’re gone. || Please don’t talk religion on my page unless it’s about advocating for marginalized religious groups (ex: Jewish folks).

“DNI”: Radfems of any kind. I do not care how trans-inclusive you think your radical feminism is. It isn’t. Genocide denialists; free Palestine. Zero tolerance for general bigotry (homophobia, transphobia, sexism, racism, antisemitism, ableism, etc.) and shittiness. If you think being mean is funny, something to be proud of, or your right as a minority then I do not trust you in the slightest and I don’t want you in my space. I’m pretty radically inclusive of all queer people and care a lot about destigmatizing misunderstood groups. So, if you’re shitty to any queer groups, people with personality disorders, people with low/no empathy, people with psychosis, systems of any kind, people with paraphilias, or anyone else for traits outside their control, get the fuck out of here. All this “DNI” means is that we will not get along, it will not stop me from interacting with you to call out your bullshit.

Accessibility: I do my best to tag triggering topics & provide all images with image descriptions in the alt text; if I ever have something with audio I will be sure it has captions. I put the underwater filter on posts to differentiate them from my words, but try to provide alt text. Please let me know if I miss anything or if you want to request an accessibility feature I’m not aware of! Thank you <3

My personal blog: @corezy

The transandrophobia discord server can be accessed by DMing me. Thanks!

[dark-elf-writes]

Byakuran shows up at the end of Tsuna’s classes the next day with a drink and pastry in hand (recommended by Uni) and a determined smile

If Byakuran were anyone else he would be infuriated at how each and every one of his attempts to woo Tsuna are somehow misconstrued into them just being close friends (Shoichi claimed Tsuna was shy and didn’t have many friends before college. Uni said that he wouldn’t recognize a romantic gesture if it came with big neon lights and fireworks.) but each warm smile and sweet blush when Tsuna greeted him felt like a blessing. Byakuran had always loved puzzles, had always loved taking things apart and seeing what made them tick, had always loved a challenge to direct his mind towards, and Tsunayoshi Sawada was the ultimate challenge.

Their second meeting had been outside Tsuna’s last class the next day with all of his favorites at Uni’s suggestion. Tsuna had blinked as if surprised to see him, but that confusion had melted into a smile when Byakuran pressed the cup into his hand.

“A thank you. One pick me up for another, Tsu-chan!”

Tsuna had laughed, sweet so sweet. An angel walking amongst men in an orange hoodie and worn jeans. “You look like you’re in a better mood today.”

“How can I not be? I’m with you!”

Byakuran knew he had master the art of a smile. That he could make it mean anything from a kind gesture to a threat of unimaginably violence. This smile was something softer something genuine. Something full of warmth and promise.

It felt like victory when he saw the blush on Tsuna’s cheeks crawling its way down his pretty pale throat. Byakuran wondered what it tasted like.

“Uni said you were nice.”

He doubted ‘nice’ was the word she had used, but that she had spoken to her cousin about him at all and it hadn’t sent Tsuna running for the hills had to mean she approved of Byakuran’s interest at least. Fortunate. Going around her would be… annoying to say the least.

“For you, Tsu-chan? Always.”

Tsuna’s blush darkened a touch more, but he smiled. “Do you want to come to the library with me to study? I normally meet up with Uni there and… since we’re all friends now.”

Friends. He wanted to be far more than friends with the sweet angel looking up wall at him with those impossibly big brown eyes, but he had to go slow. Tsuna was too skittish for him to make an obvious move now. There would be time later. All the time in the world once Tsuna had agreed to give him a chance. Byakuran just had to be patient.

“I’d love to come with!“

The time would come, and until then Byakuran would have fun with his new challenge.

[bleue-flora]

''what does the rest of the server mean then'' Most disliked c!Dream for a valid reason like his actions, and autism is never an excuse to do bad things hfmoot

[context]

lol are you saying you read give or take something like 3,000 words of c!Dream being autistic and that one line you didn’t even quote right because I assume you are talking about this “And if Dream is autistic, damn what kinda of picture does that paint of the rest of the server… just saying… ;)” from the very bottom of the tags is what you got out of all of that?… seriously?

First of all, the valid reasons are comical. Sure some people have a good reason to hate Dream, but like Sapnap’s reason is because Dream threatened to use Bekerson against him and he thought Dream doesn’t care about him [clip]. But sure yea no, skeppy cage and threats are a perfectly valid reason to put them in torture box for eternity dislike someone… (really besides the point but yea it just so happened to be fresh on my mind lol…)

Regardless, I don’t think I did or will ever say that autism or anything else excuses bad behavior. If you ever think that’s what I’m saying - that it’s okay to do bad things if you have a good excuse - you are misunderstanding and misconstruing my words. What I do like to do, is look at Why something might have happened. Those are not the same thing. C!Dream himself specifically highlights this in Daedalus because Sam was using his reasons as justifications for his actions - I have a good reason therefore it’s okay, which Dream was pointing that eventhough reasons are important to know someone isn’t just being malicious for the sake of it, a valid reason doesn’t excuse it. Especially because excuses don’t tend to erase the hurt those actions caused. But even though reasons don’t excuse the behavior or make it right, they can add perspective and perhaps help gain compassion…

To be fair though, I don’t think I really even talked about autism and the bad things he did at all anyways. Only the character traits, circumstances and storyline that point to autism in my opinion. Explaining his actions through the lense of autism would be a whole different set of essays.

