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fourmoony · 29 days

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𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐓: Chapter Two

After breaking your ankle in the wake of a break up, you're determined to get through your senior year without any interference from James Potter. That is, until his loyalty to loose cannon Sirius Black lands him straight in your lap. Or, rather, your kiddie-skate group.

CW: Language, mentions of violence, sour sibling relationships, overbearing parents, mention of car crash and scars.

ITN: The Masterlist

James

One of James’ earliest memories is of the rink, back home. It’s not exactly a clear memory. There was lots of falling, a plastic penguin almost the size of him, and Sirius Black. His first day at kiddie-skate. Even though he’d spent more time on his ass than skating, it’s a memory James will always cherish. Even if it blurs, slightly, as time goes on. Because it’s the day he met Sirius. At five years old, James had no idea that the lanky, smart as a whip kid who somehow managed to both stumble across the ice and act like he owned it at the same time, was going to be one of the most important people in his life. Sirius is James’ soulmate. His best friend. There isn’t a day where James isn’t grateful for Sirius Black stumbling into his life; wild and untamed.

Except, maybe, today.

The rink at Hogwarts is a place James always feels at home. The smell of Zamboni fuel and the rubber mats meant to protect skate blades. The banging of lockers and the whir of the air conditioning that keeps the ice cool. It’s a small area of campus where James can go when he feels too much. Too overwhelmed, too sad, too anxious. A safe place. Even training is a relief to James. A time in which he’s allocated to turn his brain off, become captain and lead his team. He focusses on plays and makes mental notes on what to work on with the guys. During games he’s focussed on one thing: winning.

But today. Today, Hogwarts Arena is the very source of James’ anxiety, of the weight in his chest that just keeps pressing. It’s not that he’s scared of the rink. Or even of you. But the idea of being in charge of twelve miniature humans whilst knowing in the back of his mind that you’d rather be literally anywhere else is a pretty decent source of anxiety. The last thing James wants to do is make you uncomfortable in an environment that you love so much. You’ve coached mini skate since you were a sophomore. You once told James that it felt like your purpose. To fill the world with as many accomplished skaters as possible. Be a role-model. A guiding light. Someone they could look back at and think I’m glad I had a coach like her. A motivator. A kind soul.

You’re setting cones out on the ice when James takes a seat on the team bench to put his skates on. The kids are down by the tunnel, if the noise that flows from it is anything to go by. James finds himself staring as you skate. You do it with such ease that it reminds him hockey isn’t the only on-ice sport. You’ve trained your entire life to get to the level you’re at, today. He knows you’re going for Nationals again, this year, refuses to allow himself to think about last year. You deserve better of him than to have him distracted by that whilst co-coaching. He knows how that spiral goes. Spent all of his summer thinking about you, about the physical therapy you’d be enduring, the anger you’d have been feeling. Shame washes over him, hot and fast.

He ties his skates tighter than they probably need to be and joins you on the ice. Your head turns at the sound of his blades against the ice, fresh pressed by the Zamboni, after your training session with Pince, probably. You’re still wearing your training clothes, likely haven’t left the rink to get food between practice and mini skate. James makes a mental note to bring you something, next week.

“You’re late.” You call across the ice. You set another cone down, skate towards the next location.

James weaves in and out of the cones you’ve set out with ease, gaining on you without trying. “My Econ class ran long. Flitwick sent you an email.”

Your ponytail swishes when you turn to drop the next cone, feet crossing in a way James imagines is only capable because of your toe picks. If he tried a move like that in his blunt rounded hockey skates, he’d land on his face. With the final cone in your hand, you skate backwards, eyes on James. “Literally the last thing I said to you was ‘be on time’, James.” You sigh.

James smiles, “Actually, I believe the last thing you said to me was ‘You’re sorry that you feel like shit’.”

Your eyebrows hook in the middle when they furrow. James knows he has no right to chide you or try to joke with you, but he wants this to be painless. He hurt you, he knows that. He done a lot of stupid shit, things he can’t take back, even if he wishes he could. But he never thought you’d want to act like strangers, like two people who can’t hold a civil conversation. In his opinion, there’s too much history there, for that.

“The kids will be out any minute. We’re going over control. You take half, I take half.” You nod your head to the pile of cones on the other side of the rink.

James nods. “Sure thing.” He gets to work on setting up his cones before the kids come out of the tunnel.

The majority of kiddie-skate passes in a flurry of tiny skates torpedoing around James. He tries to keep up, tries not to come across as stern, even when all six of the kids under his leadership would rather race each other across the span of the ice. They remind him of he and Sirius, at that age. Causing trouble everywhere they went, consequences be damned. It’s exhausting, but nowhere near as awkward as he thought it might be. You dutifully keep your kids to your side of the ice, well behaved and skating in neat circles around their cones. James finds himself wondering if you gave him the wild bunch as a punishment. By the end of the session, James finds himself giving in and racing seven-year-old Michael from one net to the other. He considers letting him win but decides against it when he sees the determination on Michael’s face, the sure-fire way he glides on his skates. He’s fast; has potential. That shouldn’t be coddled. It should be nurtured, turned into motivation to try harder, next time. Because, next time, when he does try harder, he might just win. Until he’s playing at division one level.

James is sure that’ll be true, one day.

The parents mill around by the exit doors at the far end of the ice, ten minutes before the session ends. James can’t quite believe how fast the time has gone. You call him and his group of kids over to the middle of the ice, skidding to a stop on the edge of your skates. Dutifully, James directs his kids towards you. “Let’s go, team. The boss wants us over here.”

If you hear him, you don’t say anything. Instead, you direct James to stand next to you, arms crossed over your chest. “What did we learn, today?” You ask.

“Control.”

You nod, smile kind and patient. “That control is a key part in skating. Whether it be hockey or figure skating. If you can’t control your weight, your speed, your skates? Pshh,” You scoff, dramatically, “Game over, guys. You’re out.”

There’s amusement in your voice, despite the importance of what you’re saying. James finds it admirable, your ability to connect with the kids. You could connect with anyone, anywhere, though. It’s the kind of person you are. Patient, kind. Undeserving of all the bullshit James has brought into your life since you met him.

“Did you lose control when you broke your ankle?” One of the kids asks. A younger girl, a sparkly pink helmet sitting squint on her head. There’s no malice, just that childlike innocence that brings about curiosity.

The question shocks you, regardless. Your lips press into a thin line, eyes a little distant. James wonders if he should step in, cover for you. Change the subject, somehow.

“No, Kayla,” You fix your face, a sort of wistful look that James can’t figure out. “No, I lost focus.”

James feels his heart sink. Two nights before you left for Nationals, James dropped an irreversible bomb on you. It broke your heart, tore your relationship apart. Then, he sent you off to Nationals with a head full of his bullshit and watched you break your ankle in front of the entire country. Because he distracted you. He broke your focus. Took away the gold medal that had your name written on it.

The guilt keeps him awake at night. More so than the ache of missing you. Because he does. He misses everything about you. Your smile, your laugh, the way your nose scrunches when you’re focussing. He even misses your grumpiness when trying, and failing, to nail a new routine. He misses holding you, kissing you, telling you that he loves you.

But the guilt, the shame. The reality of what he did. It plays on a loop in his head, eats him alive. He’s trying not to drown in it as he watches you dismiss the kids, waving to parents as you skate them to the door. James just stands there, in the middle of the ice. Unsure of how to act. Unsure of what to do, if he should go, if he should stay and try to talk to you. He settles for skating to the team bench, a carved-out box halfway up the side boards. He sits down on the bench, bends down to untie his skates.

The door clicks shut behind you a moment later, a whoosh of cold air and the scent of your perfume as your skates skid to a stop outside the box, beforehand. James looks up as you cross past him, sitting on the opposite end of the bench. You follow his lead, untying your skates in silence. He puts his guards on, places them in his bag. Puts his shoes on. All the while suffocating in the silence.

“It wasn’t your fault.” You tell James. Your voice is quiet, so soft, like maybe you’re not sure you want him to hear you. Your eyes don’t leave your socked feet, hands folded in your lap.

James focusses on putting his shoes on. Doesn’t look at you. “You were right, you know.”

He catches the way your face scrunches, the sadness there. You won’t appreciate his comfort, so he doesn’t give you it. Instead, he stands, slings his bag over his shoulder. His hand itches to reach out and touch you, to tell you that he’s sorry. He wishes he could change everything, could take it all back. “I do feel like shit. But that’s not why I’m sorry.”

Your head tilts up. Your eyes are filled with tears and James can’t stomach it. He hates himself. You look so sad and tired. “See you on Sunday.” He nods and books it out of the team box, along the corridor, the foyer, and into the carpark.

He climbs into his truck, lets the shame swallow him whole, lets the pain burn him. And there, in private, alone, he breaks. He loathes himself for it. He has no right, no reason to be so sad, so solemn. He took everything from you. Yet he still breaks, anyway.

James doesn’t know how much more he can take before he can’t put himself back together, anymore.

Sirius

The Hogwarts Library is Sirius’ least likely haunt. He, honestly, avoids it at all costs. Unless he’s trying to find Lily. Even then, he tends to only stay for ten minutes, or so. It’s not that he hates studying. He actually enjoys his classes, finds the work stimulating for his overactive brain. He’s smart. That’s not to be doubted, even if he acts like an idiot ninety-nine percent of the time. The reason he hates the library so much is because it reminds him of the one at Grimmauld Place.

Hogwarts library is brighter, in fairness. But the high ceilings, regal architecture, the smell of old books and the eerie quiet. It’s all too similar to the library in his childhood home. It makes his skin crawl, the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention. He’s guarded, like he always was at home. A place where it was do or die, fight to survive. Libraries are supposed to be a peaceful place. A place of childlike wonderment, a place where you can get lost in stories of knights in shining armour, passionate love. His opinion of libraries is that it’s a place one would go to get the shit kicked out of them at a dinner party for being too smart tongued. He remembers that all too well. Hates that particular story.

The girl at the front desk smiles kindly at him, but all he sees is a vulture waiting to pick him off, trap him here and make him relive his worst memories over and over. He grimaces, places his hands on the cold wood of the desk and begs it to ground him. Sirius forces a breath as he rolls his shoulders.

“I’m here for community service? There’s a kid writing a paper or something.” His words are breathy, unsure, gritted out through unwilling teeth. He hates this. Hates it with his entire being.

