#why is it so hard to admit that some people think the message was muddled/doesn't work in context??

[eugeniedanglars]

editing tvtropes is a fun hobby it’s like what if you spent hours of your free time grading middle school book reports only instead of middle schoolers they were written by adults just as pedantic and annoying as yourself and also they have the ability to delete all your feedback

[spotsupstuff]

i'm glad you enjoyed brandon F

little note about the uniform thing, the reason why he drags on a bit on that is cause he's a reenactor, 18th century uniforms are his insane obsession. he even jokes about it in the video i sent, saying "i'm finally back to my insufferable self!" when talking about the muskets

i don't blame him tbh, after watching his content for a while i had the realization that 18th century isn't like the romans, whose equipment we deduce through archeology, old sources and guess work.

like, the actual documents that standardized 18th century uniforms still exist and are not hard to access, i realized that after Brandon noted that his source was the fucking British Royal Library in London. ( i mean ffs there's literally photos of Napoleonic era vets heres a video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=npSru7xEzX8)

and i honestly think its relevant, because if a million dollar historical production didn't want to put in the effort to go to a library and get the official documents. then what else they weren't bothered to get right?

but Brandon doesn't just do historical reviews he also talks a lot about the history in general. like, why fight in lines? what were marines in the 18th century? the history of tactics. and what role did cavalry play in line warfare? for example

heavens bless people of utube that manage to get hyperfixated on one topic for basically their entire life and then proceed to make stuff about it for us to watch, right? it's a delight to listen to someone who actually enjoys the subject and their subject therefore basically guarantees the authencity of what they put out

oooh but yes, the concept itself of what we actually get to know about things in what manner is fascinating in on itself. so since i was small i had been very fascinated by chinese mythology and mythology somewhat comes along with other parts of the culture and so on. and you know how the chinese culture is one of the oldest in the world?

as a result i've somewhat grown accustomed to the numbers that are typical to the span of chinese history and now whenever i go look into the history of my own country i'm actually stumped over how recently certain things happened! then again you wouldn't believe how oppressed or manipulated slovaks had been across history. ain't that right -glares at hungary-

to what extent we know which culture's history is so wild. the ability for certain historical things to simply last is absolutely incredible (such as military uniform documents or musical pieces of 18th century). fun fact! there's still messages written in stone by the soldiers of the roman empire on slovakia's territory. right near Danube, i think, p sure i visited that

thank fuck for reliable sourcing and also thank u for that vid that's gon come in handy for clothing references at Some point, i can feel it

and you are absolutely correct, yes! it Is relevant! as mister Brandon has said, there's of course a certain leeway allowed when it comes to more kid oriented stuff, but i'll admit! i was surprised to learn that serious historical productions apparently put less effort into these kind of things than the sea beast did (i don't usually watch those kind of things, i'm very fantasy/sci-fi and cartoon focused)

this kind of muddling of history that may seem "insignificant" to money grabbing bastards really screws up the perception of the eras for people who don't really have the time or the drive to look into things themselves. it's annoying

oh while we are on this history stuff, i saw this originally in utube shorts, but Apparently they are making a netflix movie or smth about Cleopatra and they made her black?? which is weird, considering that Cleopatra was greek and all that stuff. like don't get me wrong, yes give silenced/less known cultures like black folk more space to present themselves and who they are but like don't do it in a way that heavily skews the history? why are you going out of your way to create misinformation that could heavily impact understanding of history by taking out an already famous (not poc) person instead of Actually making the space for historically important black people. like maybe why not make a movie about that one super rich king from the southwestern coast of Africa (i think) that crashed the egyptian economy twice by being just too damn generous. that would be SO much more helpful to black peeps' history than shoving a black person into the place of a white one

i swear films nowadays either lack soul, heart, spine or brain like 98% of time

[liibrii]

Chapter 2: Tattered 

Ojiro Aran x fem!reader

Series Masterpost || Ch. 1

wc: 3.2k

warnings: swearing, internalised guilt and shame, intrusive thoughts, self doubt, depression.

a/n: I don’t really have anything to say other than I’m enjoying writing for Aran so much. if you wanna be tagged in future chapters lemme know, and as always feedback is greatly appreciated! 

Aran knows people don't always mean what they say.  Even he had done it before and it destroyed a few of his relationships. Knowing that doesn't make your words hurt any less.

He tries to convince himself you didn't really mean it, still a part of him wonders if that's how you really feel. How you've always felt. For all those years he was assured of your friendship and now you've pulled the rug from under his feet. None of your words align with the image in his head. Perhaps you've never been the person he remembers. The you in his mind is just that, a memory, a perfect picture he created from bits and pieces he chose. Has he truly always seen only what he wanted to see?

