#these two idiots are STEM majors

[ao3-crack]

(x)

[yeasty-boy]

Damn it just hit me that I have a two hour time difference between me and my home

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.7 to lose someone you love

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader (f)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, mentions of weed, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot

ᰔ chapter. 7/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 8.5k

a/n. sighhh i'm rly sorry for the wait. and thank you sooo much to the love for the last chapter omg :') this chapter is gojo pov and it's a bit different than the rest, but i still hope you enjoy and that it was worth the wait. if there are typos, they're not typos they're actually 100% intentional and you are the silly one

nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 :: ch4 :: ch5 :: ch6 :: ch7 :: ch8 :: ch9 (pending)

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

♬.*ﾟplaylist

When Gojo was just four years old, he called for the paramedics for the very first time. 

He had wandered around the house, wide and innocent blue eyes searching the room for the landline in the dim light of the evening, his lip quivering in a pout. His small arm reached up to pet around at the top of his parents’ dresser before his fingers wrapped around the phone. He couldn’t remember what the number was at first, the one his mother always told him to call in case of an emergency, but he remembered he scribbled it down somewhere with red crayon in one of his coloring books. By the time Gojo first realized he needed to call for help, located the landline, looked through all of his little portraits of dinosaurs and spaceships sprawled across the carpet of his room, found those three numbers, and then finally dialed them, his father had already been seizing and shaking on the bathroom floor for longer than twenty-four minutes.  

He was just a child. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know any better.

Gojo spent the remainder of that night hugging his mom in the hospital’s emergency room, his tears soaking through her shirt as she gently rocked him back and forth in her lap while whispering soothing words in his ear. His father lay motionless on the hospital bed before them, eyes shut, and Gojo will never forget the haunting sounds of the machinery that was keeping his father alive. It was a sudden onset seizure, likely stemming from the traumatic brain injury his father had suffered a few years ago, and the prolonged convulsions he experienced on the bathroom floor that night had resulted in severe brain damage. Gojo could still hear the echo of his mother’s silent cry when the doctors informed them that it’s unlikely his father would ever fully recover from this.

No reasonable adult would ever look a four-year-old in the eyes and say if you had called for help sooner or knew what to do, maybe your father would’ve still had the chance to live a long life. Yet, even at his young age, Gojo was aware of the energy in the room, and that explanation was the only truth his mind could grasp onto to make sense of what he had just witnessed.

After two weeks of clinging to life, his father miraculously woke up from his coma and persevered for the sake of his wife and son. Shortly after the incident, he began to have recurring seizures but fought through them each time. Without fail, he made Gojo breakfast in the mornings, even if it meant having to clean up the spilt orange juice on the counter every now and then because of how his hands could not stop trembling. He always walked Gojo to the bus stop, waving him goodbye, despite how troublesome and embarrassing he found it to use his cane. The love he had for his son was so palpable that it eclipsed the bitterness over how his life had ended up because of the blessing it had brought him.

In his prime, Gojo’s father was a renowned soccer player, so incredibly talented at the sport that he left a lasting mark on the way teams strategized, his presence on the field commanding respect, and he was one of the greatest talents the entire college division had ever seen.

He met Gojo’s mother at one of his freshman year games, a pretty lady in the stands that caught his eye from the sight of her laughter among her friends, her radiance drawing him to her from the field, and that’s how their love began. Exactly one year following that day, he stole one of his grandmother’s thrifted rings from her jewelry collection and that was what he used to propose. Gojo’s mother had accepted it with so many tears and so much snot running down her face, and he had never found her more beautiful. They married young and sweet, like most people back then.

During the thrilling semifinal match between Keio Uni, Gojo’s father’s team, and Yokohama Uni during the end of his senior year, spectators witnessed a game that most college soccer enthusiasts would deem was a once-in-a-lifetime watch. Both teams engaged in relentless offense, and Gojo’s father was on his way to shatter the record of the most goals scored in a single championship match within the history of the league, but when he received a call from his wife during a timeout with the most life-altering news he could have ever heard, he abandoned everything on the field that day to go home and be with her. Grainy footage from the televised broadcast still exists online today—the moment he sprinted across the field, confused players glancing in his direction, amidst the uproar of the crowd. She called to let him know she was pregnant. 

No one knew that would be the last game of soccer he would ever play.  

It was a freak accident, a distracted driver behind the wheel of a gray Chevy on a dark and rainy night, veered straight towards Gojo’s parents car to avoid a branch on the road. In a moment that could only be described as his instinct to protect, he quickly swerved his vehicle, taking the brunt of the impact on his side. His family surrounded him at his hospital bedside as they grappled with the news that he would be unable to play the sport ever again due to his traumatic brain injury that would lead to lifelong motor function loss. According to the doctors and police, had he not swerved to shield his wife and unborn child, the outcome would have been far more disastrous. After months of rehabilitation, he regained enough ability to walk and just enough function in his extremities to welcome his newborn son in his arms.

When Gojo was just six years old, two years after witnessing his father’s first seizure, he stumbled upon a dusty, forgotten soccer ball tucked away in the corner of the garage. When he eagerly presented it to his father, excitement gleaming in his eyes, he was only met with a scowl and the demand to discard it, to never bring such things like that to him ever again. His mother protested, ensuing in an argument, and as Gojo lowered his gaze to the ball in his hands, he noticed his father’s faded signature adorned with a heart and message of love for his mother. The ink, once vibrant, now faded with time.

It wasn’t until Gojo turned seven that his father finally relented to teach him more about the sport, knowing it was all his son wanted for his birthday. With determination in his heart, Gojo pleaded for his father’s guidance, eager to kick around a nearly deflated, weathered ball. His father watched his son, expression morphing from reserved and stoic, softening to surprise, then hopeful, and he found himself cheering on his son’s clumsy endeavors on the field despite how many times he tumbled and fell. Because that was his son, his pride and joy, reminiscent of him embracing the sport that he himself had cherished so many years ago. 

As Gojo grew older and excelled at the sport, securing victory after victory in every youth league, his father’s health steadily declined. The recurring seizures caused by the brain damage from his prolonged convulsions on that fateful night exacerbated over the years and started to take an increasing toll on his body. Yet still, he never missed even a single one of his son’s games. Whenever Gojo swiftly sent the ball flying through the net, the first person his eyes would search for on the field was his father, the joy in his eyes being all he cared about in the world. Gojo lived to make his father proud, because it was the only thing that made him feel like he could make up for what little he had done to protect his father that night.

You were just a child. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know any better.

The day following Gojo’s eleventh birthday, his father had his second major seizure, falling into another coma, but this time he never woke up. Two years later, his mother made the tough decision to end his life-support, and then he was gone from their lives. Gojo’s mother was inconsolable, and he knew that his father took a piece of her soul with him to heaven that night. The piece that allowed her to smile. 

one day, you’ll lose someone you love. and everything following will fail to have meaning. 

But why was he remembering all of that now? 

The shrill of Gojo’s alarm clock woke him up from the intrusive memories that were washing through the fore-front of his mind, and he grumbled to himself before whacking at his nightstand haphazardly to shut the thing off. He ran a hand across his face in an attempt to wipe the sleepiness away, features instantly settling into an annoyed scowl as he blinked his eyes open and the filtering sunlight through the windows harassed his vision. 

He laid there for a few seconds, mending to the pounding headache at his temples with his fingers rubbing circles, and then he finally sat up in bed. Blinking at his sheets, the images of last night start to flash through his mind. The heavy music, the dim lighting of the bathroom, the dizzying jealousy, and the taste of you on his tongue–

The memory is supposed to arouse him, and would on any normal day, but because you had left him standing there stunned with no release of his own at all, he instead just feels a pulsing, soul-deep throbbing pain at his crotch that could really only be due to the fact he was left high and dry by you last night. He groans at the sensation, palm pushing down on his lower abdomen to try and relax the torture, which barely helped. It’s either he jerks off or takes a cold shower, and given the former was likely not possible for him right now since his god-forsaken brain decided to push the traumatizing experiences of his childhood to the forefront of his headspace first thing in the morning, meaning it’s unlikely he’ll be able to settle into the memory of you bent over that bathroom counter for him, he decides on the cold shower. And it’s safe to say that today already fucking sucked.

The moment the chill water hits the skin of his body, he recollects the look you had on your face right before you walked out on him. Soft, searching, to him almost seraphic, but you also looked wounded. And something from your anger with him since before he even had you in that bathroom, to the agonizing moment you left him in there by himself, told him he’d messed up big time with you somewhere along the lines. 

He knew he had been a jerk last night. He didn’t really have much of a right to be seethingly possessive of you, but the sight of you kissing another guy had him seeing red and his knuckles turning white. He finds himself clenching his jaw at the unwelcome memory even now. He figured he probably ruined what would’ve otherwise been an enjoyable night for you, and so you decided to get revenge by walking out on him. However, he can’t shake the feeling that things are messy and complicated now, primarily because of him, and he felt like he needed to apologize for dragging you into his weird, confusing emotions.

He gets himself dry and dressed, grateful for the barely sufficient relief he had down south, and sighs as he grabs his phone and taps on your name, thinking about what to say to you, and just settles on typing out Hey, can we talk? and then presses send. He turns the ringer of his phone off, tosses the device onto his bed and then heads out the door. 

Geto was sitting on the couch in the loft, rubbing an ice cube across his forehead as he sprawled on the cushions and let out low and consistent groans to himself. Gojo flopped down on the armchair across from him and assumed a similar position, rubbing at his temples to nurse his own headache. Geto opens an eye to look at him.

“Morning,” he grumbles. 

“I take it I’m not the only one that feels like they’ve been hit by a truck?” Gojo asks.

Geto makes a disgruntled noise and throws his head back on the cushion. “I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. God knows how much I had last night.” He reaches over to the console table in the center for the bottle of Ibuprofen and tosses it to Gojo, who catches it and stares down at the label. “I didn’t really see you drink that much though. Don’t know why you’re hungover.”

Gojo sighs. He wasn’t hungover. His headache was from the fact that had a lot on his mind. Like the feeling of your skin last night. And then the pain of being blue-balled. And also for some reason his father’s death. Very exhausting to juggle those thoughts at once. 

Gojo twists the cap off the bottle of Ibuprofen and pops two pills, drowning them in his mouth with Geto’s glass of water, then runs a frustrated hand through his hair. The man across from him raises an eyebrow.

“You good?” he asks.

“Super peachy,” Gojo replies.

He sighs. “Well, whatever it is, just make sure it doesn’t affect your play today,” Geto warns him, sinking further down into the couch. Gojo lets out an exhale through his nose. Geto usually pushed further for answers whenever he was in a mood, so the fact that he didn’t this time meant that hangover was bad.

“I’m more worried about you. You think you’ll be fine in a few hours?” Gojo asks. Geto just waves his hand in the air in response as he grabs the hand towel on his chest and drags it up over his face, shielding himself from the light of the room.

“I have no choice but to be fine. We have to win this game,” is all he says through muffling cloth.

Gojo nods, resting his elbows on his knees and looking down at the carpet. It was finally the game of the 28th, arguably the second-most important game of the season. If they take home the win, they’re automatically seeded into top sixteen teams, which means they’ll only have to win four more matches after today to take home the championship. But if they lose, they’re seeded to the bottom, and then four turns into a daunting eight. In the history of the league, not a single team has ever lost their pre-seed game and still continued to win the playoff championship. So Geto was right, they have no choice but to win today. Otherwise, they could kiss goodbye to a 12-year UTokyo championship streak.

“Not going for your run?” Geto asks, interrupting his thoughts.

“Nah, not feeling up for it,” Gojo replies.

He clicks his tongue. “Never skip the pre-game ritual, man.”

Gojo groans, knowing that he’s right, and so he reluctantly gets up off the chair and heads back into his room. His phone lay there on the bed, facing down, and he felt so tragically taunted by it that he weighed the options of whether or not he should check if you replied back before his run or after his run. And then he’s wondering why you affect him this much in the first place.

He resolves to check after his run, and only gets one arm through his shirt before his hands betray him and he snatches his phone, eagerly tapping the screen to turn it on. 

He sees your name at the top, where you had just replied barely a minute ago. Sure, we can talk. He blinks at his phone when he sees the polite period at the end of your message, and the proper capitalization, not to mention a vocative comma? He was starting to feel really nervous.

He didn’t care that you had only replied a minute ago, he quickly typed out his response and sent it.

|| 10:35am Gojo: Do you know how to get onto the stadium field today?

He sees you typing, and he’s holding his breath.

|| 10:36am you: yes, I do. I’m going in w the newsletter journalists. Was this what you wanted to talk about?

