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rafesslxt · 6 months

Note

Hi! Would you write a smut fic about getting high with Mattheo?

R U High Mine⎥Mattheo Riddle

summary: you come back from the holiday's with some weed for you and the boys. When you and Mattheo smoke while showing him some songs, it get's a little heated between the two of you.

warnings: Filthy smut yasss, getting high, so drugs/weed, smoking, best friends to lovers, making out, vocal mattheo (ugh), dirty talk, fingering, unprotected p in v, aftercare, mattheo calling reader slut and whore

note: I saw this in the car and had an immediate idea how to write this, had much fun. Thank you for the request I hope you like it. 💚

song: I recommend listening to the song "R U Mine" or "Why'd you only call me when you're high" by Arctic Monkeys, trust me babes. Or hear the playlist "Are you high mine" from my Spotify.

The boys and Pansy already waited for me in the common room as I arrived at Hogwarts again. It was like Christmas for them, knowing I would always bring them their favorite treat after the holiday's.

I smiled at them, knowing they were thinking the same as me as they smiled back at me. "Y/n!" Pansy was the first to stand up and hug me. From all the people I called my friends, I was closest to her. " Hey Pansy, how are you?" I asked, letting my bags fall to hug her back.

"I'm great! We're waiting for you girl. Everyone's here already." she giggled as she let go of me so I could great the rest.

I gave everyone a hug, at last Mattheo, who kissed my cheek. " How are you princess?" he asked, scanning my face. " I'm good Matt, thanks." I smile at him and sit beside him on the armrest. " What about you?" " Fine now that you're here." I rolled my eyes playfully at his answer.

"You know we're all happy to see you y/n, but do you have it?" Draco asked, shifting impatient in his seat. I think from all of us, he was the one with the most need for it. He was constantly on the edge, maybe even worse If it wasn't for Pansy who comforted him the best she could. He had all the pressure of his father on his shoulders and It was clear to see what it did to him. So a little smoke from now and then did good for him.

"Of course I have it, how could I forget when all of you reminded me the whole 2 weeks of it in each letter you wrote?" I say sarcastic, with a little smirk on the edge of my lips.

I grabbed my purse and pulled out a big black bag with already little packed baggy's, also black so you couldn't see what's in it, for each of them.

"Oh my god it's more than usually, right?" Enzo said, gawking at the little bags in my hand. I chuckled as I gave each one of them their own little bag so they could divide it up for the next few weeks.

"Yeah it is indeed more than usual. Got a good prize for it." " Wait let me pay what we didn't give you." Draco said, grabbing into his pockets but I shook my head. " No it's good. I'm friends with him since we were kids." He nodded and opened his bag to smell it, saying "You know I never thought I would say that but I wouldn‘t have thought I would ever be this happy to have a friend who is part of the muggle world."

I laughed at his comment, before giving the last bag to Mattheo. "I've got something else for you." I grinned at him, knowing he'll love it.

Obviously things like wifi don't exist here so I buyed him an MP3 player with lots and lots of battery's so he could listen to music. This time I brought an CD player and made a few Playlists for him.

His smile got bigger as he saw me pulling it out of my bag. "What's that?" Blaise asked, watching us. " It's an CD Player so you can hear Music a little louder than with headset."

"You wanna hear it?" I ask, Mattheo nodding. " Yeah princess, let's go." He grabbed my bags and gave me my purse. "See you later guy's." I waved at the rest of them.

It became a ritual for us to listen to music every time I came back from holiday's, so the group already knew what's going on.

We walked towards mine and Pansy's dorm we shared which was no issue to her as Mattheo and Draco shared a dorm so she would always go over to Draco's.

"You roll the weed and I'm gonna put on the music mkay? Grinder is in the top drawer." I say while walking towards my desk and putting the CD player on it, putting the battery in it and the first CD I wanted to show him. In the meantime he sat down on my bed and grinned the weed smaller before rolling it into a J.

"Ready." He smiled at me and tapped the place beside him on the bed. "Okay, so this is a band I want to show you, they're called "Arctic Monkeys" and I think you'll love them." Confident I sat down next to him after starting the Music. He lit the J and handed it over to me. "Here, you go first." "Thanks." I took the first drag and inhaled it deeply into my lungs before grinning and exhaling the smoke. " Oh it's good. Marc didn't disappoint." "Marc huh?" he asked as he took his first drag. " So you two are close or anything?"

I shrugged with my shoulders before laying down on my back. " Kind of, but not as close as I'm with you guys. I know him since I'm a kid, he's also the only one who knows about Hogwarts beside my parents."

He scanned my face as I was talking, slowly dragging his gaze from my eyes to my lips. I saw it but didn't think about it as I slowly but surely felt the weed have an effect.

"Damn, you were right. The music is great. It's a bit..edgy." " Yeah I know but it's great for smoking." I giggle and turn my head back towards the ceiling as the song "Why'd you only call me when you're high" started to play. " That's my second favorite." I tell him, feeling the weed calming me down but also making my senses and nerves more sensitive and reactive.

"What's your favorite?" "It comes after a few songs, just wait, I will tell you."

We layed down a little longer, smoking the J until it was ready and we were high as fuck. "Shit, it feels so good to be like this again." he groans, sending shivers down my spine. I turned my head towards him, seeing him looking at the ceiling.

I always had a crush on Mattheo. I loved when he was all flirty with me, while with nobody other. We both had partners before but I always felt some kind of pull towards him. My eyes scanned him, looking at his sharp jawline at first. I also loved looking at it, made me feel some type of way. Especially when it moved while he smoked.

Suddenly his eyes hit mine and maybe it's the weed but I had a feeling as If there was more in his gaze. Again, he looks at my eyes and then at my lips, licking his own.

Then my favorite song started playing. " That's my favorite." I said, watching him looking to the CD player. I wait a litte before he reacts to it. He breathed out heavily before looking at me. "You know where I would love to hear it?" "No tell me." "When we fuck." he says bluntly.

My eyes widened in shock, not knowing If I imagined things now. Before I could say anything he rolled over on top of me, grabbed my neck and kissed me with passion I've never felt before in my life. I opened my mouth as his tongue licked over my bottom lip. He groaned against my lips and pressed his body even more against mine, letting one hand beside my head to support himself and the other which was at my neck, now wandering over my stomach.

My breathing got faster and heavier due the haze and the arousal I suddenly felt. "Fuck, you don't even know how long I've been wanting to do this." He lowers his head down to my throat in a rush, leaving my lips trembling.

Goosebumps erupted over my skin as I felt his tongue licking my skin and his teeth carefully biting it. " Mattheo.." I moaned and let my hands go trough his hair, pulling on some strands. "What princess? What do you need hm?" he mumbles against my neck.

I arched my back and pressed my hips against his, feeling he's already hard. I gasped at the friction and bit my lip right after. " Need to feel you." "Where, tell me where. I wanna hear you say it." he groans, pressing against my hips.

"Everywhere. Fuck me." I would have never said that so bluntly without the weed, but I'm so grateful that we did smoke.

He growled against my skin, leaving wet kisses all over it before sitting up between my legs and letting both his hands roam over my skin under the hoodie I wore. It didn't take him long before pulling it over my head together with my shirt under it, seeing I was wearing no bra.

His lips parted and a smile formed on them. " You're so beautiful y/n, shit why didn't we do this sooner." His hand wandered up to my chest, massaging them and playing with my nipples teasing them. I mewled at the feeling and arched my back again. " Mattheo please. I need more."

"Don't have to ask me twice, princess." He opened the button of my jeans and pulled them down. He got rid of his clothes too until we were both only in our underwear.

I looked down and saw how big he was, just trough his boxershorts, making me gulp a little. "Don't worry, I'll go slow. Or do you want it rough?" I nodded quickly. " Rough. Fuck me like - " " Like what?" I gulped again before answering in a whisper. " Like a slut." " Oh you mean like my slut? Because after this you'll go nowhere but to me If you need to be fucked. Understood?" Ahh imagine him saying this ugh

I nodded. "Good girl." he said smiling, his voice and words making me even wetter. His fingers slowly stroked over my slip, making him biting his lip and almost moan. "Feel how wet you are you fucking slut? Wet for your best friend?"

I moaned and closed my eyes as he slipped a finger under the fabric and right inside of me. "Fuck, you're so tight. Nobody fucked you good the last few months huh?" I shook my head as I couldn't form any words. " Yeah that's gonna change from now on." He pumped his fingers a few more times inside of me, putting pressure to my clit with his thumb before pulling down his boxer shorts and my slip.

He pressed his tip against my entrance, looking at me. " Ready?" "Yeah.." I breathed out. He slowly pushed inside me, scanning my face, his eyes a little hooded.

My hands grabbed his hair again as he completely bottomed me out. "Oh yes.." I moaned, closing my eyes and parting my lips.

"You feel so good princess." he groaned and started to thrust inside me fast and rough, not thinking twice If someone outside in the common room could hear the bed hitting the wall. I wanted to say something but every word got stuck in my throat at his merciless fucking.

"What huh? Am I fucking you stupid you little whore? Fuck I love this, how fucked out you already look, not even able to speak." he growls into the air.

The only thing I felt was him inside me, thrusting faster and faster every minute that passed. I couldn't concentrate on anything else beside him. "M-mattheo I'm close.." " You wanna cum baby? Beg me like the little slut you wanted to be."

His thrusts became erratic and sloppy and I heard his breathing getting harder. "Fuck, please let me cum Mattheo. Please, I'm begging you." I moan loudly as my walls clench around his cock.

"Fuck fuck fuck.." he groaned, thrusting hard one last time before spilling inside me and circling his fingers on my sensitive clit. "Come around my cock baby." And I did. I did so hard that my vision went black for a moment and his name left my lips over and over again.

"Yeah, love how you almost look possessed. Possessed by my cock." he grins down at me, slowly pulling out of me.

I swallowed and looked at him, mind dizzy." "That was so good Mattheo." I said, trying to catch my breath.

"Oh believe me princess, that won't be the last time. You're mine now."

I hope you had fun reading, I had so much fun writing this. 😍

Let me know what ya'll think about this hehe. 👀

My Masterlist

xoxo Sarah <3

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lixies-favorite-cookie · 15 hours

Text

rewrite the ending in every lifetime・l.f

—From the moment Felix saw you drawing your dreams in the sand, he knew you were a daughter of the seas, with frozen fingers and feelings like the tide. So when the waves rush overhead, he will place his soul upon your tongue so your hollow heart can finally feel the warmth of the sun.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠・felix x mommy issues!reader 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐬・angst, smut, a collection of moments the two of you have ever wanted to say I love you, his vow to find your soul in every lifetime, elutions to supernatural connections of humans hearts 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬・8.1k 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬・The reader had mommy issues that are heavily described, manipulation, verbal abuse, references to physical abuse but it really isn't described, love bombing, alcoholism, references to blades and knives, sweet PIV sex, an ungodly amount of crying, panic attacks, there are some potentially disturbing descriptions in this honestly, uhh pregnancy and proposals (its really cute I promise) 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 ・If you want to see the preview for this story look here 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ・Family Line by Conan Gray, If the World Was Ending by Jp Saxe and Julia Michaels, The Night We Met by Lord Huron, Cover Me by Our Beloved Stray Kids, Evergreen by Richy Mitch & The Coal Miners.

𝐚/𝐧・I have poured my heart and soul into this fic; I hope it heals you how it healed me.

i. It is the wounds we hide from the light that beg most to be seen.

Age 12.

Scene one.

The sand feels like stardust as you glide your hands across the sky, your frozen fingers tracing the edge of an anguished cry.

lair.

You write in scribbled chicken scratch,

lair.

You wipe it all away.

The ruthless afternoon sun glares off the playset before you, stabbing through your eyelids. You actually have to squint to make out any of the children shrieking and playing on the variety of scattered sets; a few push and shove each other on the slides, while the quiet, more reserved ones sit silently on the swings. Some were climbing on the monkey bars, others spinning on the merry-go-round, and then there was you, 12-and-a-half, drawing their sorrows in the sandbox.

You don't even know why you come here anymore. It almost makes you chuckle, imagining how others must see you—too old, too tall, too out of place to be sitting in a snot-infested box that smelled like the remnants of many, many nasty toddlers.

Though, as silly as it seemed, you needed an escape, an outlet to channel all this burning rage. You wanted to flip the world inside out, turn it around and upside down; shake it, shake it, shake it untill humans finally had some common sense. I mean, really, how could they not see it? How could anybody not see it?

The worst part of it is you don’t even have a reason to be mad. You hadn’t argued, you hadn’t fought, she hadn’t hit you, hadn’t taken away your stuff. No, that isn’t why you were mad.

You were mad because she's a liar.

A big, fat, ugly, fucking liar.

Her love only ever pools at the tip of a knife, the glint of all your hopes and dreams; It shimmers and shines in the overhead lights, in the cloud of the crowd’s ceaseless cheers. See it, look everyone, I'm great. Her hands cover their eyes. Look, world, she's trying. Do you see it? She's trying. She's trying, you're crying, and the world only ever applauds.

You sigh, smacking your hands on your thighs. You were inches away from combusting—Your emotions, like unreleased electricity, coalescing in the pit of your gut, one wrong spark away from exploding.

Why couldn't anybody see it?

An earsplitting screech of pure bliss pierces your eardrums as you snap your neck up. It wasn’t really hard to pinpoint the noise, figuring every few beats it would happen again. The sound was home to a little girl with blond braided hair and a smile that rivaled the sun, but it wasn’t her that caught your attention the most—It was the boy behind her, gently pushing her on the swings. Your heart skips in your chest; he was beautiful, the unique type of pretty, the kind that’s utterly humane. He had sprays of freckles and cheeks that permanently crinkled in a grin.

Who was he?

Perhaps it was Cupid’s feathered wings that tickled the boy’s chin up, because as soon as your gaze lifts, he inadvertently steps into a patch of light—his amber irises seeming to be encrested with honeyed seaglass, a phenomenon only created by the restless tumbling of a thousand folded seas; and even with an ocean of blinding afternoon sun, his eyes still found you.

Well, now that you really think about it, you were staring at him first, so it really isn’t as magical as your brain makes it up to be. But still—

You feel your lips part, your stomach flipping upside down. You would have usually been embarrassed, caught staring at such a beautiful boy, but you were floored, utterly flummoxed. Cupid drew his stringed bow, and with a flick of a finger, your heart was ensnared.

