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#also me: writes an essay

inkykeiji · 1 year

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i don’t even want to fuCKING TALK ABOUT IT

bnha manga spoilers!

geT THE FUCK OUT OF HERE HE’S SO CUTE AND HE’S SO TINY NEXT TO HIS DADDY AND NATSUO LIKE !!!!!!!!!!!!!!! this is touya-nii like this is touya-nii, minus the tattoos over the scars that’s exactly how i see him; his exact height, his fluffy hair!!!!!!!!!!!! little tufts curling up at the base of his skull!!! get the FUCK out of here!!!!!

i genuinely cannot do this my heart can’t handle it i feel like i need to go into hiding for a million years just to process this single panel also what the fuck is going ON in this chapter i’m so confused and like sincerely terrified with how this whole family’s story is going to end?????

i just want dabi to get the ending he, as a character, deserves—meaning i want it to be well-written and impactful and fucking heart wrenching. i don’t want something happy and fluffy and unrealistic and fan-servicey. i want horikoshi to rip my heart from between my ribs with his bare hands, stomp on it with dabi’s big black boots, set fire to it and then eat the ashes. i want to be sobbing; full on chest shuddering ribs rattling voice shattering sobs that hurt so much they leave my throat raw and my entire body trembling. so i hope he can pull it off LMAO we’ll see

i feel like it’s kind of like a catharsis thing??? dabi is my favourite character of all time and he means so fucking much to me and he (+ the todoroki fam in general) brings me so much comfort it’s actually insane. but i would rather his story have a GOOD, absolutely heartbreaking but impactful and meaningful ending than he get some sort of bullshit happy-go-lucky ending that doesn’t at all fit with his story of tragedy and trauma or do it justice. to me, dabi’s story is a cautionary tale; shouto’s story is the story of forgiveness and redemption. but i guess we’ll see what happens~

#this is me just RAMBLING #me: i don’t want to talk about it #also me: writes an essay #pls clari get ahold of urself #LMAO #anyway my mind is REELING rn #this makes me want to write more touya-nii so much!!!!!!!! or sugar daddy natsuo <3 #uh but yeah those are my thoughts!#just my personal thoughts n feelings #hope everyone’s having a good wednesday ha ha ha #how can we with this #how can we #really #uM yes drink water and try to have a day filled with positivity and love <3 #here i’ll start u off: i love u!!!!#♡(˃͈ દ ˂͈ ༶ )#clari chatters #bnha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers

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bingqiv · 23 days

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i think there’s an inherent sadness and pain about dhawan coming after gomez. like gomez’s master had finally became friends with the doctor again despite everything. she died for him (twice if we count simm’s). after so long they finally stood together on the same page with mutual understanding and a hope that their next lives would be kinder and perhaps they’d be standing together.

yet dhawan went home after regenerating. came to the understanding that he was nothing to the doctor but a speck in her past. just as small and tiny as her companions and the flood of insecurities that haunted him since the day he left came back. he was never an equal and never would be and the doctor knew it (had known it all along). so he had to make himself an equal and worthy enough to stand against the doctor (never with. for how can you stand with the sun. instead you have to eclipse it take away its warmth and life)

a post-gomez dhawan is just fun.

#fun but i’m a mess over him #the universe could never have them stand together for long it would probably implode or something #also thirteen doesn’t do anything to disprove the dhawan’s unravelling which makes me sad and instead makes it worse #the only exception is o which is wild that the doctor is always instinctively drawn to the master’s disguises #i need to write my master/thoschei essay #thoschei #the master #the doctor #dw #doctor who #dhawan!master #gomez!master

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courtrecord · 10 months

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honestly i hate how that “maybe the curtains are just blue” post has become shorthand for anti-intellectualism and shit bc as someone who has an utter passion for media analysis now, I WAS THAT PERSON IN HIGH SCHOOL ENGLISH CLASS.

english class never taught me how to analyze stories, it taught me how to remember what things the teacher said were “symbolism” and how to take quizzes where we had to match a quote to the character who said it. i didn’t give a shit about any of it, bc literally why should i. it was bullshit.

there’s this idea online that people are forgetting or rejecting what they learned in english class when they’re bad at media analysis, and maybe that’s a little bit true, but i think the much bigger problem is they never learned it in the first place. cinemasins & “maybe the curtains are just blue” aren’t convincing people to abandon an intellectualism they already had, they’re filling a void.

when all you learn in high school is to write on the test “blue = depression”, why is it surprising that so many people don’t give a shit about the curtains.

#media analysis #i literally didn’t care about criticism until i started watching video essays in 2017 #and they taught me that u could actually do interesting things with analysis #and i cannot fucking stand this shit that pretends people should all know better #also it’s not new; people who act like media literacy is getting worse are so fucking funny like #have u met an adult. have u spoken to say. an adult family member #ever in ur life #ur just on the internet now. ur seeing a million bad takes that used to be reserved for in-person conversations #or maybe writing into a paper or magazine #get real #get fucking real #1k

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people-wxtching · 2 years

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Yeah, I know many people have talked about this already but I need to say it as well before I explode.