What did he want to talk to you about exactly? Something like I’m sorry about being an ass last night, totally not cool for me to be that territorial over you, although I can’t say I wouldn’t do it again because seeing you kiss someone other than me kind of made me want to die. Also, I’m sorry for acting like you’re just someone I know, I don’t know why I did it. I guess it’s because I didn’t know if you thought of me as any more than just someone you know either, and that thought was frightening. Did I mention I hated seeing you kiss someone that wasn’t me?

He’s never really been good with words. Or feelings. 

10:37am Gojo: No, it’s not, it’s something else. I’ll come find you on the field before the game starts

He stands there, gaze fixed on his phone screen for the minute-long pause you took to respond, that for him felt like tortured eons, just for you to send-

10:39am you: k

Gojo finishes getting dressed for his run, anxiety brewing in his stomach drearily, and when he heads out the door of the house, the fresh morning air doesn’t help calm him down like it usually does. Of course, as he’s running, his thoughts wander to you. He’s thinking about the smell of your hair–or was it the perfume on your skin?–either way, it was intoxicating. The curve of your neck, that spot that made you whimper– fuck. Think of other things. Like the sound of your voice, soft and sometimes needy, but he enjoys it that way–makes his head spin. Or when you’re being sweet and thanking him for something you shouldn’t, because to him everything about you was a privilege and never a task. Even in the hot spring sun of the late morning, he finds himself missing the warmth from your body, and that look. That goddamn look in your eyes when you’re peering into his like you want him to–

“I’m sure he’s really proud of you.”

His legs stop him on their own, like they know something about the feelings in his chest that he doesn’t, and he’s standing still on the sidewalk of the neighborhood now. Short puffs of air escape his lips from his blood pumping fast through his body, and he could physically hear the sound of you in his head. Intimate enough to where he turns to the side slightly facing his surroundings, like there was no way it was just a memory and you weren’t actually near. He finds himself swallowing hard and having to consciously keep moving forward.

Gojo makes it back to the house, freshens up for the second time today, and gets dressed into his UTokyo soccer uniform with his signature #10 jersey. He leaves with Geto to campus, where all his teammates gather before eventually boarding the bus to the UTokyo stadium field ten minutes away. Coach Yaga yells their ears off in the locker rooms in an attempt to get their plays for today through their brains, and the exhilarating noises from the stands as they make their formal entrance through to the field fills Gojo’s senses, along with the obnoxiously loud music playing as pre-game rituals settle in. Gojo sets his bag down on the bench and joins the others in warm-ups for about fifteen minutes, before catching a chance to sneak away and look for you across the expansive pristine grass.

After lightly jogging around the perimeter of the field for a couple of minutes, he finally spots you, his raised eyebrows now flattening under the fringe of his hair as he relaxes. He didn’t realize he was tensing his shoulders until now. You were just beyond the sidelines near a hydration station, fidgeting with something in your camera case, lips pressed together in a frustrated expression, and he saw your body sulk with the sigh you let out as you must’ve realized you had forgotten something. The corner of his mouth twitches upwards into a slight smile, an unconscious reaction to seeing you look so damn cute from your troubled face decorated with a pout. And then he remembered he had been looking for you, and he had found you, and the only thing to do next was to be near you. 

He ambles up to you, and you only catch sight of him when he’s just a few feet away and finally standing in front of you. He sees your eyes widen slightly, lashes blinking once, twice, and then there’s a blush of color to your cheeks as you fidget with the stadium access badge hung around your neck. He noticed there were grass stains on your jeans over your knees when he looked down.

“Hey,” Gojo greets you over the loud music playing on the field.

“Hi,” he sees you say, and he realizes he can barely hear you.

“Let’s go over there,” Gojo yells, jerking his head over to the side.

He leads you over to an area tucked near the east side entrance, a corner slightly underneath one of the sectioned stands where the loud cheers of the stadium somehow reflected off less. It was about as private or silent of a place that the two of you could manage to have a conversation on a soccer field before a match, if you could just ignore the dressed up school mascots rehearsing their walk-ins and walk-outs through the entryway.

You take a few steps backwards until your back hits the concrete slab wall, and he’s in front of you as he watches you study him for a second, taking in the sight of his uniform, before your eyes finally meet his.

“Are you ready to take your photos today?” he asks you, poorly attempting to make small talk despite the images of you with him in that bathroom last night flashing through his memory. Now was seriously not the time to be turned on.

You nod, and respond “I am”, giving him absolutely nothing to work with.

He sighs. “Listen, about last night, I just wanted to apologize. For dragging you into that bathroom with me, although you did ask me to-” He sees you narrow your eyes and cross your arms across your chest. “Sorry,” he sighs, “Seriously, I just…I don’t know what got over me then.”

“You don’t know? Or you just don’t want to tell me?” you prod at him. He briefly considers pretending he doesn’t hear your question over the sound of the stadium, but he knows he wouldn't get away with that, not with the way you’re looking at him like he’s just one more fuck-up away from making you storm off.

He looks at your lips. “I guess the only thing I know is that I didn’t like seeing you kiss someone else.”

You shake your head and close your eyes. “I know you didn’t, Satoru. Otherwise last night wouldn’t have happened. What I’m asking is why.”

He’s struggling now, searching his head for answers, like he’s fighting for his life on a test that he didn’t study for. When he looks down, he notices your foot has been tapping impatiently. And when he looks back up, there’s that wounded expression from last night again. “I don’t know,” is all he can offer.

You uncross your arms from your chest, lips parting slightly as your eyebrows pinch upwards with a disheartened look. He sees your gaze shift slowly across the features of his face, searching, and he wonders if you can see something within him that he can’t. The thought terrifies him. “Fine. It’s my turn to speak.”

He nods slowly. He wasn’t sure what you wanted to say to him. He imagined you would just cuss him out with a few choice words for being a raging asshole last night and then you’d be on your merry way. But he senses sincerity in your voice. Not that he was phenomenal at reading people, though.

He watches as you clench and unclench your fists at your sides nervously, then twiddle with the strap of your camera, then tuck your hair behind your ears, then blink rapidly as you look up at him, then worry your bottom lip between your teeth, then open your mouth to speak just to close it again.

“Do you need me here for any of this?” he says in an attempt at a joke to ease you, but when all you give him is a glare, he’s fearful enough to be serious again.

“I like you.”

He blinks. “Thanks? I like you, too.”

“No, no. I like you as in I have feelings for you,” you clarify. Gojo’s eyes widen at the confession, and he stands up straighter. 

“Oh,” he finally replies when he realizes he hasn’t said anything yet, “I…I wouldn’t have guessed that.” Holy shit, if that was how you felt, then he really has been a raging asshole this entire time. 

You roll your eyes. “I know. You’re a hopelessly dense, menacingly flirty, sleazy frat dude college athlete,” you sigh, “But I still like you. Unfortunately, tragically, annoyingly, much to my dismay, against my better judgment,”

“Okay, I get it-”

“I think it started that night you stayed with me when I was stranded with my flat,” you confess suddenly, your chest rising a little bit faster, and his expression softened. “I just really appreciated you being there for me.”

His voice is gentle when he speaks next. “You don’t have to thank me for that. I would’ve been there if it happened ten times over,” he pauses, “although I’d seriously question your ability to drive if it happened that many times.”

“And I think it started when you walked me out to the practice field for the first time, and you told me you cared about my dreams,” you say with a slight step forwards to him, unable to acknowledge his words at all, as if there was a script you needed to stick to that was the only thing keeping you from falling apart in front of him. 

He finds himself instinctively leaning towards you, close enough to where he notices you’re wearing a different perfume today. “But that was before the night of your car incident,” he reminds you.

“I know,” you nod, and there’s that look in your eyes that he loves, “and I also think it started that first night we met and you looked sad when I said we weren’t friends.”

Gojo’s eyes widen, his heart skipping a beat in his chest, and he finds himself breathing shallowly as he listens to your words. “y/n…I think you’re working backwards here.”

“I’m trying to say I’ve had feelings for you this whole time,” you say to him, “they were tiny at first, I didn’t really see them, but now they’re too big for me to hold all by myself.”

Gojo nods slowly, and he already knows what you’re going to ask of him next.

“I like you in a way that makes me want more from you,” you admit, eyes steadily on his with resolve, “I don’t want to be just someone you know, or someone only for sex-”

“y/n-” he tries to interrupt you.

“And I certainly won’t be someone that sits around to wait for a guy if he doesn’t want me back,” you say, but there’s an apprehensive look in your eyes when you speak next, “so, I need you to answer to my feelings.”

Gojo blinks at you, his heart beating fast in his chest from your confession, and he feels like with every testing second that he fails to answer you back, you slip further and further away from him.

He knew he had affection for you. He always wanted to be close to you, even when he already was, as if he couldn’t get close enough. He wanted to take care of you, and see that softness in your expression when he knew you felt safe and happy. He couldn’t stand the thought of you with someone else, and it took him this damn long to realize as he stood in front of you that he had no interest in being with anyone else either. So then why did his chest feel so tight? And why was he struggling so much to give you an answer?

one day, you’ll lose someone you love. and everything following will fail to have meaning. 

Gojo’s eyes widened as the memories of his life flashed through his mind, a chill running down his spine as they knock the wind from his lungs and he feels that same sense of dread that has been following him like a ghost since that day when he was just four years old, standing in the hallway, wondering why his father was having a nightmare on the bathroom floor when he should’ve known it was something far worse than that.

Gojo blames himself for so much that had gone wrong in his life. And he should know that it’s not his fault, but all of his grief was greedy to breathe and live, desperate to find a reason for why he had to lose someone he loved, and his grief found a home in all of his guilt.

And he was terrified to lose someone close to him again. Even if he decided to see what could become with you, even if he thought for a moment that he was allowed to feel any sort of happiness with you, the thought of falling short and failing frightened him. He was so tired of adding to a long list of regrets in his life. And he knew he wasn’t what you needed— what you deserved.

“I…” he starts, swallowing the lump in his throat, “I’m sorry, but I don’t feel the same way about you.” He knows he sounds convincing enough from the way the light in your eyes dimmed, anticipation faltering and replaced with a sad expression over your features. He needs to take a shaky breath to continue speaking. “It seems I’ve led you on in a lot of ways, and I apologize for that. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen anymore.”

You’re silent for a long moment, twiddling with your fingers as you look up at him. “I see…” you say, and when he sees your lower lip quiver slightly, he feels sick. His instinct is to reach out for you, pull you closer to him, but he knows that’s not a luxury you would allow for him, and he knew it wasn’t one he deserved either. 

Your voice is trembling when you speak next. “I appreciate you letting me know. And you don’t have to worry about not leading me on anymore, because this will be the last time you see me.”

His entire body runs rigid. 

“Why?” It’s a stupid question, but he asks it anyway.

“So I can get over you.”

All he can do is stand with the feeling of a chill in his bones.

“And I ask that you’ll respect my space while I do,” you add on at the end.

He’s silent for a long moment, then lets out the breath he was holding in. “I will,” he says, the promise leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

There’s a moment where you both just look at each other, as though the two of you were trying to hold onto the moment, but you’re the one to break out of it first, and he’s the one to wish it would’ve lasted a little longer.

“I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me.” The words already sounded like goodbye. “I’ll make sure you look nice in your photos,” you say with a small smile, holding your camera up slightly, “and good luck today.” 

He wonders if he’ll regret this moment.

“Thanks.”

He steps aside so that you can walk past him and back out to the field. Gojo takes a deep breath, releasing it slowly, and relaxes his shoulders. Well, that was intense. Definitely not the direction he thought that conversation was going to go in at all, but that’s fine. He handled it fine. Totally fine. Things were going to be totally fine. He just has to play the match now.

The first step he takes back towards the field, he feels his uneasiness return, with the second step the feeling of his heart beating becomes violent in his head, with the third step he swears he can’t feel the tips of his fingers, with the fourth he feels severely nauseous, and with his fifth- was he seriously about to throw up?

He barely makes it back onto the grassy field cutting across the obstacles of people at the sidelines, using all his strength to not double over before he reaches a table and grabs one of the water bottles. He sees a group of men, all dressed in suits and loitering near the team manager’s station, perk their heads up at the sight of him and he’s groaning internally. The last thing he wanted to do right now was talk to any damn recruiters, but he sees one of them bold enough to approach him in his periphery. He sighs, taking one last gulp of water, and tries to stand up straight and look like he wasn’t going insane.

“Hi, I’m Jousuke Tsuda, recruiter for Tokyo Metropolitan’s national league team,” he says and stretches his hand out for Gojo to shake. The man looked aged, with thick creases to his forehead that could only mean he’s witnessed a hell of a lot of life and he has the soul to prove it.

Gojo’s eyes widen at the mention of Tokyo-Met’s team, and he grabs onto the man’s hand in as firm of a handshake he could manage. “Gojo Satoru.”