The blonde girl smiles, likely a little awe struck at the sight of a hockey player in the library. As far as Sirius knows, none of them use the library. Half of the team prefer to study at home, and half of them could give less of a shit about their degrees. “Uh, sure, Sirius, right?” She asks, prucking around the desk for a sheet of paper.

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“Astrology is on the third floor. He’ll be waiting at the main desk for you.”

Sirius nods, thanks the girl and heads towards the stairs. He climbs them two at a time, skin itching with anticipation. He really hopes whoever he’s stuck with for the foreseeable future isn’t an overachieving dick. The signs for the astrology section of Hogwarts library point to the right, Sirius follows them all the way to the main desk in the centre of the floor. All of the shelves surround it in a circle, little stars and flecks of paint on the edge of each bookcase. In the centre of the circle sits a circle table, scattered with open books, papers, drawings of constellations.

Sirius tries not to think too hard about the irony of being landed with an astronomy student. He might hate everything about his family, but he loves the stars. Loves his namesake.

There’s no one at the desk, their things left abandoned. Sirius tries not to be nosey but fails. The closest thing to him are drawings, mappings of planets and stars. Hand drawn; with such painstaking detail he finds himself in awe of it. He sets it down, moves on to the next piece of paper, covered in barely legible ramblings about the importance of planet distance, star mapping, it’s barely congeable.

“Did no one ever teach you not to touch what’s not yours?”

Sirius freezes, blood draining from his entire body. The ice cold, baritone voice. Sirius hears it in his nightmares. It claws at the darkest parts of him. His hands shake as he turns; face to face with a more polished carbon copy of himself. Regulus Black is two years younger than Sirius, and yet he looks almost a decade older. He looks positively regal in his ironed clothes, with his perfectly tamed hair and clean-shaven face. Even his shoes don’t have a single scuff on them. It’s not lost on Sirius, the idea that this could have been him. He was supposed to be the heir, the brother with his shit together.

Regulus scowls at Sirius, reaches forwards to rip the paper from his trembling hands. His brain refuses to work, bile rises in his throat. He’s going to kill Moody.

There are memories, there. Playing somewhere in the back of his head. Childlike voices talking in hushed tones, screaming, fighting, hateful words, laughing, crying. He and Regulus were once as close as brothers could be. He hates that Regulus now looks at him with disgust. But refuses to let him win.

“Only thing my parents taught me was to hit fast and hard, watch your enemies wither and die.” Sirius scoffs, hands stuffed in his pockets. He will not allow Regulus to see him rattled. “Of course, they treated their own children like enemies.”

It’s Regulus’ turn to scoff. Even his scoff is prim and proper. He rounds the table and takes a seat, like a king in his throne. Sirius supposes he is. Everything in the Black family dynasty will be his in a few years. Everything Sirius didn’t want. Everything Regulus didn’t want. Not until he didn’t have a choice. “You wanted for nothing.” Regulus quips.

Sirius’ blood burns with the statement. He sounds exactly like their mother. Cruel, evil. Willing to overlook the darkness of her own soul because it got her what she wanted. Money and power. “Spoken like a true Black, Reggie. Congratulations.”

Regulus’ smile is nothing short of bitter. He knows the insult that lies in there, but he shrugs it off as easy as picking a piece of lint from his pure cotton shirt.

“I need all of the books from section A to B noted. Titles, author, date of publication. Alphabetised.” Regulus levels Sirius with a bored look and he balks.

His younger brother, acting like Sirius is beneath him. He shrugs, “Better get to work then, Reggie. Might take you a while.”

“You’re the one on community service for acting like a rabid animal.” Regulus shrugs.

“Yeah, I’ll take the suspension. This shit isn’t gonna happen.”

Regulus chuckles and Sirius can already picture it. His younger brother, sweet, kind, sensitive Reggie. Turned into a fortune five hundred shark, belittling his staff because he can. Just like their father. “Sure. Throw away your hockey career, Sirius. But the Black family won’t be there to welcome you back when you blow your trust fund.”

Sirius’ jaw ticks. Hockey is his life. The Cannon’s won’t touch him with a ten-foot pole, draft or no draft, if he doesn’t touch the ice this season.

“You’re just like him, you know.” Sirius spits. He doesn’t miss the way Regulus’ face hardens; a little shame mixed in there somewhere. They’re too similar, in some ways. Sirius knows exactly where to press where it hurts.

Regulus hands him a notepad. “A to B.”

“Better get out before you end up like her, too, Reggie. That shit’s irreversible.” Sirius tells him, disappointed in himself for even saying it. It feels like acid on his tongue. He turns and goes to find section A. Doesn’t look back to see the fear on his younger brother’s face.

Remus

Thursday evenings are Remus’ least favourite. There’s no practice to keep his mind occupied, the gym is closed for deep cleaning, there’s nothing for him to occupy himself with, except his weekly call with his parents. He’s longed for an excuse to cancel a million times over. It never comes. A punishment, Remus thinks, for something he did in a past life. He loves his parents. They can be overbearing, intense, but they care. That’s a lot more than some people have.

But they don’t get him. His father, more so, than his mother. Hope Lupin is kind and understanding. If Remus told her he wanted to sack it all in and become a shark wrestler, tomorrow, she’d buy him a shark keyring and do as much research as it took to help him on his way. But Lyall Lupin? Five-time Stanley Cup Winner, top player in the NHL for years, retired, hardass hockey player? He’d strangle his only son with his bare hands. All he ever does is push. He pushes and pushes and refuses to see Remus’ health as an issue.

It’s exhausting. Sometimes, Remus just wants to be told to slow down. As much as he’d hate to (he has goals, things he wants to do, his illness won’t stop him). It would still be nice to not have so much pressure on him all of the time.

The call connects with a heavy sense of dread. Hope and Lyall are in their living room, a large canvass of Remus with his first ever hockey trophy hung proudly behind him. That was before the crash, before the scars and brittle bones. Back when the world was his for the taking. Remus hates that photo.

“Hi, love.” Hope beams, cheeks appled out in a smile.

Remus looks most like his mum. Right down to the sandy brown hair, fluffy and unruly. Except he has his father’s nose. The nose that his least favourite scar slashes jaggedly across. He avoids looking at the square with his face on it. Instead, he focusses on the look on his father’s face.

“What’s wrong?” Remus asks, nerves on edge.

Lyall Lupin, to the media, to people who don’t know him, is an unreadable man. Remus can read him like a book. His face might portray as impassive, but he’s furious. About what, Remus has no fucking idea. It’s always something.

“Nothing, love.” Hope tries to shake it off.

“You were a little heavy on your left skate last game, no?” Lyall grits out.

Remus almost laughs. Like, full on belly laughs. Disbelief washes over him, hot and furious, his blood burning. “I played first and second line because Kennedy bust his shoulder over the summer. You remember I have a bad knee, right?” Remus scoffs, eyebrows raised.

He sees the way his mother eyes his scars, the way they pale with the stretch. She looks sad, remorseful. He relaxes his face, shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“Of course, we do, Rem.”

“You think the Wasps will be impressed with that performance? So early in the season, too.” Lyall scoffs, waving a dismissive hand at Remus.

Sometimes Remus thinks his parents see right through him. Sometimes, he wants to scream that he’s right there. That they almost lost him altogether and anything he does now should be a fucking bonus. That he’s sick of never being good enough. That his father should be grateful Remus is even still physically able to get on the ice.

Instead, he swallows the anger and sighs. “Holme gave me some new physio exercises. It’ll be better next time.”

His father nods. “Good.”

“Is that all, then?” Remus asks shortly.

“How was your week?” Hope asks, at the same time Lyall lets out a stern, cold, “Yes.”

She frowns at her husband, who blatantly ignores her. It raises a feral beast in Remus. A wolf howling. He wants to tell his father to respect his wife, to appreciate all she does for him. But he knows Hope hates when he does that. So, he scoffs, hangs up, and slams his laptop closed. He’s exhausted after a mere five-minute phone call, wants nothing more than to crawl into bed with a book and pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

But Sirius stands in his doorway, a sympathetic look on his face. Remus hates it. Hates when Sirius treats him like something fragile, something that can be easily broken. While it may be physically accurate, it will take a lot more effort from Lyall Lupin to break Remus mentally.

“He was in top form.” Sirius murmurs.

Remus nods, runs his hands across his face. The raised bumps of his scars irritates him, so he drops his hands to his lap. “How was community service?”

Sirius shrugs. “The kid writing the paper?”

Remus hums.

“Regulus.”

“Shit. Sorry, Pads.” Remus offers, hand itching to reach out and intertwine with Sirius’. A comforting touch for both of them. He doesn’t.

Just follows Sirius across the room with his eyes as he approaches Remus’ neatly made bed and climbs in. Remus sighs. He’s not sure he has the energy for whatever game Sirius is playing. He can barely keep up anymore. They’re toeing the line between best friends and something else, and while Remus enjoys it, sometimes, he doesn’t think he can stomach it tonight.

But Sirius pushes the display pillows off the side, pulls back the covers for Remus and he finds he can’t resist.

Sirius smells like old books with a touch of cinnamon. He curls into Remus’ side with ease, muscles relaxing until he’s lax in his arms. He feels himself relaxing, too.

“I miss him.” Sirius whispers, voice broken.

Remus presses his lips to Sirius’ hair. “I know.”

“He hates me.”

His chest constricts. Remus knows how much Sirius regrets leaving Regulus. It weighs on him, is probably a large part of why he refuses to take responsibility for anything, ever. He wishes he could make it better for Sirius. “He hates that you got out.”

“I hate myself for not dragging him with me.” Sirius says.

His grip tightens on Remus, his head pushing further into Remus’ neck.

“He’ll forgive you. If you tell him.”

Sirius doesn’t say anything. His breathing slows, Remus feels his eyelashes flutter against his neck. Asleep. Out cold.

He presses one last kiss to Sirius’ hair, pushes all of the thoughts out of his head, and follows suit.

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peachdues · 1 year

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Phantasmagoria — Extended Teaser

Sanemi x F!Reader (Tell Me to Stop Modern AU)

A/N: omg hi. It’s been a while since I’ve give you all a teaser of the upcoming WIPs, but since you all were so lovely during Bar prep, I thought I would give you a treat.