Subconsciously, you slip your hand into your front pocket, your thumb running over the smooth surface of a million different frosted bottles.

You found comfort in the concept—how easily humans discarded their broken trash, and in the excruciating process of being shattered, crushed, destroyed, the sea smoothed out their jagged edges. It was not their gruesome end; no, it was their birth.

Their birth into something so captivating so unique—

You were seaglass.

You wanted to be seaglass.

You were way too young to be thinking about the phenomenon of the ocean and the wisdoms of the world.

He was nothing less than breathtaking as his nose crinkled, the corners of his eyes disappearing into crescent moon-shaped slits. He was staring at you the same way one would look at an adorable puppy that just fell straight on its ass.

Oh, well, here comes the embarrassment. It hits you like a semi-truck, reality slamming into you harder than the tonnage before. There you were, sticky in sweat-caked sand, shifting through dirt and grime like a grody toddler, and there he was, innocently playing with what is probably his kid sister, looking perfect and beautiful and impossibly unsweaty.

Like, actually, how is he not sweating? It’s at least a million degrees out here. He catches your eyes again, his grin slowly forming into some (mysterious) mix between curious and mischievous. He eases the swing to a stop. The little girl grumbles in protest before he leans down into her ear, whispering something that makes her smile and nod, innocently toddling off into the abyss of grass and giggles.

You wonder why he stopped playing with her—that is until he starts walking over to you.

You had never, in all your 12 years of existence, heard a voice so naturally inviting—like the tender lullaby of whispering rain.

"Hi, my name's Felix. What's yours?"

Your lips formed around the letters—the way they fit so perfectly in your mouth.

In every lifetime, you turned the words on your tongue like a promise forgotten in the stars.

In every lifetime I will find you.

With jarring familiarity, you take his extended hand, blushing profusely when he asks if he can take a seat, you almost tweak a muscle nodding with such enthusiasm.

And in every lifetime, I will make you mine.

ii. I could find your soul in the sky because yours is the only one that smells like home.

Age 16.

Scene two.

"You look like shit," Felix teases, a pencil lodged firmly between his teeth; he was obnoxiously chipper for a Monday morning in math class.

You roll your eyes, tossing your backpack onto the floor of the classroom with a heavy-handed flick.

"Fuck off and die," you smile, slumping into your seat.

Felix lets out a forceful laugh, shocked by your abrupt hostility. His mouth stays agape far into the droning silence, his brain scrambles into damage control when you lack an immediate explanation.

“Come on now, is that any way to talk to your best friend?” He showcased his obnoxiously large smile with the bottoms of his palms in a gesture that said, Look at me. His goofy antics would usually make you at least grin, but today you were the very epitome of exhausted, swimming in a vat of thickening cement. You just wanted to melt into the comfort of your fluffy sheets—

The room erupts in a cacophony of screaming voices and roaring laughter.

Why must humans be so loud?

You groan, scooting your chair so close to Felix your bodies are practically smooshed together. If it bothered him, he didn't show it—or maybe you were too tired to notice. Either way, you drop your head onto the dip of his shoulder, his heat wrapping around you like a threadbare blanket—just enough warmth to dull the bite of a chill, but never enough to melt the ice.

"Somebody's tired," he coos with a hint of concern, slipping an arm over your shoulders. You nod, mumbling something along the lines of "tired" and "understatement." Your eyelids flutter shut to the sound of his heartbeat, and even under the bright fluorescent lights, everything starts to dim.

That is until your teacher shakes you awake, rudely plunging you back into the land of the living. You blink a few times, Felix's face a blur. You clear your throat. Your teacher was a short lady with a smile like a snob and her hair styled in a bob. She was loud and callous, with the temper of an obnoxious lapdog. You dig your palms into your eyes until your vision is painted in Picasso.

"We have a test today, L/N. I would sit up if I were you," she says, tossing two packets onto the desk, she flicks her eyes between the two of you, before pursing her lips like a woman clutching her pearls.

Of course.

Of fucking, fuckudy, fucking, course.

Of all the days.

Most of your night was encased in a bubble of beer, the stench of anguish, and the echo of wet cries. Your mother insisted on proving her godliness until the sun came up, for she, the untouchable essence of perfection, could never be wrong.

You nodded in and out of consciousness, only ebbing along the edge of the ocean before the tide pulled away.

You just wanted to sleep.

"Hey, wake up," Felix says, softly nudging you awake. His touch is feather-light, but it feels like the stab of a thousand sharpened pencils, the way your annoyance flares up.

"No," you croak, the lights like little lanterns reflecting off the surface of your tears. He hesitates for a moment, his tender hand leaving your skin for just enough time to make you crave it more.

"You have to wake up, or you're going to fail the test." He mumbles, gently lacing his fingers through your hair.

"I don't care anymore." You were traipsing on a tightrope with a body made of glass. You slip, you fall, you risk it all to tumble into his embrace. You felt it in your bones, the way he smelled like home, and you'd give anything to have it back.

Just once.

"Please," you whisper. It grates in his ears like gravel, your watery lashes cracking his heart in two.

You wanted to go home.

He pauses, narrowing his eyes in indecision before biting his lip and turning to scan Mrs. Womperbottom. You sit impatiently, bouncing your legs up and down. He flicks his stare to you, all your eye bags and smudged makeup, with that, his gaze softens, face melting into a small smile.

"Okay." He concedes, taking your body into his hands, carefully nuzzling your head to sit snug on the curve of his chest. You were so glad to sit in the back, especially as the world fades to black.

"I expected far more from you, young man."

It had been a few days since you fell asleep in Felix's arms, opting to turn in a blank packet rather than fight the urge to skydive without a parachute. Your brows furrow as your teacher frowns in disappointment. Felix, whose cheeks turn red as his eyes grow wide—equal parts panic and regret—seems to know exactly what's going on.

She flips the packet around. His fingers wrap around the paper, never turning it to see the depth of the damage. Only when he hastily unzips his bag, do you notice in the frenzy of movement—

A thick red F at the front.

Your jaw goes slack, lips gaping ever so slightly. He doesn’t meet your gaze, even when the room erupts in a deafening ring, chairs screeching as people scamper out. Your eyes blur like the lens of an old camera, faulty with the ages of time.

Carefully, you turn your page.

Your mouth is filled with sand.

You never did the test.

You flick through the edges of oblivion.

Every answer.

Every circle.

He did your test for you.

It was the sheer selflessness of his act that threw you for a loop—how a man who could have the whole world at the tip of his fingers could also be so impossibly kind.

That was a feat you believed no human was capable of, cynicism long engraved into your DNA. Your own blood was indebted to your mother, so how could a man with no inherent obligation to you, show such devotion?

"In the scars of sea glass, you will find your answer," the stars whispered.

"He loves you," the universe says.

"Do not doubt his intentions," time tells. "His soul has already found you in every lifetime."

iii. There are so many things in the world that must first collapse before it is born; why do we not believe humans are the same way?

Three months ago.

Scene Three.

Playing: The Night We Met.

"I love you, you know that, right, baby?" your mother slurs, her words tangled in a cloud of stale beer. She called you in a fit of drunken giggles, professing her undying ardor, wedged between passive pleas to come pick her up.

Something deep inside you screams as her arm wraps around your waist, the voice you fought to hide, it sounds and pounds at the walls of your ribs.

Not again, please.

You had spent so much of your life tangled in her web of lies, pulling at every poisoned thread.

Mirror, mirror on the wall, how many different ways can I make my daughter fall?

“I love you so, so much,” she cocoons your cheeks in comforting hands, and almost for a minute, you fall into the fuzz, into the black and blurry buzz of the mix between right and wrong.

She does not love you.

She loves your reflection and how it so greatly mirrors hers.

You were an extension of herself, the one she holds, the one she molds, her fingerprints sticking in the sand.

Brick by brick, she builds you up.

Mirror, mirror on the wall, how many different ways can I make my daughter fall?

She loves you, she says.

But she is in love with a mirror, the shattered glass of a battered reflection, the one that can never improve.

For she is too great in her empty state; she has nothing to prove.

You will never change a woman made of stone.

You will only ever break your bones.

So you drop the remote

with an echoing plop

and let all her love leak out.

You don’t really love me, do you?

Just pretend one more time.

Just one more time.

You drag her stumbling figure up a grueling flight of stairs. She giggles and hiccups when one of her feet catches on the edge of a step.

Her eyes are clouded as you lower her onto the bed. She caresses your cheek with silky fingers.

You relapse.

Rewind.

“Come lay with me, baby.”

You don’t cry, don’t die as the tip of her knife digs into the skin of your thigh.

You collapse into the warmth of her covered arms, shrouded with the lies of alcohol.

Brick by brick.

You nuzzle your head deeper into her neck.

She builds you up.

Just one more time.

She curls her hands around your heart.

I love you.

Your mother was too in love with herself to find room in her heart to love you.

Your tears taste like sorrow when they seep onto your tongue, cascading down your shuddering lips like the bullets of rain that whip across your face, dripping into your sodden shirt. Your heart was burdened by paradox, the overwhelming tonnage of utter desolation; you sink your fingers into your chest as if breaking the surface of snow, searching for any sign of humanity.

Perhaps it was fate's gentle hand that guided you from stumbling through your mother's desolate driveway to softly rapping your knuckles on Lee Felix's front door, cause the moment your weary feet touched his familiar steps, something stirred deep within. In a multiverse of infinite universes, it felt as though every timeline suddenly collided, merging to form this pivotal moment in your history—the story of you and him. The mere thought made you question its legitimacy, until the door creaked open, and suddenly, everything you'd almost forgotten came rushing back.

It was the disheveled state of his hair that you notice first—tousled atop his head like a misty halo; his eyes were heavy-lidded, foggy with frosted sea glass. You choke back a sob; the sunlit streetlights really do him wonders.

The moment you step into his line of sight, he can sense something is wrong. You're soaked to the bone, though the rain is barely coming down; your eyes glazed with a grief so acute it resonates in his very core.

He reaches a hand out—

"Y/N, what happened?"

You unravel; your knees giving out, all the energy spent on keeping yourself upright diffuses into an agonizing sob. Your hands find purchase on his steady shoulders as you threaten to collapse straight into the wet patio floor.

The universe had split apart, the sky falling down. You were crumbling, caught in between thick chunks of earth; you couldn’t breathe—

you gasp

The weight of a quivering world crashes into your chest, an earthquake erupting at the base of your spine. You were the daughter of destruction, bleeding with the wrath of humanity's woe.

Wordlessly, Felix chases your agony down, drawing you gently into his embrace. You had rehearsed your excuses all the way here, but when his arms wrap around your waist, the lies soak straight back into your throat.

Settled atop folded thighs, his free hand moves; lacing his fingers around the nape of your neck. His lips like life, pressing into the cold, dead skin of your outer shell; he grazes the apple of your cheek, the slope of your nose, the flat of your forehead, the tremble in your hand; and at last, with hooded eyes, his gaze finds your mouth. You are an amalgamation of quivering limbs, your bones like leaves; he locks his strength around the base of your spine, palms steading you from the outside in.

And yet, you lament, how desperately you wanted his lips to form around your flesh with the irrevocable promise of always, but you know the ramifications of such a thing; you were the embodiment of devastation, born with a blade in your hand, you would only ever hurt him. He did not deserve that. So instead of chasing your dreams, you chase the solitude of his skin, firm against your cheek.

"I'm here." He is—through it all. Through every violent hiccup and every hushed sob, Felix stays with you, fierce hands anchoring you back into reality. Finally, after lifetimes locked in this position, you find the strength to plead, "Do you think we could go somewhere?"

I would go anywhere with you, is what he wants to say.

“Of course,” is what he does.

A muted smile tugs at the corners of your cheeks, and with every labored rise of your chest, he fights the urge to hook his hand underneath your jaw, sucking all your pain into his lips. He doesn't. Instead, he lifts you up and follows his feet wherever your soul wants to take him.

He hooks his ardency on the sun as it starts to sink low. The world is dipped in darkness, perforated by the warmth of a cratered moon. Déjà vu follows you down the dark, dirt-paved road, marked by children's footsteps. Your heavy steps stop, mouth forming around the shape of a suffocated gasp. The trees rustle in the breeze, the wind slapping against the metal of a misty memory.

You had never, in all your 12 years of existence, heard a voice so naturally inviting—like the tender lullaby of pattering rain.

"Hi, my name's Felix. What's yours?"

Your lips formed around the letters—the way they fit so perfectly in your mouth.

In every lifetime, you turned the words on your tongue like a promise forgotten in the stars.

He remembered.

He really remembered.

Felix could never forget.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Come on!" he calls out, breaking into a backward jog, his smile beckoning you closer to the swings.

And with a swipe of his hand, you have already left your afflictions on the imprint of your shoes. Cold rubber hits you first, your thighs bouncing into the seat. His fingers latch around the frame of your waist, thrusting you into the air.

You laugh with the resonance of lost youth.

Time slips from your fingers like dust, forgotten in the way you had drifted from the swings to the slides, only to circle back again. It wasn’t until your skin had brushed every corner of the park that you found yourself lying on the damp earth, sinking deeper into the solace of Felix’s chest. His heart hums like the rhythm of a song so intimate, you could recite the whole melody from just the first note.

Stars blink overhead, still—sparkling, spread across the sky like golden thread sewn into rippling silk. You first settle into comfortable silence, both equally at peace, but the heavy burden of unspoken questions leaks into the calm air; forcing you to speak.

Softly, weakly, you tell him about your fears, about how much you hate her, how much you hate loving her, and how much you want to rip out every helix of her DNA.

Felix doesn't respond for a long time after this, inhaling your confessions with all the deference you deserve. Your heart slams into the slats of your ribs, shaky breaths forced into the balmy summer breeze. There was something so potently terrifying about voicing your issues, especially after masking them for so long; your pain splintered across the ground like the most fucked-up stained glass—as though Felix could sense your building anxiety, he kisses the crown of your head, murmuring into your hair:

"Even the moon hides parts of herself from the sun."

At that moment, with overwhelming certitude, you knew—even littered with secrets and scars, his rays would kiss whatever side you wished to show.