The man laughs. It’s deep with a slight crackle. “I know your name, son. Every recruiter in the country does. You’ve got a lot of eyes on you right now.”

“I’m flattered.”

The man raises an eyebrow at him. “Surely you feel pressured.”

Gojo only hums to himself.

The man glances at his watch. “I know the match starts in a few, but if I could have a moment of your time. Take a walk with me?”

“Sure.”

The two trail down the line of the field. “I’ll get straight to the point, kid. Tokyo-Met’s really keen on scouting you for the national league following your graduation,” he says.

Gojo feels like he should be excited about that news, actually, he should be ecstatic and groveling at this man’s feet, but instead he just feels empty and hollow inside. 

“Forget the fact that you’ll be playing in the nation’s most revered team,” the man continues, “but compensation is high, too.” He pulls his phone out from his front suit pocket, tapping away at his calculator app, then turns the screen towards Gojo. Holy shit. “I’m talking about a 350 million yen per year contract here. I could advocate for higher based on how well you perform the rest of the season.”

“I…I don’t know what to say,” Gojo responds.

The man is silent for a second then sighs. When the two of them reach a somewhat secluded bench near the corner of the field, he sits down on it and expects Gojo to do the same, to which he complies.

“You know, I’m used to much more enthusiastic reactions from players that hear this kind of news, although they’re usually ecstatic for barely a hundred million a year compared to what I’ve just offered you,” the man says.

“I guess it’s the pressure,” Gojo says to him, “it’s got my emotional response circuit all fried up, y’know?” He was pulling excuses out of his ass. 

A small hmph noise is heard beside him before he sees the man pulling a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his slacks. “I know your father has left big shoes to fill, kid. I can’t imagine the fear of feeling like you’ll fail, or the anxiety of an injury taking you out any time you’re on the field, not wanting history to repeat itself.”

Gojo’s eye twitches and he narrows his eyes at the man seated beside him. “My dad got injured in a car accident, not while playing the sport.”

“I know,” he responds, finally pulling a cigarette out of the pack, holding it between his two fingers as he rests his wrist on his knee. “The story touched the hearts of everyone in Tokyo, and the entire soccer community in general. I remember reading about it in the school newspaper. Back in the day when they still printed those things out.” Gojo’s surprised, and he’s only given a sideways smile before the man continues. “I knew your father, went to the same college as him.”

“I don’t think he ever mentioned you,” Gojo says.

He lets out a hearty laugh. “He despised me. I was a money-hungry finance major that saw a huge opportunity in mediator sports recruitment agencies. Figured if I could sign a player like your father to my start-up, I’d be set for life. He was a smart man not to sign, regardless of how things turned out.” He shakes his head musingly. “I gave up after that and got a real job. You’ll find a lot of your hopes and dreams die in college.”

“I see,” Gojo says.

The man leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and looks over with a serious expression on his face. “Tell me, son, what does this sport mean to you? Why have you dedicated your entire life to playing it?”

Gojo only gives him a cursory glance.

“Is it the fame and attention? The pride? The thrill? The prospect of earning millions and then retiring at thirty, and you get to watch your wife and kids playing in your grand estate’s pool on a sunny summer Sunday while you’re swirling around a glass of ‘90s scotch in your hand?” he asks, tone derisive but luring. “Or does it mean something more to you?”

Gojo looks down at his hands that were clenched tightly into fists. He relaxes them so that his fingers fall open weakly and his palms face the sky. He remembers the feeling of being a kid, the smell of freshly cut grass consuming his senses, the sight of bruises on his knees from how many times he fell on the field chasing after the ball, and the admiration in his father’s eyes every single time he stood back up. “It’s a chance to prove myself,” he finally says.

“Prove yourself of what?” the man pushes.

“That I’m capable of greatness,” Gojo admits, “like my father.”

The man nods slowly in acknowledgment. “Yes, your father was a great man. But not because of how he played the game. He was a great man because he knew which sacrifices were truly important.”

Gojo looks at him wearily. “Are you trying to tell a player you’re attempting to recruit that the sport isn’t important?”

He shakes his head, looking straight ahead. “No, it’s important. But it’s the meaning you give to your life outside of it that gives it importance.”

Gojo raises an eyebrow at him, not really sure what to make of the cryptic sentiment.

The man claps his hands together and stands up. “Alright, I’m sure that’s all the time you’ve got for me. Think about my offer, and if any other recruiters approach you with better ones, just know I’ll push for higher.” He hands Gojo his business card and brings his cigarette to mouth, balancing it between his lips. “Reach out if you have any questions.”

Gojo looks down at the card, his finger tracing the edge of it as he studies the shimmering gold lettering. “Why not just hit me with your best offer and leave? Why bother having this kind of conversation with me?”

The man pulls his cigarette from his mouth, pinching it between his two fingers once again. “We’ve all got regrets we want to make right, kid,” he says. And with his hands in his pockets, he walks away. 

Gojo watches the man as he makes his way down the sidelines back to the cluster of men in suits. When he hears the referee whistle, he shoves the business card in the pocket of his uniform shorts, and makes his way towards the center of the sidelines.

His teammates instantly come up to him with optimistic smiles and encouraging pats on his chest and back, trying to keep the energy high to manifest a win for today, but Gojo just feels exhausted and like he’s drowning. He has so many thoughts swimming around in his head, he can’t even begin to explain, and he just wants someone to see through him at this moment. 

The teams stand on the field for the national anthem, and then Osaka Uni’s team disperses while UTokyo’s alma mater plays. Coach Yaga yells for all the players to huddle before the coin toss and reminds them of their plays for the afternoon.

Nanami pulls his sweatbands onto his wrists, Geto pulls his hair back up into a bun, Chosou pulls tightly on the straps of his goalie gloves, and Gojo pushes his hair up off his forehead to snap his headband onto his face. He looks around to his other teammates and that sense of pride he feels to be a part of this team swells dully despite his emotions.

UTokyo wins the coin toss, choosing to kick, and Gojo finds his place in the center of the field. The crowd is already cheering preemptively, their pride in their home team evident in the passion of the filled stands, and Gojo peers across the large expanse of the field as he rests his foot on top of the soccer ball. It’s a scene he’s seen a hundred times in his life, but the sight is daunting today. He takes his foot off the ball when he hears the referee signal the start of the match with a short piercing shrill of his whistle, and the second Gojo draws his leg back and his foot makes contact with the ball, sending it flying forward, he can already feel that something feels very off.

Every single time he had the ball in his possession, his footwork felt heavy and delayed. His teammates had set up more than three chances for him to score, and he shot wide every single time. The crowd’s cheers started to diminish, and he could feel the growing discontent and exasperation from all eyes on the field. Ten minutes before halftime, they were down 1-0, and stakes were starting to feel high. 

One of his teammates passes a ball right to Gojo’s favored foot, the crowd instantly erupting with noise and stands to their feet as Gojo shuffles the ball past the penalty line, through Osaka’s defenders, eyes locked with the perfect opportunity to strike. This was good, he had his rhythm back, even if just for a moment, and he can see it, clear as day–the trajectory to the goal. With the feeling of slick sweat on his face and determination in his veins, he withdraws his leg back to kick the ball. The world went silent in his head, the only sound being the beating of his heart, and-

“this will be the last time you see me.”

When he recalls your voice, everything moves in slow-motion as his ankle slips slightly on the grass from his moment of hesitation, and then the ball is swiftly stolen by an opposing team player and maneuvered past him. 

“Fuck!” he hisses, immediately turning his head around as he helplessly watches the opponents players move with fervor in pursuit of another goal. The crowd hushed in horror as Osaka passed the ball through UTokyo’s defense, swiftly steadying down the side and sending the ball flying through Chosou’s outstretched arms. 2-0, and the lead ref calls for halftime. 

“Dude,” one of his teammates comes up to him as they walk back towards the benches and throws his arms up in the air, “what the hell is wrong with you today?”

“Seriously, man, not a single goal in the first half? You know how many times I’ve set up a shot for you?" another one of his teammates chimes in, nudging Gojo’s shoulder way harder than he’d usually warrant, and shortly after, a blaming fest begins among the players.

“Enough!” Coach Yaga yells out. All of the players quiet down and look at him, some grudgingly gulping down water while others just try to regain their breath. Gojo’s arms just hang at his sides in defeat. “We’re pushing everything on offense now, we can’t afford to miss any more shots,” Coach Yaga says, his fear of losing the match evident too despite his rough tone, “Satoru, I’m switching you out. Dai, take his place.”

“What?” Gojo asks incredulously, charging forward so he’s in front of the older man. “I’m not getting benched.”

“You will, because I say so,” Coach Yaga says sternly, “you’re distracted, boy. I can see it all over your face.”

“I’m n-”

“Just sit down,” Coach Yaga lets out a disgruntled noise. “When players are distracted, they get injured. Have faith in your teammates.”

“Coach,” Gojo asks again, this time almost pleading. He hardly ever questioned Coach Yaga’s calls, he had a great deal of respect for the man. But something within him just absolutely refused to get benched today.

Coach Yaga stares at him for a long moment, and it’s only when one of the refs chirps their whistle that he finally exhales and gives him a reluctant jerk of his head towards the field.

Geto sets up the perfect shot for Nanami to sweep for a kick that barely lands through the goalie’s lunge for the ball, and then on the next play, secures another goal himself. The score is tied, 2-2, with eight minutes left on the clock. Gojo manages to steal the ball on a defensive play, and it’s only really a stroke of luck that he manages in one solid pass the entire game, straight to Geto’s foot, crowd roaring, and he watches his best friend shoot and sink within the last minute and a half of the game. 

3-2. UTokyo’s win. 

Gojo sighs, exhausted as he makes his way to the bench, crouching down and zipping open his duffle bag. Spirits are low among the team despite the excitement from the crowd over their win because of how hauntingly close the loss felt during the last moments of the match, disinterested in celebrating at all as they meekly dispersed across the field. Gojo knew he was going to get a massive yelling-to from Coach Yaga and he could feel the searing disappointment from his teammates for not carrying the game more. This was just a bare win, could’ve gone either way, and his performance today wasn’t a good look for any recruiters either. He felt so emotionally and physically drained from this entire day, and he wasn’t sure how the hell he could feel any better.

Shuffling through his bag for a water bottle, his knuckles hit something cold and metallic-sounding tucked away inside. He hums to himself curiously before grabbing it and pulling it out.

strawberry vanilla soda.

Hm. This wasn’t the one you gave him a couple of days ago. He already drank that one. Did you sneak this into his bag? His brow furrows, and he stares at the sparkling smiling sloth on the label. When he turns the can in his hand, he sees a little note messily scribbled in black ink. 

good luck today! u got this :) ur a star

His eyes widened.

And putting his heart through a shredder would’ve hurt less than when he realizes what an idiot he’s been this entire time.

He’s instantly searching the field, peering through crowds of people, mascots, banners, flags, for any sight of you. He’s not sure how or why he goes in the direction that he does, but deep down it’s because he knows you like taking millions of pictures of flowers, and the west side exit has endless blooms of them. And so when he runs out that way, cleats tapping against the concrete pavement that leads out into the courtyard in the front of the stadium, and spots you standing there, he finally lets out the breath of air he feels like he’s been holding in his chest all day.

You’re aiming your camera at teal and orange petals scattered across the decorative florals lining the raised concrete planters, then pull it down from your face and twiddle with the settings, tilting your head to the side. You then pluck at one of the blooms that was spilling over the edges, bringing it to the tip of your nose curiously. And he just watches, chest heaving from the urgency that he rushed to get to you, heart aching from the desperation of wanting to be near you. He wanted to ask you how you were feeling, he wanted to know how your pictures came along, he wanted to know what you were doing after this, and he wanted you to be with him. But most importantly, he wanted to make sure that this wasn’t the last time he ever saw you again. 

It isn’t until a minute after that you seem keen on his presence too, and you swiftly turn your head in his direction, surprised. “Satoru?” you say. He wonders if he’ll melt. He wonders if those ice-cold barriers he’s built over the years could thaw just from the way you say his name.

But when he takes a step forward, you take a step back. And he halts. The expression on your face was unfamiliar to him. Once soft, curious, trusting. Now you looked at him like you were guarding something, keeping it safe from him, and he no longer had the right to intrude. And then he realizes the hell he’s put you through all this time.

He regrets pushing you away.

“I know I said I’d respect the fact that you want space,” he says through bated breath, “but I…I just can’t stand the thought of never seeing you again.”

You’re solemn when you look at him, reading the plea in his eyes, and then slowly shake your head. He feels like he can’t breathe. 

“I’m sorry. Goodbye.”

