#because i regret writing this out

[kaladinkholins]

We all already know Mizu and Akemi are narrative foils. But you know what? Lemme just say it, here's what I think:

Taigen and Mikio are foils.

Not necessarily to each other as individuals in the way that Mizu and Akemi juxtapose each other, but mostly in the contrast between their relationships with Mizu.

I've covered specific parallels between Taigen and Mikio in other posts I wrote; but as the number of parallels I'm noticing between them keeps piling up, I'm compelled to just compile them all in one post. So! This is, thus, the post in question.

First of all, let's look at their similarities.

1. Their status in society is the same. They are both samurai who lost their honour and have dreams of reclaiming it.

2. They are also both diligent as they strive to achieve this goal, they both care deeply about their work, but here as they begin to contrast, as the work in question and way they go about their goals is different:

For Mikio, his work is in taming and rearing horses; in order to prove himself, he must tame Kai—a willful and strong horse—and present it to his lord. For Taigen, his work is in sword fighting and martial arts; in order to prove himself, he must kill Mizu—a willful and strong swordsman—and present her dead body to his lord.

In the parallel above, not only are Taigen and Mikio contrasting each other, but Mizu and Kai are placed in comparison as well. And of course, Kai is Mizu's horse, and represents her. Which is why, when later, Mikio sells Kai off, it represents the way he is tossing Mizu (and their relationship) aside.

From there, the rest of the details of their character begin to contrast and juxtapose each other more clearly. So let's look at those differences, shall we?

Their backstory:

Mikio was a great samurai who was banished. A somebody to a nobody. Taigen was a fisherman’s son who rose to the top. A nobody to a somebody.

2. The first time we meet them on-screen:

Mikio is an adult. An older man. Mizu's superior in age. He is Mizu's to-be husband. A love interest. Taigen is a child. A young boy. Mizu's peer in age. He is Mizu's bully. An antagonist.

3. Their maturity and growth:

Mikio is mature, but stuck in his ways. Taigen is immature, but capable of changing and learning.

4. Their overall attitude:

Mikio is generally relaxed, easy-going and unfussy. Taigen is uptight, irritable and severe.

5. How they talk to and conduct themselves around Mizu:

Mikio is aloof, soft-spoken, and serious. Taigen is obnoxious, brash, and sarcastic. Mikio is quiet, speaking only when spoken to, even when Mizu turns to smile at him and shows openness to be near him. Taigen is loud, talking while others are silent, even when Mizu turns from him and shows no interest in conversing with him.

Mikio doesn't show much of who he is to Mizu throughout their marriage, despite their growing affection. Taigen openly shares his traumas and life story to Mizu during their brief alliance, despite their mutual antagonism.

6. Their external vs internal selves:

Mikio is calm, gentle, and considerate on the outside. Taigen is hot-headed, rude, and selfish on the outside. Mikio is cowardly and deceitful on the inside. Taigen is brave and loyal to a fault on the inside. Mikio tells Mizu that he wants to know and see all of her. But he scorns and betrays her, the woman he loves. Taigen tells Mizu that he wants to duel and kill him. But he endures torture to not betray him, the man he hates.

9. Their hair, a symbol of their honour:

Mikio's topknot is untied by Mizu during their spar. This humiliation occurs in private, the two of them alone in a rural location where no one can see them. Taigen's topknot is cut off by Mizu during their duel. This humiliation occurs in public, the two of them being watched by many others in the Shindo Dojo.

10. Their power dynamic with Mizu:

Mikio believes he is Mizu's mentor. He teaches her to throw knives, how to ride and care for horses, and about the tactical benefits of using a naginata. Taigen believes he is Mizu's equal. He views Mizu as a samurai like himself who received all the same teachings he did, and who possesses the same values.

11. Their perceptions of Mizu:

Mikio sees Mizu's feminine side first. He sees her as sweet and gentle, but also clumsy and incompetent. Taigen sees Mizu's masculine side first. He sees her as terrifying and deadly, but also strong and skilled.

12. The way they approach sparring with Mizu:

Mikio only spars with Mizu once. As the fight progresses and she is beating him, he tries to put a stop to it. When she teases/provokes him, he starts taking the fight personally and seriously, finding no enjoyment in it. Taigen spars and brawls with Mizu all the time. No matter how many times Mizu beats him, he doesn't back down. When Mizu challenges him with a chopstick, he is eager to compete with her and gladly rises up to the challenge.

Mikio and Mizu's one and only spar is a friendly match; Mizu is smiling and having fun while he grows increasingly frustrated. Taigen and Mizu's last-seen spar is a playful wrestling match; both him and Mizu are having fun and laughing.