Thoughts of you run through his mind as he stands on the back line. One more serve before he wraps up. Bam.

To always see good in people is what he was thought growing up and what he still tries to do to this day, even if years had thought him people aren't only their good sides. He always thought of you only at your best and failed to even get to know you properly. What kind of friend does that? You're in pain and he can't help because he has no idea where the wounds are. He has no idea where to look for them because he refused to see. 

Perhaps he is a terrible friend after all.

Bam. The ball gets caught in the net and falls. Aran watches it roll away before picking up another. He breathes deeply. It's all about focus, he reminds himself, even when his mind wants to slip he has to remain focused.

All of his teammates have left already. Home, to their partners, their families. What will he return home to? An empty apartment with take-out he'll eat on the couch. Alone. Maybe he should get a pet. But when will he have time to care for it?

Bam.

He should call home. Check on his friends. Maybe if he had checked on you more often then-

Bam.

What use is pondering over what could've been? With each serve his palm aches more, his muscles already sore from practice but he doesn't want to stop yet. One more.

“There's a difference between training hard and overdoing it, you know?“

Perhaps life is just memories of days long gone sipping into present.

When he turns to face you uneasiness rises in him. Any other time he'd be elated to see you. Now even words to greet you with escape him. You come closer, shoes softly squeaking on the gym's floor. “Doorman let me in. After a little bit of convincing.“

“Really?“

“No, I slipped past while his back was turned. How long are you planning on staying? I saw all of your teammates leave already.“

Aran turns the ball in his hands. It's becoming slippery from all the sweat. He can't bring himself to look you in the eyes. “My serves are gettin' sloppy. I need more practice.“

Bam.

You stay where you are, watching and fiddling with the strap of your bag, until you can't bear the silence anymore and speak up. “Aran, I actually wanted to talk to you. About you know... what I said.“

“T's okay. I know ya didn't mean it.“

“I did.“ Your voice eerily echoes in the otherwise empty gym. “As shitty as it is, it's how I felt.“ You're eyes stay fixed on the floor. “I'm sorry.“

Aran catches the ball he just threw in the air for another jump serve. When he looks over at you you're still intently focused on your shoelaces, gripping the strap of the bag so tight your knuckles turned white. Why are you beating yourself up so much? If you feel something, you feel it. What reason for it do you need to have? Knowing how you felt hurts, that much he can't deny. And yet he can't hold it against you.

He puts the ball on the top of your head, just like boys used to do back in high school to annoy you. “If ya really insist on apologisin' then I guess I have no other choice but to forgive ya.”

As his words sink in you shyly glance at him. “You sure?“

“'Course I am,“ smiles Aran, balancing the ball so it doesn't roll from the top of your head.

“You're not angry? At me?“

He takes the ball and starts throwing it from one hand to another. “Not really. Very surprised. A little hurt.“

“I'm sorry-“

“Yeah, yeah, I know,“ he cuts you off. “Set for me and we'll call it even.”

“Aran, my sets are in no way near the level you're used to.“

“So?“ he asks already walking over to fetch the ball cart. “Ya still remember where to stand, right?“ he teases, cackling softly when you roll your eyes and take off your bag and jacket, all while trying to hide a smile creeping on your lips.

It takes a few tries for you to remember how to make an overhand set. Aran's filled with giddy warmth when you manage to send the ball in the right position for him to spike it over the net. Perhaps all those lessons with Atsumu years ago didn't go to waste after all. Your little victory jump makes him burst into laughter and he rewards you with a high five.

It really is an echo of history.

Your skills are rusty, something that makes you apologise profusely every time you mess up, even after he reassures you he doesn't mind, and ruffles your hair.

With each set you relax more, till every smile and laugh seem sincere. Only now Aran realises how he missed this carefree side of you. Time always flies too fast when you're around and soon enough, out of breath and wiping the drops of sweat from your forehead, you call an end of this individual practice.

He hurries with showering and changing into fresh clothes, not wanting to leave you waiting for too long, especially since you have morning lessons tomorrow. He buys you a drink from the vending machine. It's not much, but staying hydrated is important, he tells you when you tease him about it.

“You know, that brought back a lot of memories,“ you say while walking to the train station, then poke his shoulder. “Thanks.“ The smile dancing over your lips makes his cheeks warm up. You glance over to the sky hiding behind a golden halo that city lights cast over the rooftops. “Do you ever miss Hyogo?“

“Sometimes.“

“I miss the stars.“ You kick a small stone from your path. “You've become quite a star too you know. With all the fans and attention I really wonder, do you get lonely?”

Your question catches him off guard. “I'm too busy to get lonely,“ he lies.