And then you walk out of his life.

a/n. thank you for reading! i have a few more author notes that explain a few things that i couldn't really find a way to fit into the chapter organically, but wanted to address before moving on, if you're curious you can find them here. hope to see you in the next one! pls lemme know if i missed any tags i'm sorry if i did :')

➸ take me to chapter eight!

taglist: @who-can-touch-my-boob @lost-resonance @foulprincesscycle @purplehallow11 @tsukikourito @getitsatoru @erencvlt @slut-4-gojo @cactisjuice @kissofife @tiredflame132 @cliosunshine @ethereally-lyann @prince-wyiilder @semra4 @gojosimp26 @hojoslutoru @drthymby @ninitoru @btszn @bbyxxm @fvsm4x @sadmonke @zoinks1010 @bakuhoethotski @fvsm4x @colouringfrogssittinginleaves @ri-sa20 @cierocanteat (thank you to everyone <3)

[florenceafternoon]

━。゜✿ jily fic recommendations ✿ ゜。━

Some more AUs I've been loving. I'm trying to alternate between AU and canon verse rec lists so bear with me. Remember that if you like a fic you should definitely let the author know as such.

For reference, anything in italics is taken from the summaries on ao3.

theogony by @clare-with-no-i

The trip that Lily Evans expects to go on is the annual pre-dissertation jaunt to Athens with the rest of her Classical Civilizations PhD program. The trip she does not expect to go on is to 479 BCE, right on the cusp of one of the most important battles in the Greco-Persian war. Now, she has to navigate antiquity as she tries to find her way back to the 21st Century, God—or gods—help her.

James wants to win this war. No, James needs to win this war. He is a man of honor and duty, and even if it means dying a gruesome, bloody death, he will go down in history as one of Athens's great warriors. He will suffer no distractions; not even beautiful ones who speak strangely and refuse to listen to his orders.

 -- OR: The Outlander-Meets-Ancient-Greece Jily AU that no one asked for Maya dreams of.

I can't believe it took me this long to read this fic but OH MY GOD!! Clare's writing is phenomenal, I've known this for a while now, but THE DEDICATION TO HISTORICAL ACCURACY, I'm so impressed. If only I could put even half that amount of effort into my major essays for school. EVERYONE GO READ THIS NOW

Sweathearts' Special by @tinyluminaryzombie

What happens when your coffee shop nemesis, asks you to pretend to be a couple?

Or "I’ve been staring at the stupid cupcakes for the past hour, and they look way too good. Anyways, would you be willing to join forces and pretend to be together for the free cupcake and coffee?”

Welcome to Pettyville by @women-inthe-sequel

When Lily Evans accidentally sends a text to the wrong number, she isn’t expecting to find the right person behind it. She can’t stop talking to Prongs. The only thing is, Prongs can’t stop talking about the girl in his class. What could go wrong, other than the number?

A love square but it's just the same two idiots

Tall Dark and Glasses by @jamesunderwater

Tall Dark and Glasses (or TDG as he is more affectionately known) is the mysterious, painfully good-looking stranger who has been frequenting Lily's favourite coffee shop for months now. But despite having an embarrassing acronym for him, Lily, a burned-out STEM major, is too comfortable being a wallflower to go up to him herself. Thank god for playing cards, I guess.

coffee shops and copious amounts of sugar by @mystinkysocks

James decides to finally start revising, the coffee shop he attends introduces him to someone new!

As someone who spends an ungodly amount of time studying in public (at cafés and libraries), all I dream of is to one day live out my very own coffee shop AU

Unlicenced by @ohmygodshesinsane

Lily Evans begrudgingly agrees to get in the car with classmate and sometime-foe James Potter and his not-quite-earned P-plates after a particularly rubbish day.

Drop-Off also by @/ ohmygodshesinsane

James Potter takes Lily Evans home, and wants to make something clear.

Disclaimer that they’re Australian in this AU. You guys don't understand how much Lily Evans means to me. I want to give her a hug.

pretty, pretty boy by rosiemary0 (on ao3)

Pretty face, with golden brown eyes and strong cheekbones (one of which is adorned with a smudge of charcoal). Pretty hands—very, very pretty hands, Lily’s thoughts interject—which hold a jar each, one with water and the other paintbrushes.

Or the one where James is an artist and Lily hates socialising.

I'll Manage by @kaymardsa

James and Lily fall in love during the war.

In which Lily runs a refugee camp and James is an ex-sniper

I can't remember if I've recommended this fic already but again I recently re-read it and wanted to share

'Tis the Fucking Season by @thequibblah

Six-year absences. Yearly photograph burnings (figuratively). Low-cut tops. Two nosebleeds. Little red notebooks. The Past, with a capital P. The desire to pour your heart out to strangers (maybe pathologically). The desire to do unspeakably bad things to one James Potter. These are the ingredients that make up Lily Evans's holiday season.

Shelby the cabbie is in for a fucking ride.

I have been searching for this fic for two months and nearly gave up. An absolute classic that everyone should read!!

Two's a Crowd also by @/ thequibblah

Regency AU in which "the only thing Lily Evans can share with the Earl of Devon is a healthy dose of mutual dislike."

In Search of Something More by @kay-elle-cee

In the sunlit garden of her sister’s home, Lord Potter had promised Lily a life of her own design, with minimal expectations—her presence at community events, companionship, and an heir. As the two stumble into the routine of marriage and work to make a life together at Stinchcombe Hall, unsolicited feelings provoke each to start wondering if this is merely a marriage…or if it could be something more.

No, I will not shut up about this fic. Anything that Kelsey writes is bound to be amazing but this one holds a special place in my heart. Note that this is an ongoing fic though. I tend to recommend completed works but this one is too good not to include.

Pinkest Bluestocking of the Ton by @wearingaberetinparis 

Dearest Reader, the ton are abuzz with the latest gossip, and so it is my honour to impart to you the news that the Duke of Peverell has returned to London at last! A year after setting off on his tour of Europe, Lady Peverell's son has returned and rumour has it that his mother is preparing for the most joyous of occasions: a late summer wedding that sees her son wed the next Duchess of Peverell. It is my sincere hope that you have stored a bottle of wine for this most delightful of upcoming events for if ever there were a more determined mama, this writer is Icarus and this society paper has been scorched for flying too close to the sun.

A Jily Regency Romance inspired by Shondaland's "Bridgerton".

Again this is an ongoing fic, but it's too good not to include in this rec list! I haven’t caught up with all the chapters yet but I love the story so far!

A Heart of Coal also by @/ wearingaberetinparis

They say fortune favours the bold, yet Lily Evans was given her death sentence at seventeen. As soon as midnight strikes on the eve of her eighteenth birthday, her heart will turn to coal. Gryffindor knight James Potter, however, is the last to accept such a fate. For while Lily Evans’ curse foretells her death, his foreshadows a life without his unrequited true love at his side.

Fairytale AU in which the love is requited they're just idiots

Three Lemons and a Dragon by @thelighthousestale

Once upon a time, there lived a Prince named James who had to save his father's Kingdom by getting married. One day an older woman gifts him three lemons that will lead him to his true love.

Dillweed in a Fancy Metal Can by @eastwindmlk

When Lily gets dragged to a Renaissance Faire, she reluctantly agreed to go to the jousting event where she is pulled into the show against her will, or is it?

Lily represents me

Queen Foxtail also by @/ eastwindmlk

Once Upon A Time...

There was an arrogant prince who turned down every suitable match and drove his parents to do something drastic. Marry him off to the next merchant that steps through their gates.

across the universe by rcdwings (on ao3)

“So, you’re saying that in these other worlds, James Potter and Lily Evans exist, too?”

She hadn’t expected to hear that, hadn’t even thought about it that way. She was too busy thinking about if in those other worlds, she and her friends could be seventeen and free instead of the war torn teenagers they were. Now that he’d put it that way, she couldn’t help but let her mind wander.

“I would assume so,” she swallowed. “Not sure what we would be like, though.”

A beat, then a soft hum. “Anything,” he smiled at her, “There are countless worlds, right? We could be anything.”

only love can hurt like this by @fireblts 

Lily doesn’t quite know everything, but it feels pretty close.

The main thing she still doesn’t get is soulmates. Love doesn’t seem like something that should be painful. Or rather, love seems like it’s painful enough on its own without any help.

Soulmate AU - whenever your soulmate is hurt or in pain, you can feel it too.

Soulmate AUs are my comfort genre of fics. I haven't been feeling to well lately and rediscovering this fic was a delight

The Librarian of Hogsmeade Village by @ohmygodshesinsane

Lily's work as a librarian in the small village of Hogsmeade has kept her occupied for the past six years, forever keeping the wheels of the town on the track. As the holidays approach, she prepares to settle in with a nice mug of tea and a well-thumbed old book. When a new resident and his son arrive at her weekly story-reading, with cheeky smiles and big hearts, those plans are tossed out the window in favour of chasing love, for once - not escaping it.

Lily living the cozy life of my dreams. I think it's well known by now that I love reading about single parents and well James with his baby boy always puts a smile on my face.

Spitting Image by @charmsandtealeaves

James Potter always knew he wanted to build a family, he just hadn’t found the right person to build it with - yet. Freezing his sperm at Gringotts Sperm Bank was a no-brainer really. He’d have children when he found the right person, and now he had an insurance policy. Then Lily Evans walked into his place of work with her son - the spitting image of him.

linking this art that the talented @constancezin drew inspired by this fic

Every time I see that Ray has updated, reading the new chapter becomes the highlight of my day

The Stag Prince Across The Sea also by @/ charmsandtealeaves

The realm of Hogwarts had lived for decades in a carefully negotiated harmony between the leaders of the four clans. However, when the time came for son to marry daughter, the Slytherin King refused to offer his daughter's hand to any of the other grand houses’ suitors. As the Slytherin King departed the shore, bound for the ship that would allow him to escape across the Green Sea, he cast a curse on the great families.

“Let ye be marked. Marred by tooth, hoof, and claw. May your sons never be fit for any bride!”

Slytherin invoked an ancient magic, which transformed each family's eldest son into creatures under the light of the full moon. The Kings searched far and wide for a cure to no avail while trying to keep secret the wrong that had been done to them. Years passed and with them grew a sense of unrest, a kingdom on the precipice of collapse...

what love is, I think by @potterandevans-blog-blog

It's James Potter's birthday, his nineteenth to be exact. Some people, if they're lucky, find a tattoo on their back on their nineteenth birthday, a tattoo that can help them discover their soulmate. And if the antlers on his back are anything to go by, James might just have a soulmate of his own out there, somewhere.

oil be there for you by @abby10fanfic

Texting/Social Media AU: Lily and James haven't spoken for 2 years. But that's all about to change thanks to Peter and his involvement in an essential oil pyramid scheme. Featuring boss babes, toxin-free lifestyles, binding contracts, and a very oily journey.

[gay-jewish-bucky]

all this ao3 discourse is reminding me of a few things

that a month or so ago i was "exposed as a groomer", why? on a mutual's post that quoted chris evans call the people aggressively opposing the queer rep in lightyear "idiots" someone reacted really angrilly and stated that this was their last straw and they could no longer support him. i pointed their account out in the replies so other people could block them like i had. they took a screenshot of my blog and posted it stating i was a groomer/supported grooming bc i supported queer rep in a kids movie

being very newly out to myself over a decade ago, and reading youtube comments from people claiming that gay people were doing unimaginable shit around children and saying that it was just part of our nature and we were dangerous predators

the first queer book i ever read was Annie on My Mind, a sweet story about two young girls who fall in love, it was the first YA book that portrayed queer characters positively and that is one of the most challenged books in U.S. history (being actually burned at least once), one case even making it to federal court

homophobes think children being aware that queer people exist at all is inherently predatory and that we're all groomers, look more recently at the right wing response to drag queen story hour and the repugnant things said

queer content is not safe, they will come for it under the guise of "protecting the children" and you all need to understand that, this isn't paranoia, this is our reality

as Rabbi Steven Greenberg, an openly gay orthodox rabbi and major advocate for LGBT+ acceptance in the Jewish community says in “Wrestling with G-d and Men: Homosexuality in the Jewish Tradition”,

“Gay sex life, unlike straight sex life, is never a private matter. When a man and a woman walk hand in hand, it is their love that they make public. When two men walk hand in hand, it is their sex life that they make public… Our words are acts; our privacy is public. This reality stems from the nature of homophobia.”