I love visually seeing how the campers are all age accurately cast. In the books, it didn't hit me as hard because it was something I read when I myself was around 12. Even upon rereading I just go back to my 12-year-old body and the age is just this textual evidence that I KNOW exists but it doesn't truly impact me as much as it really should.

With this still, though, it's clearly visible how young all of them are. And it's scary. It's just the teaser trailer and it's already scary to think just how tiny and innocent they are, and how many hardships they have to go through at such a tender age.

But the scariest part about the scary part?

The youngest campers. That little girl (sorry for the bad quality) who's sitting right behind the girl with glasses looks around 7-8 at most. She's so small, so tiny, and yet she's at a camp where she has to learn how to survive and fight off monsters 100 times her size.

And the essence of all this is exactly what the movies failed to capture. The movies had a mostly adult cast, with zero ideas of what they were doing with the plot and characterization that could make the movies as impactful as the books, and focused a little too much on getting their Percabeth ship going, with absolutely no buildup of trust or slowly falling for each other or anything.

But with this show, I'm sure it'll be a lot more emotional and real because while it is sad that they're all just little kids, it's also a reflection of reality. Not every kid has a wonderful life; we all have to fight our own monsters no matter how young we may be, because life doesn't wait to see how old you are to throw problems at you. It doesn't have an age limit for trauma and hardships. The younger you are, the harder it impacts your life, and them being this small has a much more impactful meaning to it than watching almost adults go through the same problems that often get solved in an underwhelming manner.

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incorrect-hs-quotes · 6 months

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KARKAT: BUT CAN A CIS GUY DO THIS? [DROPS PANTS. MY DICK JUST FUCKING FLOPS ONTO THE FLOOR AND BOUNCES AWAY]

ERIDAN: once in school i wwas wwalkin dowwn the hall at a brisk pace wwearin dress pants n boxers and my (HOMEMADE wwith nylon stockings + condoms + gak) packer just fell out a my leg n rolled dowwn the hall a little wways

ERIDAN: thankfully the only other person in that hall at that time wwas gamzee makara the wweird stoner theology / philosophy student wwho rode his bike around the halls sometimes and he literally just looked at me and said "Aw BrOtHeR. i HaTe WhEn It DoEs ThAt" and wwalked awway

#source: @anosmic-sheep #its hard for me to imagine gamzee as any type of student but if he WAS then i just know hed be a theology student #hed go to clown religion class and do his clown religion homework #and also philosophy cause hed just write all this shit about miracles #hed have such a good time writing miracle essays and doing his clown homework #homestuck #incorrect homestuck quotes #incorrect quotes #mod dave #karkat vantas #eridan ampora #gamzee makara

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mediumgayitalian · 2 months

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“Oh, gods.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Oh, gods.”

Nico scowls, wrenching just eyes away from Will’s poorly-covered grin and shaking shoulders.

It’s not that bad. It isn’t.

Sure, the complete lack of lighting except Greek fire torches makes the cabin look like a little piece of the Underworld, right here on the surface. But that’s comforting. Honestly. Nico knows the Underworld. It’s — familiar.

And, yeah. It would, probably, be pertinent to have some furniture, or something. At least somewhere for him to store his clothes, because he has more than one set of those now, and maybe a shelf, or something. And, admittedly, the obsidian altar could take up a little less space than it currently does.

But it’s not that bad.

“Are those. Coffin shaped beds.”

The tone of Will’s voice is unlike he’s ever heard it. He turns back to face him, slowly, and finds him biting his fist, hard, every muscle of his body tense as live wire.

“I was twelve godsdamn years old,” Nico snaps. “Forgive me if interior design wasn’t my passion.”

Solace loses it.

In his defense, not that Nico is too worried about defending him, he does appear to try very hard to not lose it. When the first giggle slips out of his lips, he clamps his jaw shut tighter. When his whole body begins to shake with the force of repressing his laughter, he curls inward, as if making himself smaller might reduce the chance of a lapse in control.

But then he glances back inside and looks, really looks, at the dreary, stone walls, the lone skeletons standing guard, and the plush, teakwood black coffin bunk beds, and he collapses to the floor.

“I’m going to open a chasm beneath you,” Nico threatens. “You are going to fall and crack your spine into a million pieces on the bank of the Styx, rotting there with every other forgotten hope.”

“You are a Black Parade lyric personified,” Will wheezes.

Nico doesn’t know what that means, so he kicks him. Unfortunately, he only laughs harder.

“I mean it, Solace. It’s a long way down to the Underworld. You will spend the entire fall petrified with the knowledge that nothing can save you.”