“I get lonely sometimes,“ your eyes still search for a glimmer of a distant star. “And tired. Some days I just want to sleep all day. Do you ever get the urge to do that? Skip practice and stay in bed?“

“No. If I skipped practice how will I become better?”

You purse your lips and nod. “That's why you're a professional athlete and I'm just trying to figure out why I have to separate blue and red laundry.“

“Those are two very different things.“

“Both are just some pieces of cloth. Why do I have to separate them? If they got problems with each other they should grow up and talk it out.” 

That’s not what he meant, but your slight annoyance over technicalities of doing laundry still makes him laugh.

In the coming days Aran checks his phone every chance he gets, just to see if you already wrote back. No matter what you talk about he wants to hear it; be it about your day or the delivery man being late with your order. His teammates notice and tease him about it yet he denies you're anything more than just a friend, and they exchange knowing looks when his back is turned. Even if his entire body heats up at the sole mention of your name Aran isn't ready to admit to himself, let alone others, he wants you to be more.

Not when he isn't sure if his feelings for you are being muddled by his memories.

That Tuesday you grab a dinner together that turns into a late night walk through the streets. It's not a date, Aran keeps reminding himself. It's just two friends hanging out as you've done a thousand times before. So why is his heart threatening to thump it's way out of his chest?

After that night weekly hanging out with you becomes a regular occurrence. Sometimes you go out to eat, sometimes you drag him along when you go shopping, saying he has a good eye for colour combinations. It has nothing to do with the fact he buys you ice cream every time. Some days you come to his place to play video games or watch movies. Seeing his favourite series making you laugh warms his heart.

As you become more comfortable around him your facade slowly, bit by bit, starts to crumble. He's scared to see what lies beneath yet at the same time he wishes it would break already. He can't help you if he doesn't know, can he?

Whatever is troubling you he wishes you'd trust him enough to confide in him. In the back of his mind lingers the question he's too scared too ask.

Does Kita know what's on your mind? Do you still talk to him?

You used to be close to the team. The one they relied on. The one who so lovingly tapped their fingers before each game. Do they know your eyes are puffy? Do they know every sleepless night that goes by makes the dark circles under your eyes harder to hide? Do they know his heart breaks every time he sees the tremble of your lips when you force a smile?

No matter how bad he wants to hold you, tell you it's going to be okay, the mere thought of reaching out paralyses him.

What if you don't want his help?

If you did, you would've asked already, right? Not even practice can stop him from thinking about you. His disappointment grows a little when he sees no new messages. Perhaps you don't want to talk to him after all.

He's just leaving the gym when his phone lights up and seeing it's your name makes his heart flutter. He eagerly picks up. “Hi!“

“H-hey.“ Already in the first word the strain in your voice is apparent. “Um, am I interrupting you?“

“No, of course not. I just finished with practice. What's up?“

“I-“ He hears you take a deep breath. “Um, I don't, I don't feel so good...“ Your next words are almost a whisper. “Could I come over?“

“'Course ya can come over. I'll be home in about an hour.“

By the time he arrives you're already there, standing by the entrance nervously stepping from one leg to another. You give a shy wave when he approaches. He noticed you've been acting weirdly sheepish around him and he's not used to it. You're friends. What's making you so nervous?

You trail behind him, hands tucked deep in your pockets. You don't even pull them out when taking your shoes off.

“Tea?“ he offers when you make your way towards the sofa.

“Sure,“ you nod, sitting and tightly hugging a pillow. “Sorry about that,“ you say when he joins you with two cups of tea, “I just... bad day, you know? Didn't want to be alone.“

With a smile he assures you it's no problem. You're welcome to come by whenever you want.

You tell him about college, about work. “Boss is a shit bag,“ you complain. The working hours make you late for your lessons and even professors are getting fed up with you always being late. Not to mention your classmates aren't keen on lending you notes to copy.

It's all too much, you say, work, college, the pressure of everyone's expectations. Your fellow students give you funny looks sometimes, you tell him. It's only a few years but you're still older than them, at the age where your parents are asking when you are going to settle down. Have children. Get a stable job. Well how could you when you haven't even gotten your degree yet? It all makes you feel like a failure.

And yet something tells Aran that's not why you're here. Maybe it's the nervous fumbling with the hem of your clothes. Maybe it's because you don't look at him at all. A silence falls on you as you sip your tea. Aran considers asking out right but you gather the courage before he does.

“Shin called.“  

“Ah.“ That's all he manages to say.

“He's doing good, in case you're wondering. He asked if we have any plans on visiting any time soon.“ Your eyes skim over his face. “That would be nice, don't you think?“

Aran forces a smile. “Sounds great.“ Once again your words threaten to shake the ground he stands on. All he hears is 'seeing Shin would be nice'. His grip on the cup tightens and he puts it away before he'd crack it.