Update: Election Results posted August 15th at 9:10pm EDT

Tiffany G has NOT been elected to the board

[fatuismooches]

stem student zandik x arts(of any kind) partner just makes me so happy as a writing major. I'll do his readings as long as he does my math homework <33

YES!!! Ahh it would be such an unlikely duo... Zandik would have never paid much attention to the arts were it not for you. The most he has to do with it is write down his thoughts about ancient texts. But he would not be interested in writing essays for the consumption of his professors, they would never understand his thoughts anyway. Nor reading texts that he's not interested in the slightest. So that's where you come in! You'll happily read and write his essays for him, giving him the run down and little notes in case the professor calls on him. And Zandik would in return speed through that dreaded math homework of yours. You're probably not interested in really learning math but you have to in order to pass those exams, so he would too make a quick procedure on the questions. Whether you understand it is up to you. And there's also his handwriting... but you grow to understand it eventually!

Zandik initially thought the arts were a waste of time, after all, everything he desired to know was not solved through those things. However, his opinion changes. He sees how much time and energy is poured into your craft, both academic and personal. It's comparable to his own research. Writing takes a tremendous amount of time with how much has to be revised and reread to become perfect. And he has to respect the dedication, the other scholars could learn a thing or two from you. The same goes for other arts, like drawing, painting, singing, dancing, sewing, etc. He would have never spared a second glance to these things... but you, you've changed him. A bit. You have probably gifted him a few of your writings before and he's had trouble understanding the contents. Not your fault, he acknowledges, but his. Unfortunately for all his intelligence, he fails to understand affection imbued within the lines.

He probably ends up rereading the stuff a few centuries later and finally realizing what your writings mean, and has the 'i'm an idiot' moment.

[kahuunknown]