For added effect, Nico makes the floor under the medic’s body shake, makes the tip of a skeleton hand peek out from the earth.

Ironically, this stops Will’s laughter, but not for the reason Nico was aiming for.

“Hey!” A bright blue flipflop-clad foot darts out and collides With Nico’s ankle, sending him sprawling. “I said no spooky magic for the next two months! Put that skeleton away!”

“Fuck off, Solace! It’s barely half a bone! You are so annoying!”

“That’s my specialty.” Will pushes himself upright. He waits until Nico sits up, too, so he can catch his eye before his face splits into a dazzling grin. Actual sparkles seem to flicker beside his face. “And you are ever so easy to annoy.”

Nico stares, unimpressed.

“Anyways.” Will coughs. “You can’t stay here, Neeks —”

“Don’t call me that.”

“— it’s straight-up too depressing.” He peers inside. “It’s also cold, and, like…borderline unliveable? So. As your doctor, I can’t allow it.”

“You’re a medic,” Nico says, raising an eyebrow, “first of all, not a doctor. Second of all, you can’t tell me what to do. Third of all — where am I supposed to sleep? The woods?”

“Hm. Good question.”

Will gets to his feet, brushing the dirt off his shorts and offering Nico a hand. After a second of hesitation, he takes it, allowing Will to haul him up.

“C’mon!”

Nico snatches his hand away, face burning. (Gods. Why does Will have to be so…touchy-feely? And why does it always do weird things to Nico’s stomach?) But it hardly takes a look over Will’s shoulder before Nico’s feet are following after him, without his permission.

“Where are we going?”

“Well, my dad’s kind of a hoe,” Will says matter-of-factly. Nico chokes. Will’s grin widens. “And our cabin was built with that in mind. I know we’ve got an extra bunk or two for ya. Hurry up!”

This…cannot be allowed. Nico doesn’t have a ton of Camp Half-Blood experience, or anything, but as far as he knows, Hermes is the only cabin that can really do that. He doesn’t want to incur the wrath of Apollo, or whatever, by staying in his cabin uninvited.

Well. Will’s inviting him, technically. And there’s a confidence to his offer, like maybe this isn’t the first time he’s done it.

“What if I don’t want to live in your stupid sunshine-y cabin,” Nico grumbles, trying to cover up his nerves. “Holding hands and singing about how much I love being alive isn’t really my cup of tea.”

Will snorts. “Oh, di Angelo,” he says dramatically, shaking his head, “you are in for a world of discovery. Welcome to the Cabin Apollo. Take your shoes off at the door and remember that Kayla bites.”

———

Living in the Apollo cabin is strange.

Four days in, and Nico is only just starting to get used to it. He’s not entirely unused to sharing space with people — he’s had two sisters — but the Apollo kids argue like they enjoy doing it. One minute, Will and Kayla will be screaming at each other at the top of their lungs about touching each other’s shit, then they’re teaming up to pull Gracie off Yan’s face for the exact same argument, only now they offer sage advice on respecting boundaries and compromising. It’s bizarre.

(Austin is pretty chill, actually. Nico has noticed him starting quite a few fights — it was he, in fact, who moved Will’s shit and then gracefully framed Kayla — but he has a very powerful eyebrow raise and a very powerful image as Unproblematic. He has quickly become Nico’s favourite.)

He’s only just barely beginning to understand how they work together, and the struggle comes in because everything is so chaotic. When Nico spent time with Hazel in New Rome, she was in the barracks. He never really had to worry about squabbling over counter space in the bathroom with her, because she had her own little toiletry caddie like everyone else, and bathrooms were public. With Bianca — well. There’s no one alive who knows this about her, but she was bossy. She was sweet and wonderful and self-sacrificing and brave and kind and the centre of Nico’s life, but by the gods, did she take her authority as a big sister seriously. She ordered Nico around all the time. He never had to worry much about when he would have the chance to use the bathroom they shared at the Lotus, or who got the T.V. remote, or who go to sit on the bus instead of standing, because he was not the one deciding. He could stick his tongue out and whine all he wanted, but she was boss. He knew that.

The Apollo kids are not like that.

As well as Nico can figure, it’s kind of a free-for-all. You want first shower? Either wake up the earliest — a strategy only Will every manages to employ with any success — or manage to jab an elbow in someone’s rib and sprint. You want whoever’s humming to shut the hell up so you can sleep? Make sure your threats are quick and believable, or just straight up start throwing shit until they finally stop. You want the coveted middle of the bench spot at breakfast? Well, tough shit on that one, actually. Nico has yet to make that one happen for himself.

He won’t admit it, but he has kind of learned to enjoy it. It’s annoying, and the Apollo siblings do indeed sing at all hours of the day (although the content usually skews more towards diss tracks and delighted insults, if not straight-up curses), and it is so godsdamn bright in there, seriously, is it a gimmick or what, but there’s something to be said about the fact that he’s so surrounded by people and chaos that he hasn’t even had the chance to feel lonely. Not even at night, panting to himself after a nasty nightmare, because all it takes is a particularly loud snore from Will one bunk down to remember where he is. To remember that he’s safe — by demigod standards, at least.