“Do ya miss him?“ he asks, words coming out more choked up than he intended. He clears his throat when he leans back on the couch's backrest.

You think over his question. “I miss my best friend.“

He asks. Even if he doesn't want to know the answer, he asks. “Will you get back with him?“

“No.“ Your answer is quiet, but firm. You readjust yourself to lean on the backrest, facing him, the pillow still tightly squeezed in your grip. “Shin is a great guy just... not the right for me. Wasn't easy to accept but that's how it is.“ You fumble with the thread sticking out from the stitch. “I wasn't good for him, you know?“ you quietly continue. “He protected me since we were kids but at some point it all just... fizzled I guess. I was so used of always being by his side the thought of living without him terrified me. He was that stability I craved. For a long time I believed he would give me a goal in life, or something similar.“ You chuckle. “Try getting through seventeen-year-old-me's head that's not how relationships work. I knew we wouldn't work out. But I stayed because I was selfish and stupid... and scared. I think he knew. And it started to take a toll on him. So I left before he'd break.“ Tears start forming in your eyes. “Shin could never understand why I'm so sad without a reason... Maybe if I left sooner... well, it doesn't matter now.“

“Ya can still go back,“ hearing his own words shatters Aran's heart, “once ya feel better.“

The brief laugh you give almost sounds like a sob. “Can I?“ You forcefully wipe the tears away. “Even if I could it wouldn't be the same as I remember now. It's hard to explain but somehow, what’s in your memories is always better than reality. Know what I mean?“

He knows. Memory is the thief of future.

The lump in his throat grows larger, heavier as he watches you try to hide tears starting to run down your cheeks. He's lost, not knowing what else to do but to pull you closer, tucking your head under his chin. He hugs you and softly caresses your back. “It's alright,“ he whispers when you apologise through sobs and tears. He keeps repeating, it's alright. What else could he possibly say?

You relax in his arms and your sobs slowly turn to muffled sniffles. Aran only wishes you feel safe in his arms, your head leaning on his shoulder, your arms shyly wrapping around his middle. It's not the most comfortable position but he's to scared to readjust. He hears your hitched breathing sync with his own as he runs his hands up and down your back and, exhausted from your crying, you're soon fast asleep.

Perhaps for the first time in his life Aran's starting to really understand you. It pains him, knowing your struggles. You, who were always so full of light, you who were the pillar, tall and unyielding, one he could always lean onto. How memories managed to muddle his perception of you so much is beyond him. The only thing he can do is promise himself to never let them deceive him again. After all, who needs memories?

He messages you more frequently. Not too frequently, he doesn't want to appear nosy or pushy. Just often enough to let you know he's there for you if you need him.

You've been busier with college lately, so weekly hang outs turn to late night phone calls. Hearing your voice feels like a refreshing cool breeze on these hot summer nights.

He collapses in his bed, only half listening to your rambling on about one of the professors. He didn't catch her name.

“Aran? You still there?“

“Yeah, I'm still here. T's been a long day, t's all.“

He hears you hum and he can imagine the way you lean your head to the side. “Coach in a bad mood?“

“Not really. I'm just not feelin' my best. Couldn't sync with Aritsura's sets. But ya know, more practice 's all we need. How was your day?“ he asks, forgetting you just told him a few minutes ago.

“It was alright,“ you say instead of repeating what you already told him. “Actually, I wanted to apologise. About last time. I shouldn't have dumped all my problems on you.“

“How many times do I need to repeat it's okay. I'm here for ya.“

“Still. I'm sorry. It was a lot. I... I don't want to be a burden.“

His brows furrow. How many times does he have to repeat it? Why don't you get it? “Yer not.“ Your low chuckle makes him irritated . “I mean it. If ya ever need to talk just say, alright?“

“Yeah, yeah I will... Thank you. It's just that... I don't want to ruin this friendship too. That's all. Tell me when I become too much. Please.“

What are you talking about? “Whatever is on yer mind I promise I can handle it.“

“Can you? So you not being able to play your best has nothing to do with me dumping all my problems on you?“

Something in the way you say those words pushes the wrong button. He's only trying to be here for you, why can't you see that? “I don't care enough to let it impact me.“ Fuck. Even before the final word leaves his mouth he knows it came out wrong. “I'm sorry, fuck, y/n, I didn't mean it like that-“

“It's okay,“ you interrupt. “You're right.“

“I'm-“

“Get some sleep Aran. You have practice tomorrow. G' night.“ You end the call before he gets the chance to say goodbye.

Fuck.

Ch. 3: In the light, your name

Tags: @rosecaffelatte, @aonenthusiast