"In every lifetime," you plead through tear-stained lashes.

Maybe in another universe, you could be easy to love.

“In every lifetime.” Aged fingers run the length of your soul, tracing the vow 'I do.' In every lifetime, he would find you—broken or whole, with the sky falling, the sea sinking, the world tumbling down.

"Stay with me," you whisper to the wind as the stars start to dim.

"Always." He will find you in every lifetime and love every mangled piece.

The ocean.

You are wrapped in its cool embrace. The shore hums with soft lullabies as the wind whips across the water. Amorphous mist floats along the top of the sand, shrouding it in a dreamlike shade. Your fingers are formless as they dip into the darkness. Something sparkles. You lift your gaze.

Sea glass.

It’s basked in warm moonlight, buried in a fissure of the earth. You collapse onto the ground, your knees quivering as frantic fingers dig into the land.

Your hands are cold, holding something so old. You flip the smooth stone.

I love you.

You run your thumb over the inscription.

I love you.

It is only through the tumbling of a thousand folded seas that sea glass can even come to be, and maybe, that is how your soul found me.

You wake up in a bed that isn't your own with the warmth of the sea and the smell of home.

I love you.

iv. Just once, let him rewrite the story; just once, he promises you will never have to watch the same ending again.

Present day.

Scene four.

Playing: Cover Me.

The screen flickers off.

The velvet curtains close.

The world fades to black.

The End

Your ribs crack open, heavy sobs echoing through the gaps of your unfolded bones. Your hands make purchase around your shredded soul, the warm liquid of your sorrows trickling through your splayed fingers like the shadow's phantom finger tracing the lines of your melancholy, dusting over the hill of your cheeks.

One more time.

Just one more time.

You rewind the tape-

The velvet curtains stutter open.

The screen flashes white.

Just one more time.

How many times could you watch the same movie before you realized the ending would never change?

You rewind the tape-

How many times could you lick her love off the edge of a knife before you realize the blade will never dull?

You slide the tip across your tongue-

Just one more time.

Please.

Just pretend to love me one more time.

"For once, can you admit that you're wrong?" you snap, attempting to steady your rising voice.

You've been arguing with your mother for centuries, breath grating across your throat like grains of sand. It took every shred of mental stability not to bash your head into the wall.

"I did what I had to do to teach you discipline; you were unruly-"

"I was nine!" you shout, a weak, wounded cry. "Nine!"

How could she not see that?

"I did it because I loved you."

Where did the argument even begin? You search the past 30 minutes, all the way from the start, sitting on the couch with Felix, The Princess Bride playing in the background. Your ringing phone cuts through the movie. He tells you to answer it. You do. What happened after that? Your head is foggy with hurt, time forced into an everlasting circle of the same issues.

"Maybe you should reevaluate your definition of love."

"Maybe you should have just been a better daughter."

The signal of an ended call rings through your ears as the world fades to black.

The velvet curtains close.

The screen flickers off.

The movie sputters to a stop.

The End

You are far too entranced with the stillness of your spine to hear the door creak open, Felix’s hesitant footsteps carefully creep closer. It is only when he mumbles a soft, saturnine "sweetheart" that you finally feel something-

"How did it go?" Felix believed the strings of your souls were so intertwined, the two of you experienced emotions the way an instrument feels the thrum of a cord; but as your heart pumps with an intangible amount of anguish, maybe even for you, some feelings were simply too subjective to share.

Wordlessly, thoughtlessly, your hand chases his touch, a million different uncompleted sentences dissipating as soon as your skin connects; your fingers beg, hold me, even as your mouth shutters shut, dusty rivulets cascading across your cheeks.

You were empty.

so, so, very empty-

Felix's hands lock underneath the bend of your knees, steady arms curling around the small of your back, and in a gentle flow of movements, he cradles you against his chest.

You rewind the tape.

Just one more time.

"Please," you have lived so much of your life caught in a perpetual state of emptiness, for once, you wanted to remember what your body was like before your mother bore you with the heavy burden of broken wings.

"Touch me," shaky fingers cling to him, pleading with so much of your soul none is left to protest. He gasps into your neck, his face scrawled with worry, the etch of a thousand different fears drawn into the deep lines of his forehead.

Just once

Let him rewind the film

Just once

You will never have to watch the same ending again.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Though his words are unsure, his actions tell a different story; tender hands massage the tops of your thighs, reluctantly begging you to open up, to unfold your deformed ribs, where he will fill your hollow bones with the type of love you have only ever yearned for.

"I need you."

You need him more than you need your heart to beat, your lungs to breathe; you need him more than you need the birds, the bees, the ground, the trees—

Your frantic fingers smooth around the base of his neck, further blurring the line of friendship; and in one sharp movement, he takes a sledgehammer to any hope of going back. Your lips collided with the zeal of years lost to silent longing, a kiss that unfurled all time and space, bursting with the passion of hearts starving for connection.

He would not hurt you-

Please, collapse into him, just once-

Let him prove that you will never have to fall again-

This could ruin everything, and yet he lays you upon the silken sheets with such soulful kindness your glassy eyes threaten to break; his heart thrums with the vow of I'll make you fly. His hand dips into the band of your shorts, pleasure peeking out from the shadows of your mind, only ever bobbing its head long enough to fill your skin with a minute tingling sensation—like running your hands under hot water after a long day in the snow, but it was not enough.

"Felix, I need you," His eyes widen slightly, features stricken with a sudden tightness, a burdened tonnage; you were handing him your heart with the hope his hands weren't made of blades, and the idea of the utter trust you have put in him to do that makes his stomach flip.

Just once—

He will prove it all to you.

"As you wish," Not even 20 minutes ago you were sitting on the couch watching the greatest love story ever told, and now, here you are living it. How did you get so lucky? It's unfathomable how attentive he manages to be, his nose nudging the slope of your neck before laying a peck on your collarbone. His mouth never leaves your flesh even as he slowly strips off layer after layer of fabric.

"I want to see all of you" Now it was your turn, taking his time removing your clothes. His fingers slide across your skin with a delicate intimacy, a tender reverence; his lips tracing the lines of your seams until your very atoms are etched with his name.

I hate her

I love you

He coupled every leak of anger with a river of love, kissing your limbs until all your body could remember was the pureness of his ardor.

"Are you ready?" he whispers, lining himself with your entrance, all he needs is a word to finally sink himself in. Your eyes are glossy, gazing up at him with such an unadulterated passion, a pure amount of pain—this will tear you apart, and he promises with every fiber of his being, he will put you back together.

"Yes." You have lived most of your life with the heavy burden of a body’s broken wings, and it isn't until Felix’s crafted hands finally crease your ribs that you realize origami can only emerge when you fold it up, the way a bird can only fly when it falls.

You are an amalgamation; so much of your soul is lost in his lips you don't know where he begins and you end, but when a rush of pleasure tingles up your spine, you don't care.

The world is tangled somewhere on the edge of in-between space and time, melding together into a mushy, gushy substance that slips through your fingers as they lace in his raven locks. You pour all your pain into the slit of his lips, where he sucks in every drop, leaving no room for your protests.

Your head is empty, airy, only tethered to the earth by one dangerous thought:

I love you. You did. You have; in every timeline; in every universe; in every lifetime; you have loved him, and you knew with all your heart, he felt the same.

“I love you.” The words slip off your tongue, dripping into his mouth like melting snow. You had fallen in love with existence itself—a boy with a soul made of sun and eyes like sea glass. A man whose strings reached across every plane of time to find you. His fingers still, a soft burst of air puffing into your cheeks.

For minutes, hours, Felix can only stare, his strangled breaths wafting over your chin. You gulp, at least five differently worded apologies tangling themselves on your tongue. He doesn’t let you speak. Instead, he brings his hands to either side of your face, resting his forehead against your own; on your lips, not fear, but instead, words.

"Say it again," he urges, kisses split by the warmth of a starlit smile.

"I love you, Lee Felix." you share the galaxy in between your lips.

His arms slip around your waist, drawing you impossibly closer; there are no limits, no constraints when he captures your shuddering gasp. He has waited years to hear those words, so with a breathy rasp, he begs, "Tell me you love me, tell me until you are sick of it."

"I love you," you repeat, beginning to laugh. "I love you. I love you, fuck, Felix, there has never been a time where I haven't loved you."

The passion that surged in the twists of your heartbeats began to be too much to bear; his hips ruthlessly rutting into yours, you cry out, chasing the edge of a daydream. So close, so close, so—you can only hear the crash of your soul shattering before his ginger fingers sew you back together.

You both slam down into the earth at the same time, holding each other's tired bodies as the ground swallows you up.

His arms lock around your head, quivering as he struggles to hold himself up, droplets of tears land on your cheeks as they drip down the slope of his nose. He was so perfect-

so, so, very perfect.

Your mouth raises to kiss a tear clinging to the tip of his nose. He chokes, squeezing his eyes shut. You both are thrumming with tension, overflowing with emotion; before you can even blink, he is pulling you to his chest, naked and sticky, he holds you closer than you have ever been.

"I love you." He cups your trembling cheeks, throat tightening around the earnestness in his tone. You can run from the stars; you can hide from the bay, but his love will find you just as the sun finds the day.

v. She is only in your DNA.

Five months later.

Scene five.

Playing: If the world was ending.

Anxiety is like a cup that never falls, the tease of water sloshing at the rim. It comes in inclines—the clench in your chest, the flip in your stomach, the tremble in your spine. The world begins to quake, the table tips, the water shifts, but none of it ever pours out.

That was how you felt right now, a bright pink river rushing underneath your feet, sinking deeper and deeper into the abyss.

No matter how many times you squeezed your eyes and wished it all away, reality still managed to smack you in the face.

Positive

Your numb hand goes limp, the plastic pregnancy test tumbling to the tiles with a deafening crack. Cold porcelain seeps into your skin as you drop your tear-stained cheeks between your knees, all your deepest, darkest fears suddenly snapping into view.

"Just wait until you have kids." Sometimes, it is the most overpowering emotions you can feel most clearly.

Determination.

"One day, when I grow up, I'll meet the perfect guy, and get married, and have tons of babies—and I will do it all without ever becoming you." She scoffs, rolling her shoulders as if she had already unraveled the scrolls of your soul, and engraved on the paper was your life, traveled down a perfectly mirrored path.

"I said the same thing when I was your age, but then I had the kids, and everything changed. You aren't going to be able to do it."

You were only 13 then, and yet, with unwavering resolve, you declared, "Watch me."

How were you going to tell him? Was your first thought.

How could you manage to be a mother? Was your next.

You dug your hands into your chest, wishing to tear your seams. In her womb, she had stitched you up, and now you spent every waking moment trying to unravel the threads.

You wanted to vomit—vomit until your blood ran dry, until it curdled around your muscles, trembling over the cold toilet seat.

"Watch me," you had said.

"Watch me fall apart" is what you had meant.

So she does, through the blurred layers of your reflection, her eyes staring back. Why did you have to bear such an eerie resemblance to her? The power she held over you was suffocating, for even in thought, she found ways to claw at your lungs.

Mirror, mirror, on the wall, how many different ways can I make my daughter fall?

It's been hours.

Many, many hours before Felix finds you huddled beside the toilet bowl. Your dead eyes stare—just stare. Not blinking. Not moving. Not twitching an inch. His reaction is almost instant; he drops to his knees, jerking you towards himself. He grips your pale cheeks, begging you to look at him—just once. Blink. Flinch. Move something. Finally, finally, like little butterfly wings, your eyelids flutter to life. Before you can even speak, he's yanking your head onto his chest, his heart pounding vehemently inside the thin fabric of his cotton T-shirt.

Though every cell in your body screams at you to stay, you withdraw. Your gaze is laden when it lands on him, and for a moment, he is taken aback—that is, until you slip a slim white object into his palms.

Silence.

That is what precedes your actions. He stuffs your heart into a meat grinder, and with every excruciating minute that passes, it feels like he cranks it up one level higher. He reads the result over and over, breaking it down to syllables, letters—backwards, forwards, flipped upside down. Part of him didn't believe it—not that he didn't want to believe it, but simply because he couldn't. It felt impossible, improbable, really. His tongue twisted into knots between his teeth, rendering him utterly speechless. So instead, with trembling fingers, he grasps your wet jaw and pours all his thoughts into the line of your lips.

It came out a little something like: I love you

The whiplash is dizzying, like stepping into pounding rain and spinning; spinning, spinning, spinning until it feels like you'll twirl right off the earth. How could you believe that he’d reject you? It was so colossally stupid you almost want to smack yourself in the face—not that Felix would let you, of course.

You gasp at the same moment he sniffles, your synchrony causing him to chuckle, the sound thick with tears. He lays his forehead on yours, a disbelieving smile cracking across his cheeks.

"I'm going to be a dad," he utters, already envisioning all the adventures ahead. Hell, he was practically braiding his baby girl's hair right now. He seems to catch up with this reality because, with a sudden jerk, he has locked his hands underneath your armpits, hauling you into the air. You squeal, clutching his shoulders so tightly your nails dig in; it doesn't faze him—not when his head is tilted back, his smile like the edge of an everlasting sunrise. In that moment, as the bathroom swirls, you know, it was only with him your baby could view their reflection through the shattered glass of a broken cycle; and that is an accomplishment worth celebrating. At last, you begin to laugh.

Once you have begun, you don’t stop—not even when he gently sets you down, giggling as you sway, foggy and disoriented, his hands firmly steadying you by the shoulders. When you find enough balance to walk, you clasp urgent fingers around his wrist, drawing him to the bed. He happily follows. Calves hitting the frame, you fall backward, bouncing onto the mattress. With a dimpled grin, he crawls over your waist, littering kisses all over your face, leaving wet, slobbery marks. Laughter spills out of you uncontrollably, groaning when he licks up your cheek.

"Ewww, Lix, that was gross!" you giggle, wrinkling your nose in faux disgust. All of a sudden, as the overhead lights catch the bands of your eyes, it feels as though his breath has been ripped straight from his lungs—a stunning epiphany dawning on him.

He could reach across every timeline in an infinite multiverse of parallel realities, and yet, he still wouldn’t find a version of himself as in love with you as he is right now.

So, he does something crazy.