The teaser below consists of snippets from several scenes from all three parts of Phantasmagoria — including a small NSFW teaser and a POV from Kyojuro. Every divider line represents a time skip; the story mainly takes place over the course of the summer between their junior and senior year of college. Major angst ahead, see the CW for the warnings.

Synopsis: Y/N, Sanemi, and Kyojuro were an unstoppable trio in their youth. But right as they prepare to enter college at Ubayashiki University, tragedy strikes and Y/N mistakenly confesses her love for Sanemi at the worst possible time. Now, a year and a half has passed, and Y/N hasn’t spoken to either of her best friends since, but that’s all about to change as their friend groups converge and Y/N explores an experimental new drug called Wisteria.

TW: drug/alcohol abuse, toxic friends with benefits (later to lovers), grief, trauma, literally everyone needs to go to therapy. Wisteria is supposed to be an analogue to ecstasy.

CW: toxic FWB, sex/drugs/alcohol as a coping mechanism, reader lowkey uses Sanemi because she thinks he’s using her. Brief NSFW snippet (oral F!receiving, penetrative sex). Sanemi pines HEAVILY in this one.

Song inspiration here ; playlist here

I hope you all enjoy!

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

But even though the sour drinks made her feel so warm and so vibrant while she was out dancing, there were still moments when clarity hit her and she missed them.

She missed the way Kyojuro’s strong arm would drape around her shoulders, heavy and warm but his embrace felt like home, his deep laugh contagious.

She missed the way Sanemi would pretend to hug her unwillingly, but would leave his hands lingering on her back or her waist after she moved to pull away, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his tantalizing mouth. She missed the smell of his cologne, clean and a little pine-y as he would lean in close to her face to tease her until she blushed.

She missed them so much that the sharp sting of alcohol stopped dulling the pulsing ache in the cavity where her heart once beat. No matter how many shots, no matter how many sticky acid drinks she tossed back, the gnawing in her chest would not cease.

Then, one night, Shinobu pressed a small, lilac pill into her hand and everything changed.

Initially, Y/N was apprehensive, because the pill perfectly matched the hue of the eyes of the person she wanted to forget most. But Shinobu promised her that this pill — Wisteria — would have her feel like she did as a kid on Christmas, and Y/N caved.

At first, she’d felt nothing, no impact beyond the slight buzz provided by the round of shots she’d done upon first arriving at the Kizuki Club. But then, as Mitsuri twirled her beneath flashing lights of pink and yellow, Y/N’s world exploded with a vibrance she’d neither seen nor felt in nearly two years, and suddenly everything seemed magical; effervescent; infinite.

—————————————————————————

(….)

And as his eyes fell upon her, she chanted over and over in her mind for him to not say it, to not let her name fall from his lips, because she could not bear to hear it. It would’ve been easier, so much easier, if he simply pretended like she didn’t exist because then she could go on pretending like she wasn’t walking around without a heart; like he hadn’t been carrying it with him even all these months later.

He smirked, and said her name, in that voice, and it took everything Y/N had not to fold right there.

But she couldn’t, she wouldn’t let him know that he still held any power over her, and so she merely raised an eyebrow at him and smirked back, challenging him.

“Sanemi.”

—————————————————————————

(…)

“And where have you been hiding all this time?” Y/N fought the shiver that threatened to lick up her spine at the sound of that cursed, gravelly voice that had always made her weak at the knees.

But Y/N had not spent the last twenty months learning how to keep off of Sanemi Shinazugawa’s radar for nothing, hadn’t learned to keep her grief and rage and pain locked deep inside the empty cavern of her chest just to crumble under the intensity of that lilac stare.

Y/N threw her head back to swallow the shot to tequila the bartender had placed before her before turning to face him. Sanemi looked every bit the simpering, cocky asshole she’d always known him to be, leaned up against the sticky wood of the bar, one fist resting idly under his cheek as he watched her.

She met his gaze evenly, shoulders loose with a relaxedness that she didn’t feel. “I’ve been right here,” she replied smoothly.

Sanemi shook his head, clicking his tongue disapprovingly at her. “Nah, you haven’t,” he downed his own shot of vodka, before returning his eyes to her, looking her over in consideration. “Though, I guess it would’ve been hard to know it was you anyways.”

Y/N felt herself stiffen slightly, but she kept her voice light. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

Sanemi watched her carefully for a moment, though his eyebrows furrowed, as though he was struggling to choose his words.

“I just wouldn’t have ever expected to see you in a place like this.” He decided, after a moment, a frown tugging at the corners of his sinful mouth.

It was Y/N’s turn to smirk. “That would assume you knew me at all to begin with,” she challenged, motioning the bartender for another shot.

Something tightened in Sanemi’s eyes as he held her gaze, and it tightened the knot of unease Y/N had tried all night to ignore in her stomach. “I did, once.”

Y/N kept her face impassive. “Maybe, as a girl.” She accepted her second shot from the bartender and brought it to her lips, biting down on a wince as the sharp burn of the cheap liquid slid down her throat. “But not as a woman.”

Though she did not show it, his words struck a wound deep within her that she’d not realized still festered; because, as hard as she tried to pretend that the man beside her was a mere stranger, his words reminded her of the harsh truth.

She was still in love with him; had been, ever since she’d learned what love meant.

A shadow flashed across his face before disappearing, that insufferable smirk sliding onto his face once more. “I guess you’re right; a girl doesn’t wear a dress like that.” Sanemi purred.

—————————————————————————

(…)

Sanemi’s lips met the band of her thong and he growled, deep and guttural as he pressed his nose against her, inhaling deeply as his tongue flicked out once more to lap at her wet cunt over the rough lace obscuring her from view.

Y/N was nearly sobbing from overstimulation, and she knew she needed him to fill her, and to do it now.

“Sanemi,” she whined, and his eyes flicked back up to hers, dark with want. “Please, I need you.”

Her words had an instantaneous effect on the heaving man between her legs, because suddenly his body was covering her own, and his pants were gone, and he was slamming into her with a force that left her breathless and writhing against his soft sheets

He pulled her legs over his forearms and braced his hands on her inner thighs to spread her wide as he pounded into her, leaning down into her face to make her blush, just like he used to do. Only now instead of teasing her, he was whispering filth that had her turning scarlet and begging for more.

—————————————————————————

(…)

Y/N leaned against the counter of the bar, nursing her beer as she watched her pink friend giggle and murmur sweetly to the black haired boy dancing with her, the latter’s hands hesitantly gripping her friend’s waist.

“You don’t approve?” A familiar voice rose over the pounding bass of the club music from her side. Y/N didn’t have to turn her head to know who’d sidled up next to her — she would know his blistering heat anywhere.

She tapped her fingers against the sweaty side of her glass. “I just don’t understand why he won’t make a move.” Y/N said after a long moment, a frown pulling at the corners of her red-painted lips.

Sanemi followed her line of sight and his mouth pressed into a hard line. “Maybe he wants to, but he thinks it’ll just make things worse.” He replied after a moment, voice quiet.

Y/N hummed in disagreement. “He’s making it worse by not doing anything at all - he’s made her think it’s her fault things arent working out between them.”

“He does care about her, though. More than she realizes.” Sanemi offered, watching as Obanai delicately brushed a strand of Mitsuri’s pink hair from her eyes.

Y/N finally rolled her head to the side to look at him, and idly she wondered if her eyes looked as numb as she felt. “If he did, he wouldn’t keep hurting her; wouldn’t have hurt her to begin with.”

Sanemi stared back at her, and it made her heart squeeze to see that there is the faintest trace of pain in his gaze, even in spite of his small smile. “‘S not that simple, though.”

She looked away. “It could’ve been,” Y/N took a long sip of her drink, part of her hoping that he couldn’t hear the jaded edge that crept into her voice. “And now all they know how to do is use one another.”

—————————————————————————

(Kyojuro’s flashback)

Where’s your date, Shinazugawa?” Rengoku chuckled, reaching for a beer though disheartened to see that only one was left, Sanemi having finished at least three since arriving back home.

“Called off,” Sanemi said thickly, his words slightly garbled as he tried to fake his own sobriety — the surest sign he was already drunk off his ass.

Kyojuro clapped his shoulder sympathetically. “You or her?”

Sanemi took another swig of his drink. “Me.” He looked up at his best friend and Kyojuro was shocked to see how forlorn and sad the hothead looked. “None of ‘em are her.”

It was rare that Sanemi brought her up, especially in the wake of everything that had happened after Genya’s death — but Kyojuro hadn’t been foolish enough to think that a substantial part of the chip on Sanemi’s shoulder hadn’t stemmed from his complicated feelings about her — Y/N.

Their best friend, at least, once upon a time.

Though, Kyojuro supposed, it wasn’t as if Sanemi’s feelings about their friend were really all that complicated — he’d known the abrasive loudmouth had longed for the trio’s only girl since any of them had understood what it meant to long for someone.

Kyojuro had seen his friend’s feelings on display countless times since they were teenagers — he saw it in the way his eyes softened every time she smiled at him, or the way Sanemi seemed to always lean into her touch whenever she brushed something from his hair.

Then, there had been that time after Y/N had her braces put in — they’d been around thirteen or so — and she’d refused to smile with her teeth, until Sanemi had snapped at her and said she’d looked constipated.

Y/N’s eyes had filled with tears, and her cheeks had burned with her embarrassment, until he’d squatted down in front of her.

“Why’d’ya wanna hide your smile anyways — it’s too pretty.” He’d said, very matter-of-factly, leaning in close to her face as he always did when he teased her. “C’mon, show me! I wanna see your smile.”

Shyly, Y/N had smiled at him, braces and all, and Sanemi had grinned back, nodding in satisfaction. “See? What’d I tell ya? Pretty as a picture.”

Then, there had been their senior prom, when Sanemi had gotten wind of another boy’s plan to ask her to be his date. Though the big dance had still been more than six months away, Sanemi had stormed into the cafeteria, plopped down across from her as she ate with the Koyuki girl, and demanded she attend with him.

When the night of their prom arrived, Kyojuro thought Sanemi was going to pass out the moment he saw Y/N descend the stairs at her mother’s house, dressed in that floor-length emerald dress. Throughout the whole night, Sanemi had treated their best friend as though she were made of glass, his hands for once hesitant and uncertain as he’d found her waist during a slow dance. Kyojuro’d truly thought his friends would finally, finally kiss and admit their poorly-concealed feelings for one another. But Sanemi had returned Y/N to her mother, the latter only parting with a soft kiss against the flustered boy’s crimson cheek before disappearing inside.