Mikio cannot deal with Mizu being better than him, so he scorns her and walks off, avoiding her thereafter. When Taigen cannot deal with Mizu being better than him, he follows her to observe her moves and continues training in hopes to eventually beat her. After being bested by Mizu once, Mikio leaves her and sells the horse he'd previously gifted to her. After many times losing to Mizu and fighting alongside her, Taigen commends her and admits she is better than him.

13. When Mizu pins them down in a friendly spar:

Mikio sees Mizu's whole face objectively. Taigen stares at Mizu's mouth and eyes.

Mikio gets angry when she kisses him, throwing her off of him and snapping at her, calling her a monster. Taigen gets aroused, apologising, so she pulls herself off of him.

14. Mizu's blue meteorite sword is a reflection of her soul. She believes most are undeserving to face it, let alone hold it. And on that note:

Mikio is the first person (chronologically) that Mizu fights against using her sword. Taigen is the first person (we see on-screen) that Mizu fights against with her sword. Mikio is the first person (chronologically) to ever hold her sword, as she passes it to him, letting him wield it. Taigen is the first person (we see on-screen) to ever hold her sword, as she passes out, and he picks it up and carries it for her.

15. Then, last but not least, in Fowler's fortress, when she is drugged and in pain, she hears Ringo's voice in the dungeon. She then follows it to an open cell:

Mizu first sees Mikio as a hallucination, the sight of him haunting her and causing her to lose her grip on reality. Her eyes glow a surreal blue to represent this. Her Mama appears then and says Mizu's name accusingly.

Mizu then sees Taigen, but he is real, the sight of him a relief and grounding her back to reality. Her eyes return to their normal blue colour to represent this. Taigen looks at Mizu weakly and says her name softly.

Then, later, when facing Fowler, her revenge awaiting her, she instead chooses to follow her conscience (represented by Ringo's voice in her mind), putting aside her vengeance for a time, in order to save Taigen.

So that's basically all the ones I've noticed so far, but even then, I feel there's already so much that forms a contrast between these two.

What makes it especially incredible about these juxtapositions is that Mikio was Mizu's husband, the man she had fallen in love with, the one person she had ever been intimate with, the man who made her begin to accept herself, to put down her desire for vengeance and instead live a life of peace and happiness.

So for Taigen to have so many parallels with him... Do you see what I'm saying here!

Not to mention that Mizu clearly already has some burgeoning attraction to him, as indicated by how she thinks of him when asked about her desires. And Taigen clearly has shown interest as well (see: him getting a boner after their spar, him holding her hand and telling her, "We're not done yet.").

And on the topic of speculating future possibilities of this relationship, this post by @stromblessed has pointed out yet another parallel between Taigen and Mikio:

Mizu promises Taigen to meet him for their duel in autumn. Mizu fell in love with Mikio and duelled him during autumn.

With all that said, I do believe Mizu and Taigen's relationship is definitely hurtling towards something. But whether they will actually end up together in a sustainable relationship and have a happily ever after? Well, that is a whole other story; we'll just have to wait and see.

[cryptiduni]

“white mourning.”

[kingkatsuki]

One of my absolute favorite “cliche” tropes is amnesia fics where reader has been dating character for years, but they forget and then they can only remember dating their ex. So it’s like they go back to the ex because it’s all they’ve ever known, and their current love has to cope with seeing the love of their life in the arms of another guy.

I could read that trope a million times over and never get bored or think it’s too repetitive.

[popponn]

like what if it's like in christmas movies, you are a career woman who is sick of everyone trying to get you a boyfriend. but itoshi sae is also sick of getting question about his relationship status, not exactly the guy with bright smiles who will change your mind about relationships.

nonetheless, somehow the two of you ended up on a dinner together and walked out with not a relationship, but instead a plan and a timeline of a fake relationship for a year. the first month is secret dates that somehow always ended up getting caught red handed by rin—or victim a; third month is moving in; then starting from the eleventh month it will be where the relationship is facing problems. then at the twelfth, the two of will break up and go on with a wound so deep that a new relationship will be impossible for the two of you for a while. it's a plan that you offered with a customer service smile and sae accepted because he is just sick of it all.

and then chats in between the meals happened, sae making sure no one touched in the part happened, sharing black coffee every morning happened, you finding sae's habits and such oddly adorable happened, and sae finding that whatever he is having with you is not bad at all. the oh moment hit. the staring at your back silently with wide eyes moment hit.

so at the ninth month, you decide to sped up the plan a little bit and tell him you will move out. you start this as a mature adult, so you will walk out before you no longer have the will to be one in front of him.

sae is like those christmas movies heroine in some ways. i no longer remember what sort of thought convinced me last 3 am but. he is. and he is a funny guy who i cant think of doing anything if it doesnt benefit his soccer career while also being the guy i really like to put in a domestic setting. probably because he is a family guy in some way???? (honestly i dont know) and then there is my recent obsession with ' i didnt mean to fall in love with you' kinda beat which go hand in hand with fake lovers. i really want this to be fluff full of moments shared together along with the crashing realization (that came twice) of "oh" moment from fake lovers trope. and. yeah im definitely confused but i think i got the spirit.