"I wanted to wait for the right time to do this," he utters, his face tight with masked emotion. "And I promise, one day I'll buy you something flashier." Your brows furrow, your heart pounding wildly in your chest, about as confused as you are nervous—especially when he slides down the bed, halting to leave a kiss atop the fabric of your covered belly. His nose bumps your stomach when he peers up at you through tear-stained lashes. "But for now, I wanted to ask for your heart with something meaningful—something that means forever."

Every atom buzzes with anticipation when he dips to one knee, digging a finger into his pocket. Finally, he fishes a small velvet box from the confines of his pocket. Your hands fly to your face, shielding a choked sob. "Will you marry me, Y/N L/N? Will you let me love you in every lifetime?" He flips open the lid, and as if you were dipping into the well of time, nestled in the silky cushions was amber sea glass—your amber sea glass. For years, it burned a hole in your pocket, anchoring you to the ground, to earth. Then you met him, and suddenly, you didn’t seem to need it anymore. You evolved, and in time, your little sliver of the sea got lost among the waves of life. You don't ask him where he found it; frankly, you don’t care. You don’t really care about anything except him.

Without a shred of doubt, you exclaim, "Yes! Yes, Felix! Of course, I’ll marry you!" You don't even let him hand you the necklace before you collide with his chest. He grunts as your full body weight slams into him, but he doesn’t mind it—not when you’re busy kissing words onto his freckles, mumbling over and over, "I love you. I love you. I love you." He is so enthralled with the moment that he almost forgets.

"There’s more," he breathes, extracting the box from between your smooshed stomachs—not really sure how it got there, but nevertheless settled atop his folded thighs, he uncurls your fist, sliding the pendant into your palm.

Your hands are cold, holding something so old. You flip the smooth stone.

Time was such a volatile thing; how easily it is broken—for with a simple flick of the wrist, you are caught outside of all existence.

Your lips part, his sucking in your shuddering gasp. Right then, right there, all that existed was the two of you, his hands trailing up your shoulders, the cold snap of gold clasping around your neck. Felix kisses you like he will never be able to again. Your fingers tug at the weight around your neck, almost in awe that you still had it on—that any of this was real.

In every lifetime.

You run your thumb over the inscriptions, golden letters scrawled on the surface of a star. He had plucked his promise straight from the sky. For now, far past his grave, your love will live on, tumbling deep beneath the waves, until his soul finds it and pledges you his heart all over again.

If you liked this please consider telling me i worked really hard on this Thank you! also little side note if I find time I might add an installment because there was supposed to be one more scene before the pregnancy but I got too overwhelmed but that scene gave more of a closing to the readers relationship with her mom sooo maybe more soon lol

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vidavalor · 2 months

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Hello!

This is random but I remembered your posts regarding The Situation with NG’s involvement in Good Omens when one of my followers on Twitter tweeted a screen cap of an old conversation on bluesky where Neil sorta confirms Amazon had pulled back his influence on production from S1 so there’s a lot of truth in what you said

Hope you’re doing great! ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Hi there! 💕 Hope you're doing great yourself. I usually offer snacks but this is a large sherry or Talisker topic so *gets the glasses*...

That's interesting info-- thank you for sharing it. Like I was saying in that original post, I don't know any of that for sure but that was definitely the impression I was getting. One of the several reasons I was getting that impression was due to other, equally unprofessional posts like the one you're talking about here that speak to already-existing conflict with Amazon long before this particular Situation became publicly known.

I'm not sure why he'd be trying to fight the studio publicly like that if there's not something happening behind the scenes. It's just unprofessional. I was shocked when I saw posts like that because it's not like he was being a whistleblower to egregious behavior or something-- he was bitching about his boss and the budgets to fans on Tumblr. It feels like he was trying to use the fanbase as a shield to keep himself from being fired, as a way of saying "you can't get rid of me-- I will tell my fans you are the issue and they will believe me and not you and I have a million of them-- just look at my little Tumblr thing. You'll lose money if you don't back me."

You know what kind of guy does shit like that? The same kind that tells young women that no one is going to believe them because he's a famous, award-winning writer and they're nobody.

If you don't mind, I'm going to use your ask here for a moment to add a bit to what I was saying about Good Omens being a through-and-through Pratchett novel because I think it's important to remember that this story has another author here. I've had some people ask me to expound on that a bit. So, for anyone interested, this is what I mean when I say that Good Omens is a Pratchett novel:

As most of you probably know, most of the posts I write about Good Omens have to do with the use of language in the story. The diction in Good Omens is extremely specific. Its quirky word choice, its "gayer than a monkey on nitrous oxide"- type of wordplay? It's funny on the surface level and it's a whole other level of funny when you dig a bit deeper. The cleverness there is familiar to Pratchett readers, as it's part of the distinctive style of his other novels. As a writer who is a bit obsessed with etymology myself, I spotted his love for it right away in his writing. It's in every. single. one. of his books that I have read and I have read quite a few.

The exact same thing is in Good Omens. It's a really specific way of writing where word-related jokes are the vehicle for the humor and etymology-based diction choices are chosen with great precision and inform the piece on every level. Pratchett's signature style of writing came from the fact that he used etymology as a tool to help him convey the messages in his writing. The thematic connections he was making were supported by the complex histories of the key words around which he was forming his stories.

For example, there's a meta one of you asked me to write about the halo in S2 and, when you look at the etymology of the word, as we're going to do in that meta, you'll see that halo comes from discus and discus is the root of discussion, the root of the word desk, and the ancient sport that is like ring toss. It was also the name of a threshing floor for oxen, which ties both to dancing and to the threshold of a door, like the bookshop entry. By the time we get through looking at this one, key word of halo, we're going to have taken this whole trip-- through other discs-- the magic ring trick, record albums, Velvet Underground cds, etc., through what it means to dance to the ox ribs to what it means to have (or not have) a desk to what it means to talk through your frozen peas to what's up with the invitations into the bookshop. Good Omens is not random. Everything is very specifically chosen to work together to serve an overall story that is structured around using the etymology of words to underpin its meaning.

This is just one example and it's the same thing in the novel and S1. Much of the S2 stuff connects back to S1 & the novel. It's a story that loves words and it's a story that is threaded together, thematically, through being told by using very specific words and their histories. Good Omens is written like a Pratchett novel and feels like a Pratchett novel because it centers word history in exactly the same way as Pratchett does in his other novels.

You know where that halo thru-line that connects everything came from?

Discworld. It comes from Terry Pratchett's Discworld.

The same, core themes in his books are being explored, just in a slightly different way, in Good Omens and, often, using the same words in the exploration.

Because that's the thing-- all of these posts I'm writing about wordplay in Good Omens? I could, if I wanted to, also be writing them about any one of Pratchett's other novels, and a lot-- and I mean a lot-- of the specific words being used in a big way in Good Omens actually overlap with Pratchett's other books.

One of you has been waiting patiently for me to write about Mrs. Sandwich and the seamstress-themed language happening in the show and, to do that? We're going to not only talk about her and what she stands for in Good Omens but we're going to talk about the etymology jokes Pratchett was making with The Seamstress Guild in Discworld. Mrs. Sandwich might have been new in S2 but seamstress language is not-- it's baked into Crowley & Aziraphale's speak back in the novel and, as you'll see, there are instances of it in S1 and the novel that only become more apparent once you know to look for them after S2.

When NG said that, back in the day, he and Pratchett decided that Aziraphale should have a halo that was like a ring toss-- no.

Pratchett decided that.

The idea comes from the wordplay that is literally *in the title* of his own book series. Aziraphale's halo is related to why Pratchett's series is the Discworld. It's the same ideas. NG has fuck all to do with it.

Think about how I was just saying that all this love of etymology that is in Good Omens is also throughout Pratchett's books and is the driver of his word choice in all of them.

Now? Ask yourself who came up with Crowley and Aziraphale's secret language. Whose idea was it that it be so punny and etymology-based?

Probably the guy who wrote all of those etymology-based, other books.

Who invented the rules for that language?

Probably the guy who wrote all of those etymology-based other books.

If Pratchett wrote basically nothing but intentionally, lovingly, word-nerdy books... and if Good Omens is, soup-to-nuts, a love letter to etymology to a point that its main characters have a secret language built around it, then Terry Pratchett is who really wrote Good Omens. He's the true author of the book.

There are even interviews that show they had much different takes on how the process for the book happened. Pratchett, in one of the ones I read, said he wrote more than 2/3rds of the books straight up on his own and that he'd have phone calls with NG before NG wrote his bits of it and something politely vague to the effective of 'editing over' when writing the next chapter. In the same paragraph where he said he wrote more than 2/3rds of the book, he also said with all that discussion happening "who can say" who really wrote what-- yeah, exactly. It sounded a bit like NG needed the phone call to be told what to write on his end and then Pratchett edited it/rewrote bits of it before he wrote the next bit.

It comes off sounding like this book was like a partnered school project where Pratchett was the diligent one who did all the work himself so it would get done and be actually good and then assigned a bit of it to NG to do that he then had to go and fix so they'd get a decent grade. I wasn't there so I don't know but that's a bit like what the Pratchett interviews about it sound like to me and I'm much more inclined to believe Pratchett's view on their process than I am NG's take.

All I know is that Good Omens was successful when it was first published and any even moderately successful book makes publishing houses jump up and say "MORE NOW" and if you were those publishing houses? And you had a popular project with two writers? And one of the writers became tragically ill? You know what you'd do?

You'd eventually ask the other writer to finish the series.

It is known that a trilogy was planned from the start, which makes sense because most books are planned that way. You actually have to rough outline the entire story arc and then divide it amongst the books first. The story already existed in full when Pratchett began to get sick. Never-- in over two decades-- did anyone ever go to NG and ask him to both honor Pratchett and make them some cash by writing the rest of the trilogy?

Not even with how popular this book is?

That seems pretty suspicious to me.

Like a 'they know NG didn't really write it' kind of suspicious.

When both the publishing houses and the tv studios seem to be doing handstands to minimize his involvement with it, I'm thinking it's not too wild to infer there that it's because he never really wrote much, if any of it, in the first place.

More to the point? They know he's incapable of emulating it.

Because he's no Terry Pratchett.

#good omens #good omens meta #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #fuck neil gaiman #terry pratchett

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average-mako-enjoyer · 4 months

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Bigots and Failed Promises of Mass Effect games

(I had this thing in my drafts for almost a month, and it would have stayed there if not for the wonderful post by @androidtrashfire, because I saw it, and I was like: "Fuck it, I have to rant about these games." I love Mass Effect, and I really think we should critique it. We should criticize things we love because silence = compliance.)

So I was talking to @liss-art recently about the bigoted fans in the Mass Effect fandom, and I think I need to make a post about it because it's something that really, truly bothers me, and it needs to be addressed.

Canon

Mass Effect is a story about deeply flawed people with a lot of problems, and through them it touches on issues like xenophobia, sexism, corruption, elitism, morality, identity. That's why we like it, right? But why are there so many bigots in the fandom? My theory is that it happens because Mass Effect, for all its supposed complexity, only touches on these issues without giving any meaningful commentary on them.

Here are a few obvious examples:

The Quarians are a distasteful allegory of the Roma people (right down to their accents). They are persecuted and ostracized for creating Geth, but the game never gives us any socio-political reasons why the Quarians did that. They just developed real AI because they were naive and stupid? Or because they were the only ones smart enough to do it? Did they do it in secret? Why did other races not make the same mistake?

Same with the Batarians. Yes, the game mentions tensions between humans and Batarians because humans try to claim territories that Batarians think are theirs, but that's about it. Batarians are all racist slave traders and they're bad, don't think about it, here's some memes about 300,000 of them dying, good job. And yes, I know you can read more about their history in the Codex (why is it an Asari who writes about Batarian history,btw?), but it's basically the same thing as saying D*mbledore is gay (I really am sorry for this reference). If no one ever mentions this rich Batarian history, then it doesn't exist.

And please don't get me started on Hanar. They "mercifully" saved the Drell by inviting them to their planet, immediately assimilated them into their own faith and also put them in conditions where they have to train as assassins from the ripe old age of 6 and eventually die of sci-fi lung cancer. But don't worry about it, Drell actually love to serve the Hanar, they do it willingly and consider their servitude an honor. Do you really want to criticize some stupid jellyfish who talk funny? Do you really want to talk about why the so-called Council races do nothing about it? LOL

Another thing the trilogy does is present entire races, including humans, as amorphous blobs. Do all Asari believe in the same "goddess"? Do all Turians obey the same Primarch? Well, what's important is that all humans in this bright future speak English.

But what about the genophage? That's a profound story, right? Well, not really, and it raises more questions than it answers. We hear a lot about how brutal, aggressive, and short-tempered Krogans are, but every single Krogan we meet is extremely well-mannered, and they only resort to violence against other races in dire circumstances. So why not save them? Does the game really present you with this moral dilemma or not?

And can anyone tell me why Salarians are allowed to abduct and experiment on sentient beings, and why Turians are allowed to wage wars? Why does no one talk about Asari in this context?

I really want to say that at least the characters are well written, but I can't because they're not.

Kaidan is a good example of this. We are told about his implant, we are told that he has chronic pain, but do we see him suffer from it? Do we see him in those moments of weakness and vulnerability?

The scene where he gets annoyed with Jenkins acting like he's a circus monkey who has to do a trick and biotically throws a cup at him was cut from the game. We occasionally hear him mention some of the side effects of his migraines ("Too many lights, too much noise"), but that's about it. What has happened to "show, don't tell"? And no, I'm not saying that the writers should feed me the story or walk me through it. What I am saying is that if you gloss over your characters' mistakes, flaws, and circumstances, you're getting people to ignore them. Do people who call Kaidan "boring" and insult him think about how his chronic pain, his trauma from Brain Camp, and the loss of Jenkins and Ashley affect who he is? Hell no.

Thane is another great example. What Mass Effect is telling us as a story is that you can completely abandon your family and your child and be forgiven if your reason for doing it is good and heroic enough. Like avenging your dead wife, because of course there has to be a dead woman thrown somewhere.

Everyone's favorite Garrus (mine too) is a cop whose character arc basically consists of deciding that he is above the law (since the law forbids him from killing people he thinks should die) and then involving his squadmate/friend/partner (depending on your playthrough) in the public assassination of his former squadmate, whom he never even bothered to confront first. Are there any consequences for Garrus for his actions? No. Again, it's all glossed over, and that's unfortunate because it removes the conflict and therefore the character development and depth.