How could they have known, that night, just how far they’d all fall? How could they have known how Genya’s death would shatter more than his brother, but indelibly fracture their life-long bond and transform them into total strangers?

(….)

“Look, I love and worry after Y/N too, but she’s using you-“

“So what if she is?” Sanemi croaked, taking a harsh drag of his cigarette. “She can use me as much as she wants. I don’t mind.”

Kyojuro’s eyes softened. “Sanemi —“

“At least it means I can keep an eye on her.” Sanemi flicked the dying butt to the ground, crushing it beneath the toe of his boot. He began to walk away, holding his hand up to wave over his shoulder as he set off back across the lively street.

————————————————————————-

(Y/N’s POV)

“Why won’t you let me care for you?” He asked quietly, and Y/N felt her stomach twist because she’d known this conversation was coming, but that didn’t mean she wanted to have it.

“Why do you want to?” She sighed, running an anxious hand through her hair as she slumped against the kitchen counter.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

#demon slayer #sanemi shinazugawa #kimetsu no yaiba #kny #sanemi x reader #kny sanemi #kny x reader #kny fanfic #sanemi drabble #sanemi x you #sanemi shinazugawa smut #sanemi smut #kny smut #demon slayer smut #sanemi x y/n #kimetsu sanemi #shinazugawa sanemi #kyojuro rengoku

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itsclydebitches · 1 year

Text

Let's tally things up, folks!

Ruby's entire depression arc is "resolved" by a one sentence exchange wherein she just... decides she's better now? 'Is this the message?' Ruby asks, on her knees in front of a not at all subtle broken piece of glass. 'That I'm just supposed to give up?' and then literally the next moment she sees Crescent Rose, the weapon she's been flinching from because it represents all the failures she hasn't actually grappled with this season, and decides that depression and suicidal ideation are for losers. Let's go fight a randomly evolved cat!

The group still doesn't care about Ruby's Volume-long struggle. What are you talking about, evil kitty? Ruby's never been confused, or weak, or feeling like she's broken. We're oblivious to all that. That's why we follow her, because we can easily ignore everything that's going on in her life and instead just focus on ourselves. Didn't she have a breakdown a couple of hours ago about having to lead all the time? Should we really be announcing the moment she steps out of the tree that we expect her to be in charge again? ... nah, it's fine!

I guess the overall message is that any and every horrific act is excusable because you're just being yourself? Sorry we doomed a Kingdom and have actively helped Salem in trying to take over the world. The horrors we've enacted are good things though because it means we're being ourselves.

Ruby is conveniently the only Ascended who retains all her memories. Can't have the protagonist undergoing any kind of actual change, after all.

Neo throws herself into the tree despite that going against every iota of her characterization. Will we ever see her again? Who knows.

Is the blacksmith lady Alyx? I still have no idea.

Jaune is made young again, because of course he is. Love that they act like this is some curse he's suffered from - "It's been so long..." - and not an actual life lived across several decades. If I got stuck somewhere for twenty-ish years and then someone tried to magic me back to my 18 year old self I'd be like wtf? No? I'm not a teenager??? Will the show ever acknowledge that Jaune is actually an old man in a de-aged body now? I doubt it, considering this plot-line had no impact on his personality, skill, or outlook.

Also love that the brothers' story is treated like this wonderful tale of growth and exploration. The blacksmith is going on about how amazing it is that you don't know what you'll get when you create something, tone all fond for the demi-gods that have left her world to toy with new ones, and I just wanted one of the characters to start screaming about all the horrors they've caused. They killed an entire population in one fell swoop and have cursed two individuals for funsies, with the entirety of Remanent permanently under threat of annihilation if they don't meet the Gods' ambiguous standards of unity. Oscar didn't fall into the void because if Ozpin had been there he would have gone feral and attacked the blacksmith with his bare hands.

We're heading back to Remnant and Ruby still doesn't know that Jaune killed Penny! Ruby didn't even get her sword back. Or consider her in the tree therapy session. Why was killing her off necessary again? Oh yeah, Jaune angst🙃

We got a "when you're needed" from the blacksmith, so expect that time-skip in Volume 10. Can't wait to see how much important stuff the story skips over...

Also, this is so minor in the grand scheme of everything else, but I YELLED when Summer admitted that she'd lied about the mission. For nine Volumes these characters have been dragging Ozpin for every problem under the sun including, in Volume 7, for the mysterious disappearance of Summer, only for it to turn out that she LIED about where she was going and on whose orders, setting him up to take the fall when she doesn't come back. Who's going to have Qrow apologize to Ozpin for blaming him for years? Who's going to have Ruby unpack that her whole family is made up of liars and she was foolish to think that anyone, including Ozpin, could survive this war with a completely clean record? Hell, who's going to have Ruby simply tell anyone - including her sister - what she now knows about her mother's death? Not the RT writers, I'd wager.

Especially when they gave us a scene of Summer leaving on what she recognizes may be a suicide mission and leaves a token of affection for one daughter but not the other. Summer is Yang's mom too! Yeeeeeaaah the story is really bad about actually writing that.

Overall this Volume just feels like a colossal waste to me. The story ignored most of what was set up in Volume 8, introduced a world it didn't have time to flesh out, threw in an unnecessarily shocking story line about the hero trying to kill herself, 100% dismissed the ramifications of that, reset everyone so that none of the characters have to actually grow or change, and has now implied that all the plot important stuff - the Atlesians' survival in the desert, trying to ally with Theodore, Salem's next attack on Remnant, the development of most of our B Team, etc. - has occurred off screen.

The only thing this Volume accomplished was getting the bees together, which was something we should have had years ago. That admission hasn't changed their dynamic in any way, or introduced new conflicts (remember, no one cares about Ruby's breakdown, including her correct accusation that Yang has cared more about her girlfriend than her struggling little sister). It's just... there, not queerbaiting anymore, thankfully, but that feels like a very low bar to meet.

2+ months later and all I'm feeling is

#rwde #rwby #mymetas #suicide tw #also also a lot of the dialogue was just AWFUL #not Ruby's with the Blacksmith so much #but the Cat's?#Weiss'?#Jaune's?#god I was cringing through so much of that fight #'Nooooo these FEELINGS!'#like putting aside that none of Jaune's plan makes sense #(why is this hallucinatory Alyx suddenly helpful instead of ~evil~ like what the girls saw?)#(why would the smoke impact Neo if she supposedly has not connection to Remnant anymore - the reason the Cat can't leave?)#(why would feeling things fix possession when it's clear that the Cat feels SO MUCH via that broken heart?)#it was just awful to listen to #honestly highlights of the episode were Ruby looking cool going after Crescent Rose #and the newly introduced mystery of what Summer and Raven were up to #that's it #that's all I've got

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insuke69 · 6 months

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Hey I was wondering if you could do a hobie x trans!reader mtf kinda like the ftm one you did, and if so please tag me in it

His Girl.

★Hobie Brown x Mtf!reader <3

☆You're feeling insecure of something you know you can't get rid of any time soon. At least Hobie would never mind.

★ ; Angst, misgendering mentioned, descriptions of crying, pre-bottom surgery, fluff.

☆ Transphobia = Blocked 849 words.

_______________________

You look at the woman in the mirror you’ve worked so hard to maintain, making you feel like you inside. After years of taking hormone therapy to kill off the misplaced testosterone and replace them with as much estrogen you could.

Little bitties grew, thinner hairs to shave, and finally being the girl you’ve known you were ever since you saw your friends wear dresses, Hardly anyone could tell; You’re always told ‘You don’t look trans?’ as if trans girls looked any different from the ones assigned as such at birth.

All was good except for one thing.

One thing that could have been good if you were cis.

Of course it's convenient whenever you and your boyfriend, Hobie, are having intimacy, but beyond that: It’s difficult to try and tuck every hour of the day spent in public and you can only dream of wearing thin dresses without that incorrectly positioned dick.

Except you had found a summer dress at a thrift shop while on a date with Hobie and bought it because of it’s cutthroat price and at how it would seem to hug your body perfectly once its being worn, the color would be breathtaking against your skin and ‘on the floor of my bedroom’ as Hobie put it.

That impulsive buy ended up having its repercussions, you were in the bathroom and you almost felt like you were gonna cry.

It wasn’t that the dress didn’t fit, You tried it on when you were buying it, But you were tucked then. Usually when you re-enter the comfort of your own home you get comfortable on the couch or in bed and quit worrying about being tucked or not.

But promptly forgetting about it, your default of having your sex free in the confines of your underwear. That bulge peeking through the soft fabric which made you frown, whining with your hands over your face with frustration.

It’s so hard to try and be as womanly as possible, if it’s not hormones it’s the clothing. If it isn’t clothing, It’s the people and homophobes. If it isn't any that bullshit; It’s the one thing you’re fully stuck with until you can afford the surgery.

Your body.

Hobie had heard the whines from the other side of the door and soon began knocking on it. “Sweethear’?” He asked as the door opened slowly, being greeted by you quickly wiping your eyes free of the fallen tears.

“Hey hey hey..” He said with his voice being gentle and soft as if speaking to a baby, his hands moving towards you to pull them away from your face, soon wiping your tears himself. “What’s wrong?”

You frowned more as you looked up at him, you felt your throat grow an unforgiving lump, and not wanting to talk because you knew your voice would crack with your words.

“The dress doesn’t look good on me..” You mumbled after being able to find your voice, looking down at the dress adorning your frame and straightening it out by your hips to express what you mean.

“What are you talking about? You’re beautiful..” he responded softly as he looked down at you and your body with his eyes gazed at you as if you were the only woman in town, in the city, at all.

“The dress is too thin- and I’ll have to always be tucked and it’s annoying how I’m literally just a girl but born in the wrong body.” You cried, to which hobie wrapped his arms around you with one hand cradling the back of your head.

“Shh.. Shh.. You’re alrigh’, You’re going to be fine. Soon you’ll have the surgery, soon you wouldn’ even recognize the boy that was once there.” He tried to reassure before you cut him off.