[sparring-spirals]

Went through my kith and kin tag after that last post and once again lying on my floor thinking about. vex snarling at vax about his judgement being swayed by a pretty face-

(another person vax is brave enough to love, even if its dangerous. looking for the good and the kindness and the humanity among the darkness, trying to bring it forward, let vex experience it, even when it can leave him bleeding)-

and vax snarling at vex about her judgement being swayed by her desperation to be accepted-

(another time vex sees a way to secure safety and security and approval, which is safety and security, in a different form. for her, her and vax and trinket and everything she loves, safe in one place, where they can belong, they can stay)-

and. oogh.

Holding these twins in my hands. squishing them like playdough. one of them fights desperately to find the kindness and good and light even when its a fools errand. leaves himself open and hurt for a little bit of light. if it keeps vex safe, happier. one of them counting and calculating and running and cruel because the world demands it. keeps the counter going and going and does the hard things if it keeps vax whole, and okay. one close range and one long.

they'll hurt each other if it keeps the other whole. they'll gladly get hurt if it keeps the other safe. the world is harsh, and they are surviving. what the fuck. theyre such a fucked up pair. they love each other so much.

[andthebeanstalk]

One of the things I love about Glass Onion is the way that the camera and music work together to tell nonverbal jokes.

Like when Benoit basically has to hold Miles' hand to get him to the conclusion that someone reset the puzzle box Benoit lies about receiving:

Benoit asks if it's possible that someone reset the box, and Miles then declares that someone must have reset the box like it is this huge reveal - and the camera zooms out while the music subtly swells as though he really has figured out something smart, when actually he literally restated what Benoit just said.

[fennel-tea]

That Awful OTP Meme, or: my Binah/Hod manifesto

I originally posted this on twitter but while this is mostly tongue-in-cheek I actually have a lot of thoughts on these two that are generally summarized by [god DAMN I love the interplay of two people who are varying degrees of Terrible]

or just, like, a Hannigram meme.

[herebecritters]

Please understand that, more often than not, works of fiction are a fictional exploration of concepts and ideas rather than a declaration of morality

[becca-e-barnes]

ok i know subby!men are just something else but i will literally be riding the subby!sugar baby!nat train until i die that drabble you wrote about her trying on different lingeries

mmmmmmm

sure i love men but im a whore for a woman

Look, I'm a simple woman, there's not much I love more than a whimpering sub. So imagine sub!Nat with a wand tied between her legs while she's kneeling on the floor, eating you out 😈

You've tied the vibe to the inside of her leg and there's no way for her to squirm away from it. Each little attempt only serves to rub her throbbing clit against the buzzing head of the toy, adding to the stimulation that's already threatening to overwhelm her.

She can't stop getting herself off. She tried to hide her orgasms at first, knowing that she hadn't asked for permission but she doesn't need your permission today. You just want to see her pretty thighs trembling and you can tell they’re close to being at that stage.

"Good girl, Tasha." You hum contentedly, running your fingers soothingly through her hair, keeping her mouth pressed to your own dripping sex. She whines at the praise, just as she always does.

"Such a sweet girl for me. You have the most perfect mouth, you know that?" Her tongue flicks relentlessly over your clit while two of her fingers curl inside you but what really gets you is the look in her eyes. There's a real desperation swirling in them. A desperation to make sure your orgasms match hers. A desperate need to please you. A desperate need to lose herself on the toy humming between her legs until she's mindlessly humping it without a single care about how pathetic she must look.

"You're such a pretty girl. I bet that toy feels nice. Is it too much for you yet, baby?" Your voice is so soft, it makes her melt just a little more, shaking her head no.

"I hoped it wouldn't be. I know you can take more for me. But sweetheart, you've made such a mess. You're dripping all over yourself. I bet you're going to make a slutty little mess on the floor next." Now that you've pointed it out, she tries her best to clench her thighs tighter around the toy but that doesn't provide any relief. Quite the opposite, actually.