The "Rebellious" one - BBC Sherlock sibling fanfic

!NOTE!: Male-reader/insert, inspiration from SHERLOCK TV Show

~~~

The rebellious one

Sherlock absolutely loved you; you were by far his favourite sibling by a long shot. You were the eldest of all your siblings, 1 year older than stuck up Mycroft and 8 elder than dear little Sherlock Holmes.

You were the troublemaker, mischievous without a doubt. You saw little reasoning behind Mummy dearest’s desires for you to become something great, like a doctor or lawyer. You hated the private piano lessons, the pointless tutoring sessions and eventually school altogether. It was easy to guess what you did, but dropping out of school was by far one of the best decisions of your life, and one of the easiest as well.

You were rebellious by nature.

Mummy and Daddy weren’t quite sure where the behaviour stemmed from as it was definitely not inherited from either of them. It was obvious to you however, the stress of being the first born, the expectation to be the most successful and therefore grand of your siblings. To be able to support yourself with ease and help your siblings if the need arises.

While you respected the ideal. You ultimately rejected the pathways your parents provided, paving a new one and building everything from nothing. It was satisfying seeing your parents reaction when you visited one Christmas dinner, they were horrified at the ink adorning your right arm. Sherlock however quite liked it, in fact he wasted no time gifting his present early, he wanted you to get his pirate sketch tattooed. And who were you to deny him?

That cute little face was irresistible normally, but with added intent and desire behind them? God, you were putty in his hands.

Together you went to a tattoo parlour, Sherlock was rambling furiously to the tattoo artist whilst the ink was being stained onto your skin, it was adorable, the passion in his story as he explained the intricacy of his design and the meaning behind it. ‘The adventures of Yellowbeard’. Sherlock called it, or something similar at least.

It didn’t quite match the other tattoo’s you’d gotten, as those were all grey-scale realistic designs, but Sherlock was adamant that colour was non-negotiable. The young Holmes was a hyper little bean as he jumped around in joy at the completion of his masterpiece. You couldn’t stop chuckling at his antics; the innocence was overloading your system.

Of course, Mum and Dad were horrified once the two of you returned, though they seemed less upset at the tattoo and more with the aspect of Sherlock in a ‘biker’s tattoo shop’ of which it was absolutely not. You weren’t an idiot, you’d made sure Sherlock was as safe as could be.

Mycroft thought you a moron the majority of your life. Growing up he strived to pass you at everything he possibly could, interestingly enough, it took much longer than expected. He thought you were just another goldfish, swimming around dumbly just like all the others. But of course, you were more than that he later realised.

You were a sponge. While you hated your mother’s insistent lessons and tutoring, you had an eidetic memory and couldn’t help but memorise absolutely everything ever taught to you. You would have been a prodigy, everything your parents ever dreamed you to be. But unfortunately for them, you had slightly different plans.

Mycroft thought he’d finally done it when he joined the British Government, there was no way you could outshine him now. Yet, despite not having achieved a high standing career, it was obvious that whenever the two of you met, who was smarter ultimately. You were the opposite of what you parents dreamed you to be, yet you were the happiest having done so. Mycroft admired that.

He’d admit that of course, you would win in physicality. Always. You loved going outside, working out, playing sports, and eating healthy. It was one of your passions, something that ultimately benefitted you quite greatly as your appearance remained younger for much longer than if you had of neglected fitness and health. Sherlock teased Mycroft relentlessly about it as well, how young and fit their elder brother looked in comparison. Of course it was playful teasing, but it was definitely something to respect.

It was only more recently that all three brothers started getting along quite nicely. Sherlock of course never thought ill of you, he just assumed you were an average idiot like John. You played the part quite well, snickering behind Sherlock back while explaining things to John, whom believed you to be his favourite of the Holmes children. You were fun to be around, the most human and emotional of all. It was refreshing to be around.

When you finally decided to reveal your hidden superpower, he was dumbfounded but also instantly relieved.

Mycroft however was a very different story. It started slowly, you invited him randomly to a gig, of which he was pleasantly surprised when he arrived to a wedding, you adorned in an unfamiliar suit standing at the stage and singing a sweet lullaby to the lucky couple. It wasn’t your usual style, sure, but you wanted to ease Mycroft into your life, and what better way to do it?

Over the years, Sherlock had subtly provided you with more tattoo designs he’d wish for you to get, all his own of course. You were still a sucker for those eyes; it seemed their affect never dimmed as the detective aged.

Eventually one day Mycroft approached you on the matter, rather shyly you’d point out as well, you were open and encouraging as he mumbled the reluctant request to add to your collection of ink with one of his own. Stating through hidden messages within his speech that he’d been feeling a little left out. Of course you were ecstatic, more than happy to agree.

It was then that Mycroft realised no matter what he’d accomplish, you always have the upper hand in the end. Not because of intelligence nor deducing skills, but because of your raw compassion and commitment to your beliefs and dreams, it was awe inspiring. Beautiful even.

Perhaps those brothers of yours might do a little rebelling of their own.

[delopsia]

Hello and welcome to "Del wants to ramble about the Outer Range season 2 trailer." I hope you're ready for a whole lot of nothing...

The CGI continues to remind us that it is, in fact, CGI. What the hell is this?

Flash scene of Wayne burning his damn house down. I'd know that bald spot anywhere.

Y'all already heard me ramble about this, but there's something wrong with this dinner scene. Aside from us knowing that the family is not together, there's one major oddity in the background.

Rhett's truck is an entirely different color.

That's his lightbar with the iconic four lights. Still a single-cab GMC Sierra. But Rhett's truck is blue. Not tan.

Wilder, we see Rhett's truck a few scenes later! You can even see how the hood is bent from hitting the billboard.

We finally confirm that Amy is 8. Even though the writer said she was 9...😑Brian Watkins, I had faith in you being correct. If you squint, you'll notice that Rhett's right hand is wounded. I doubt this stems from the rodeo because he always uses his left hand to hang on to the bull. The only injury we saw was to his left shoulder.

I'm taking the guess that up until now, Rhett likely didn't know that Amy went missing during the rodeo. Which may cause him to realize that Cecelia never abandoned him; she was just looking for Amy.

In the official Season 2 press notes, the following is mentioned: "After Amy's disappearance, Rhett is torn between his dreams of starting over somewhere new with Maria and being a dutiful son to Royal and Cecelia." So, I can assume that this might be what sets that into motion?

Offhanded, but this is SUCH a good look on her

MY TOUCH THEORY IS DOING THINGS. Look at Autumn's hand. Royal's touching the back of it, and as soon as he pulls away, the cute cosmic lights stop.

I'm so happy to see this random side character make a return. I was so nervous that she was one of those characters that appear for two minutes and that's it.

...this is a wild way for Joy to get in touch with her roots. But unfortunately for her, talking about it will more than likely get her a one-way trip to a psychiatrist.

Clyde is alive and well; bless him.

I've said it once, and I'll say it again. How the hell did Billy survive being shot through the neck??

and also

WAYNE? All it took was Billy feeding him a little bit of time powder and he's back to his old menacing ways. Meanwhile Luke looks like he lost part of his soul when that herd of buffalo ran him over.

Luke, what does this gesture mean. Strangle? Punch? My jaw hurts? And I assume this is Autumn we're seeing on the corner? Patricia maybe? I dunno.

PERRY YOU DAMN IDIOT. HAVE YOU LEARNED NOTHING FROM YOUR LAST BAR FIGHT?? I don't know who this other dude is but I hope he gets Perry square in the mouth <3 please I need to see Perry get his ass handed to him

This gives me so many thoughts. Rhett's shorter hair. He's a hand holder, your honor! Sentence him to a lifetime of snuggles and interlaced fingers!

So we know that for sure, Joy will somehow return to the present timeline. I don't know who could be driving this vehicle, but it looks a lot like the one that was sitting in the Tillerson's driveway in S1. We know Billy drives the older red vehicle, so this can either belong to Luke or Trevor.

Hear me out, hear me out. We can assume that the blonde woman is Autumn, considering the whole...cult thing. We've seen a handful of scenes of her with Luke in this trailer, so what if that's him holding her hand? That hat silhouette looks an awful lot like the one we saw in S1.

Alternatively, It can also be Rebecca and Perry, but I have no evidence to back this other than the blonde hair.

*in my best patrick star voice* WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE?

I cannot be convinced that this is a real scene. It's gotta be some kind of dream that Royal is having, especially when you take note of the little white things floating around. It gives a sort of dreamy effect.

THIS IS SHERRIF JOY! Not only is the outfit the same in the following scene (not the one of her running lmao, that's just to show you what the gun looks like), but you can see the gun on her hip.

The hand on Rhett's throat is smaller than his is. Look how thick his fingers are compared to the mystery ones. I'm betting my left foot that this is a female character doing this to him. Autumn and Rebecca are on my list of suspects.

But also, what the hell is he looking at? Never once is he looking at the person doing this to him; he's looking at something behind the camera. Baby, what did they do to you this season?? 😭

I hit my picture limit, but Wayne (I think) diving into the hole made me giggle. He picked such an iconic pose.

Someone says quote "Time reveals all." But I don't think we've heard this voice before?? Who the hell is speaking?

This final shot is insane. Don't know who is coming out, presumably Perry or Wayne, but you could ABSOLUTELY spin Outer Range as a horror if you really wanted to. The elements are all there; they just need a little reworking!

[leporellian]

warrior cats: the prophecies begin 🤝 das rheingold (the ring cycle opera no. 1)

introduces a protagonist and other introductory characters

protagonist of this piece will die in the fourth one

”what is the problem with this villain?” It’s never explained he just decides to be a tyrant. Ok

major conflict stemming from leader characters being unable to figure out how to reward labor

fire as a metaphor i wonder if that’ll come back or something

”we need to infiltrate the enemy’s base” - protagonist who is also a noted leader and absolutely will be immediately recognized once he is seen in the enemy base

warrior cats: the new prophecy 🤝 die walkure (ring cycle opera no. 2)

one of this one’s protagonists is the daughter of the first one’s protagonist and their conflict is a central part of the story

Its Imperative These Two People Fall In Love For Some Heavenly Reason But Someone Or Other Is Not A Fan Of It

-The Bond Of Sisterhood-

Twins With Weird Bonds (in one of these works the implication here is way worse)

sudden marked jump in how much of the plot is some kind of relationship drama

unlike the first one which is kind of standalone this one feeds directly into the third one

warrior cats: the power of three 🤝 siegfried (ring cycle opera no. 3)

focus on the offspring of the second one’s protagonists

protagonist is. fearless idiot warrior guy who is super strong but terrible in personal relationships. And his mentor hates him so so much

Minor guy from the first one comes back as the main villain of this one and then immediately like dies

some of the characters from the second one are back and still plot relevant

coming of age bent???????

”i gotta find out who my real parents are!!”

warrior cats: omen of the stars 🤝 gotterdammerung (ring cycle opera no 4)

Everybody Is Here! Except for the protagonist from the first one like he’s not dead (yet) or anything but he sure as shit isn’t involving himself in this round of drama

basically this is just about the same set of guys as the third one there isn’t really a generation timeskip or anything

Remember the main villain from the first one? He’s back! Maybe? Now with his EVIL SON ✅

A main protagonist of the third one gets unceremoniously killed by said evil son. Ok

”we need to kill god”

Despite the fact that cataclysmic warfare is happening most of the plot is about random relationship drama

ends with the death of the protagonist in the first one, and his death is made clear to the audience w/ fire

Ahhhh fuck everything’s on fire. Wait a minute is that what the fire metaphor was about

Rebirth metaphor is in there but the writer is being all vague about it

What did we learn from this?:

Nothing i just wasted 5 minutes of your time

[yall-hate-kids-tourney]

Loser Round 1: Eridan Ampora (Homestuck) vs. Tails Nine (Sonic the Hedgehog)

Propaganda below the cut

Eridan Ampora:

Eridan is someone who is pushed into a role in his society that he feels he needs to act a certain way to play properly. In his society, if you don't live up to certain expectations, you will likely be literally killed - so in his mind, it is a matter of life and death. He preaches about being genocidal and racist, but never acts on his words. He's never taught how to treat others kindly, just treated like shit himself, even when he's TRYING to be kind or serious or ask for something. And then, when he cracks under the stress of their circumstances and genuinely loses control of himself, falling Grimdark, the fandom demonizes him for his actions (killing and attempting to kill a few other characters). The fandom tends to either ignore, deny, or not realize that he went Grimdark - as this is a more subtle situation than the other time we see it, where it's bluntly stated, whereas with Eridan it's based exclusively on the colors used. He's just...a kid who wasn't taught right from wrong. When it comes down to it, he needed help that he wasn't getting, and a large portion of the fandom hates him for the actions that stemmed from this.

Tails Nine:

it might just be me, but i still keep seeing posts where nine is just summarized as "tails but emo" and it. kinda ticks me off because. nine is very obviously a version of tails that didn't have a sonic – or anyone – to save him, so he grew to rely on himself and *only* himself, and it shows.

there's just... it could've been so easy for the tails we know to have become just like nine if it weren't for sonic. nine never had a sonic to protect him, so he made himself seven metallic tails to utilize instead. nine never had a sonic who made him be proud of his tails, so he makes it look like he only has one. nine never had a sonic who made him feel loved, so he stuck to the ground, because reaching for the sky is something only idiots can hope for.

until he met sonic.

and god, just watching the episodes where these two interact can make your heart feel *so* warm, because nine is finally getting the love he deserves. you watch him reach for the instinctive snark before being shocked by sonic's genuine kindness. you watch him praise sonic even if they had only just met because finally, finally someone cares about him. you watch him *fly*, in front of sonic, and only in front of sonic.

of course, good things can't last forever.

[sonic prime major spoilers territory, don't read unless you've watched all of s2]

this fox has been beaten down by the world around him, it should come as no surprise that when he found out what the full extent of what he could do with the shards is, that his first idea was to create the ideal world out of a wasteland just for him and sonic. only them. because sonic was the only one who showed him kindness. hell, he even remembered the palm trees sonic mentioned. the ideal world just for him and the hedgehog that insists that he's his friend.

and that's where their views collide.

because while nine wants what he never had, sonic wants what he lost.

and doesn't that just hurt? it's rejection. something that he's grown used to. because as much as sonic tries, he never saw nine more than just another alternate version of tails. all those words of his were for someone nine wasn't.

it's rejection, and it just confirms to nine what the world forced him to believe.

he's all on his own.

it's really no wonder he took control of the shards to create his own paradise.

(side note: i don't *fully* blame sonic for this either. while yes, it's primarily his fault, i feel like he's been dealing with the consequences plenty by now. he's just doing his best to fix things back to the way it was before. sonic may be fast, but even a few days isn't enough to process all of that for the world's fastest hedgehog.)

[suguru-getos]

Oh. INTRESTING. I just realised I should think about self ships more 😭 but okay here we go 😎

my self ship would be with Suguru. Definitely. Not the cult leader tho 😭 just a little rewind right there. You see the high school Suguru? Yeah cool. I only claim him.

>>> How would be better like when I'm off?

It'd definitely hurt him too with me. (because that's what I've seen with people around me, you know when that loud and bubbly one goes silent ?! Even though you know they'd be fine it's just so ouch. As if something's missing. Yeah, my personality is more or less like Satoru, he's ENTP I'm ENFP. which by the way, did you know? Fits INTJ in compatibility better hehe yeah I see him as a threat so what? 😤) and since his rationality is something I"d value, he'd have to do the tougher job of being my backbone rather than getting away with just sympathizing and giving me rational and "harsh truth" perspectives when I come to him with the problem that's bothering me. He knows if tries to be soft with me or bullshit me with sympathy I'd see it right away. So that.

>>> I HC our relationship to be such that it makes everyone jealous because he's definitely smiling and laughing around me more (not because he's smitten or sth, because I'm his personal clown ✨). That's what I am about most of the times. Hyped up over the smallest things. Hehe.

>>> Jealous. Huh. Interesting. I'm a women in stem, and you must know how the ratio is always so heavy on men"s side. So naturally I have a lot of them hitting on me at all the points of time. 😂

>>>And another thing is, I'm an extrovert socialising with people all the time so he might be annoyed on how to get my attention on him out of all the other people i hangout with (Again, not my words 😂😭) little does he know he has all of it since day 1. But that'd be only an issue before we get together, because he'd never know if I view him differently/romantically or not 😭 because "you're this energetic with everyone. How am I to know?"

>>> I and Satoru would definitely always be bickering over how he lets me get away with spam texting but not him. Hehe. Suguru's reasoning? "You're annoying, she's not *shrug*"