But, still.

He kind of misses his privacy.

“Will,” he whispers urgently, on his fifteenth day of rooming with the Apollo weirdos.

The medic hums noncommittally, attention very focused on the test tube in front of him. Nico has been fighting the urge to try and launch a piece of dust inside it for forty minutes, just to make him explode.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Sounds good, Nico.”

Nico narrows his eyes. “You’re ignoring me.”

“Uh-huh. Agreed.”

“I can say anything I want right now.”

“Sure. Maybe double check with Austin.”

“…I’m going to put a colony of ants in your pillowcase.”

“Good idea.”

“Then I’m going to douse your hair products in gasoline and set them aflame.”

“Baller.”

“After that I’m gonna read your super secret diary to the entirety of camp at singalong tonight.”

“You betcha.”

“And then I’m going to shadow travel to Russia.”

Will blinks, frowning. “Hey, no shadow-travelling. What’s this I hear about shadow-travelling?”

Nico rolls his eyes. “Nothing, stupid. You were just ignoring me.”

Will smiles guiltily. “Aw, I’m sorry, Neeks. Got focused on this. I’m finished in twenty, then I’m all yours?”

“…Don’t call me Neeks,” Nico grumbles, furious with himself for how quick he’s relented under wide blue puppy-dog eyes.

“Sorry, Neeks.”

Huffing at Will’s quiet laughter, Nico slides off the nurse’s station counter and wanders around the empty infirmary. Things have luckily finally cooled down in here, nearly three weeks after the end of the Giant War. Some of the exhaustion has faded from Will’s features now that he’s had time to sleep properly.

Not that Nico has noticed, or anything.

“Okay,” Will says a few minutes later, holding his hands up protectively in front of his geeky little setup. “I just gotta do this last step, so long as I calculated it right, it should be fine…” He squeezes a drop of something into the liquid bubbling over the burner, freezing immediately. One, two, three seconds pass and nothing happens, so Will relaxes, sighing in relief and turning to face Nico fully. “Okay, we’re good. What was it you wanted to —”

The text tube contents explode in his face, dousing him in slimey green goo.

Nico bursts out laughing.

“Great,” Will says darkly, swiping the stuff from his eyes. “The one day I don’t wear goggles. Great.”

Nico gasps, sides aching. “Oh my gods —”

“Feel free to help, di Angelo.”

“— you look like a cartoon! Your face!”

It takes Will twelve cloths and seven whole minutes to clean himself and the nurse’s station off of the goo. Nico cackles at him the whole time, and tastefully does not mention the many globs of goo that remain caked in his hair.

“Whenever you’re done.”

Will is very, very bad at being stern when he doesn’t really mean it. And he doesn’t really mean it now, because every time he tries to glare at Nico, his mouth twitches.

“I’m good,” Nico finally wheezes, forcing his face back to normal. “I’m good, I’m good.”

He very pointedly does not look at Will’s hair.

“Dick,” Will huffs, fondness bleeding into his tone. “What did you want?”

He must notice the change in tone at his asking, because he clears the bench fully, hoisting himself on top of it and patting the spot next to him. Nico hesitates for half a second, then crawls up, sitting criss cross applesauce, knees touching.

“I need to move back to my cabin,” he manages, finally.

Will’s face betrays no judgement or emotion. “Oh?”

“Yes.” He picks at a loose thread in his jeans. “I need — space.”

The thread loosens, allowing Nico to tug on it. A hole begins to unravel along the seam as he pulls and pulls and pulls. He stops himself before it gets too wide, tearing the thread off and winding it around his fingers.

“I can tell everyone to tone it down,” Will offers softly, eyebrows creased. “We’ll be more quiet, we’ll —”

Nico places a hand on his knee, cutting off his sentence. “It’s not about that, I promise. You guys have been great.”

A wounded look still pulls at Will’s strong features, as much as he visibly tries to pull his face back to something more supportive. “It’s not?”

“No, no. It’s just —” He frowns, trying to articulate the tangled mess of his thoughts. “I have my own cabin.”

“So?”

“And I can’t stay in yours forever.”

“I mean, you could.”

“Chiron’s been giving me looks, Will.”

“So what! I’ll — write you a doctor’s note, or something!”

Nico snorts. “A doctor’s note letting me sleep in your cabin?”

Will nods fervently, although he seems to acknowledge the ridiculousness of his suggestion, if the grin on his face is any indication. “Yes! For medical reasons, you know.” He mimes writing. “‘Patient’s cabin is dank and sad. To avoid bouts of misery, patient must sleep in the presence of the coolest and best and prettiest and most uplifting people in camp.’”