"You're so slutty that your little cunt is just drooling for me, isn't it? Maybe it needs to be filled up? How does that sound? Should I get you something to stuff in your pretty pussy?" Her cheeks are beautifully flushed and she's getting to the stage that she doesn't know what she needs so it makes perfect sense to you that she should at least have the option.

You hear her whimper when you pull away, letting her fingers slip from you as you head to the closet to retrieve a dildo with a section cup on the base. You line it up with her body, right where you know she needs it and take your place back on the edge of the bed. Before you've even positioned yourself, she's slid down on the toy with a broken sob, letting her hips rise and fall, fucking herself totally senseless.

"Th-thank you." She whines, bouncing so beautifully, you can't help but let your own fingers drift between your legs as you watch her.

"You're very welcome, darling." You can't help but laugh quietly at the way she's losing control so quickly, almost ready to cum again. "Go on, let me see just how quickly you can fuck yourself silly for me. You're going to cum for me but then you're not going to stop, do you understand?" Your hand on her chin keeps her eyes on yours and of course, she's more than happy to do anything you tell her. Your Tasha is such a good girl, after all.

[catastrxblues]

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[wolfeyedwitch]

Me: *experiences unpleasant things from People Being Crazy*

My inner whump writer: *takes notes about the feelings for more accurate future writing*

[beevean]

He had forgotten how it felt to suffocate.

If he could, Dracula would gasp for useless air, and shed tears that his eyes no longer needed, and scream until every glass in the castle shattered. But his body held still, slumped in an armchair in front of a fire whose warmth didn’t reach him.

Immortality without her would be nothing but emptiness. He could no longer recall his old friend’s face, but he would never, ever forget the sorrow with which he had uttered those words that, damn him, proved themselves to be true once again.

Dracula would laugh at God for his audacity. Would curse him, spite at him the vilest blasphemies that could rise to his tongue until he fell to the Earth under the weight of his crimes. He did neither. Death had taken Lisa with him, and even though he had made the Reaper bend his shoulder at him, not even the Dark Lord had the power to call back a departed soul.

And so Dracula was once again alone. He closed his eyelids, the light of the dancing flames still burning behind them, not enough to cover the memories of Lisa’s cold, torn body in his arms. Sleep did not reach him, and it never would. There was no escape for him, no reprieve from the mire he was drowning into.

Then there would be no escape for the humans, either. If the rest of Dracula’s existence was doomed to be nothing but agony, then the rest of the humans’ pitiful life shall be the same.

A loud knock roused Dracula from his poisoned thoughts.

“My Lord?”

He perked his head up at the sound of Hector’s voice. Of all inhabitants of the castle, he wasn’t expecting his Generals to look for him: he had ordered them to spend every waking hour of theirs in the laboratory, to create an army for him. The rest of their life shall be working for him, working until their own flesh melted away, as they had sworn to do.

He could drive them away. Even without a reflection, he was able to tell that he did not look the part of a Lord worth to be respected. However, an uncharacteristic hesitation stilled his hand.

Company… would be appreciated, at the moment. And of the few people he was willing to admit that he trusted, his boys were two of them.

“Come in,” Dracula beckoned them, in a shamefully hoarse voice. He did not have the will to stand up, and he decided that it didn’t matter. The door creaked, and in the room stepped Hector and…

He was alone.

“Where is Isaac?” Dracula asked, curiosity piqued. Usually, the two were joined at the hip. Then again, usually Lisa would be sitting at his side, welcoming the young Generals with a smile on her lovely face. It was fitting, then, that the both of them were without their closest companions.

“Isaac doesn’t wish to disturb you, my Lord.”

“And you do?”

The boy’s impassive face did not hide a faster heartbeat. “I’ll leave if my presence is unwarranted, my Lord. But… I wanted to make sure you were doing alright, first.”

Alright? The notion was nearly offensive. No, he was not doing alright. He was dying, over and over again, every second that he spent on that armchair, without Lisa to hold to his chest.

However, despite the insensitive words, Dracula reined in his anger, because Hector cared. He had no reason to come to him; not even Adrian had deigned to approach him since their last heated argument. Him and his ridiculous notion of sparing mankind: how dare his own son stand on the side of his mother’s murderers! Instead, his own student showed him compassion. Perhaps Hector could lend him a better ear.

“No need to leave, Hector. You may come closer.”

Hector obeyed, with his back straight, hands behind his back and head dutifully bowed. Always concerned with discipline, even in a world that made no longer sense. The cloth of the armchair gave beneath Dracula’s claws: how could he pretend everything was still normal? How could he still act like a proper knight, when Dracula didn’t even feel like a person? Why did he, why did all of them, have the privilege to go on about their life unaffected when everything was over?