I say I don't think any self ships but then I go on full on spam mode (I hope you don't mind it, if you do please be honest about it and lmk like "I just asked for headcanons not a ONESHOT you idiot🔪) somehow wow😭 but yeah. That's how I see it, sunshine x grumpy (kind of?) Trope.

(Which made me think, neither of us actually like yapping about ourselves too much so we'd just be having hours and hours of discussions about different topics. The quality time discussion is a love language kinda couple. )

Now YOUR TURN. *hands over the pen*

lmfaoooo why not the cult leader sugu? he has such a dominant rizzly energy my self ship revolves around him and i’d bark like an animal for cult leader sugs 🙇🏻‍♀️🥹

-> also that’s so cute omg?? i am an intj/entj hybrid so i love myself enfps 🫵🏻 they bring such a lovely vibe around. (my irl best friend is an enfp) & i’d die for her. <33 suguru would love you so much, you’d be his breath of fresh air & when you go down, so does his existence. i hc him as super empathetic to people he cares about, so if you’re down, he’s rock bottom. :33 hello 👋 another stem major here’s your crown 👑 gorgeous ‼️ i’ve graduated in 2022 from stem so i know how the life’s like. 😉 suguru would be disgustingly jealous fr fr you attract everyone with your positivity.

-> suguru would definitely appreciate your bickering with satoru & blabbering. it would make him feel good that two of the people he loves the most are talking/being together 💋

grumpy x sunshine is my favorite troupe so this post made me intensely happy. 🪷🥰 also, that’s alright for the long post, only made fun of how people can see a character so similarly yet so differently!!

-> as of my own self ship headcanons, i’ll post them cus i’d yap more than you istg 😭 he’d love when i wear a saree tho ‼️🙇🏻‍♀️

[transfemmbeatrice]

parker's personal much ado primer

i'm gonna keep posting much ado shit so here is some background on my personal favorite interpretation of the characters; this is not a primer on the actual play and these opinions somewhat differ from my like. canonical readings of these characters. this is what my personal action figures are like when i'm talking about aus. i'm mostly leaving physical descriptions out bc they can vary quite a bit.

when i say "we" i mean me and my wonderful spouse @zaxal because so much of this we sort of developed together over the years and none of these characters would be quite who they are to me without them.

Beatrice: beatrice is a trans woman to me!! i talked about this a bunch here. she will also always have red hair to me (thanks catherine tate for that one). she's hot, she's confident, she doesn't give a fuck what anyone thinks about her, she has relatively good judgement, she sometimes struggles to be vulnerable or soft with other people, she loves hero more than anything. she's also arrogant as hell! and often quite angry. beatrice is all fire all the time, she is alive and loud and proud and really likes having the last word. you will always know when she is in the room.

Benedick: oh this man is such a slut. grade a whore. pansexual as shit too. always cracking jokes to cover his own insecurities, desperately needs to be liked or if not that at least the center of attention--even if people don't like him, if they're thinking about him and watching him, that's good enough. he loves being witty and he is prideful and acts somewhat detached when in reality he feels things the Most and gets desperately attached to people and doesn't truly believe they could love him back.

Pedro: strong sense of duty. pedro is one that tends to vary more wildly because we've fallen into "suffocated by responsibility and shitty father, actually kinda shy and dumb and kind" which i love but in the play he is mostly just kinda shitty but i don't WANT him to be, so sometimes we try to lean more into the shitty side of him but often he is an earnest idiot (affectionate)

John: as mentioned in my beatrice post, i hc him as a trans man! sometimes more genderfluid or nonbinary. he's quiet, serious, and calm, and has been done fucking dirty by his dad/the world. generally our thought is that he was raised by his mom until about age 12 when she died and he got dumped on the palace steps and the king extremely resented taking him in and everyone was shitty to him because he's illegitimate. everyone thinks he's a villain and he knows he'll never convince them otherwise so he doesn't try; he just keeps to himself and doesn't form many attachments.

Hero: usually soft spoken but whip smart, doesn't like a lot of attention, stem major, big lesbian facing comphet vibes. she and beatrice are basically sisters. she's insightful but she doesn't share those insights with most people, and is by far the one who calls beatrice on her shit the most. we've ended up friendshipping hero and john because they're both such flat characters who exist at the whims of others and i love the idea of two wallflowers finding each other.

Claudio: obviously the villain. there are lots of different approaches to this--he might be an entitled golden boy, or a rich kid not used to hearing no, or an incel--but essentially he's a bully. i think its most interesting when he appears very nice at first and then when there's any amount of pushback things get ugly but i hate him so much i often make him pretty rancid from the start.

Margaret: outgoing and fairly relaxed, a jock, bi, in love with hero.

Conrade: john's bf, utterly loyal, and by a twist of fate it has become a running joke that he has tumblr disease (purple eyes/white hair). we usually depict him as similar to john--stolid, serious, not interested in taking anyone's shit, but lately i've been wondering if maybe he should be the bright sunshine in contrast to john.

Borachio: essentially a stray dog john and conrade adopted. he comes and goes. he's a mess.

Antonio: beatrice's surrogate parent, and elder queer genderfuck who uses ve/vir pronouns. general chaos agent.

ship abbreviations:

b&b: beatrice/benedick bbp: beatrice/benedick/pedro benepedro: take a guess beap: beatrice/pedro heromeg: hero/margaret johnrade: john/conrade

[thesherrinfordfacility]

am i missing something in kinda comparing the entire maggie and nina situation to paris? 'cause there was no need to get them to fall in love. a&c might not be able to make people actually feel it, but they seem to have mind control down pat without much effort (or any moral quandaries). they could have waited for an angel to show up and just faked it- easy, certain way out. it's not like the idea of working together like that is even weird, not after the gabriel miracle.

so. either they missed it, which is plausible, and uhhh, renders this whole ask pointless, or *would* have moral issues with it (also plausible💀), or they're being completely ridiculous again, and would rather plan balls than actually make an effort to get themselves out of Mortal Fucking Peril (not that aziraphale necessarily knows it is). i think it would fit the pattern, honestly- when not having huge blowouts over *problems of their own making* (hey aziraphale kill this kid it'll be fine, aziraphale why won't you ditch earth with me, crowley why won't you come to heaven with me), the ineffables always seem to be constantly, aggressively orbiting eachother, making heart eyes and goofing off (cough end of the resurrectionists "not kind" cough) with 0 regard for safety except for the (very very sadly i can't find the -ennial word for every other century) occasional heart attack, and then just skipping right back down the aisle.

(hope this is coherent, i've been editing things a little too long to tell)

hello @aq-uatic my darling!!!💕

(bby im so sorry!!! i thought i had posted this ages ago and i went rooting around in the drafts to continue something else and realised i hadn't!!! im an idiot sorry!!!)

i think there is some context behind aziraphale's actions in particular with this scene:

we know that aziraphale has a fondness for maggie, that i'd argue goes slightly beyond the fondness he has for humans in general (and even then that's questionable at times), and he seems genuinely put out that he's not in a position to help her - to wiggle his fingers about, and make it happen for her (horrifying implications, aziraphale, but we move). so, whilst aziraphale obviously is prompted into the whole 'lets-make-these-two-humans-fall-in-love-bc-that's-totally-normal-and-okay' by holding the everyday record back in the bookshop, i think there is an element of aziraphale genuinely wanting to help her, and coming up with the ball is his interpretation of an organic way to do that (💀). but it doesn't justify the whole thing one little bit; despite the possibility of that being his intention, it's completely batshit - nina certainly didnt know, let alone consent, to anything, and maggie didn't either; they're not dolls for either of them to play around with.

essentially though, i agree - any logical, coherent, sensible thinking would have probably just helped them arrive at a solution that didn't involve warping reality and bringing a whole room of people under a horrifying amount of hypnosis. but you have two supernatural creatures who, in a fairly major way by the time of 2023 at least, have their sense of existing amongst humanity influenced by not only the clandestine, dramatic nature of their own story, but by their tendencies towards damsel-but-not-wholly-in-distress-ing and anti-hero-at-best-ing respectively. we have to barely scratch the surface to see the intertextuality between these traits of theirs, and where they might stem from stories told in certain books and movies (emma by jane austen, and james bond spring to mind).

they constantly talk in riddles to each other, in code and in double meanings - they may somewhat understand the general sense of what the other is saying, but it's not categorical and leaves too much room for error or misinterpretation (which, ultimately, it does). it's a constant dance circling each other, ebbing and flowing, pulling in and drawing back, but never coming together properly; it's a quadrille vs. a waltz.

it makes sense that they are so used to finding the most roundabout and convoluted ways to do things, and this continues into s2, because not only is it how it tends to go down in fiction, but also because that's literally how they've had to exist - not only so their closeness isn't detected, or so their true natures aren't suspected by their respective head offices, but also by nature of being literal supernatural creatures living amongst humans - sleeper agents, of a kind - and constantly having to exist without detection.

none of this makes it right, of course not - but i actually don't think they see any other way of going about things. they're so good at it, so well practiced, that (as just two examples) they run verbal rings around gabriel/metatron (book) and beelzebub chattering about the great vs. ineffable plans at the airfield, and they dance around the most straightforward solution to the maggie/nina problem. as for themselves and their relationship, they dont speak plainly to each other until the bandstand or final fifteen... and even then, i feel like its aziraphale that is maybe the first to break and speak plainly? idk:

i think it's clear that crowley is the more scared, and therefore the more cautious, in this regard. for all his objections attempting to distance himself as an angel compared to crowley's being a demon, aziraphale feels to me that he is the more inclined to throw caution to the wind. i think its because crowley understands the danger in blowing their cover a little more than aziraphale does - aziraphale on multiple occasions slips in nearly admitting their closeness (1800, end of 1827 as you pointed out, and when meeting with the archangels in heaven in s1) - and is still stuck in the safety that dancing around what should be plainly said affords them. they both - as you wonderfully put it - aggressively orbit each other, and breaking the holding pattern comes a little too late.

so no, i think your drawing the parallel between the Weird-Ass dynamic in 1793, how they handle the maggie/nina storyline, and then how they behave with each other, is very apt! but its, at this time, arguably all that they've known - acting in this way - and breaking the cycle is starting to happen, but won't pay its dividends until s3✨

[zoobus]

This is not me talking myself down but I can't really understand a lot of things you say because you have a bigger vocabulary and idk, you seems like write really well and I don't know if I don't understand some things properly bc English isn't my first language or... for some other reason, like a deficit or something... But what I understand though, I tend to agree with you and even when I don't agree I still like to think about it. Well, with all of this unnecessary and unasked information, I'll like to ask what you meant by your post about Nope (2022)? What was your interpretation? Tbh, to this day, I don't think it's a commentary about minorities. The only thing I think it could be seem like that is that thing with their father. Like, black people invented a lot of things and they were the first to do a lot of things, but they didn't get the recognition or the money they deserved most of the time so there's that. Often than that, I just think that the cast is black and there's the other dude who's not white... I don't remember much but I remember commenting with my brother that I thought it was cool that they were just, a diverse cast, with two black protagonists but they were just living their life and something fucked-up (presented itself as an opportunity) happened, that I thought it was cool that Jordan Peele didn't want to make the movie about racism. He does that greatly, but I believe black people want movies in which they are the ones acting/writing/producing/directing to be as diverse and full of possibilities as it always has been for white people, like, they want to have the opportunity to be in every possible story. True to be told, I'm not black... Or technically I am,,, second to some governmental organizations... Well, I'm pardo (kind of like mulatto), mother is black and father is white. I'm just saying this bc in Brazil, if you're pardo, chances are that you live like black people just with some more passability and has it easier than black people (pessoas retintas) but if you have any racial/class consciousness you understand some things that I'm afraid other mixed countries don't understand as well. But we're still racists as fuck so... I just rambled, idk. So what about Nope?

For me, part of the fun of movies and books is reading what other people took got from it. I love reading takes I would never imagine on my own, I love disagreeing with the consensus, and generally I think I’m able to consider, sympathize, and engage with opinions that differ from mine without losing confidence in my own interpretation.

So when I turned to Nope essays and the vast majority of them took it as a reflection of racial politics… I’m not exaggerating when I say I had a minor spiral. Was I stupid? Was I actually stupid? I didn't get any of that. I’m black. I’m privileged as hell, but I am African-American. I loved Get Out. Am I genuinely just a fucking moron who missed the obvious? Picking up media subtext is MY thing. That’s the one thing I’m good at. I had to rewatch Nope to prove I’m not an idiot. I must have been tired that day.

And maybe I am an idiot who missed all the subtext, but I’m more confident this time around saying I agree with you. I think a lot of people (including black people) are misconstruing unchangeable truths (the main characters are black) as social commentary. I think there is some amount of projection, that inclusion is inherently a political statement. Dare I say race is possibly clouding everyone’s perception. Take this popular essay excerpt:

Now look at this gif of OJ:

What about this suggests his character would have been at ease and unanxious if the crowd staring at him was black? What about him talking softly with his eyes glued to the floor suggests his discomfort stems from his marginalization as a black man? What did Peele add to his film that indicated OJ as racially-motivated-socially awkward rather than naturally awkward other than the fact that he’s black? It's plausible that racism could have made him like that but does the movie itself give us anything to make that assumption? I don’t think it does. I’ve seen some annoyed posts regarding autistic headcanons because they think these are just normal black man traits and um. No, shrinking violet who prefers animals to humans really aren't. I do know black dudes like OJ. I would not call them the Black Male Experience.

I find this viewpoint super frustrating – to plagiarize Margaret Atwood – White racism, white racism, is every fucking thing run by white racism? Pretending you have a personality of your own, that you can be an adorable, beloved Asian child star, Shy and awkward or boisterous and arrogant, it’s all motivated by white racism.

then the pa guy is confused as to where the “older one” is, clearly giving the message that he doesn’t trust oj to be a competent person. the pa sees him as an untrained boy,

reach. Ignoring the fact that people hate changes and learning your go-to expert died is a pretty significant change – oh yeah, the PA who was letting people walk directly behind a fucking horse just screamed “respectful of his subordinates/contractors if they’re white.”

The whites on the movie set were disrespectful, but imo I didn't see a compelling reason to read it as a commentary on how black men specifically are treated since the type of disrespect shown in that scene doesn’t come up for the rest of the film.

people talk about the horse, but they don’t know anything about the man riding it

None of those people knew anything about the horse. They don’t even mention the horse’s name. Like I get what you mean (jk no I don’t) but the people very much did not know or care about the horse. Here’s the script:

Emerald: Now did you know that the very first assembly of photographs in sequential order to create a motion picture was a two second clip of a Black man on a horse...? Yes it was, yes it was! Now some of y’all know Eadweard Muybridge, the grandfather of motion pictures who took the pictures that made that clip... but does anybody know the name of that Black jockey that rode the horse...? Holst: No Emerald: Nope. The first ever stunt man, animal wrangler and movie star rolled up in one and there’s almost no record of em… That man was a Bahamian jockey that went by the name of Alistair E. Haywood. My great great-grandfather.

I’m not even certain what to make of there being almost no record of him in the greater context of the movie’s themes about viewers feeling they’re entitled to consume/perceive another.

I find the assertion that the Peele made *any* parallels between the way animals are treated and the way poc are treated ungrounded. As I said in my original post, if your takeaway from Jupe’s generic sitcom and movie posters was that he’s EXACTLY as absurd as a chimp in a birthday hat, that the white family adopting an asian kid was commentary on token racism, you are literally just racist. There is nothing in this movie that suggests an insidious reason for his popularity.

The humans watch, the animals are watched until they do something drastic to make it stop. But none of the animals get characterization beyond that and none of the humans act in similar enough ways for me to derive anything from it. I don't recall anyone coercing OJ into unwanted eye contact. The glimpses we see of Jupe's childhood are of a cute kid on a corny sitcom set. The exploitation comes after the random monkey event, when SNL makes a parody skit and the world gradually forgets the gut-wrenching terror of being a little boy hearing your crush's flesh squished.