“Hm. Not sure Chiron’s gonna buy that last part. Not sure I buy that last part, actually.”

“Hey.”

Nico dodges Will’s shove, chuckling.

“Seriously, though, Will. This was never a long term solution, right?”

“I know. You’re cabin just — sucks so bad, man. No offense.”

“I take great offense to that, actually. My cabin is art.”

“Sure, Eddie Cullen.”

“I don’t know who that is, so that’s a horrible insult.”

“Travesty, honestly.”

Outside the open infirmary windows, Nico can hear distant, triumphant screaming, laughter, and the clang of metal. Today’s a good day. The weather’s balmier than usual, for late August, and some of the gloom that’s hung over everyone’s head for the bast few weeks seems to have lifted.

“You can’t go back to your cabin like it is,” Will says into the silence, startling Nico, “but —” he grins when Nico begins to protest, holding up his hand. “We can definitely change it up.”

He slides off the bench, botching his landing and almost sprawling on the floor. He holds a dramatic hand out to Nico when he rights himself. Nico ignores it, rolling his eyes and getting to his feet by himself.

“C’mon,” Will says, grabbing his hand anyway. Sparks shoot up Nico’s arm. “We need to go ask Chiron for the van keys and approximately five hundred dollars.”

———

Three hours is too fucking long to be in a vehicle. Especially when Will is driving, because all he does is play nonstop country music and let everybody cut in front of him.

“I’m driving us back,” Nico informs him as they (finally) get out of the stupid van, snatching the keys from his hands.

Will shrugs. “Sure.”

Nico had expected more of a fight, honestly. But he supposes neither of them are legally allowed to drive, age-wise, and besides, Nico technically has seventy years of driving experience on Will.

(…The Lotus had a racetrack.

Nico was very, very good at it.)

“What is this place, anyway?”

“This place,” Will says grandly, throwing an arm over his shoulders, “is essentially the mortal version of the Labyrinth, minus, you know, the soul-sucking terror.”

“Okay. All that’s telling me is that you have horrible ideas and we should leave immediately.”

Will rolls his eyes. “It’s a furniture store.”

“Well, then —” he punches Will’s shoulder, huffing when he only laughs. “Say that, then!”

“But then what would I do with all the drama in my heart?”

“Choke on it, hopefully!”

Ikea is weird.

Since Will did not tell him what the plan was, he didn’t draw up any plans. Luckily, Will has the dimensions of his cabin — although where he got them, Nico does not ask — so they spend an hour or so in the cafe drawing out a plan.

“You need more than two beds, Neeks.”

“Uh, no I don’t. Unless my father has something very important to announce to me, I need a bed for me, and a bed for Hazel.”

“What if I want to sleep over?”

“You can sleep on the porch.”

Mostly, they wander around the sets. Nico isn’t really sure what he wants his cabin to look like — he has to remind himself that yes, actually, he cares about the space he’ll be spending at least the next three years of his life in. It’s a startling reality, to have control over his own space. He must’ve had some say in his childhood bedroom, but he has no memory of it. He spent the most time in his and Bianca’s room at the Lotus, but that was already furnished when they got there, and besides, it only felt like they were there for less than a year. It always felt like a hotel room, never his room. Westminster was no different. His room in his father’s palace had already been designed, too. In fact he’d based his cabin on it.

What does Nico want his bedroom to look like, without someone else deciding for him?

“I’m not getting a fucking Lightning McQueen bed, Solace.”

“But it would be so sick! And look — it’s got little cubbies!”

“I’m going to ditch you, and shadow travel back to camp,” Nico threatens. “And I have the van keys, so you’ll be stuck here for real.”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Will looks at him sternly, hands on hips. “No shadow travelling for you, Death Breath. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t fade into nothing on my watch.”

“I’m joking,” Nico says, exasperated, but cannot deny the warmth that fills him up at Will’s concern.

In the end, he decides on a pretty normal bed. It’s bigger than Will’s bunk (“Or anyone else’s bed,” Will grumbles, “you lucky asshole.”), but not ridiculously designed. He picks a similar size for Hazel, only the frame is white, not black, and the bedspread that comes with it is a soft, coral pink that he knows she will like.

“Wanna see if they’ve got a Mythomagic bedspread for yours?” Will teases.

That would be the coolest thing ever in the entire world, Nico thinks, and is so embarrassed that he shoves Will, shrieking, into a giant basket of pillows for making him think it.

“Obviously I don’t want that.”

“You are such a turd! I’ll get you, di Angelo!”

He does not. Nico is way too sneaky for him, and after the fifth time Nico manages to give him the slip, he gives up, sulking in a display for a bedroom of a nine year old girl.

“Fitting,” Nico teases, gesturing to the princess wallpaper. “You drama queen.”

“Buzz off.”