No, there was no place for order anymore, not in a world that delighted in ripping everything dear away from him.

“I knew that one day, I would have to say goodbye to my Lisa,” Dracula spoke, more to the fireplace than to Hector; still, the boy’s breath sounded closer. “But I figured that she would die in peace on her bed, after living a long life at my side. Not like this, Hector, she didn’t deserve this, not a pure soul like she was. What a cruel, petty being God is… and his creation followed his footsteps…”

Death, death to them all. They will suffer what they put his Lisa through tenfold, a hundred-fold; he will tear them apart limb from limb, slit their throats and bathe in their muddy blood, crush their skulls under his boots. And with the mountains of corpses that he would leave in his wake, he would climb to Heaven, and repay God for all the injustices he had committed. He would reduce this husk of a world to dust in his fingers.

Perhaps that would be enough to bring him some needed cheer.

Dracula did not expect Hector to respond, to even begin to understand him, as young and reserved as he was. He didn’t mind: the heat radiating from him, the low thrumming of his heart, they were an almost familiar comfort. He was not Lisa, but it would do, for now. The boy needed not do anything more but exist next to him, without rejecting him.

And yet, Hector spoke.

“There isn’t a creature in the castle that she didn’t touch with her presence, my Lord. I can’t imagine the depths of the love you feel for her… but know that we all cared about Lady Lisa, in some fashion: it would have been impossible to not do so. I will always be thankful for what she did. Lady Lisa…” His breath hitched. “She was the mother I never had.”

The boy stepped closer, his gaze kept at his feet as Dracula taught him to do, even though this time it was him who looked up at his student, leaning to listen to his words.

“You’re not alone, my Lord. I don’t have the power to bring the dead back… but if there is anything you need, I will give it to you.”

And Dracula, resurfacing from his mire for a second, believed him. If there was anyone who could keep that promise, it was his prodigy of a student.

Moved by an impetus without a name, Dracula clasped his boy’s hand: humans burned hot on his skin, yet he welcomed the fire, the heat radiating from the contact that seeped through until it reached his chest. He used to draw warmth from Lisa in much the same way.

“Then help me, Hector.” It was an order; it was a plea. “Let me rain down fire and brimstone upon those wretched creatures who dared to took her away from me, until the wind blows away their ashes.”

Seconds passed, marked by the ticking of the clock. For a terrible moment, Dracula feared that Hector had been seized by hesitation, by rebellion, much like Adrian. No, he would not, not diligent, loyal Hector. He had sworn.

“If humans have decided to declare war on you, then we will retaliate as they deserve,” Hector asserted at last. His head snapped upwards, and Hector looked at Dracula with his icy eyes, that put in his mind the harsh winters that killed hundreds. “Her death won’t be in vain. I will make them scream in your name, my Lord.”

A smile found its way on Dracula’s lips.

“Oh, Hector. When did you grow up so much?”

“It was under your care, my Lord.”

[theladycarpathia]

I'm always waiting for you to be waiting below

Prompt: Microwave Dinner

Billy doesn’t even hear Max until the microwave dings.

“You’re going to burn it,” she grumbles, as she waits for him to pull the crappy microwave dinner out. Billy bites back a curse as the steam singes his fingers.

“It might improve it,” Billy mutters, because the charcoal might actually add some flavor to the mounds of dry potato, carrots and turkey. That was all Neil and Susan had left behind in the fridge for them and Billy wasn’t about to waste his limited funds on grocery shopping.

He waits for it to cool before he tugs off the film and hands it to her. She doesn’t wait for him before she bolts back into the living room and whatever show she’s chosen.

Of course not.

He shoves in the second tinfoil tray in the microwave and puts in the allotted time. While it spins slowly on the plate he leans against the kitchen counter, ignoring the faint sounds of Max turning the TV volume up too high. It would be fine if her choice of entertainment weren’t such trash.

He didn’t know exactly what he was expecting but it wasn’t this.

The microwave dings again and he yanks open the door, tugging the tray out onto the counter and staring at the bland dinner that is apparently all his eighteenth birthday is worth.

He hadn’t expected a lot. But Neil and his stepmother vanished out of the door, leaving him with a microwave dinner and babysitting duties wasn’t it.

Even Max has barely acknowledged the date, instead piling into the Camaro after school, flushed and ten minutes late after the bell. There was a vaguely shifty expression on her face when he’d asked why she wasn’t on time, a defensiveness in the way she’d hauled her skateboard onto her lap. Billy figured she’d just been caught up with that boy and let it go.