“Soon! I don’t care about soon I need Now, I don’t want to have to wait-”

“Exactly, You’re stuck like this. Things may look bad but look on the brighter side. You have me that will support you along the way, You have the access to hormones and you have something to look forward to. I bet this day in two years will breeze on and by then the only thing about you that wouldn’t be accommodated to the girl you are is a letter in a birth certificate.”

You felt yourself get less tense at his words and melt a bit more into his comforting touch and his words soothing your ears to your brain.

Once the atmosphere calmed down, Hobie kissed the top of your head and leaned over a little more in order to whisper in your ear, “Besides, we can have so much fun in said two years.”

You roll your eyes playfully and soon feel his lips close over yours, and your beating heart pumping downwards in a familiar way. And he slowly eases you against the bathroom sink and hands lowering to the ends of your dress just below your hips, and his voice a low raspy siren call.

“Lemme show you how much fun I can ‘ave wit’ my girl..”

____________

Stopping right before the smut because feminism or something (/j)

I'm not a trans woman so I'm sorry if I got anything bad or wrong! Commissions = open

#across the spiderverse #hobie brown #insuke #fanfic #spiderman #hobie brown fanfiction #hobie brown imagine #hobie brown x reader #spider punk #{☆insooks ☆}#Hobie Brown x trans #why isnt that a tag

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deke-rivers-1957 · 25 days

Text

Kung Fu Elvis Part 4

If you're new to this series, the point of this is to find out which Elvis character is the best fighter given an uninterrupted hand to hand combat styled fight. The goal is to rank each individual Elvis character and then within each tier determine who would win against who.

How I plan on determining this will be by finding each character's age, size and general background. How well a character does in on screen fights will also be considered but analyzed on a case by case basis. Sometimes an Elvis character loses a fight simply because it's a comedy, or due to the low quality stage fighting wins because his opponents are laughably weak.

At the end of the day this is all headcanon as these are all fictional characters. If you disagree with how I rank a character I would love to hear your thoughts on where you would put them.

While it isn't specifically stated, Change of Habit takes place in 1969. Sister Irene even being in the same sisterhood and being allowed to share housing with Sisters Michelle and Barbara who are both white is a sign this is after the Civil Rights Act of 1968. That law specifically cracks on discrimination regarding housing meaning it would be against the law to disallow Sister Irene from rooming with her white Sisters. Any issues regarding Sister Irene's race is seen at a de facto level since just because a law is past, doesn't mean everyone's attitudes immediately change to reflect it. Amanda canonically having autism and Dr. Carpenter using a rage reduction therapy also indicates this is 1969 at the earliest. Robert Zaslow's practice of using this therapy doesn't take off on a widespread level until the 1970s, but since no one else seemed to know about the therapy it's safe to assume this was when it was still in its infancy. Despite being a doctor, he's not necessarily comfortably well off because he works in an under privileged neighborhood. Clinics like the one we see didn't exactly get that much money compared to state/federally funded hospitals, so it's very possible for him to have to pay for medical supplies out of his own pocket. While he wouldn't have exactly starved since this town wasn't a food desert, it isn't out of the question to assume he had to keep his meals very simple. And since fitness culture as we know it wouldn't exist for about another decade, there was no need for him to have well defined muscles.

I'm making a revision on John's age. In my tidbit I said that I was making him an even 30 years old to reflect how long medical school takes. After going back and really thinking about the line where he explains why he became a doctor, I need to make a change. John mentions that he became a doctor as a way to pay it forward after his army sergeant saved his life. Since John specifically said this sergeant was killed on the other side of the world, the most likely assumption is that he was killed in a war. My best guess is that based on the amount of time John could be in the army and become a medical doctor, John would've served during the Korean War. Given that Elvis himself was born in 1935, John would actually need to be older than Elvis by at least a few months for this to be possible. Therefore, Dr. John Carpenter is at least 35 years old.

A Blue Hawaii movie poster appearing in the background strongly indicates that this was in 1962. Blue Hawaii came out in November, 1961. Since Christmas is literally never mentioned as being any time soon, you can assume this was after the New Year. No one needing so much as a windbreaker while over open waters indicates it's at least March. In fact, in the scene where Ross and Laurel are staying at the Yung family's house during the night, there's heavy rain. That type of heavy rain in Honolulu typically occurs between October and April with the summer months being relatively dry. The fishing season for tuna in particular takes place between March and August. You even see Ross try to help land a marlin at the beginning and they can be found in Hawaiian waters all year. However, because you only see them trying to catch one once, you get the idea that this is outside of their peak fishing season which is purely during the summer. Ross having the connections that he does with the Stavros family and the Yung family keeps him from being completely on his own. Even if he didn't have their help regarding a job and shelter, he's right by open waters. The native Hawaiians lasted a significantly long period of time fishing on a personal level, so at the very least Ross will not be at a risk of starving. If anything if a lot of Ross' meals contained properly prepared tuna, it would actually be very beneficial to his health. Tuna is one of the best foods a man can consume to not only reduce his risk of heart disease, but is also a great source of protein which promotes muscle growth (which is an important factor to consider when talking about the science behind fighting).

Like I said in my tidbit, I don't really have that many clues about how old Ross would be. We only get an indication of his past through a non-descript account of what happened. We don't know how much time has passed since his mother died, only that it was after he was born. Maternal mortality rates being relatively high in the 1930s doesn't make things easier when determining a specific year. His dad dying while talked about as if it was a recent enough event also doesn't help because nothing is specific. If Ross is able to work in a night club, and has been working for on a fishing boat for a long enough period of time yet not have the savings to buy the boat back himself, he has to be pretty young. Ross has never mentioned being in the military which would make him around the same age as Elvis. When you look at the draft numbers by year, once the Korean War ended, draft rates are pretty low. If the possibility of him being drafted isn't even a consideration, Ross would've had to turn 18 in late 1953 or later. For it to still not be a consideration Ross would have to be older than 25 since that's the Selective Service cutoff. Therefore, Ross is in his mid to late 20s.

My tidbit went into a lot of detail regarding the history of the Southwest and Mexico. One thing I will edit is that we can no longer assume this takes place in Tucson. I've since found signs found on a couple businesses that says the town's name is Rio Seco. Even though there are apartment complexes in Tucson with that name, this town is most likely fictional. What I didn't even consider is the type of guns that the characters use. Assuming the props seen are accurately depicting what is meant to happen, we can use these to determine a range of time. As a reminder the initial range that I used as a starting point is 1867-1910. So for the revolvers used, they were Colt Single Action Army Civilian models. Since it's defined as having a 4.75 inch barrel and .45 cartridge this type of gun would've entered the civilian market in 1874. Most rifles shown are 1892 Winchesters and are described as being a .38-40 caliber, making it an original design. Therefore, we'll just put this movie between the late 1890s and early 1910s. Since a small desert town like that wouldn't have significant changes from year to year, Jess' living conditions that I mentioned in my tidbit wouldn't change. Maybe if he comes back to town as the new sheriff, there's a reduced chance of starving but it still wouldn't be enough to promote adequate muscle growth.

I have no choice but to stick with what I guessed in my tidbit. Unless someone has more information from reading the book, I just don't have the information to make a better guess. I don't have the knowledge on how old you have to be to be sheriff in that time period. Even if I did, it Jess wasn't officially elected so his actual age wouldn't be a factor in that decision. The only confirmation I have to my guess is that the timeline would add up for Jess to have some familiarity to the Emperor's failed campaign in 1867 and still be in his early 30s.

I'm genuinely amazed that when looking up female bullfighters, Dolores was actually ahead of her time. Unless this movie's trying to tell us it really takes place before the Spanish Civil War, Dolores being an extremely famous female bullfighter is fictional. The Spanish Civil War was in the 1930s and many Spanish speaking countries had women banned from the sport. Unless there's a matadora that I'm not aware of Mexico didn't even have a matadora that famous until 2010. I have no idea who Dolores is meant to be a reference to since the only female bullfighters from the same time period as the movie were American. Figuring out where and when the former Duke and Margarita lost their peerage titles wouldn't help either since most abolished monarchies in Europe occurred during the 1940s or well after the movie was made. What is indisputable though is that Mike stays at the Acapulco Hilton Hotel which is still open as the Emporio Acapulco Hotel. This specific hotel opened in 1962 meaning it would have to take place around then as well. Given that trapeze artists still had relative success in the 1960s and need a specific diet, Mike would've had light, protein rich regular meals.

Like I said in my tidbit, we simply don't have enough clues on Mike's age outside of the obvious. Mike not getting a work VISA had nothing to do with his age since you can be as young as 15 and get one. Mike is obviously older than 15. For simplicity's sake the drinking age in all of Mexico is 18. Meaning they will not sell you alcohol if you don't prove you're 18 or older. Since Mike isn't noticeably carded for age verification, we can at the very least assume he's over 18 years old. Mike being part of a family trapeze act and a cliff diver doesn't necessarily help us either since there's no specific age requirement that would break this down any further. Only thing I can say is that for Olympic sport climbers, the average man is about 26 years old. I specified sport climber because it's the closest equivalent to Mike having to climb up the side of a cliff. So if we statistically label 26 years old as around a man's peak, we can assume Mike is around this age.

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

John is the oldest Elvis character both based on how he's writing and based on how Change of Habit was his last movie. Being 35 means he would be at a big age disadvantage. Since I'm using MMA standards to determine a man's physical peak, John is well beyond that. Also look at his opponents: he punched an overweight man who looked old enough to be a senior citizen and his lackeys but the way it was portrayed felt very lackluster, and he disarmed Julio which doesn't even count.

I know I put him in C tier but the more I look at him, John is not capable of handling an official fight. He's so skinny that I highly doubt his ability to take a punch against someone a lot stronger than him. Also look at his stamina. Despite being a former military man, John is shown as being winded playing football with children. John might be able to get lucky hits in and can beat old people but he stands no chance against those who are younger than him. He's in D tier simply because he's not even close to being physically capable of beating better opponents.

Ross has little variety in his opponents. Only a severely drunk man and Mr. Johnson who's about John's age. I know it's a matter of what the story dictates but Ross being able to dodge a drunk man's attack indicates that he has at least some reflexes. Being in his mid-late 20s puts him at his peak where he has the right combination of strength and experience. Even though he fought an older man twice, he was able to beat him twice. Fighting the same opponent more than once can be a disadvantage if you're not as skilled because your opponent would've had the ability to counteract any surprises. Ross beating Mr. Johnson twice is a sign that his first win was more than luck. He had to have a genuine amount of skill to win given that Mr. Johnson was outright expecting a fight of some kind.