Next, they look for furniture. It’s pretty easy — Nico doesn’t need much, and he’s not too concern with cut or style or anything. He quickly picks out two dressers, one to match Hazel’s bed frame, and one to match his, and then a couple bookshelves.

Four hours into their trip, Nico is exhausted. They have a three hour drive ahead of them, they’ve been out all day, and he wants to go home.

But Will stops him before they go get all the boxes for their furniture.

“This is still pretty bare bones,” he says quietly, then grins at his own accidental pun. Nico shoots him a venomous look, warning him against making it more obvious, and for once he actually listens. “You know, we’re still under budget. We’ve got around $200 left — we can get a motel, stay the night, then we don’t have to drive back right away. And tomorrow, maybe we can check out some other stores, look for smaller decorations and stuff. And if we don’t have to drive back tonight, we’ve maybe got another hour in here, if you wanted to get a couple more pieces.”

Nico opens his mouth to refuse — that’s way too much effort to spend on one person’s cabin, c’mon — then pauses, thinking about it.

Chiron hadn’t even thought about it before handing them the money. Will had barely gotten the words out before he’d started counting out the bills.

“I want you to make a home here,” the centaur had said, touching his hand. There was a pain in his kind eyes, stopping any protests. “I made a mistake, Nico, the first time you came here. In another life, you felt welcome enough to stay the whole time. Take what you need.”

What does he need? What does home look like, to him?

“There was a beanbag chair, in our room at the Lotus,” he says, pushing the words past the lump in his throat. “Me and Bianca used to fight over it.” His voice shakes. A tear gathers at the corner of his eye, and he blinks it back. “It wasn’t real fighting. When I called mercy she’d — scoop me up and throw me on it and squish in after me, and we’d sit together and play video games. Or read. She liked to read.”

Will squeezes his trembling hands. “We can get a beanbag chair.”

“And I — don’t like the blackout curtains. The dark makes me think of — the pit.”

“Okay. They sell lotsa lamps here, too. Might be nicer than the Greek fire.”

Nico nods. There’s — more, far more ideas, now, flooding his brain; Hazel crowding over him on a rug-covered floor, shrieking as he teases her about Frank; a desk tucked in the corner where Will sits, mouthing along to his textbooks as Nico sharpens his sword; Jason running his fingers along rows of books on a big, cluttered shelf; Reyna with her fist curled around her mouth, studying a chess board across from him, hair shining under the natural light from the window.

He can have that. He can have that.

Thankfully, all their stuff fits in the back of the van. Despite his insistence earlier, Nico hands Will the keys, and he drives around until he finds a shitty motel with a vacancy sign flashing out front. He pulls into the farthest corner of the parking lot, killing the engine, then waits.

“You okay?”

Nico shrugs. “I’m…not sure.”

“That’s okay,” Will assures, pressing a fleeting touch to his shoulder. Nico grabs his wrist before he moves away, tugging down his hand and linking their fingers together.

For once, it doesn’t make him feel all sparky. The warmth of Will’s hands is grounding, and so is the gentle squeeze, the smile he feels pointed in his direction.

“C’mon. Let’s check in and sleep, huh?”

Nico’s exhaustion compounds in the walk from the car to the lobby, so by the time Will is speaking quietly to the host, he’s half asleep, leaning on Will’s shoulder. He vaguely feels it when Will shifts his weight, sliding a hand around his waist to hold him better. He blinks and they’re standing in front of a door.

“Almost there, Death Boy,” he murmurs. “Hold on a sec.”

It takes him six separate tries to make the keycard work. He gets huffy when Nico snickers tiredly at him.

“Finally, yeesh.”

He guides Nico in, dropping the backpack he brought somewhere near the door. As soon as the bed is within Nico’s sights, he makes a beeline, barely remembering to shuck his shoes and jacket.

“Please do not sleep in your jeans.”

“Mmmfuck off,” Nico groans, already sliding under the covers. He’ll regret it in the morning, but whatever.

“Goober.” Callused hands brush through his hair, resting lightly on his forehead. “Goodnight, Nico.”

Nico’s out before he can even think to respond.

———

He wakes up, in the middle of the night, scream caught in his throat and heart pounding in his ears. The air smells like smoke and fear. The rushing of the Phlegethon is so loud it’s overpowering.

A loud snore knocks him back to reality.

Crawling desperately towards the source of the sound, he hangs over the bed, eyes adjusting rapidly to the dark to see a curled lump on the floor, head resting on his own hands. A quick glance behind him confirms the other half of the bed has been left untouched.

“Stupid,” he mumbles, tiny smile chasing away the last of his fear.

He tugs the blankets off the mattress, pulls off the two pillows, and joins his dumbass, selfless friend on the floor.

———

“Question,” Will asks, swallowing the last of their disgustingly delicious greasefest of a breakfast. “Were you alive when Walmart was invented?”

“I was alive before your great grandmother was.”