At least someone has friends who care.

He grabs a fork and follows Max into the living room. She’s curled up on the couch, legs tucked up underneath her. Her red hair is twisted into two thick plaits and that alone probably says something about how much she’s grown. When she was little, she never used to bother, keeping her long red hair loose around her face. But these days, she wears cute t-shirts, twists her hair into little knots, keeps a lip gloss on her bedside table. 

“Slow down,” he mutters, carefully juggling the hot tray while he peels off the film. Max barely blinks as she shoves dry mashed potato into her mouth.

“It’s fine,” Max says, licking her lip.

“Fine, choke, see if I care,” Billy says flatly and Max smirks.

“You wish,” she retorts. She chews furiously on her last carrot and stands up, empty tray in her hands. “Can I go? I’ve got homework. Here, you can have this.” She doesn’t even wait for an answer, instead chucking the remote control down next to Billy. Billy feels oddly empty as she vanishes, leaving him alone with the jarring sounds of the TV and his rapidly cooling dinner.

He tries not to care. No one’s really given a shit about his birthday since his mom left. Neil certainly didn’t. For a few years after Max and Susan turned up, there was at least cake and a few wrapped presents. Usually shit that Neil thought was an appropriate gift, rather than Billy actually wanted but at least the day was acknowledged. There was a card waiting by his plate at breakfast this morning and that was it. No tapes, no basketball, no socks, or any of the usual shit he gets stuck with. 

It would have been fine, except he’s not heard from…he’s not heard anything all day. He half expected the BMW to be waiting for him in the parking lot - not that with his expected babysitting duties, they could even have gone to the quarry like normal - but it just wasn’t there. Billy had kept an eye on the road while he was waiting for Max, just in case it pulled in late.

But it didn’t and Billy was well and truly crushed.

He gets it. The day Billy Hargrove was born was a celebration to no one.

He morosely eats his meal, barely even tasting any of it. When he’s done, he gets up, figuring that he may as well clean up. If Max is in her room for the night maybe he can watch something decent.

He gathers up both containers and retrieves Max’s abandoned cutlery from the side. He knows the drill. His birthday will not save him from a bruised eye if the kitchen hasn’t been cleaned.

Max sticks her head into the kitchen just as he begins to run the tap. He tries his best to ignore her but she walks over to him like it’s any other day.

“What do you want, maggot?” Billy grunts, because he fully expects her to ask for dessert. Which, aside from a few old bananas and some stale chocolate chips from Susan’s last happy homemaker baking binge, they don’t have any of.

“Come with me,” Max says firmly. Billy digs his heels in, because he can, because he’s had enough, because he’s eighteen and no one cares.

“Get lost, Maxine,” he says, slamming the cutlery into the sink far harder than he really needs to.

“No, you have to come with me now,” she insists and actually grabs hold of his wrist. Her fingers are thin and delicate around his skin, faint flecks of blue nail varnish on her fingers. Billy stares at her resolute face and wonders how much Susan would mind if he tied up her only child and strung her up from a flagpole outside the high school.

“And I said I don’t want to,” Billy repeats. “I have to clean up.” Max looks behind him at the few items in the sink, the discarded packaging from their dinner and makes a face.

“I’ll do that. Seriously, we only have an hour,” she says, pulling on his arm like she thinks she can move him. “Will you come on? It’s for your birthday.”

Stunned, Billy lets her pull him out of the kitchen and down the hall.

“You got me a present?” he asks incredulously, and Max raises her eyebrows.

“Sort of,” she says vaguely and Billy winces as she twists his skin as she tries to bolt headlong down the hallway. “I had to sort it, that’s why I was late. I didn’t know Mom and Neil were going out for sure until this morning and then I had to use the phone…”

To Billy’s confusion they pass right by her room. Max stops in front of his door, her eyes unusually bright.

“One hour,” she instructs, turning the door handle. “That’s all. I’ll set a timer. And I’ll put the radio on.”

“What the hell do you…” Billy starts to say, as she opens his door and pushes him inside. She slams the door behind him, shutting him in darkness.

“What the hell?” Billy starts, before his words are cut off by a rap at the window.

He nearly shits himself when he sees the face at the window.

“Steve?” Billy hisses incredulously, hurrying across to undo the latch and yank the window up. Steve heaves himself up onto the windowsill and grins.

“Happy birthday,” he says and Billy has to take a step back to let Steve slither into the room.