Ross is a great example of how you can be skilled without having direct training. Working on a boat allowed Ross to build up some muscle in his upper body and walking/running everywhere (especially on uneven terrain) built up his leg muscles as well. One aspect of fighting that really works to Ross' advantage is footwork and balance. Being on a boat in the open waters is as unstable as you can get outside of being in a severe earthquake. If you can handle that without losing your balance or getting sick, a fight on a flat surface should be easy. Easily a B tier fighter since his footwork gives him an advantage against other "common man" opponents.

Jess doesn't have a single fight that would count under my rules. You don't bring weapons to a fist fight and that's what we're determining. Jess slamming Billy Roy's head into the jail cell's bar or punching him after he shot the sheriff doesn't even count as fights since Billy Roy wasn't in any position to fight back on both occasions.

When you consider that he comes from a completely different time period where food was a bit more scarce; he's older than 30 which puts him past his peak; and he doesn't have a single onscreen fist fight win under his belt, Jess would be at a huge disadvantage. I'll have to update Clint's rank in my final list based on my choice to include Does Not Apply since he comes from even earlier in time than Jess. It simply isn't fair to put people from the 1860s in fights against people from ~100 years in the future when society as a whole has changed.

Moreno is his only fight but his physical activity more than makes up for it. There was no cheap shot, one punch knock situation. This was a clean fist fight. He's a trapeze artist and was able to successfully attempt one of the most dangerous cliff dives in the world without ever officially training for it. The upper body strength from being a trapeze artist would give him a big advantage when generating a strong swing.

I know I just said physical activity more than makes up for only having one fight, but that's only in regards to even giving him a rank. You know that he's physically capable of putting an opponent down. I'd say he's about equal to Ross and would put him in B tier. I think between the two, Ross might be slightly younger and has a more well rounded strength that serves him better in in a fist fight.

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

To summarize this part:

Ross is in B tier.

Mike W. is in B tier below Ross.

Dr. John Carpenter is in D tier.

Jess simply DNA and will not get an official rank.

Tagging: @karel-in-wonderland, @crash-and-cure, @lynettethemadscientist, @leighpc, @alienelvisobsession,

@seredelgi, @southcarolinawoman, @arrolyn1114, @ash-omalley, @snicks-12,

@freudianslumber, @be-my-ally, @xanatenshi @vintagepresley, @peaceloveelvis,

@tupelomiss, @peskybedtime, @squaggleson, @idk583838, @mercsandmonsters,

@wanderingelvis, @ssinnerplazahotel, @50sexyshadesfashionista, @lola-1013, @smokeymountainboy,

@lookingforrainbows, @polksaladava, @butler-on-beale-street, @an-americcan-trilogy, @lilmisspeaches,

@illtakeyouhomeagain, @livelaughelvis, @elvispresley1935, @eapep, @thelonelyheart,

@presleysweetheart, @dreamingofep, @mooodyblue, @makethemorning, @whositmcwhatsit,

@suraemoon, @swingdownsweetchariot, @theelvisprincess, @theelvispres-blog, @somethingaboutelvis,

@eapep, @pledgingmylovee and @hooked-on-elvis.

#kung fu elvis #jess wade #dr. carpenter #mike windgren #ross carpenter #charro!#change of habit #fun in acapulco #girls! girls! girls!

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your-queer-dad · 2 months

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TW - some parental abuse

Hey dad

I just finished my first year of uni and asides from 2 exams I made it! But now it's summer break and... It's rough. I miss my friends. Visiting them is too expensive, and no job is willing to hire me because I have the capabilities of a teen for the salary of an adult. I'm currently waiting to hear back about my application for a government thing that should help though.

I just... I can't keep pretending to be happy at home. My parents are terrible. Earlier today my mom yelled at me in public over nothing and I literally could see a stranger go 😬 at it. But to move out I need an income.

Everything is relying on the government being willing to give me money and in my area that can take forever and they might be real strict. And even once I get money I still have to wait until there's room in the place I want to go to. It's student housing combined with assisted living, I'd love to go there. They say they can't help you become more independent, hopefully that means I won't have to go back to my parents anymore.

I just need to get out of here. It feels like I can't go on much longer, but I can't just escape. My parents don't realize what they do to me, how I feel about them. They're supportive on some stuff, they got me therapy in the past and they're helping with my transition (I started hormones almost two weeks ago!), but at the same time they're so horrible and it's unbearable. But I can't just leave without a word because I rely on them (for example they fully handle my insurance) and I don't even know where to start to fix that.

My mental health was improving lately but now that I'm stuck at home I feel pretty terrible again. I'm still continuing improving my life though. I've started taking a bit more care of myself, doing stuff like changing my bedsheets or doing my laundry more regularly, and I've been taking all my meds every day for 2 months now. It's just hard sometimes to feel good about it when I feel pressured to do more and do better.

It's gonna get better, right? I'll be okay eventually, I just gotta keep going. Surely it'll all work out?

Lex

Hey kiddo, I'm so sorry you've been dealing with all that and that's your situation right now. That sounds really hard and stressful to deal with. You're completely right, if you hold on and keep going it will all work out- you just have to stick around to see it work.

- dad x

#lgbt #finch rambles #lgbtq #lgbtqia #queer positivity #trans #transgender #ask a finch!

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spotsupstuff · 1 year

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What happened to suns?

NSH: This man has done irrepairable damage to my mental facilities. That's a crime, y'know?! Messin' up an Iterator's noggin cogs??? They are a *filthy* criminal.

serious answer: a sequence of unfortunate events, basically. idk how long you've been here so i'll start from the beginning

Suns is a very early Gen 2 Iterator. the jump between the 1st n the 2nd Generation went physically very smoothly, but when it comes to the more subtle aspects of a person, it went worse. early Gen 2s r known for bein bad with emotions (the other Iterator that is like that that shows up is Fish. he's rather emotionally crass and unwieldy)

Suns scored the worst possible lottery result while spinning the early Gen 2 emotion capability wheel and their emotional skill and ability to produce the stuff in the first place is in the single digits. they are very conscious of this fault of theirs and instead of doing something more productive with it more often, they rather spend their single digit emotion capability on bemoaning and despising this fault

they do come to Nish for help with it, basically have therapy sessions with him (Nish is the most emotion-capable Iterator in like... Ever) and they do put up a front of this cool, chill, amazing guy persona around themselves to get better accepted by the other Iterators (all of them except Gen 3s know that this cool guy thing is a ruse though. they appreciate the effort however). so they kinda awkwardly fake emotions n go on through their life. this persona is who Pebbles ultimately decided to look up to as his mentor btw. it was never really the real Suns, only maybe some glimpses of it

next unfortunate event shows up first mentioned in my old big headcanon post for the canon Iterators:

(Suns is built quite close to the south pole, though the summer months can still get stupid hot)

at some point i started headcanoning that my Suns has very slow processing time. like absolute Shit reflex time. like

this is canon ☝

n then i put these two headcanons Together ✨ so basically: because of the lack of emotional capability, Suns feels a big need to compensate for stuff. even though the Solis colony is one of the sweetest and kindest colonies out there, they felt like they need to give More. so they started running hotter for the sake of their citizens. but yanno, periodic basically overheating is going to cause damage to hardware shit, not to mention the poor fauna that makes up an Iterator Hivemind. and that's how Suns damaged their processing speed

now as to why i say Suns would go offline in the post-mass ascension off string au: they are falling apart at the seams. torturously slow, but terribly. they are rotting alive- but not in the same way as Pebbles, it's not THE Rot. it's just... a rot. natural decay, not godly cancer. their nickname in DMs between me n shkiki is literally mr. Decay cuz of this

because of a combo of their slow processing time, their location (snowstorms + changing temperatures that go into extremes on pretty much both sides of the spectrum) and their pre-occupation with Pebbles related matters, Suns got yo normal booboo and didn't treat it and when they finally directed attention to themselves, a good portion of them has already decayed including the puppet

yes, they are That wigged that they didn't notice one of their most important parts rotting alive while even using it. this whole thing i refer to as hot girl summer arc btw

after Spears' campaign (they notice they have an infection during the slug's journey back to them) Suns is so fucked up over everything that they just go "Fuck it. why try anymore. i won't fight this. at least i feel *something* rather than nothing, i suppose. i deserve this." and allow their condition to only worsen and don't tell people about it

in the time of the Hunter's campaign i can imagine that they'd be so caked in all of this shit, all physically, emotionally and mentally, that they just wouldn't try at all to save themselves

and fact is, the others will try to help them. especially Wind will. but at some point a person needs to recognize that nothing is going to go anywhere if the other party refuses to put in any effort into getting better too and only drags the innocent one down right along with themselves

#spot says stuff #rw #ask to tag #ill be honest when it comes to suns i keep forgettin n ignoring their apology pearl for some reason gkjsdlcklmmckdsl #all i have on mind r some of the broadcasts... but Mainly the vanilla dialogues -waves- hi pre-DP bitch here #so my characterization stems a lot from those with vague DP stuff sprinkled in- Suns is a pessimistic piece of work that means well but-#-only manages to drag other people down with themselves. thats how i had them 2 years ago n im content stickin to my guns for the most part #readin the spears pearl... like idk suns feels very mechanical/logical/crass for smth as sensitive as this. kinda arrogant #certain things that Suns canonically says Makes Me Uncomfy and Bristly

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arc-misadventures · 2 years

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Rebirth au: Does Jaune still have his imposter syndrome and some ptsd going strong? He didn’t really get any therapy for those back when, and his family has no reason to get him any now to their knowledge.

And does Jeanne still get practically everyone’s instant love while Jaune is still pretty much mostly overlooked despite them basically glued to the hip?

The Stillness of the Storm

Jaune sat on a fallen log near the lake that lay near their his home. He sat there, and basked in the warmth of a the summers sun, listened to the wind that gently blew threw his hair. His gaze never wavering as he saw the ripples upon the lake as he skipped stones across it.

He took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly, basking in this tranquil environment he found himself in. If only if it could have lasted just a little longer.

: Ah-ha! There ya are!