“No, I mean — were you out and kickin’. Have you strolled the endless aisles of corporate soullessness, basking in the wonder of American overconsumerism?”

“…You’re such a weird, particular person.”

Will looks delighted. “You’re a Walmart newbie!”

He pulls into the dead, cracked parking lot way too happily for this hour in the morning. Nico would even say he takes the nearest exit to get to the store gleefully. He is embarrassed for him.

Walmart is…underwhelming.

As stupid as it is, Will had hyped it up so much that Nico was almost a little excited. It just looked like any other basic superstore. Will, for whatever reason, seemed delighted by that fact.

“I do not like this store,” he explained when Nico asked, expression not matching his words, “it just means so very much to me that you are joining me in the misery of having experienced it.”

They spend more time than they mean to just dicking around. At one point they nearly get thrown out by management, because Will finds a pair of NERF guns that some child dug out of its packaging and no words need to be spoken. They gear up and scamper off, hunting each other through fluorescent-lights hell.

“Please just get your shit and leave,” says the very tired looking manager, and they have the good gall to at least appear embarrassed as they mumble, “Yes, ma’am.”

It doesn’t take long when they have their head on straight. They get some fairy lights, a couple cool posters, dorky little trinkets that Nico probably doesn’t need, per se, but what was he supposed to do, leave the little plastic crow skeleton behind?

Unlikely.

With his own money, Will buys several cans of paint and a CD. He explains neither of these purchases. The look on his face gets steadily more infuriating as they make their way through the line, and Nico really, truly considers leaving him behind.

The purchase of the CD becomes very obvious very quickly. Even though Nico is driving, and therefore Nico should get music control, Will pouts and pleads until Nico gives in and lets him play his stupid country album. He justifies his decision in his own brain by noticing the radiance of Will’s smile as he belts out the words, badly, at the top of his lungs. He then spends the rest of the drive back to camp convincing himself not to be embarrassed for having said thoughts.

They get back to camp about lunch time, and Will destroys any attempt for a subtle reentry by whistling the second they cross the property line.

“Austin! Kayla!” he hollers, making Nico jump. “Come help us unload!”

“We coulda done it ourselves,” Nico grumbles.

Will pats his head condescendingly. “It has been twenty-four long, long hours since I’ve bosses my siblings around, Neeks. I need this.”

It does go by quite a bit quicker with Austin and Kayla’s help. Lou Ellen, Cecil, Yan, and Gracie come to help, too, but Gracie’s too little to carry much more than a small desk lamp. Instead, they lay down the biggest box — Nico’s bed frame — and let her climb on top of it, carrying her like she’s a queen atop a throne back to Nico’s cabin. She has the time of her life, giggling to herself like a madwoman.

By the time everything’s unloaded, a couple hours have passed, and the Hades cabin looks like a clusterfuck.

“Maybe you stay in Apollo a couple more nights,” Will suggests.

“Might have to,” Nico agrees. Will looks inordinately pleased with himself.

All in all, it takes about two days to disassemble the old furniture, get rid of it, and start putting together the new stuff. Will helps for most of it, but he has a few shifts in the infirmary, so Nico ends up trying to do a fair bit on his own.

“May the wrath of Zeus come down upon this fucking piece of shit, no good, poorly designed garbage-looking idiotic mother fuc —”

“Maybe time for a break from furniture assembling?” suggests a voice, accompanied by a quick knock in the open door. Will leans on the doorframe, grinning, box propped up on his hip.

“Will, thank the gods,” Nico sighs, relieved. He angrily shakes a tool in his direction. “Allen wrenches are fucking useless. I’m three seconds away from throwing this through the window.”

“Definitely time for a switch, then.”

Will’s smile is wide and crinkles his eyes. He’s got dimples, too, Nico is now noticing, and then very rapidly un-noticing then because gods above that is a dangerous path.

“Did you and Rachel get into another prank war?” he asks, praying the flush on his cheeks goes away.

Will glances down at his paint-spattered clothes. “Nah, this is just my painting outfit. Why ruin more than one set of clothes, you know?” He sets down the box in the middle of the room, then heads for the half-built furniture sprawled all throughout the cabin, tugging it all towards the middle. Nico inches towards the box, curious, and finds it full of dozens of paint cans and brushes, including the ones he got at Walmart.

“I didn’t know you painted.”

He flashes another grin in Nico’s direction. This one has a little mischief to it, a little teasing. His stomach swoops.

“Gotta have at least one artistic talent or my dad would disown me. Help me tape down this tarp, will you?”

It takes them twenty minutes to prep the room, protecting the floor and the furniture. Once everything is ready, Will jogs over to the CD player he gave Nico a few days ago, flicking through the stack of CDs and choosing one at random. Soft opera music begins to float around the cabin.

“Okay,” he begins, clapping his hands, “first we need a base coat. Get the white paint and the rollers.”