“What the fuck?” Billy says, because apparently his boyfriend and his sister have been conspiring behind his back all day. Steve lands awkwardly on the carpet, a tangle of limbs and hair and good humor, despite his bad landing. Billy quietly shuts the window again and turns around. But he’s not dreaming and Steve Harrington is really standing in his room. Polo shirt, denim jacket, a lump of car keys in his pocket.

“Thought I was going to get arrested,” Steve says, brushing back his hair from his face in a motion that never fails to make Billy’s stomach dip. Steve’s windswept, his face flushed from the cold and the illicit trip through Billy’s window. “I swear I was going like seventy down Cornwallis.”

“How did you…?” Billy starts, but Steve’s looking around with interest and Billy realizes that Steve’s never been in his room before. There’s a flicker of shame in his belly, because he’s been in Steve’s palatial house, slept naked in Steve’s huge bed, and his own room feels small and dingy by comparison. But Steve noses with interest at his assorted hair products, the scantily clad girls on the calendar, the leather bracelets on his dresser, like he’s actually interested in the effects of Billy’s life. 

“I thought you’d forgotten,” Billy says quietly, and Steve sits down on Billy’s single bed. He smooths a hand over the plain blue cover and Billy wonders if that’s why Max was so obvious about the fact that she’d have music on.

“I was going to come visit you at school,” Steve explains.“But Max called this morning and said that your parents were going out. So we planned this instead.”

Billy drops down onto the bed next to Steve, feeling a little stunned that they went through the effort. If Neil and Susan hadn’t gone out, Max probably would have skated to the arcade to buy Steve and Billy some time. But instead, she’d arranged for Steve to come here, ensuring that they’d at least have some time together.

“Your sister is terrifying,” Steve says frankly, perhaps because he can see the gears turn in Billy’s head. He does that - fills the silence with talk when Billy starts to feel a little overwhelmed. “And I say that in comparison to my ex-girlfriend and a kid with superpowers. She called my house at fucking ass o’clock and demanded I get my butt down here.”

“Did she call you again?” Billy asks, suddenly suspicious of Max bolting her dinner. Steve winds his fingers into Billy’s, his skin a little cold from the sharp March bite outside. 

“Yeah, she wanted to be sure that it would be dark and your parents hadn’t come back early,” Steve says easily. “She said I had to use the window…?”

“Mrs Haversham is a nosey bitch,” Billy says bluntly and Steve bursts into startled laughter.

“Yeah, she said that too,” Steve says, fondly. He suddenly starts digging into his jacket pocket with the hand that’s not entwined with Billy’s, finally tugging out a small blue box. Billy lets it drop into his open palm, feeling almost raw. He hadn’t expected more of a present, but here’s Steve bringing him fucking jewelry.

When he opens it, it’s a chunky silver ring, the kind that Billy likes to pick up from thrift stores. Only he gets the feeling that this one is a little more expensive and when he peers at the inside of the band, he catches a glimpse of an engraving in the dim light.

“I thought your dad wouldn’t notice if it looked like all the others,” Steve says, like he’s expecting Billy to hate it. Billy stares at the tiny writing, trying to figure out all of the letters by the slim sliver of moonlight. The delicate curve of a S, the double loops of a B, the matching twin shapes of the two Hs…Steve had their initials carved into silver, instead of into a tree, and somehow it’s just so fucking Steve. 

Billy carefully slides it onto a finger and then, because it’s the only way he really knows how to show gratitude, he flashes Steve a suggestive grin.

“Max said we only had an hour,” he points out, grabbing for the bottom of his shirt and tugging it over his head. “I wonder what we can do in an hour?”

The glitter in Steve’s eyes suggests that he knows what Billy’s doing, that Billy will thank him with his mouth, even if it’s not by words. But he curls his hand over Billy’s ring finger, carefully brushing against the line between skin and silver, and smiles anyway.

“I think we should find out,” Steve says and loops a hand around Billy’s neck to pull him in.

[thissmycomingofage]

The thing is that the tgw deluxe tracks are the regular tracks' kids and there's actually a family tree :

Holy revival : coming of age/tgw

Yoko : two weeks ago/wendy

The Song: watch/lost the breakup

Guy On A Horse: yjab(aiktm)/BSC

Truth is : therapy/there it goes

The last one : the band & I/history of man

[balladetto]

     Once, when Link was even smaller than he feels, he'd knocked his shoulder out of its socket in a terrible fall.

     Terrible in that he'd cried about it, ashamed and at the then-height of pained, not that it was a particularly horrific tumble. He'd just landed wrong, he remembers someone telling him — frantic and almost apologetic in their reassurance. Too much has happened for him to reconstruct a face for the memory, but Link can still recall the stutter in their words. You're g-gonna be okay. Y-you're gonna— gonna be f-fine.