And if you're going to tell me that ME is just a space opera, and that I should just enjoy the spectacle and the romance, then I'm going to tell you that I know that, and that I think it's a wonderful spectacle, and that some of the romance subplots are absolutely amazing story-wise, but the superficial commentary (or lack thereof) on the most important issues that ME covers actually harms the audience.

Fandom

On the one hand, we have people making mods that remove all the clothes from all the female characters (or remove all of femShep's organs and replace them with giant tits). We have people reposting that horrible, horrible art of Miranda and Jack fighting, tearing each other's hair and clothes, and maleShep smirking and saying "I should stay". We have people who say ME2 is the best game in the series because "there are no f*gs". On the other hand, we have people saying things like "there are two Commander Shepards - female and the wrong one". We have people who say "only weird people play as dudebro in 2024". We have people who think that simply playing as a female character is some kind of feminist statement, and that it makes them better and smarter than everyone else (the same people who use the term "dude gamer" as an insult). And all of those things are kind of the trilogy's fault.

Both maleShep and femShep have the same story. The only differences are the romance options, sexist remarks directed only at femShep, and flirtations from various NPCs directed only at femShep. What this tells you is that sexism exists in the Mass Effect universe, and only women suffer from it. It also tells you that only women are worth flirting with.

Another thing this game does (and modern games like Cyberpunk do the same thing) is equate the female experience to the male experience by giving both femShep and maleShep the same lines.

So there are some mixed signals here. Sexism exists and doesn't exist in this universe, Shepard is both genderless and very gendered, romances with underdeveloped characters are all over the place, and bigots thrive in this kind of environment.

The lack of commentary, the lack of perspective, the disastrous worldbuilding allows you to freely choose your sexist, racist adventure and not be punished by the story in any way.

Mirrors

There's a passage from Solaris that I absolutely adore and think about often.

"We don't want to conquer the cosmos, we simply want to extend the boundaries of Earth to the frontiers of the cosmos. […] We have no need of other worlds. We need mirrors. We don't know what to do with other worlds. A single world, our own, suffices us; but we can't accept it for what it is."

I think that perfectly describes what Mass Effect is as a universe. And in a way, it's a reason why it's so compelling. It's just empty enough for us to invest in it, to fill in the blanks of that narrative with the stories of our own. And it's also a reason why this fandom is a fucking hellscape.

#mass effect #my thoughts #kaidan alenko #thane krios #garrus vakarian #commander shepard #sorry not sorry for the wall of text because this is important #my stuff

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zahri-melitor · 8 days

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I read two more issues, to get past the Robins fight, and...still so conflicted.

I can see exactly how, if Damian is your ultimate blorbo and you read for Damian, this story is doing exactly what you want it to do and reflecting back beloved stories.

Issue 5 is explicitly set up as a parallel to War of the Robins from Batman and Robin 2011, and even ends with Damian getting an 'I love you and here have a trophy' speech from Dick, to tie Damian back to Alfred and Dick and the layers of care in the family.

It acknowledges Damian's menagerie and comments that the last thing Damian did before leaving was check in on them. It has Goliath show up and save Damian's life.

It has intense Robin: Son of Batman vibes and the whole repeat of the 'finding yourself on an isolated tropical island and redeeming yourself'.

(I expect the whole Respawn thing to play out with very much the exact themes of how R:SOB dealt with Damian's clones once Damian clues in)

But I keep waiting for payoffs that just aren't happening.

Rose slopes off to call for help for Damian, and then Dick, Jason, Tim and Steph turn up and I'm like "oh! Rose went and called Dick, because she's looking out for Damian on the island in the same way that Dick looked out for Rose while he was training her as Ravager and in a bad place where she was hanging on every one of Slade's words and determined she needed to prove herself as worthy of her father...oh. She called Jason".

And look, I know that there's an underlying push for decades now that Jason and Rose do have a bunch of things in common and would work well together (and also hinting at whether or not they're romantically involved), but a lot of that is inferred off panel stuff while Dick was literally Rose's teacher. If you want themes of 'you don't have to be what your family expect of you' why on earth wouldn't you openly reference that?!?

In terms of who is on this island and is one of Dick's rogue's gallery:

Raptor

Double Dare (both Margot and Aliki)

Lady Vic

Brutale

Nite-Wing (seriously why is Tad here)

Blue Shrike is apparently Shrike's brother???

Is this going to get acknowledged? That a solid chunk of Dick's enemies are here and fighting Damian? That's like half the competition!

Also while I was looking all of this up apparently the Richard Dragon they're talking about is the son of actual Richard Dragon, who apparently got killed in a flashback or something in Green Arrow #32 during n52 and who apparently in that universe worked for the League of Assassins (oh god I am now tearing my hair out, RICHARD IS NOT LINKED TO THE LEAGUE. HE WAS TRAINED BY THE O-SENSEI. STOP DOING THIS TO ALL THE MARTIAL ARTISTS). Huh. Bet that doesn't stick. Richard's too important thematically any time someone wants to write a Question book to be left randomly dead.

And then there's the whole situation that there is a Tengu on this island. I just went down the rabbit hole and this is an import of the Titans villain who is just a Japanese goblin, NOT the Tengu mask that Shiva hands out to people who are trained by her and fighting somewhat under her banner (as seen in Knightsend and in the Circle of Six in Richard Dragon). Which is honestly a waste; if I were going to resurrect a Tengu for this plot, the Shiva and Richard Dragon aligned mask is far more thematic!

And plus, Silver Monkey? Silver Monkey is heavily linked to both Connor's Green Arrow stories, and Shiva (as Paper Monkey), and Deathstroke. It's War of the Dragons and Cult of the Monkey Fist and Brotherhood of the Fist. It's about death and resurrection (as Shiva almost kills Connor and Tim uses his marker with Shiva to save Connor’s life from the time he saved HER life). Is this going to be acknowledged? Because that's where I'd be playing the references by bringing in Silver Monkey.

And look I haven't seen what payoffs we get for Connor yet and there are definitely a bunch of opportunities built in; on top of Silver Monkey you have Constantine Drakon, who's defeated Connor before. Plus there's Artemis Crock, who in DC Comics comics terms isn't linked at all to Connor (she's JSA and Infinity Inc and was in the YJ98 Zandian Olympics team) but obviously has been used for archer purposes in tv and cartoon adaptions.

I keep seeing all these potential stories set up and wondering if there is going to be any pay off on them. I hope so. But also so far the story has slipped around those payoffs unless it's a direct reference to a Damian story.

Also Ra's al Ghul playing the hermit sensei meditating and in touch with the universe on a nearby island is the funniest nonsense possible. Ra's? RA'S? Taking time out to go meditate on the state of the universe? Just so he's conveniently in a place to give Sage Advice to Damian about what personal values he should work on? Pull the other one.

#z canon read throughs #it's just...Williamson if you are in fact setting up the wider universe payoffs #this could be incredible #but also I'm getting the impression that unless the payoff is something directly linked to one of your favourite Damian appearances #I am not going to get the payoff that I can see has thematic links here #yes of course a Damian title should be about Damian #and characterisation frequently revolves around the perspective character and this is very much in Damian's perspective #but as a preboot enjoyer there are also a lot of themes here that seem like they might be overlooked #and that makes me sad #there's also this moment where Steph is like 'Cass would be jealous!' about the competition #and no actually Cass would not be jealous about a fight-to-the-death tournament #even with resurrections built in #she takes killing too seriously for that

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keirawantstocry · 7 months

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Hi im Back, 💋anon ,once again to inhabit your inbox Forever. I would like to say Yes Thank You Your So so so so good at writing. AHHHHH. I fully believe tubbo needs to be covered in blood on at least a bi-weekly basis. Once again, All The Kisses, we can also throw in a lil stabbin as a treat since you seemed to enjoy the killing (im tired tho so not Too Much)

Soooooooo, as the prompt, tubbo just sleeps, Everywhere, since dying. Hes just tired All The Time. the choco/horse pit, the wither skelly farm, spawn, On Top of Fit (and or others) but just like, On His Shoulders. Fit is Unbothered and keeps going like nothings changed.

Hope you have a good day! (glad you enjoyed the "kill me" part :> , and also that you Do Not Care how long these get, thats gen comfortin, I have Issues <3)

Hehehe kisses and stabbing? You spoil me hehe. and thank you so much <3 (i get it darling dw i dont mind how long or short these are <3)

They weren’t quite sure what to expect at first after Tubbo’s revival. Fit wasn't surprised about the aggression. Not in the slightest. After his very first experience with the respawning mechanics he woke up quite angry as well. But after the anger came… exhaustion.

Fit found him multiple times at spawn, at farms, dead asleep. He shook him awake every time.

“You can't be here. Just dangerous for you to be sleeping everywhere.”

Tubbo squinted at him, eyes half opened. “I'm tireddd,” he whined, slumping back over.

Fit sighed, before wrapping his arms around the boy's body and lifting him up. Tubbo dropped his head against Fit's chest and relaxed into him. “Mmm,” he hummed. “This feels better than the floor.”

“No shit,” Fit snorted. “Sleep okay?” Without another word, Tubbo's eyes slipped shut. Within a few minutes, even with the shuffling of Fit's movements, Tubbo was snoring softly.

It became routine to see them together. Fit working away at whatever he had to do, while Tubbo lay slumped over on his shoulder sleeping peacefully. Pac loved it. He would smile so gently at the both of them while prattling on about ideas he had for the house.

“Fitch, it's smart! We can build him a room with us, yeah? That would solve the problem of him just sleeping wherever he pleases. You can still carry him around but if you're ever tired then you can just sleep in the bed with him.”

Fit paused. “That is pretty smart.”

Pac grinned. “I know, I know.” He sprung up. “Let's build it now! A surprise for him when he wakes up.”

They finished it long before he worked up. Man, could that dude sleep.

When he finally awoke it was tight arms in a bed he didn't recognize. Blinking a few times he looked around the room. There above the bed was Pac, who smiled at him. “Hey sleepy head.”

“Hey,” Tubbo said softly, voice hoarse. He shifted his head to look at who was holding him and wasn't surprised to see Fit, dead asleep. “Where am I?”

“Our house,” Pac explained, sitting down on the bed next to him. “We build you a room that we can take you to when you're close to falling asleep places.”

Tubbo blinked slowly at him as his exhaustion began to creep into his mind once again. “Okay,” he muttered before holding out his arms. “C'mere. Cold.”

Pac laughed before obliging and curling up next to him, letting Tubbo wrap around him like a monkey. Pac fell asleep soon after joining Fit in slumber while Tubbo just relaxed in between them. For once he felt safe and warm. Warm in a way that transcended the cloudy warmth of dreams. He didn't sleep but by the time they did he felt truly rested for the first time since his revival.

#qsmp #my writing #fanfiction #poly morning crew #q!tubbo #q!pac #q!fit #fitpacbo #my favorite little guys #💋 anon

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just-s0me-stranger · 7 months

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Statement

I wish to make a statement regarding what happened on the 14th of April, 2023

I, at first, wanted to move on from what happened and start again

But, seeing as some people aren't willing to let go of what happened, I feel I have no choice but to give my side of the story

I'll admit, I haven't been perfect in all this

I made mistakes

Many I wish I could take back, and would do if it was possible

But, whether I'm forgiven or not isn't up to me

That being said, however, the person who started all this in the first place isn't innocent either

I wish to address the accusations against me regarding, defending a transphobic person, racism, me fetishising trans men in my Perfectly Imperfect roadrat fanfic, and my conduct with minors, in that order

First, the accusations of me defending transphobic person

These accusations were first brought against me on the 14th of April, 2023, when user @sodapoptisms dug up a tweet from someone who said the following

Link

They then followed up with a quote tweet saying the following

Link

Now, I knew the person being screenshotted

I don't defend how they said what they said

Out of context, it's very poorly worded

What I DO defend is the fact that I took issue with Soda wanting the roadrat fandom to "band together and force the bigot out"

In other words, Soda wanted to rally a mob against this person for their political beliefs

I took issue for several reasons

The first one being like I said, I knew this person at the time

I knew they weren't anti trans rights

But forcing someone out for not agreeing with every aspect of the trans community can cause someone to become anti trans out of spite

Which brings me to my next point

I knew not speaking out against Soda could have a detrimental effect on the support for trans rights on the grassroots level

How?

Because this person had said they'd had many bad experiences with members of the trans community

Many people have sadly come out against the trans community for those reasons as well

Including many gays, lesbians, bisexuals, and even some transgender people

Clearly, bullying people for not holding your exact political views isn't working

And may actually be making things worse

That isn't to say that you win rights by coddling people's feelings

But you don't win people over by bullying and demonising them either

There is a balance that needs to be met, which isn't at the moment

You can't just demand people be your ally, then treat them like shit when they refuse, or don't live up to your standards

The second accusation I want to address is the one of racism

I was accused of this after writing an open letter to Soda shortly after what happened on the 14th of April, which no longer exists

But in it, I used the term Flying Monkeys to refer to the mob Soda had rallied against myselfand the other person

The term, Flying Monkeys, is commonly used as a nickname in pop psychology for the friends of narcissists

However, because Soda has many friends who are black, they twisted the words to accuse me of referring to them in a racially derogatory way

This was despite me pointing out the fact that I did not know Soda's friends were black, as even if they have that in their bios, I don't tend to read bios in detail, if at all. So, I was unaware unless I saw a photo of them

Thirdly, the fetishising of trans men in fanfiction

I never thought I'd have to bring this up

After all, no artist or writer should has to explain or justify why they made the choices they did in their works, but here we go.

Long story short, I tend to write stories with mpreg in it

You can think ill of me for it if you like, I don't care

But, I do not write these sorts of fanfiction for fetish fuel

I wrote Perfectly Imperfect for several reasons

The major one being that I have a lot of unresolved Daddy Issues

I won't get too much into my personal history, other than my father wasn't much in the picture when I was growing up

The few times he was in the picture, he was abusive

Not just to me, but to my mother, my sisters, & his previous two families, which he had left prior

I was estranged from him for eight years until I learned he had cancer, & I decided to reconnect with him two years before he died

I began writing Perfectly Imperfect a year prior to my father's death

Why use Mpreg to deal with Daddy Issues, you may ask?