Jaune: Haa… You need something, Jeanne? If not, I’d like to be left alone.

Jeanne: That’s precisely why I’m here! You told mom, you we’re going to that lake, and you didn’t bother to tell anyone else.

Jaune: Didn’t bother to tell you.

Jeanne: Exactly! Why didn’t you tell me you were going to the lake, I would have joined you!

Jaune: You don’t have to follow me everywhere like a golden retriever now do you? Besides, did it ever occur to you that I wanted some time to myself, alone?

Jeanne: …

Jeanne: Noooo… No I didn’t…

Jaune: How rude.

Jeanne: I-I’ll go then… Sorry.

Jaune: No. No you can stay… Besides I want to talk to you about something.

Jaune patted the log, as he watched, Jeanne. She gave him a curious look before she walked over, and sat down next to him.

Jeanne: Talk about what?

Jaune: …

Jaune: We… We have the memories of our past lives… I remember nearly everything I experienced in that life. And, yet… I don’t feel bad about that life I lived.

Jeanne: What do you mean?

Jaune: I don’t feel any… Pain… From that past life. I felt hated, ignore, and neglected by everyone in that life. And, it only got worse after I met you, them the Fall happened, and… I carried so much pain for years… Then I saw you again, and it was just so happy when I died… And, now… There’s no longer any pain…

Jeanne: Nothing?

Jaune: Nothing. I thought I would be upset about something… Instead I feel fine. Happy. It feels…

Jeanne: …

Jeanne: Well… People are treating you the way you always wanted to be treated; with respect, and love. Mom, and Dad aren’t dismissing you, and are actually encouraging you, most of the time that is. You’re getting the, Huntsman training you always longed for. Maybe you’re just upset because you finally got what you always wanted, and you just don’t know how to react to it.

Jaune: Hmm… That kinda makes sense. Not that bad all in all.

Jeanne: Honestly I thought you would be going through some PTSD shit right now…

Jaune: For what? I’ve more, or less come to terms with all of things that happened to me, and all the things I did as well. The Fall, losing, Pyrrha, killing, Penny, killing, Cinder, them dying. I’ve accepted it, I’ve made peace with what happened in that life.

Jeanne: Really? I thought there would be some trauma from something you’ve experienced; I mean you saw a lot of people get killed, and even killed… Wait, did you say you killed, Penny. As in, Penny Polendina?!

Jaune: Yeah, I killed her. D-Didn’t I mention that?

Jeanne: NO?!! Why the hell would you kill such a sweet girl?!

Jaune: Oh… Well I guess it’s story time then.

Jeanne: It better be a good one!

Jaune: Okay…? Anyway, this was during the fall of, Atlas. Penny was hacked, she became this homicidal android that you see in those shows.

Jeanne: Penny was hacked? What was it some sort of semblance?

Jaune: No, she was literally hacked.

Jeanne: Like a computer?

Jaune: Yep.

Jeanne: The hell are you talking about?

Jaune: Oh, you probably wouldn’t have know about this… Yeah, uhh… Penny was, is, will be? Penny’s an android!

Jeanne: …

Jeanne: S-Seriously…?

Jaune: Yep. Seen her schematics myself.

Jeanne: Okay… Kinda explains why she’s so quirky… So, you killed her because she went murder bot on you?

Jaune: No… Penny had the, Maiden powers…

Jeanne: Mystical wizard energy.

Jaune: Yeah, so she was hacked, so in order to save her, Team RWBY used the, Relic of Creation to create her a new body, this one was made of flesh, and blood. So she was free from her corruption. After that we used the, Relics powers to escape the destruction of, Atlas. It made these magical bridges that lead to, Vacuo. Then, Cinder, and her companion, Neo got on, and attacked us. And, during the fighting, Penny got hit… It was fatale… So in order to stop, Cinder from getting the, Maiden powers, Penny asked me to kill her. And, I…

Jeanne: Killed her…

Jaune: Yeah, I did… Haa… I’ve accepted that fact I did that, and I’ve long since come to terms with what I did that day, and how necessary it was… But, it seems I still don’t like talking about it…

Jeanne: Whoa… You never caught a break now did you?

Jaune: Nope. Never did. Haa, enough about me, and my past trauma. I’ve had enough with living in the past…

Jeanne: Okay, but if you need to talk about it, about anything at all, I’m here for you.

Jaune: I know, Jeanne, I know.

Jaune ruffled his little sisters hair, before returning his gaze back to the lake. They stay there, basking in the silence until, Jaune broke the silence as a though stride across his mind.

Jaune: Hey, Jeanne?

Jeanne: Yeah?

Jaune: I haven’t noticed, but are people still treating you as little miss perfect?

Jeanne: …

Jeanne: Ehhh… No… No they are not~!

Jaune: …?

Jeanne: …

Jaune: What did you get?

Jeanne: W-What I didn’t get anything! What, just because I have a cute face, and a smile that shines like the sun, you think I would instantly be given some sort of gift?! That, such an outrageous accusation, absolutely so!

Jaune: …

Jaune: What did you get.

Jeanne: …

Jeanne: A 30% discount on my new weapons…

Jaune: 30%?!

Jeanne: I just smiled, and said thanks for her creating my new weapons, and she gave me the discount on the spot! I wasn’t planning on getting a discount!

Jaune: Wait… Didn’t you say you went to this armourer when you first got your weapons made…?

Jeanne: Uhh…

Jaune: Meaning you knew if you flashed her your pearly white, and that weird sunshine smile thing you’ve got you would get a discount didn’t you…?

Jeanne looked away from, Jaune nervousness etched in her face. She returned, Jaune’s gaze with her most endearing smile, smiling from cheek to cheek. A halo of light illuminating her golden hair, all the while, Jaune stared on with the most deadpan expression he could muster.

Jaune: …

Jaune: Imma throw you into the lake now.

Jeanne: W-What?! Hey, put me down!

Jaune: Into the deep with you!

Jaune picked, Jeanne up effortlessly, and hurled , Jeanne into the lake. She screamed in terror as she flew through the air where she landed with a hard splash. She emerged from the river a few moments later sputtering, and wiping her long hair out of her face. She shot daggers at her brother as he smugly smiled at her.

Jeanne: Jaune?! Now I’m all wet!

Jaune: Just use your semblance to dry yourself off, you should be fine. Hopefully…

Jeanne: You know I don’t have such fine control over my semblance yet!

Jaune: Then learn to!

Jeanne: Grrr!!!

Jaune: Now quit playing around, supper should be ready soon. And, you know how mom gets when were late.

Jeanne: I’m not playing around! And, are you going to help me, or what?!

Jaune: Mmmm… No. imma go now: Bye~!

Jeanne: What?! No! Come back here!

Jaune: You’ll never take me alive!

Jeanne: JAUNNNNNNE!?!

And, with that the twins ran back home; one cackling like a madman, while the other ran like hell to enact her vengeance upon her older twin.

All in all, just another typical day for the, Arc family.

#rwby #jaune arc #jeanne arc #penny polendina

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annieqattheperipheral · 11 months

Text

I'm reminded of how duchene was fired the following mid-season from the habs after taking them to the mothaflippin scf just that prior season.

What was the biggest most important thing martin st louis said in all his press conferences and interviews upon being hired??

These boys need to get back to having fun. Have fun playing hockey. Have fun on the ice.

Obviously, paraphrased. But yea that was it. He made suzuki smile again. He brought cole back up from Laval and made him laugh again because they had all become forlorn chimney sweep boys covered in soot riddled with despair coughing and hacking up their young depressed lungs

The oilers started this season with the same level of expectations as the habs did-- if we could do that last season we should be even better this season.

Ofc the habs actually went through some MAJOR roster changes over the summer bc of LTIR weber & price, etc, and instead had to eventually accept that they needed a full rebuild from GM down.

The oilers went in fact in the other direction this summer. Added in brown, etc. Trained together as a team (good number of em) in newmarket w davo's gary, then headed to edmonton early for captain's skates prior to preseason.

Pressure is a helluva shitpile that just keeps growing.

Yes, oilers need to get back to having fun. That will help them. But you can't just tell them to "stop feeling so much pressure. Just have fun"

Just smile. Be happy. Why can't u just be normal and have fun at the party?

My god how many times have i heard that from my family.

Cup or bust

There actually needs to be a moment of realization that they can actually no longer lose the cup. Right now they're still operating at:

Win game = win the cup

Lose game = lose the cup

There will be a game very soon where if they don't win it, that's it, they're no longer in the running for a playoff spot, not even a wildcard.

That's when the pressure will lift. It will be a point of tension break. Bliss. Their outlook will change to:

Win game = huh ok.. wheee! that was fun

Lose game = oh meh whatever. we were just fucking w the other team's playoff chances. that was fun

They will at that point actually be able to:

...get back to having fun. Have fun playing hockey. Have fun on the ice.

Now. Will the owners, president, gm wait for that point? Ofc not. Heads will roll. Someone will have to take the fall.

The oilers players are in so deep that the lose = lose the cup gets heavier and heavier around their necks like those oversized novelty hockey team logo necklaces on huge thick shiny chains, but like instead heavy as a few bricks with more being added on with each game.

Really hope for themselves as people that they've got therapy and meditation going on to help them bit by bit ease the grip on their sticks.

And let's see who gets fired/traded first because that's how the hockeymen operate. They literally all have the yips. Two of the best scorers in the world are whiffing. Whiffing. That's incredibly sad. A break of pace through a trade or a change in coaching or management is what'll do the trick, the trusty ol' sports team plan.

#annieQ hockey thoughts #didn't really support any specific solution here beyond therapy but y'know just needed to get it out so I'd stop thinking it #edmonton oilers #connor mcdavid #leon draisaitl #martin st louis #montreal canadiens #nick suzuki #cole caufield

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glittertomb · 11 months

Text

Very personal but important question(s?) regarding chronic health issues and disability

So I’ve had fibromyalgia and Gastroparesis for about a decade now, and I try my best to self-manage these issues (in addition to the expensive meds they give me that don’t really provide relief), but it becomes severely difficult for me to work a full schedule, particularly when my job drains me physically, mentally, and emotionally. I spend my days off in complete recovery mode, absolutely bed-ridden, afraid to do anything social or physical, because I risk going into a total Fibro meltdown. Which is a nightmare, but I’ll spare you the details.