     And he was. Someone had gone to fetch a healing fairy while others came to keep him company. It'd been the right shoulder, burning at the joint and numb all the way down to his fingertips, but he'd found a spot of hurt he could grit his teeth through; then breathe through; then eventually speak through. By the time the fairy was brought over, Link had been so deep in the rhythm of holding himself together that he'd nearly slapped her away when she broke it.

     He remembers her, he thinks, the most out of everything. There's a distinct clarity associated pain will give you with any recollection. She was rose-pink, a little darker than he was used to, and she'd bristled when he whimpered through a fresh wave of tears and pushed at her with his pinky.

     "Stop that," she'd said. "Bones aren't easy, you know. It'll only hurt for a pinch, it has to for me to fix it. You're already being so brave! Can't you be brave a while longer?"

     Outside the memory, Link lays crumpled on cold tiles, eyelids like crushed butterfly wings and the cave of his chest barely moving as he looks up and up and up. He thinly wonders, for a fixing like this, how long he'd have to keep being brave for.

     Neither of his shoulders took the landing this time, but he knows many things are wrong with both of them. By extension, many things are wrong with all of him. He should take stock, a part of him understands. He'd like to take stock, another part realises, if only he had the capacity to. Each breath shifts the slivers and splinters his bones have shattered into. Agony twists through every vein like a replacement for the blood he imagines paints his trail from platform to windows to the far below floor. He can't feel his fingers, which twitch as if to grip something — his left hand, mangled, rests as if in graveyard dirt.

     There is no amount of searching in this sea that will land him in a place where this might be bearable.

     "Link!" Navi yells, a trilling bell that drowns out the sound of dying. His heart threads an extra thump, like he still has it in him to be scared alongside everything else, before it fades back into a whisper of a pulse. She wheels above him in panicked, powdery circuits: hair to boots and back. "Get up! You have to get up!"

     He does. He does have to. Link doesn't get to think he's gonna die now. He doesn't get to be tired enough — small enough — for that. He draws a rattling inhale, head practically cracking open with how the air presses against its seams. He's sixteen. The world will end if he's nine. He's sixteen, sixteen, sixteen.

     He chokes on liquid rising in his gorge, coughs it up, and closes his eyes when gravity brings the blood down in blotches on his skin. It's— really gross, and that's such a mundane thought in the face of what he has to reckon with that his chest starts spasming with strangled laughter instead.

     "Link!"

     Navi, he replies in his head, 'cause that's all he can do. He traces over more names: Sheik, Zelda, Saria, the Sages, the Kokiri, the list goes on as his voice dips into hitching, searing gasps. It's an awful thing to realise — that's all he can do. Link has to get up, has to be Courage, has to be more than what he is.

     And he can't.

     Sound drifts down from above, mocking. Cruel. It's a laugh getting louder and louder, and Link prises his lashes apart with the sheer will borne from a unique dread. A kind of fear, if you felt it not in sensation, but in the dizzying spiral that is the certainty of where this will all end.

     A kind of fear — and a kind of fury.

     Link is nine, thrown to the ground, battered and muscles stinging with a magic he tastes as something crackling on his tongue. He glares up at the tall man on the tall horse, smouldering so brazenly with protective, frustrated outrage that he shakes with it. He is not unafraid of the sneer that answers him, but he does not look away.

     Link is nine, broken over the ground, near dead and stuck in a body he's tried to make his. His eyes are cold as he watches Ganondorf descend, burning with tears dyed red from failure. The brand on his left hand glows, resonating with a magic he no longer has the nerves to feel. Navi doesn't leave. There are a thousand things he wishes he could scream.

     Large fingers fold around the wrist of his gauntlet, deliberate in their ignorance of the softness a joint that bent must be afforded. As his arm is lifted, the pain dragged along every passing second like some horrible, continuous song-note that eclipses even his fears, he pretends none of the noises coming from him are his and thinks everything that could mean: I hate you.

     He thinks everything that could mean: I'm so sorry.

     The man raises his other hand, palm closing in, and Link forces another entire earth on the child he can't be even here — even now. He does not look away. Navi, oddly muffled, rings something wordless.

     Link waits for the end of this story.

[satelliteinasupernova]

Rewatching the final episode now recognizing that the Jughead walking along side Betty in the finale is writer!Jughead, who just wants to make sure Betty is happy and fulfilled with the ending that he wrote for her... Sorry to everyone who was frustrated with the finale centering around Betty, but RAS wrote that episode framing just for me.