The answer is twofold

I want to have my own family one day, & I tend to project that desire onto my favourite characters

I'm also fascinated with the father/child bond I guess

Particularly those that, while they may not be perfect, they at least are there for their child/ren, and don't abuse them

As for the fact that I've written Junkrat giving birth

That tends to be how a pregnancy concludes

But, I always focused on Junkrat himself, & what he's going through while giving birth

Such as his the pain he's in and how scared he is

How he looks to Roadhog for comfort

And how Roadhog helps him through it

It's about the emotion & vulnerability of the scene, in other words

Birth is messy, & can be gross, I can understand why many are squicked out by it

But it's a fact of life, much like death

Fourth, I'd like to discuss my supposedly inappropriate conduct with minors online

As many of you will know, I used to run Roadrat server. This server was an 18+ server, as I didn't feel I could, nor did I want the extra responsibility of, keeping minors safe within it

However, I would ask around to see if many people wanted to join, provided they were of age

As at the time, there was a content drought, & I wanted to keep the fandom as active as possible through it

Which I felt I could do through Discord

Unfortunately, not everyone has their age in their bios, which is fine

I understand not everyone feels safe showing people their age

But, it does sometimes mean I'm unsure, & have to ask about the person's age

This person there were a minor & then asked if they knew of any other Roadrat servers

I didn't really know of any that were as active as mine was a the time, so I made them an offer

They tell me when they come of age, & I'd let them into my server on the day

As you can see, nothing inappropriate took place, & the conversation pretty much ended after that

So, that is the context of everything that happened

Lastly, I want to address @sodapoptisms aka @sodapopblast directly

I'm sorry

I'm sorry I ever had the misfortune of knowing you and your friends

I'm sorry I ever thought of you as someone worth my time

I'm sorry I never saw how much you use your gender identity as a sheild to bully and harass people who step out of line

I'm sorry I never saw how much of a manipulative and cowardly bully you are

And I pity your friends who don't see you for the worm you truly are

It's because of you that I've had to endure being mischaracterised and demonised by your false & deliberately misleading accusations

For months

I've endured multiple accounts of abuse, and many death threats because of you

I lost my standing in the Overwatch community

All of this took a major toll on my mental health & general well-being

It not only affected my ability to perform my job as a care worker, which I was so scared I'd lose because of you

But also my self-confidence & and self-esteem, which I had painstakingly built up by writing my Roadrat series over five years

Only for you to tear it down in the span of one day

I used to hold such ill-will towards you for a long time

But that's only stooping to your level

You deserve to get better as much as I do

But the sad thing is, you probably won't

You're way too comfortable where you are right now, surrounded by your fandoms & your Yes Men

I doubt you'll find true happiness while you're where you're at

And that's enough for me

#junkrat #roadrat #overwatch fandom

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mahoutoons · 4 months

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no, the sailor moon 90s anime is not more feminst than the manga

i've seen people herald the 90s anime as this beacon of feminism just because it focuses on the relationship between the inner senshi instead of usagi and mamoru's relationship. there's this idea that the manga being more about romance makes it inherently less feminist than the anime. but i want to shut that idea down.

people keep circulating these three screenshots to prove the 90s anime is this feminist masterpiece

but just a scene prior in the SAME EPISODE, rei calls usagi ugly COMPLETELY UNPROVOKED

yes there's teasing between friends but come on. usagi didn't even do anything to warrant being compared to a monkey.

and speaking of rei... she's so heavily lesbian coded in the manga. literally her nightmare in the dream arc is getting married and settling down in the trad family sense. which she destroys with her akuryo taisan like the lesbian queen she is. also her distrust of men is a big part of her character in every adaptation... except the 90s anime which made her boy crazy and have that plotline where she gets with mamoru for a while for the sake of a rivalry with usagi!

there's the whole jealousy thing with chibiusa which is honestly weird no matter the adaptation and idk why ANYONE thought that was a good idea. but its somehow WORSE in the 90s anime. at least, at the very LEAST in the manga she actually communicates with mamoru about her insecurities and the whole jealousy thing only lasts in the black moon arc (which continues staying the worst arc regardless of the adaptation). in the anime... it lasts well into the end of supers... TWO SEASONS after usagi found out chibiusa was her and mamoru's daughter!

and lets talk about how they made usagi jealous over small things in supers! look i get it, she's a teenage girl and she gets jealous easily. but when you get jealous of a child who is also your future daughter and an old woman your boyfriend tried to help, that's when you have issues. there's an entire fucking episode where she stalks rei just because mamoru is staying at her house for a day!

and the most egregious thing which makes me laugh at any claim of the 90s anime being much more feminist than the manga.. is how they handled prince demande. you know, the guy who kidnapped and sexually assaulted usagi? in the manga and crystal, he's killed off unceremoniously.

but guess what ikuhara, the feminist king who knows to write SO MUCH BETTER than naoko, did. he tried to make demande sympathetic. he made usagi sympathise with him.

yasssss ikuhara you go make the pedophile sexual assaulter sympathetic, you feminist king! you definitely know SO MUCH BETTER than naoko!

and people thought crystal was antifeminist? get outta my face with that at least crystal didn't try to make the fucking borderline rapist sympathetic, he disintegrated in a pile of dust like he deserves.

you might be thinking "get outta here no one says the 90s anime is more feminist than the manga". well yes people do. you'd be surprised. i went to an old anime confession blog and found these posts back when crystal was still new and still had a MASSIVE hatedom

and these are just some of the posts. there's so much more. people who dared to enjoy crystal were called misogynistic for... liking a show. even today i see people bash naoko for the smallest things while praising ikuhara as a feminist king and lgbt ally who did more for the community than naoko (which is funny because the 90s anime has an episode where makoto has a crush on haruka and the girls are like "nuuuuuu mako you can't date haruka you're a girl" which wasn't in the manga). when he wouldn't even have been able to make the anime without naoko's manga.

there's an interview with naoko takeuchi where she says that the difference between the manga and 90s anime was that the 90s anime had a male perspective as it was directed by men while the manga mostly had a female perspective as it was written by a woman.

and it honestly really shows when you watch the anime again.

was the 90s anime progressive for its time? yes. is the manga peak feminist literature? no. you can prefer the 90s anime over the manga but don't go acting like its inherently more feminist than the manga just because it doesn't focus as much on the romance aspect. the manga focusing more on usagi and mamoru's romance doesn't make it inherently less feminist.

#sailor moon #sailor moon crystal #rebecca talks #i made this same post on twitter and got hated on #hopefully sailor moon tumblr will take this better

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your-l0nely-star · 10 months

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jujutsu kaisen men x italian songs they’d dedicate to you.

!!! ps: it’s the first time i write something and english it’s not my first language !!!

nanami kento / quanti anni hai, vasco rossi.

a romantic and sensual song about an older man in love with a younger girl (not underage) who can’t make the relationship works. nanami heard this song in the radio and searched the translation, he was impressed: your pretty face came to his mind, his sweet, little student, the way you cried while he told you the relationship was over was like a memory heavy as a rock on his chest. you thought he left you for an older woman, maybe sexy as utahime or mei mei or shoko, but everyone knew the truth: nanami loved you, he was just too scared of destroying everything with his jujutsu work.

that fucking babygirl.

geto suguru / noia, ernia.

bored, depressed, empty eyes and pale skin, his long hair tickled his neck while he was waiting for you. geto suguru’s life changed two times: first, when he decided to hate monkeys, second, when you walked in a library with an amethyst necklace and a ribbon around your hair, so sweet and yet so sarcastic and cunning when you started spoking to him. suguru was impressed, your big eyes captured every detail of his face, deep conversations and a chemistry he never felt with any woman, he felt the desire to hold you in his arms and sink his fingers in every inch of your skin.

he didn’t know you’d be obsessed with him as much he’s with you.

the door opened and here you come, empty gaze as him and same weights on your shoulder as him: two different bodies but one soul, ernia was in background, you made him listen that song.

« still listening to italian rap, uh? »

« it looks like he’s singing about my life. »

« still bored? even right now that i’m here? »

he laughed and kissed you all over your pretty face.

« my fucking princess, you changed everything. »

yuji itadori / coez, la tua canzone.

a romantic, happy love song about a boy totally in love with a girl. itadori discovered this song on tiktok and loved the melody, when he red the lyrics he was so happy and took that as a signal: he needed to confess his love for you. with a bouquet of roses on the passenger side of his car he came to your house. sweet eyes and red face, he pushed the bouquet in front of your face in a clumsy way.

« uh? you okay? »

« eh, no! i need to tell you something. i found a song for you, and also i wanted to say that i’m in love with you, i realized that, and — fuck, I’m over talking, let’s start with the song, no, let’s start with our feelings! do you think we could..? »

and you laughed, arms around his neck and your lips against his. whatever italian songs it was, you would have loved it.

megumi fushiguro / toxic, la sad.

megumi loved punk rock music, but when he discovered italian punk rock.. damn, that was weird, maybe embarrassing and cool at the same time. he knew you’d love that song, toxic, because it was about a girl who struggled with family issues, ex toxic relationships and loneliness, he knew you would have found yourself in those hard and dramatic words. he sent you the spotify link and the translation of the lyrics, hoping you wouldn’t freak out for an invasion of privacy about your feelings.

« gumi? » you texted after maybe 10 minutes.

« yes »

« i cried, it was so beautiful »

« fuck, thought you’d scream at me for invading your privacy or sum.. »

« ahaha no, no, i actually appreciated the song and the lyrics, it looks like it was written for me. you’re the only one who actually understands how i feel, yk that, right? »

« i know, it happens to me too: sometimes i talk with people but still feel like no one can really gets me, but when i’m with you i don’t even need words, i just look at you and i know you’ll understand. »

« i always understand. but there’s something i still can’t figure out »

« what? »

« why the fuck my heart is racing so fast when i’m with you »

toji fushiguro / per i tuoi larghi occhi, fabrizio de andrè.

you never cried in front of him. never. you knew who your husband was and you promised to yourself to never show weakness, because it didn’t matter how much you loved toji, how much you’d destroy yourself for him, you knew he had a first love, and it was his first wife, megumi’s mother.

you respected the figure of that wonderful woman, but yet you suffered a lot, sometimes you even thought he didn’t really love you, he just needed someone next to him, a good woman to help him with megumi.

truth or not, sometimes you were sad, especially during cold afternoons sat on the sofa, listening to fabrizio de andrè and his melancholic voice.

« what kind of music is this? » toji asked you once, and you smiled quietly, eyes tired.

« Fabrizio was an italian songwriter, he wrote poems, not songs. »

« oh, and what is this song about? »

« a woman with big eyes who never cries, Fabrizio says that she loves her, but never understands her, because she doesn’t cry and goes away. »

« it reminds me of someone. »

« yeah » you sighed, of course, his ex wife.

« i was talking about you. » he sat next to you with a gentle yet hard face, was he angry? you became even smaller in those pillows.

« what do you mean? »

« i mean that.. sometimes it looks like you hate me, sometimes i’m scared i’d open the door and you will be just gone, disappearing into the void. am i doing something wrong? » he looked truly confused, sad, maybe.. and suddenly you felt stupid, frustrated.

« you treat me like a replacement, like i’m here to cover a ghost’s figure. » your eyes filled with tears, but no, you won’t cry, you won’t.

you thought he’d scream, yelling that you were completely wrong and fucked up in the head, but, instead, he dragged you over him, kisses on your mouth and your breaths getting heavier. you silently cried.

« I fucking love you, every inch of me loves you, i don’t treat you like you deserve and I’m well aware of this, but i’ll change everything, i’d never wanted to make you cry, baby. never. »

#jjk #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #jjk gojo #nanami kento #geto suguru #toji fushiguro #megumi fushiguro #yuji itadori #fanart #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu sorcerer #choso kamo #jjk spoilers #jjk x y/n #tokyo revengers

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thatdammchickennugget · 5 months

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Hi, I want to ask you for advice and give you an ask for your 1500 followers celebration.

The thing is, I'm 19 and I am not in uni. I am very disappointed in myself and did not plan to be in the position that I currently am. All my friends further their education and had/are having higher education meanwhile I am still where I was three years ago. I always was the academic driven girl that was an over achiever until my half-second last year of highschool. But at this moment, I just feel so behind and failed.

I am happy and proud of my friends, don't get me wrong, they all deserve it ! I even have some of my friends who did not plan to go to uni and are at the moment there. I am happy that they're all succeeding, but I compare myself and I'm just at the same place, escaping in fanfics and just losing more hope that I used to have. It's like everybody started the race except me, that remained at the begining of it.

I did work a little on some of my issues during highschool and still try to do. I used to be severely bullied in middle school, litteraly had a guy saying that I was a monkey and looking like one, which affected my confidence and made me a little paranoid. I'm still working on my self confidence. But I still can't always be confident in my appearance.

I plan and want to go to uni and study what I want so bad. I wish to re-invent myself in a better version of myself.

Can you give me some life advice? You seem like a kind person with a good heart.

I'm not sure if you are still accepting requests for your 1500 subscribers event, but here is a request, it is completely up to you to do it or not, I wouldn't mind.

I also want to tell you " Congratulations on your 1500 subscribers, you definetely deserve it!!!" I love your fics and your writing so much, you have no idea! I look up to you and you definitely inspire me.

I am not sure how to describe myself.

I have brown hair. I am European, just not from the Anglo-saxon part. Usually, I am the therapist friend, everyone come to me and I give them advice ( that are genuinely good). I am normally an optimistic person, I think it is just at the moment that I am feeling down as if I'm in a hole without having a way out. I love reading, escaping to fictional worlds, dancing alone in my room, listening to classical music, knowing the history of the arts, romantism and watching theatre if it is a good play. I am a Gryffindor and an ambivert.

I wish one day to have adventures (where nobody dies/has a negative life-changing thing) like in the movies.

Could you write a frenemies + when it is know the of us are dating , nobody can believe it with Mattheo Riddle? Or anything really with Remus Lupin, with any trope you consider, I trust you :)

Thank you so much and thank you for your advice

I'm gonna sign this so you could identify me if you want updates or when I will thank you :)

-🐤🪐 chicken saturn ( because I like chickens, baby chickens and I like the stars and various kinds of planets)

Hey love! 💕

Firstly, thank you for reaching out and sharing your feelings with me. It takes courage to express vulnerability, especially when it feels like you're comparing yourself to others. You're not alone in feeling this way, I've been feeling much the same lately and am working through it at my own pace too.