I’ve been considering applying for partial disability because I think working 3 or 4 days instead of 5 or 6 would be much better for most humans, honestly, but particular for someone like me who deals with chronic nausea, discomfort, and pain on the daily. I’ve been putting it off for ages though because I know that disability can be very difficult to get and a horrible process and I can’t work myself up to it or afford a disability lawyer to help me. I tried being a little more aggressive this past summer and collected “documentation” on my fibromyalgia in the hope of preparing to submit it, and literally all of my documentation says “fibromyalgia?” because apparently none of my doctors believe me after years of testing and thousands of dollars of office visits trying to get this diagnosis. To be honest, using fibromyalgia as my reasoning for disability needs was a dead end anyway because lots of doctors still don’t believe it exists, so I doubt the government would find that a good reason either. And I really doubt they would take the Gastroparesis seriously either, even though both of these conditions are dehabilitating at times.

So one of my friends recommended I go through the avenue of my mental health issues. At different points of my life I’ve been diagnosed with depression, anxiety, bipolar, ocd, adhd, etc, and who knows what the real answer is, but she’s a mess. I’ve been realizing over the past couple years that I’m very likely autistic, and that would actually explain a lot of these things, but the past 6 months have been crazy, and even though I’ve been working a bunch, I’m poorer than ever because of the rising cost of everything, so I cannot afford to get a formal diagnosis yet. But I know that I told my most recent psychiatrist all these horror stories about my anxiety, so I decided to get done documentation for her too, and guess what? Generalized depression and mild anxiety. Girl, huh? (Tw: blood and dermatillomania coming up) I showed her evidence of scars on my hands from picking my hands every night til I bleed everywhere, I described how I get overwhelmed and cry at work several times a week and often fight back panic attacks at work and in my private life, I told her than I struggled to fall asleep and stay asleep and only got collectively about a few hours every night, I told her that I literally could not socialize without using alcohol as a crutch but I can no longer do that because of my digestive issues so I self-isolate, I told her that I struggle to maintain eye contact and panic when people give me eye contact… so many stories like these. Mild anxiety smdh

So that comes to my first question cause I guess I decided while writing this that I have a couple:

1) How do you, as a female-presenting person, get a diagnosis for severe anxiety? How wild do my stories have to be without accidentally committing myself?! I have an ex, amab, who basically pulled a john Mulaney and was like, “I get nervous on planes sometimes” and he legit got a prescription for Xanax or one of those other big ones, and another who is on a dose of gabapentin 5x the strength of mine because he gets social anxiety sometimes, so this is especially frustrating that I can’t even get a dang proper diagnosis on anything after ten+ years of therapy, doctors, tests, everything.

2) What is the process like for getting an autism diagnosis and are there cheaper routes you can go that would still be credible? I’ve exhausted my expenses from years of jobs not paying my worth combined with money poured down the drain trying to get any sort of help with my kaleidoscope of issues, and at this point I’m too broke and demotivated and burnt out to figure out a way forward.

3. Has anyone been able to get partial or full disability who would be willing to hold my hand through the steps and keep me motivated? I know it’s a huge ask but I honestly get so anxious even thinking about the process that I completely shut down. At the very least, maybe you could explain what worked for you or how you would approach it better next time? I just moved far away from my support group so I’m feeling alone and even a word of caution or encouragement would help.

I know I’m not really as connected to this community as I used to be, but I’m hoping someone will get to the end of this and even a kind word or a smidge of sympathy/empathy would be nice. And please do reach out if you have fibro because I don’t meet many and it would be nice to have friends who can relate. Thank you for listening! 💜💜💜

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lovecolibri · 4 months

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SaL anon here my friend, only mildly hung over but still severely disappointed, just coming into your inbox to share my random finale complaints that have been stockpiling.

Already been said many times but why Marisol again?? Just why??

You know what the awkwardness of the daddy talk reminded me of?? Remember in RNM 3x01 when Alex came back and told Forest "a man has needs" or some shit and we all collectively cringed away from our screens?? Its was sooo weirdly out of place and character and that's exactly what the dinner scene is. Also notably written by a former showrunner who won't stop fucking up storylines at every opportunity.

How exactly is the Chris leaving BS supposed to last more than like, 1 week tops??? When Helena (and Ramon) tried to take him 7 years ago and get their redo he was just a kid, but now he's a teenager whose been raised by Eddie Diaz. Not saying he's ready for college or to make his own housing decisions or anything 🙄, but his personality and preferences are not going to change much. He's not the moldable little kid anymore, and the moment Helena realizes that and Chris realizes that's what they wanted him for wouldn't jump on the next flight?? I know there's so much about that arc that's utter nonsense but did the writers put any thought into the characters at all??

Anyway, I probably should do my job for a few hours before I go completely off the rails, hope your own recovery is going well!!

Hey bestie! If it seems like you haven't heard from me all day, that's because I girlbossed too close to the post limit sun reblogging every petty, irritated, frustrated, what-in-the-actual-fuck-was-that post. I scheduled a bunch too do drop after the doors open on the post limit jail cells, this one among them.

I'm sitting here with my twisted peach tea, fresh off of work and a trip to the store (it was awful and full of people and only one lane open that could sell alcohol, AND they didn't have the honeycomb ice cream I specifically went there to get and try out with my earl grey tea ice cream because the universe hates me), just still so SO frustrated that once again they let KR swoop in at the last minute and snatch defeat from the jaws of victory in the finale. Not even anything Buddie related, just in making literally ANY storyline all season have a good narrative payoff that felt like we went somewhere. Even the most watchable part of the episode (the Mara reunion) fell flat because we didn't see Hen and Karen putting up the fight they set up with the councilwoman, and Maddie and Chim had time all season to talk about maybe having another child, or fostering to make them able to swoop in at the last minute make sense but instead it just came out of the blue! (And don't get me started on the whole "this lesbian couple can't have a kid but the straight couple runs into no issues despite Chim being involved on scene in the death of the councilwoman's son).

ANYWAY. Let's talk about your bullet points please, because I have THOUGHTS.

1/3. Marisol was literally less than useless and if they HAD to avoid an off-screen hiatus breakup (they didn't need to, no one remembered her, it would have been fine) they easily could have ditched her in 7x05 and it would have affected absolutely nothing.

IMAGINE Buck is the one taking Chris to the movies and walks in on "Shannon" and Eddie? We get some Buddie angst with them having to talk out what happened because Buck was worried before but now he's WORRIED, and we could have gotten a more heartfelt resolution with Chris by allowing Eddie and Chris to have one single conversation this whole season, and maybe deciding together to go to therapy in a couple weeks when he gets back from his pre-planned summer vacation to Texas.

Then start s8 with Chris having delayed coming back all summer, and Ramon and Helena facilitating getting him into camps and stuff so he "couldn't" come back and Eddie starting to get fed up and maybe being ready to go to Texas himself to get Chris when whatever disaster the opening is strikes. Cue Chris seeing it on the news and panicking and demanding to go home and see his dad. It would be satisfying to watch, and would tug on the heartstrings without ripping them out for no good goddamn reason and punishing Eddie so severely while also NOT actually dealing with his issues about Shannon!! *screams into pillow* If we never see or hear about her again it will be too soon. They have drug this out past the point of any purpose and it needs to be put to fucking rest, 25ft down so it can't crawl back up. Doused in holy water just in case.

It really feels like they had a plan for Buck with the whole Natalia thing fizzling out and breaking up which I actually am glad we didn't see because as this season proved, it is LONG past time to leave Buck withering away in unfulfilling relationships he don't know how he got into in the first place, but once that was gone he got the coming out bit and....nothing much else all season and even that was one episode and then a couple minutes of screentime sprinkled throuout that used those precious seconds to show us how incredibly ill-matched they are. While Eddie, who was SUPPOSED to have the coming out arc (that was maybe more in-depth and planned to ACTUALLY deal with the Shannon of it all), was also left with a "well what do we do with him now" arc. Spoiler alert, it was NOT THIS. So no, I don't think they had the time in the shortened time frame they had to put literally ANY thought into what to do with these characters.

Point 2. My friend. Not only are you EXACTLY right about the tonal issue matching that cringe AF scene from RNM, but I will raise you that, AND everything about 2x06, including fandom swooping in to claim everyone who didn't fall all over themselves about that scene being amazing was a) homophobic and b) puritanical, pearl-cultching, and uneducated. Oh! and c) just needs to learn how to fucking multi-ship and be happy with whatever is on screen because it couldn't POSSIBLY be better, and you should just accept it now. 😒😒😒

It's gonna be a loooooong fucking hiatus but here's hoping Timmy got all the Lone Star brainworms out and can not just pack a punch in the disaster opening (RIP to everyone who didn't like the cruise ship disaster, I had a great time and it was the best opening in YEARS), but can actually follow through on storylines and emotional beats all season. And maybe get more calls??? On the weewoo show?? It was always and issue on LS too which I thought was Rob Lowe syndrome an all the "Owen things firefighting is boring" stuff but maybe it's budget constraints? Yo! ABC! Give us the cash for good emergencies! And of course, they need to get Kristen the FUCK out of the writers room. Please, literally ANY cop show out there, we are literally BEGGING you to take her off our hands!

Bright side, I have been working on my Countdowns fic (I posted a little bit last week and I want to try and work on it more now that all my shows are on hiatus), and while *I* may be the worlds slowest writer, I just know the Buddie fandom is going to come through with some BANGER canon-fix-it fics. So cheers to that, and lets pray the muse smiles on me astronaut!Buck/medic!Eddie so I can actually contribute something. I'm gonna go make a flatbread spinach and artichoke pizza, watch something, literally ANYTHING else, and oggle my d20 Bad Kids dice that arrived today, my Ayda pin, and my Jawbone quote mug and not think about 911 for a little bit. (until I'm allowed out of post-limit jail and can go back to being a petty bench on main).

Take a breath, we can get through this hiatus together! At least we know we have Oliver and Ryan on our side, so let's make some Buddie content for them to send to each other to help THEM through this rough time.

#my sweet nonnie friends #sleeping at last anon #911 #buddie #anti bucktommy #i didn't say much but to be safe and keep the creeps out of my inbox #brb gotta go scream into the woods for an hour #at least my gifts from uncle Visa Card arrived!#one good thing to start the weekend #pray for me to have inspiration though because that word document is staring me down....

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