Really, if I’m creating excuses for behavior for anyone it is for the server. As I said people have inherent hate of autistic people down to the subconscious level of basic fear, not to say everyone is ableist but the fact that we are different makes us already a target of dislike, which is really more so if anything excusing the server’s despicable treatment of a fellow human being. But even then, I’m still not excusing or justifying only trying to make sense of and understand how people could hate him so much to the point of killing him till he’s permanently dead (something they didn’t even do to Wilbur or Schlatt l) and put him in a little lava covered box and throw away the key. Plus, I mean a lot of people were against Dream before the agruably more bad things like Staged finale, Doomsday, Exile, hell even before the Pogtopia war people seemed to hate him, so my aim is to understand why things happened the way they did…

Anyways, if that is the statement you are referring to then, I’ll admit it’s a little aggressive, poorly worded and I probably shouldn’t have said it at all. But my intention was not really to call the server a bunch of ableists, but more so that they are a good representation of the bullying and social rejection and the hate autistic people often face without even understanding why. (I mean I was probably also just saying how dare they bully my poor little autistic green teletubby lol XD as more so a joke hence the winky face) anyways… all that to say, that It’s not about everything Dream did was okay because he’s autistic so he gets a pass or to say the server was maliciously targeting him because he’s autistic or whatever, it’s about understanding the Why something happened and how that might paint a picture of the server and story that reflects the real world…

[beauspot]

thoughts after i saw black panther wakanda forever again.

firstly queen ramonda’s muscles in this movie were crazy 😭 i don’t even think i noticed it the first time. all of the women in the dora looked strong as hell and beautiful i’m obsessed. since we’ve introduced ironheart and we’re supposed to be getting a tv show(?) i hope happy and her get involved and it would be hilarious if she becomes friends with peter and mj but mj has no idea who peter is but riri does(and she’s the only one who does).

the fight scenes in this movie are so good, like some of the best in the mcu, there’s less cuts and the use of slowmo especially in scenes with the water makes them so gorgeous.

the black and gold in shuri’s black panther suit represents her brother and tradition and the vengeance of her cousin n’jadaka.

why does m’baku challenge for the thrown? with him in this movie it feels off for him to do it for selfish reasons maybe shuri asked him too.

i know the romance plot was scrapped because of test audiences but to me(this is MY OPINION 😒) the romance would have made their ultimate rift so much weightier. what if they had at the end of her tour simply had namor tell her they were more alike than anyone else he had ever encountered and asked for her hand BEFORE asking her to burn the world or if he asked for her hand in order for the scientist to be returned and she said yes. to then be drawn out of the water and have his people killed so he turns around and kills her mother and the final fight hits so much harder.

shuri not only doesn’t kill him because of his people but because some part of her does love him. this is not me negating the relationship they already have, it’s beautiful whether they ever are romantically involved or not i just think it would enhance the story.

also it’s been bothering me but shuri is not 19 and i keep seeing people say she is. she was 19 before the blip friends 😭 in universe it’s been 6 years since the first black panther.

another thing that bothers me is people fully missing the point of the talokanil as antagonists. yes they are the villains of the movie but they are not. VILLAINS. their goal is the same as the wakandans. to protect their home. over the years this goal has been warped by grief and anger and it’s completely understandable. people who look like them have been enslaved and beaten and killed and the surface countries have made it very clear they desire vibranium to control the world. not to help it. hate him if you want but namor is right. the world will turn on wakanda and the only ally they have is talokan.

The core of this movie and honestly black panther as a series is the way black people and other poc are so focused on hating one another, a hatred that was taught to divide us when killmonger, and t’challa, and namor, and shuri, are not enemies. they are victims namor and killmonger understood that better than t’challa and shuri because they’d seen first hand how the world treats people who look like them. Now obviously they could have gone about it another way, a better way but don’t misconstrue that to mean killmonger OR namor were wrong, they weren’t.

i’m very excited about phase 5 moving forward and i can’t wait to see these characters again even though I know it’ll be awhile. shuri will probably be in the next avengers and i have no idea when namor will be back. i hope we get this movie on streaming soon so i can analyze it more closely

OH LAST THING. i see what y’all were talking about with okoye and attuma and i totally agree lol