It's important to remember that life isn't a race, and everyone's journey unfolds at its own pace. Your path might not look like your friends', and that's perfectly okay. What matters most is that you're working on yourself and your dreams, even if it feels like progress is slow.

It's understandable to feel disappointed or frustrated with where you are right now, but try not to dwell too much on the past or where you think you "should" be. Focus instead on the steps you can take to move forward. Whether that is exploring educational opportunities, seeking support for your self-confidence and mental health journey, or pursuing your passions, every small effort counts.

Dealing with past experiences like bullying can leave lasting scars, but remember that they don't define you. You're strong and resilient, and you have the power to rewrite your story. Building self-confidence takes time and patience, so be kind to yourself along the way.

As for university and reinventing yourself, it's never too late to chase your dreams. And you are only 19! That is still so young! Don't beat yourself up over it you're still on the right path and you have so much time to get where you want to be! Take the time to research your options, reach out for guidance if needed, and set realistic goals for yourself. Surround yourself with supportive people who believe in your potential, and don't be afraid to ask for help when you need it.

Above all, remember that your worth isn't determined by your achievements or milestones. You are enough just as you are, and your journey is uniquely yours. Keep believing in yourself, keep striving for growth, and trust that brighter days lie ahead.

Sending you lots of positivity and strength on your journey lovely anon 💕 thank you for entrusting me with this, I hope there is at least something helpful in my little rant here. And I also saw your other ask and yes of course you can be 🪐🐤 Saturn Chick! And it's always okay to reach out to me, no matter if you want to do it as an anon ask or through my dm's.

Now for your match ups....

Golden Trio Era; Romantic Match-Up: Mattheo Riddle

mattheo, with his brooding demeanor and sharp intellect, is the last person you expect to find yourself drawn to. as a Gryffindor, you naturally gravitate towards those who exude warmth and light, whereas mattheo seems to dwell in the shadows, his presence casting an enigmatic aura wherever he goes.

your first encounter with him is marked by a clash of personalities, as your optimistic outlook clashes with his cynical worldview. You find yourself engaged in heated debates with him, each argument leaving you more frustrated than the last. despite your differences, there's an undeniable spark of attraction that simmers beneath the surface, one that neither of you can ignore.

as time passes, you and mattheo find yourselves reluctantly working together on various projects and assignments. despite your initial animosity towards each other, you begin to discover unexpected common ground, whether it's your shared love for literature or your fascination with history and the arts.

slowly but surely, the animosity between you begins to thaw, giving way to a grudging respect and mutual understanding. mattheo's sharp wit and intellectual curiosity challenge you in ways you never thought possible, while your unwavering optimism and genuine kindness bring a sense of warmth and light into his dark world.

when you finally admit your feelings for each other, it comes as a shock to your friends and classmates. after all, you and Mattheo were once sworn enemies, constantly at odds with each other. but as they watch the two of you navigate the complexities of your budding relationship, they begin to see the genuine connection and affection that exists between you, and they can't help but root for your unlikely love story.

Song: Just Like A Movie by Wallows

Marauders Era; Romantic Match-Up: Remus Lupin

remus, with his quiet demeanor and gentle nature, has always been a source of comfort and stability for you. as the therapist friend, you're used to being the one everyone turns to for advice and support, but with remus, it's different. there's a sense of understanding and empathy that flows between you, a connection that goes beyond mere friendship.

your first meeting with remus is marked by a shared love for literature and the arts. you find yourself drawn to his intelligence and sensitivity, admiring the way he seems to see the world through a different lens. despite his reserved nature, there's a warmth and kindness to him that immediately puts you at ease.

over time, you and remus become inseparable, spending countless hours lost in conversation about everything from books to music to the intricacies of the human mind. He becomes your confidant, the one person you can truly be yourself around, without fear of judgment or rejection.

as your feelings for Remus deepen, you find yourself torn between wanting to preserve the sanctity of your friendship and longing for something more. it's only when he confesses his own feelings for you that you realize the depth of your affection for him, and the two of you embark on a journey of love and discovery together.

your relationship with remus is built on a foundation of trust, understanding, and mutual respect. together, you navigate the challenges of life at hogwarts, leaning on each other for support and strength. and as you face the uncertainties of the future, you take solace in the knowledge that as long as you have each other, you can weather any storm.

Song: Geronimo by Sheppard

#advice #nuggets 1500 follower celebration #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader

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lovefrombegonia · 27 days

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A Jinx of my mind and an Ekko of my soul

This is going to be a long post about how one Jinx and one Ekko from the Netflix's Arcane made me feel, and basically gave me an existential crisis for a couple of days. This isn't an in-depth analysis, let me warn you. This is much more personal, this is deep in emotions...this is projection of another level. This is my excercise of self-discovery through fiction. It's an introspective excercise I love doing...and sometimes, when the writing is omega-level great...it shows me my darkest fears, and my greatest dreams.

THESE ARE ALL PERSONAL OPINIONS. Fair warning. Also, Spoiler Alerts.

Those who are familiar with my blog, knows that, typically, I would have deeply, deeply fallen in love with a character like Jinx. That's what happens with me and my problematic blorbos. Mad and psychotic killers with great character design is almost always a win-win for me. This is what I thought too, initially, as I started Arcane's first episode. She was a little girl who was physically not strong but was a mad genius who could make deadly bombs out of scraps. An engineer of chaos! And someone with family issues...boi oh boi, I was ready, willing and able to fall for her... But then gradually something unexpected started to happen. I started...disliking her. And you know, that should have started after she killed a bunch of people indiscriminately, right? But no...I think it started much earlier. I think it started with a break down that hit too close to home. It started when Powder was crying and screaming out of desperation and pain when she thought of herself as useless. Someone who couldn't even help save her sister and her friends. Her adoptive father. During that scene, I didn't hate Power. No...let me not be a coward with my feelings here. This is me, raw, vile, and naked. I did hate Powder during that scene. I hated her because that scene hit too close to home. I hated her because how many times, it was me who would cry hysterical, alone in my room, cursing myself, my incompetence, my weakness, I can't even count. It really speaks to the brilliance of Arcane's cast and crew that it just sparked those memories of my despair so cleanly. Then she tries to help her sister and gang with monkey bomb, and it turns out to just make things from bad to worse. The rational side of me sees this and understands that she could not have any idea that things would turn out like this. She was just a child and even an adult could have made those same mistakes. But the emotional side of me watched in horror and hopelessness as her decisions made with intentions to help her family, in the end hurt them so badly and irreversibly. This, too, hit too close to home. Reminding me of when my own decisions had hurt my family in the long run. The guilt and trauma of my failure never went away. Even if my family doesn't blame me, I blame myself. And then...things just went downhill with the rest of the episodes. Visually, Jinx is one of the coolest characters on the show. Her fighting style, her gadgetry, even her mania is shown with so much style and brilliance, it just scratches the aesthetic itch of mine perfectly. Technically, the character writing is fucking superb imo. None of her moments are wasted. Every drop of her tears and every smile, every gesture counts. None of it is wasted. Emotionally, I felt like I was watching a nightmare version of me on-screen. Everything that happened to her is what I fear happening to me. The psychosis. The break-downs. Choosing to follow the wrong person. Choosing validation over people who love me. It's why all her triumphs and victories felt so hollow. Even her most brilliant moment, when she unleashed the missile over the council...felt incredibly painful to me. In my eyes, this was the moment of Jinx's destruction. When Silco called her "perfect", it should have felt like finally getting the validation she needed but instead it felt like getting a stamp of approval to be self-destructive.

Let me be clear: I AM NOT SAYING THIS IS WHAT THE SHOW IS TRYING TO SAY. THIS POST IS ALL ABOUT HOW I FELT THROUGH JINX AS A CHARACTER. I don't want her stans to think that I am slandering her moments of victory and character arc. When I was watching Arcane, Jinx's journey didn't feel like her growing from Powder to Jinx FOR ME, even though I know that's what the writing is about. It felt like Jinx was showing how I could devolve because of my own manic thoughts, insecurities, painful memories and just my fucking depressing af mind that feels like it's trying to eat me away. I cannot express how similar it looked when I saw Jinx losing her mind in isolation. Cooking up scenarios that didn't happen. Or degrading all the memories of the past while catastrophizing. Her shooting the girl who looked like Vi. Her, being petrified by Vi abandoning her. Her, being as a birder by Silco or being abandoned/betrayed by him. Even though, I am an adult now, and I get why people that I love might walk away from me, the fear of it all still eats me from inside. I am afraid. I am despairing. It feels like I can't move on. What scares me even more is one day, meeting a Silco who might or might not genuinely love me but also validates my wish to just destroy everything and everyone around me. To watch the world burn. Because, yes, the thought of letting it all go, and fuck things up feel "cool" and "liberating" and "awesome" but the truth is...the ugly, painful truth is...even then. EVEN FUCKING THEN. INSIDE. I would still me the same miserable lonely fuck... Except this time, I would because the scared miserable lonely fuck who hurts others. It's a nightmare cycle. Jinx is that nightmare cycle. Jinx...Powder...this charming, exhilarating, dynamic character. She is truly an enigma of her own, isn't she. I love her because I can empathize with her suffering and choices. I hate her because I fear that I might end up like her. Jinx is my mirror that I want to look away from but I can't.

This experience of mine with a character is not unique to Jinx. What differs, is the INTENSITY of it all. She stays in my mind. I watch video analysis of her character but I couldn't bring myself to write much about her. It feels too close. Too... familiar. I have talked about the mirror but what about the echo of my conscience? Somehow still keeping me from turning downright mean and unkind?

A very special episode happened in the second half of Arcane. An episode called "Boy Savior". It started with one of the coolest music video intros I have ever seen. I think most of us, who aren't familiar with LoL lore, could still guess this was the return of the little boy, Ekko. He was bound to return, and he was going to be involved with the Fireflies. It wasn't the focus of the episodes but it was clear from a few scenes that, like Jinx, Ekko was also great with gadgetry. His little periscope and audio system he made? So smart and cute, might I add. What I wasn't expecting, is to strangely...be envious of this character. It's natural to admire someone like him. Who, even being in the worst situations, rose as a hero and inspiration for his people. To help the ones left behind in the grand scheme of main characters. But I was already become very attached to him. Not in a blorbos kind of way. Another third secret thing LOL OK, but seriously, I was starting to feel even protective of this character. And no, it isn't just because Ekko has the cool character design, and cool hover board thingie, or even the coolest animation style in the series...those helped! But weren't the key reason. It started with the final fight between Ekko and Jinx. It was highly stylized and paired with great bgm. The animation was popping off!! Damn! Did they deliver with this part of episode. Amidst of all that, my mind all of a sudden went: 'I will never forgive Jinx if she kills Ekko.' After I finished the episode, and was done with the rest of my daily routine, I wondered why I felt so strongly for him. Mind you, I didn't feel the same way when she came close to killing any of the other main characters. Not even Vi, even though, being an eldest sibling myself, I should have felt more kinship with her. But no...it was Ekko. But why? Why him? Why even feel envious of this character who got so much burden on his young shoulders, and he is not even a main character?! It all CLICKED right into place after I watched this video analysis of his character. I understood my envy and my protectiveness for him. It's because Ekko is the kind of character I want to be. This person who can help my family and loved ones in the present. Someone who uses whatever resources they have and the courage, skills and endurance they have to push forward, to bring to the ones they care about. This person who acknowledges their painful past but won't let that stop from becoming someone kind and brave. Someone who works through their loss and shortcomings to bring a brighter light home. He is not a perfect person. He isn't physically strong like Vi or has agency like Jayce or has the strongest morality like Caitlyn but he is still ENOUGH. He still helps in a way that truly matters, his existence matters. He is the strong, sturdy, life-giving tree in the midst of undercity's thick, suffocating atmosphere. He is...Ekko is just...simply beautiful. Just BEAUTIFUL and immaculate in a way no other character in Arcane season 1 is. He is a side character with much lesser screen time but he leaves me with such a deep impression. To me, Ekko is the character that reminds me of the echo of my own conscience soul, pushing me to be a better person than I was yesterday. He is the dream version of myself. And this is why it was hurting me to think of Jinx killing Ekko. Because my emotional side was interpreting it as my nightmare version killing the dream version of myself. My sub-conscious made the connection between Powder/Jinx and Ekko before I even realised.

I cannot praise the writers of Arcane enough to bring out such strong emotions in me. To invoke something so raw and visceral in me. To make me look into myself, to realise my fears and hopes. Almost all the characters in Arcane season 1 are amazing, nuanced, thought-provoking, and simply brilliant. And even among all these diamonds, Jinx and Ekko are so bright to stand out so uniquely... Ah...such beauty in fiction is rare. Be it hate or love. Fear or envy. I cherish them both very dearly.

#jinx arcane #jinx #ekko arcane #ekko #arcane season 1 #arcane netflix #arcane #personal opinion #saya rambles.#netflix #personal ramblings #if i see stans starting shit i am blocking your asses #not a review #not deep analysis #only personal feels

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imminent-danger-came · 1 year

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Yeah, David Breen had to write a tweet when the fan translated version of the Mandarin version of LMK came out. People were freaking out about Wukong being a deadbeat dad and debating on whether it was a d*ck move or Wukong recognizing that he had sh*t mental health and was not in the proper head space to take care of baby MK.

Also that memory? That was a vision MK had in Episode 3. He was helping Tripitaka with magic circle stuff, the vision broke in and interrupted the ritual, and all hell broke loose. It isn't an actual flashback to his childhood.

Thank you to the person who shared the screenshot in my notes! You're a real one. I'll put it here for easy reference:

First, I wanted to clear up that I didn't mean my questions in a "this is why it can't be true" way—cause it is true—but in a "these are the questions I have!" sort of way. I think that's how one person interpreted it and I'm like OH NO. MY QUESTIONS MEAN I'M INTRIGUED/WANT TO KNOW MORE I SWEAR.

Next, the visions in 4x03, 4x04, and 4x05 are different than what I think is a memory:

(4x03 The Great Tang Man) (Sending the curse one because like. what the fuck. what the fuck!)