I am not saying race is irrelevant or that Peele had absolutely no intention of including subtext about black bodies or race exploitation in the film industry, but I am saying that I rewatched Nope specifically for that reading and I don’t find that reading compelling.

Unfortunately, I spent most of this complaining about what other people thought rather than my own. My interpretation was pretty surface-level. I think it was mostly about

respecting nature as it is and not what you imagine it is

somewhat about the nature of perception and how easily it’s distorted/how easy it is to believe you have a full understanding when you’ve only seen about an inch of it, and

something about feeling entitled to perceive things, idk I accept that I probably didn’t pick up on this theme as often as the director wanted me too. I’ll admit that.

[stingro]

HI MERRR hope ur doing well !!!

for the reqs- consider some remlo+right person/wrong time, or blysen+first kiss?

or anything vaguely soulmate-y is cute too ^_^

HELLO MY FRIEND SPEX ^^ i'm doing well and i hope you are doing well too!!

SORRY. OKAY I FINISHED THIS I POSTED IT WRONG. HOLD ON. Ok i did blyke/isen first kiss but tbh one day i'll go back and write a full slow burn character study about blysen in uni haha see. i'm not super proud of this but i will definitely go back one day and expand upon this completely

darling, you're a little insufferable

blysen. 1220 words.

The first thing Blyke says when he opens the door to his dorm room is, "Go away, I'm trying to finish my homework," before promptly attempting to slam the door shut right on Isen's perfect face. (Because it does make sense that despite his rotting university excuse of a student diet consisting primarily of instant noodles, diet soda, and the occasional soju bottle, Isen is still somehow the picture of health and happiness.)

Isen stops the door from slamming by poking his foot through a slit, and in one fell swoop, swings it open. Blyke groans.

"Now, hold on," says Isen, holding his hands up in surrender. "Pack your shit, we're going to Moonite Park."

"I have shit to do." He crosses his arms grumpily, looking at his desk with all of its books. "I don't have time to go out right now. I still have to maintain my grades and—"

"Whoa, whoa. Hey." His voice gets softer and he gets close to Blyke, pressing his hands into Blyke's shoulders to ease the tension. "I know you have a lot to do. But it's not good for you to stay cooped up like this. Take a break. Let's grab some boba and go to the park, and you can work there."

"But, I—"

"Get ready, go change, and we'll leave in ten minutes." Isen ruffles Blyke's hair, and maybe Blyke's tired, because he just lets him. It's formed from years of comfort. "The sun will do you some good."

Finally, Blyke sighs in defeat and shoves his hands in his pockets before going over to his closet to pick something out. "Fine. You win."

***

Through the warm sun in the middle of fall and summer and Isen's slow, soft questions, Blyke opens up a bit more on the walk to the boba shop, telling Isen about a stupid group project that only three of them have worked on in a group of eight. And Isen is the kind of person to make jokes about how he 'shouldn't have been a STEM major and done something like Drama instead', but he thinks the bags under his eyes are particularly prominent and that his posture makes him look disheveled despite the effort he put into choosing an outfit that didn't scream 'My life is falling apart and I've survived off of pure spite', because Isen just nods his head and listens quietly before offering to pay for Blyke's boba.

Blyke looks at him like he’s crazy, head splitting in two, but Isen snorts and says, “Relax, idiot. I’m not doing your homework for you.”

Blyke immediately smacks his shoulder, hard. “I know you’re not! God, don’t ruin a nice moment by opening your big, fat mouth!”

Despite that, Isen opens up his wallet and pays for both drinks at the kiosk, and when they sit down with their drinks, Blyke finally feeling the chill and tasting the richness, he starts to tear up. Not with hiccups and sniffles and a scratchy throat--just salt welling up in his eyes, burning a little, his vision blurring.

Isen looks at him in alarm, reaching his hand to press into Blyke’s own. “Hey, hey hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he chokes out, wiping away his tears with his wrists. “‘m sorry, I’m just. There’s a lot. I’ve been so tired, haven’t been sleeping well.”

"Do you…wanna sleep at the park? Under one of the trees?"

It sounds so stupid, really, because why would he sleep under a tree with itchy grass that scratches him when he has a comfortable bed? But it gets him to stop crying right then and there, so he agrees.

***

"This is…nice," he says begrudgingly, head resting on Isen's lap, backpack unopened. Blyke looks up at Isen, who's petting his hair, eyes fluttering shut. "Where's Remi?"

Isen yawns, responds, "With Arlo I think. They're getting food right now, Arlo wanted to catch up with her."

"Oh." He yawns, again, and looks at Isen's face through hazy vision. He looks so…

"I wan' a kiss…," he croaks out, covering his eyes with his forearm, chewing on his bottom lip. 

Isen sits up straight at that, eyes decidedly not shut. Asks tentatively, "...Are you sure about that?"

"Yep.

"...Okay."

So, he leans in, gives a small little peck on Blyke's lips, and sits up again.

Blyke pretends not to notice the little blush creeping on Isen's face, and turns to face away from Isen to hide the redness crawling up his neck to his cheeks.

[theroguedragon3]

Fire & Blood Vs House of the Dragon

Lucerys Velaryon’s Death Analysis

The general argument made by HOTD fans is that the book version (Fire & Blood) is unreliable narration, therefore the show is now canon, as stated by GRRM, because nobody can trust the historical recordings. While I can agree to some extent, I see it as rather an adaption rather than the facts based on the event. 

My take is ultimately due to the writers' poor choices where they decide to insert a scene with Rhaenys crashing Aegon’s coronation for shock factor (1x09). Rather than having the newly crowned King, demonstrate the strength of the Targaryen’s to the people, by flying on Sunfyre as depicted in Fire & Blood, at least give him his moment. Then they try to justify Rhaenys not burning everyone, because she was moved by Alicent protecting her son, when we know, she will die battling TWO of her sons (unless they decide to change that too). They also have her explaining to Daemon and Rhaenyra that she didn’t want to be the one to start a war, when in fact she literally would’ve ended it, because all of the major players were at the end of her dragon, due to sloppy writing. Also, earlier in the season how Crispin coleslaw had plot armor, where he beat to death the knight of kisses in cold blood murder. Don’t get me started on Larys’ foot fetish.

The season finale had its ups and downs, but it was the ending that left me annoyed that the writers decided to push yet another accidental or misunderstanding narrative. So, after processing it I decided to re-read the Storm’s End section about the confrontation between Lucerys and Aemond. I wanted to expand upon the words with my interpretation of the situation and basically vent about how the interpretation/change makes Aemond look more of a fool than Mushroom. I wouldn’t have been as heated with this change, if it wasn’t stacked upon yet other misunderstandings and accidents. This event is what sets off the chain reaction and to have it be a result of Aemond accidentally killing Luke, it completely contradicts the nature of their strained relationship and the main theme of a bloody family feud.

The tragedy that befell Lucerys Velaryon at Storm’s End was never planned, on this all of our sources agree.

Firstly, the way I interpreted this quote is that it simply is fact. Lucerys had no knowledge that Aemond was already at Storm’s End securing a marriage alliance. Aemond had no knowledge of Lucerys being sent to remind Lord Borros, on where his allegiances should lie. Hence, there was no prior knowledge to actively plan his death.

Another interpretation would be how the HOTD adaption, relies on changing Aemond’s intent. They decided to go with the route of making him a “grey” character, by having the instigating incident that sparks the civil war, stem from an accident, something out of his control. Therefore, it supports the notion of it being unplanned and portrays him as a “grey” character, who we the viewer should feel sympathy for, only for me it backfired. He was riding on a literal war dragon terrorizing a significantly smaller dragon, who has never been to war, what did he think was going to happen. This decision makes him an egotistical idiot, not long after boasting about his studies on history and philosophy (clearly, he missed out reading about his own dragon’s history), yet he couldn’t foresee things ending in tragedy. 

What was his intentions? What was his plan to chase after Luke? To scare and intimidate him, but the boy was clearly already scared back in the throne room. To torment him just for a laugh, only I had the last laugh in the end, because what did he expect Luke to do. Did he expect him to land on the rocky terrain and welcome him to rip his eye out, then continue on his journey back to Dragonstone. Did he expect to capture him, but what was his brilliant plan to do that, without getting them killed by his behemoth of a dragon. Even if it was for an eye and he managed to maim him back in the hall. Lucerys would’ve left with injuries, causing Rhaenyra to seek revenge, still sparking the war because Luke was attacked as an envoy, which is heavily frowned upon. 

The only good thing the writers highlighted from this stupid taunt chase sequence was the bond between Lucerys and his dragon. Kudos to Elliot, because he really portrayed the amount of fear the character would be feeling, as he’s being pursued by the anime villain cackling fool on Godzilla. One thing I would like to add is that Arrax didn’t go on the offense, till Aemond spoke in High Valyrian demanding that Luke owes him a debt. Lucerys’ fear and anxiety probably skyrocketed, prompting Arrax to go on the attack to defend his rider. Arrax himself would be scared, as it’s being pursued by the biggest of its kind, it knows it is prey and the predator is on the hunt. Similarly, Vhagar would be able to feel Aemond’s contempt for Luke, as she saw no problem in destroying them, after having her scales ruffled. 

 So here for once we need not rely entirely on Grand Maester Munkun, Mushroom, and Septon Eustace. None of them were present at Storm’s End, but many others were, so we have no shortage of firsthand accounts.

This passage outright illustrates that the events that took place in the hall at Storm’s End, has been recorded in history from multiple first-hand accounts. We are no longer relying on the three unreliable narrators but are given details on the conversations that occurred. Unless everyone who witnessed the events were remembering things drastically different to one another or the story was concocted by some anonymous person, I tend to put more weight that the event was documented to as close to the truth, as those who had witnessed it. Otherwise, we would’ve been provided with other versions of the conversation, to allow us to put more weight into one scenario over the other. This is illustrated when the people observe Lord Borros’ demeanour after having the message whispered to him by his maester. Some say he was red in the face, probably from anger at the threat of punishment, should he break an oath sworn by his father, while others suggest he was gloating at holding the power over the two warring houses. It is left to us the reader to determine which observations we want to believe in. 

 “Look at this sad creature, my lord,” Prince Aemond called out. “Little Luke Strong, the bastard.” To Luke he said, “You are wet, bastard. Is it raining or did you piss yourself in fear?”

Lucerys Velaryon addressed himself only to Lord Baratheon. “Lord Borros, I have brought you a message from my mother, the queen.”

“The whore of Dragonstone, he means.” Prince Aemond strode forward and made to snatch the letter from Lucerys’ hand, but Lord Borros roared a command and his knights intervened, pulling the princelings apart. One brought Rhaenyra’s letter to the dais, where his lordship sat upon the throne of the storm kings of old.

This passage offers us an insight into adult Aemond’s character. Upon seeing his nephew, within the first breath he belittles him in front of another lord, under his roof, as a guest. Lucerys ignores him, because he knows that Aemond is trying to get a rise out of him. This interaction immediately sets the tone, of the relationship between the two. In another Lord’s Hall, he can’t even reign his emotions in and behave, as he is still a guest. This is further highlighted by his actions, as he has the audacity to approach Lucerys, ready to snatch the message out of his grasp, only for Lord Borros commanding his knights to stop a possible altercation. Need I remind you Aemond is still a guest, one who has such animosity and spite, once he locked eyes on Lucerys, that performing his duty as a prince, became overruled by his impulsive nature, similar to the fight when they were children (which again is portrayed different in the show).

 But Prince Aemond drew his sword and said, “Hold, Strong. First pay the debt you owe me.” Then he tore off his eye patch and flung it to the floor, to show the sapphire beneath. “You have a knife, just as you did then. Put out your eye, and I will let you leave. One will serve. I would not blind you.”

Prince Lucerys recalled his promise to his mother. “I will not fight you. I came here as an envoy, not a knight.”

“You came here as a craven and a traitor,” Prince Aemond answered. “I will have your eye or your life, Strong.”

While the dialogue is similar to the show, the drastic difference is obviously when Aemond declares he would have Luke’s life, should he choose not to give him his eye, to avenge what happened to him. Of course, the writers had to cherry pick by cutting the end of this dialogue from the show, because there is nothing “grey” about Aemond’s intent. It is pure hatred that he feels for Luke, and it goes to further support that he is acting out of his emotions. Also branding Luke as a traitor, would give Aemond leverage to kill him, as he could justify it as serving his brother, the King, who is being “usurped” by Rhaenyra and the Blacks. This scene also serves to contrast their personalities, as Luke a 13-year-old refuses to rise to the bait, while Aemond a 19-year-old wishes to instigate a fight, while spewing threats to harm his nephew. 

Let’s say if the writers wanted to push the “grey” character narrative and include the full dialogue, along with Maris’ scene that prompts Aemond to chase after Luke on Vhagar, only to suddenly decide to torment him, cackling like a maniac, till Arrax goes rogue and retaliates, then Vhagar kills both Luke and Arrax, by accident, because he only wanted to bully him, ending with shocked Pikachu face shot. In the end, there would be no way to justify it being an accident, because the intent is clear, which the writers knew would only confuse the audience, as Aemond’s reaction would be OC, so they have to discard it.

 At that Lord Borros grew uneasy. “Not here,” he grumbled. “He came as an envoy. I want no blood shed beneath my roof.” So his guards put themselves between the princelings and escorted Lucerys Velaryon from the Round Hall, back to the castle yard where his dragon, Arrax, was hunched down in the rain, awaiting his return.

And there it might have ended, but for the girl Maris. The secondborn daughter of Lord Borros, less comely than her sisters, she was angry with Aemond for preferring them to her. “Was it one of your eyes he took, or one of your balls?” Maris asked the prince, in tones sweet as honey. “I am so glad you chose my sister. I want a husband with all his parts.”

Aemond Targaryen’s mouth twisted in rage, and he turned once more to Lord Borros, asking for his leave. The Lord of Storm’s End shrugged and answered, “It is not for me to tell you what to do when you are not beneath my roof.” And his knights moved aside as Prince Aemond rushed to the doors.

This passage essentially was the tipping point that pushed Aemond over the edge. His lack of manhood was literally insulted to his face, how could he not react. He was already agitated at the mere sight of his nephew, but hearing her taunts about a little boy (whom he despises) taking his manhood, it triggers him into seeing red. Instead of leaving straight away, he asks Lord Borros’ permission to allow him to leave, as he didn’t know if he would stop him like he had just previously done. Lord Borros wants to stay out of this feud, as he has no stake in it and clearly knew about his intentions, but wanted no blood on his hands, by suggesting he will not be responsible for Aemond’s actions once he leaves and thus the knights allow Aemond to actively go after Luke.

 It was bad weather for flying, even for a dragon, and Arrax was struggling to stay aloft when Prince Aemond mounted Vhagar and went after him. Had the sky been calm, Prince Lucerys might have been able to outfly his pursuer, for Arrax was younger and swifter…but the day was “as black as Prince Aemond’s heart,” says Mushroom, and so it came to pass that the dragons met above Shipbreaker Bay. Watchers on the castle walls saw distant blasts of flame, and heard a shriek cut the thunder. Then the two beasts were locked together, lightning crackling around them. Vhagar was five times the size of her foe, the hardened survivor of a hundred battles. If there was a fight, it could not have lasted long.

Observers notices the young dragon Arrax, struggling to navigate against the harsh winds, the pouring rain and constant lightning thundering around them. Unbeknownst to Lucerys, Aemond would be hot on his tail, coming after him with a vengeance, despite the fact he would strike the first shot against the blacks, kickstarting the civil war that both houses knew was inevitable. We are informed that the watchers on the castle walls were still able to see the confrontation, albeit at a distance, but enough to watch the blast of flames, followed by the dragons locked together in combat. After seeing Aemond rush to his dragon and fly off in pursuit of Luke, the people knew what his intentions were, once he caught up to Luke and their dragons engaged with one another.

For HOTD there is no way anyone else observe the fight, as they flew off into the storm, to the point they were literally above the storm clouds at the end of the scene. Now we are left with an accidental death, where the blacks will retaliate with intentional murder, making them appear as eviler out of the two. After all, Aemond didn’t mean to kill his little nephew, but he had no choice but to pretend he did it intentionally, carrying the stain of kinslayer everywhere he goes, only to become a maniac that commits mass murder on said dragon that he lost control of. At this point they might as well write him as losing control of Vhagar, while she burns down the Riverlands, omitting him of any responsibility, because he didn’t mean to kill thousands of people.

This whole white washing the characters intentions completely contradict the very theme of this story, which is a family feud, stemming from years of resentment that escalates into a bloody civil war. Both sides are hell bent in their beliefs on who should sit the Iron Throne, both are willing to go to extreme lengths to achieve their goals, both Alicent and Rhaenyra are ambitious, cunning and are not good people. Let the characters own their villainous characteristics, don’t strip them of their agency only to replace them, as naïve hesitant peacemakers hung up on a forgotten friendship.