(4x04 Pig Napped)

(4x05 Court of the Yellow Robbed Demon)

These are the visions of Sun Wukong trying to find MK in the scroll. They're different from what Subodhi presses MK to remember ("Tell me of your childhood, your parents." "You do not remember?" "And what else?"):

See the difference?

Every vision MK has includes the same scenes, except this one. That's why I think it's a memory; that and the way it's framed, with MK closing his eyes in focus. The other visions from 4x03, 4x04, and 4x05 all are unprompted, being forced upon MK. Why make this last "vision" so different from the others? Why show Guan Yin (?) making the stone monkey? That would be because it's a memory—be it MK's, something from the scroll, or a mix of both.

Monkey King not being MK's dad doesn't equate to him not being involved—MK being born from the stone means that he doesn't have any biological parents, it's a weird grey area. I also just can't imagine that Guan Yin (if it was her) made MK on top of flower fruit mountain and that Monkey King was none the wiser (edit: lol it was NOT on top of flower fruit mountain. Anyways, carry on!). I also don't know what other reason Sun Wukong would choose MK to be his "successor".

"Monkey King was ripping his way through memories looking for MK, but kept coming back to the stone. He doesn't know why."

I'll be honest, "he doesn't know why" is SUPER vague (which is good, can't have a writer spoiling the whole show on twitter lol). So, Monkey King doesn't know why he kept going back to the stone...what does that mean exactly? It's vague and up in the air, and it's phrased in such a specific way that I can't help but feel like Breen is being purposely misleading.

Either way, I don't really see the problem with Sun Wukong being a dead beat dad. Like he's not MK's dad, but if he were I don't understand what the issue with that is. Sun Wukong is an interesting character, he means well but he can also hurt others through the distance he builds around himself. In 3x05 Amnesia Rules he literally says "Can you imagine what I would be like if I didn't have friend's? I'd probably turn into a manipulative jerk!" Well, currently all of his past friend's are dead and he is a manipulative jerk. And I love him.

Sun Wukong is nuanced. He doesn't make the right choice all the time. The way he treated the main gang in s3 was fucking shitty ("how could you lead us into this fight without a real plan!?"). But he also doesn't intend to hurt people. He always has his own reasons. And, when he finally realizes the pain he's caused, he tries to make amends and put himself on the line. People "freaking out" about Wukong being a "dick" (which he kinda has been this whole time, he's a little shit and I love him) just reeks of purity culture.

AND THE FUNNY THING IS, WUKONG SPEAKS DIRECTLY AGAINST THAT:

“Point is, mistakes happen, but so long as you leave the world in better shape than you found it, then it’s all good. Right?” (4x01 Familiar Tales)

Wukong makes so many mistakes all the time. I don't know why in this instance it would be one step too far.

There's also just so much we don't know. We don't really know anything about MK's origins, or why he was created, or who created him, or what everyone knows/doesn't know. But I will say, whatever it is I'm excited for it!

#I am of the opinion that leaving MK with Pigsy was the right move (if that's what happened)#I also think Monkey King ''gave up'' his spot with his friends (or their reincarnations anyways) to MK. Like in general.#On god I had no idea there was discourse about this asfasfd #Man I didn't even get into the ink bullshit spread in those fucking visions.#LIKE. OKAY SURE MK WAS SEEING SWK SEARCH FOR HIM IN THE SCROLL. BUT. WHY THE CURSE THEN. HELLO???#The ink MK over his shoulder in 4x03. Then the ink sun wukong (?) in 4x06.#What's going on man #I'm just saying ''It was SWK looking for MK'' isn't all there is to those scenes. IT'S DRIVING ME MAD #lmk #lmk analysis #lego monkie kid #monkie kid #lmk mk #lmk swk #lmk sun wukong #asks #I wish I had a more fun ask tag #something like ''thanks for asking!''#but I'm in too deep to change it #my gifs

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moreofthatdrowse · 2 years

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New Interview: Scandinavian Music Magazine Gaffa

Alex Turner interviewed in Scandinavian music magazine Gaffa. 31.10.22

I’ve translated the interview (find it below the cut), but as with all laymen-translated interviews, take it with a grain of salt. The interview was obviously done in English, which the journalist then translated into Swedish words, which I in turn have turned back into English. When presented with a choice of words to use, I’ve tried to choose words I think Alex would use. Still, we all know Alex likes to take pauses and start sentences over, which is not at all apparent in the interview. You know how it is. I for one don’t in a million years believe that he rambled on about the World Cup as undisturbed as it’s made out to be in the last paragraph.

Arctic Monkeys Interview November issue of Gaffa 2022, by Jesper Robild

A Sci-fi Hangover in a Toyota

With the album The Car, Alex Turner is back on Earth. Gaffa’s reporter Jesper Robild travels to Los Angeles to meet Arctic Monkeys’ frontman, who takes his time and talks about getting a unique energy from the tournament fever.

When he steps into the minimal, presently closed hotel bar in his current hometown Los Angeles, Turner is equal parts rock hero and eccentric introvert. Stylish in way too many clothes with regards to the 31 degrees Celsius outside, and he chooses an astride position on a hard chair rather than to share the sofa. At the same time, he is slightly evasive, reticent, often dragging his fingers halfway through his hair and fastening his gaze at the floor when he for the tenth time takes 20 seconds to begin an answer in five different ways before sentences form, accompanied by hands that juggle his thoughts. Five days earlier, the death of Queen Elizabeth II was announced.

“The football was cancelled. I think there was some Champions League match that needed to be moved because they didn’t have enough police officers. I can’t sum it up succinctly. It’s a unique situation. Unique.”

“I didn’t know it was going to be this record”

Four years ago since Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino, three and half years without any concerts, and this is one of the first interviews he does after three years of silence. The new album The Car demanded a lot of attention. And time.

“I’ve started jogging every now and then, a couple of kilometres, which is an improvement. That kind of exercise has never been for me before. But mostly I’ve consciously devoted time to this record and things connected to it. I’ve spent a lot of time during the last six months on the shaping of the live show and a bit of film stuff that has to do with the record. When the tour in 2019 ended, I started writing music immediately. There was no pause at all this time, no period for me to try to be inspired. I didn’t know it was going to be this record, I don’t necessarily think I knew it was even going to be a record. I tried to deal with it very quickly, but it didn’t work of course, and here we are three years later.”

Everything became clear with the first seconds in the first song, There’d Better Be a Mirrorball, something Alex returns to many times.

“When it comes to most of the records, there is a moment where I realised which direction it would take, and that can be quite thrilling. I had had the instrumental introduction for the song for a long time, and then this moment came about when I found a way to connect and transform it to more of a song. It doesn’t quite start as a pop song, but it gets there eventually. When I discovered that transition, a bit of how the lyrics would be, and the synth loop that is repeated throughout the song, I knew what the record would be like. What I didn’t realise was that it would take a further two years to find things that could work around it.”

“Obviously down-to-earth title”

The drummer Matthew Helders has said in an interview with NME that the album continues where the last one left off. But if a hotel and casino complex on the moon is as weird as it gets, a car would have to be the opposite.

“I at least present it like we’re back on Earth, but when I look back on the songs, there’s more of a sci-fi hangover than I perhaps realised. But there are no carton models of space hotels nearby. The title is quite obviously down-to-earth. After calling a record Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino, you’re easily attracted to calling the next one The Car.

The album title is the easiest explanation possible to the lone Toyota Corolla that crowns the cover.

“It’s a photograph that Matthew took a few years back, and I fell in love with it the first time I saw it. I directly felt that if we were to package the record in that picture, it wouldn’t feel like such a bad idea. It’s as if the photograph gives permission to the idea that the record could be called that. “The Car” were also two words that I realised that I kept repeating in the lyrics. And if you’re going to be a bit cynical, when you realise you say “the car” in three songs, you stand at a crossroads - either you go all in and call the record that or you find another way with the lyrics. And by laziness, I chose the first alternative. No, that’s not it.”

“The lyrics are part of something else”

No matter how little you care about lyrics, it’s difficult not to raise your eyebrows at Turner’s whimsical, almost dadaistic habit of wrapping his thoughts in slightly nonsensical metaphors. Unexpected words that call for attention are constantly recurring - just take a title like Jet Skis on the Moat.

“I know what you mean with lyrics passing you by. I feel like I don’t pay them much attention either. When I’m listening, that is. I don’t automatically think that I need to isolate the lyrics from everything else that’s going on in the song, from the other components: the music and the melody. I’m very interested in the relationship between those three things and think that they give each other permission to behave in a certain way. That’s how I think about it when I write songs. I don’t feel that you need to care about the lyrics when you’re listening. They’re part of something else. Sometimes, they’re in Italian or something and you don’t have to worry about it then.

In an interview with NME almost ten years old to the day, Alex talked about how he in the beginning of his career saw John Lennon’s I Am the Walrus as a sort of unattainable template for a type of song he wished that he could write. When questioned whether he has got closer to an imagined ideal, he begins with half a minute’s worth of silence.

“It’s not like there’s an idea in the distance that I’m getting closer to. Again, it’s not about the lyrics but about the composition as a whole. There’s something close to what you’re asking about, but the instrumental introduction right at the start of the first song is as much part of what everything is about on this record as the words. I remember when I talked about I Am the Walrus. When I was 16 and heard those kinds of lyrics I naively thought that they would be easier to write because they didn’t give much meaning. But I quickly realised that it’s harder. I don’t know if I’m closer to being able to write a song like that now, haha. I think I missed that departure. But if we break it down further - the lyrics subscribe to the composition as a whole in that song. The words are in line with everything else that’s going on, the melody, the production… And I could probably draw a weak parallel between that and what’s going on in our records. There’s also a crumb of humour in that song that’s important not to forget.”

Does it take courage to weave in humour?

“It probably took some balls to declare that ‘I am the eggman.’ I don’t know if courage is the point… Perhaps it takes some courage to follow the instinct that tells you to go in a humoristic direction and sing it. It’s important to me to have a little humour amid all the heartbreak.”

When we get onto more parallels to The Beatles among fans and media - something that six No 1’s on the British album charts have caused, not the least - Alex is very careful to not make it sound like he brought up the subject.

“What are we discussing now? You’re saying that people sometimes compare Arctic Monkeys with The Beatles? I didn’t know that was common. I haven’t listened to them in a while. If I’m going to come up with my own comparison… They were a band who didn’t end musically where they started, in broad terms. There was an idea of experimenting with pop music, which I’m very positive about. I think the comparisons might have to do with that. It feels like there never is a risk if we were to stay in the same place, not even when we have tried to. The making of a record is something that lives its own life. Every time I happen to repeat myself nowadays, it doesn’t really work.

Multitracks himself

15 years after the debut Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not, and with seven albums under his belt - plus two with the side project The Last Shadow Puppets - Alex Turner is truly not stuck where he and Arctic Monkeys began. Garage indie and post-punky britpop has gradually evolved and has on The Car landed in a relaxed appearance with crooner vocals, cinematic strings, and a lounge ambiance equal parts noir as jovial. On his 30th birthday in 2016, Alex Turner was given a piano as a birthday gift by the band’s manager, which led to a shift in main instruments when it came to songwriting. But despite the guitar getting relatively little space in the soundscape on The Car, Alex Turner has given it more attention than the last time.

“It feels like I play more guitar on this record. And some of the songs were written on guitar. But I suppose that after having played more piano and having written more on piano, new possibilities arose, so it’s different now when I write on the guitar. Just how I think about how everything goes together is slightly different from when we wrote Brianstorm, for example, or something else from the second record. Perhaps it’s less about whether it’s guitar or piano and more about thinking in other terms as a band. Not “Everybody’s going to do this for 16 bars.” And I suppose that the song structures are more different now. It might not be apparent, but there’s that distinction in my head. Back in those days, we often put things together in a way very much based on the idea of the rehearsal room. Now I put it together more on the basis of the studio environment.

It feels like it’s easy to romanticise the rehearsal room. Do you miss that way of playing and writing?

Yes. But at the same time, speaking of methods to look ahead, it’s something you can leave behind. My writing process the last ten years has been a lot about multitracking myself. That’s the biggest difference between the old records and the last two plus the last Shadow Puppets record. That I make demos of myself. That has probably changed things more than that there’s a piano in the picture. We’re rehearsing this weekend and it’s actually pretty exciting, it doesn’t happen that often except for before tours. We’re thinking that we aren’t going to look back, but I don’t know. It’d probably be fun to approach a new record like that someday. If you leave something, an idea or method, for long enough, it might become something else that makes things happen.

It doesn’t feel unusual that rock dinosaurs around 65 do that, rehearse together and record live.

“Haha, dinosaurs! Exactly, “just like in the old days. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Recording and the Euros

Arctic Monkeys aren’t quite back with any nostalgic devices just yet. The Car was recorded in the Suffolk countryside at Butley Priory, a building that was constructed to house Augustinians in the 12th century.

“It’s not a place I was particularly acquainted with, still aren’t. It was just our provisional studio for a few weeks. It was a lovely experience. We hadn’t spent any time together for a year or so, and it was wonderful to be back together again.”

It was only here that the other three members made their mark on the material.

“I had my 16mm camera and spent quite a lot of time filming when we were all making the record. It was mostly to preserve the memories, I suppose, but I had worked on the songs on my own for quite some time, and bringing the camera meant that I had to take a step back sometimes. Everybody could contribute then. And when I was putting new film in the camera or something it created a buffer, perhaps not enough, but the others got a bit of space.

The recording during the summer of 2021 coincided with the European Football Championships that had been delayed since 2020. A component that enhanced the experience, and does that in many contexts.

“Some games were played during the day, and we had to take a break then, but I suppose that depended on how important it was to see Austria play, for example. Did they play?

Yep.

And Sweden, too, right? Didn’t we face you? Or no, that was in the World Cup in 2018. That was a pretty stale match. It’s easy to become completely engrossed when those tournaments are going on, you become so invested. The World Cup is soon, I’m looking forward to that. It gives the band a unique energy, but it also shows in the environment. It’s been apparent when we’ve toured during the World Cup… There’s something about that tournament fever.

#arctic monkeys #alex turner #jamie cook #matt helders #nick o'malley #the last shadow puppets

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