It takes them the rest of the day, painting until dinner, then waiting past sunset for it to dry. Nico follows Will back to his cabin that night — he wouldn’t let him sleep around the paint fumes — and the two of them return the next morning, re-donning their paint-spattered clothes. Will braids his hair, this time, tucking the little pigtails behind a kerchief. It makes Nico smile every time he looks at him.

As much as he’s in painting clothes, Nico doesn’t really do much of the painting. He stays in the centre of the room, half assembling furniture, half watching Will bring his walls to life with more colours than he’s ever seen in one place.

Will doesn’t ask what Nico wants him to paint in his murals. Instead, Nico watches as the streets of Venice begin to unfold on one of the walls, bright and blue and exactly as he remembers, even though he knows for a fact Will has never been. The shining fruit of his stepmother’s garden is next, with a notable absence of the pomegranate tree, and then the hills of New Rome, the sunflower field in rural New York Nico used to visit, the Chinese mountainscape from the first big shadow travelling jump he ever made. Even the poplar forests of the Underworld, looking much kinder and livelier in Will’s rendition than in real life, with Mrs. O’Leary and Cerberus chasing each other through the flickering leaves. Beautiful, colourful, breathtaking scenes; Nico’s favourite places, Nico’s many homes.

“I get a lot of dreams,” Will admits, dragging a smear of rich purple near the ceiling. “You’re in a lot of them. These are the places you’re smiling, the most.”

“They’re beautiful, Will.” Nico’s throat is drier than any desert he’s ever been to. “Gods, they’re more beautiful here than they are in real life.”

“Liar,” Will teases, although his smile is shy.

Nico has never seen him smile like that. He’s seen a lot more of Will in these past few days, actually; his softness, his kindness, his love.

He has only knows Will for a little over a month, he thinks. But Will loves him. That much is obvious.

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

His eyes are still trained on his work. He is on his tiptoes on a step stool, one leg extended precariously, tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth. The curve of his brush is careful, meticulous. Only the best for his friends, for Nico. That’s Will.

“Hey,” Nico says again, more urgently. He steps forward, wrapping his fingers around his wrist.

“Just a sec, Neeks, as soon as I’m done we can —”

Nico pulls until he loses his balance, falling into Nico’s arms. He stares into wide, blue blue eyes, for one second, two, then presses their lips together. Will’s squeak of surprise is swallowed by his mouth, hands sliding up his arms to cup his face, tilting his head to the side.

“Oh,” he sighs, eyelashes ticking Nico’s cheeks as they flutter close. “Oh.”

He melts into Nico’s hold. There’s a thunk and a crinkle as his paintbrush falls from his loose fingers, splattering onto the tarp, and paint-wet hands tangle into his hair. Nico finds he doesn’t mind.

“You love me,” he murmurs in between breaths, lips brushing Will’s with every word.

“Yes,” Will breathes. He kisses Nico again, and again. “A lot.”

“Good.” He’s not sure if it’s the paint fumes making him lightheaded, or the odd, slightly uncomfortable position, or the intoxicating, delirious feel of Will’s warm skin. He’s not sure if he cares. “Good.”

It’s not quite an I-love-you-too. The words won’t form on his tongue, so instead he tightens his hold, sending them that way, and presses closer, closer, closer.

Will smiles into the kiss.

He understands just fine.

#i could write an essay about how i think they’re dynamic would be immediately post three days in the infirmary #also i fit SO MANY of my personal headcanons in here hell yeah #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #nico di angelo #will solace #solangelo #nico/will #will/nico #gently falling in love #love #i’m tagging it bc. will loves so clearly in this one it kills me a little #fic #my writing #longpost

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theminecraftbee · 5 months

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do you think dl pearl and sl lizzie would've gotten along?

OKAY SO I HAVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT THIS. and i think the answer depends on a lot of factors actually because like... okay lizzie and pearl have SIMILAR arcs but, crucially, they have different responses and attitudes about those arcs and also two hurt people who are lashing out at others. are not. in a headspace to easily make friends necessarily.

so we're gonna have to... i think it depends on whether you say "these are those guys in the MIDDLE of their arc" or "these are those guys AFTER their arc". most of the time i think people mean "if they're in the same series" so it would be during, and the answer is "i think dl pearl would be a LOT more willing to make friends than sl lizzie would be".

so like okay. let's unpack that. so let's start with dl pearl. while she's somewhat defined by being alone, lashing out at people, it's 5 am pearl she's doing questionable things and isolating herself in response to the fact everyone has shunned her, it's not that she doesn't want friends. she opens MOST of her interactions with being willing to open a hand of friendship, it's just that everyone rejects her as 'crazy' or 'dangerous', or she's just like, not really wanted as a friend for some reason or another. and then she lashes out, and tells herself she's fine alone anyway, but the key is she does want the friends.

also of note is that, while pearl is associated with being a red name because her COLOR scheme was red and she had her red name skin on basically the whole time, she... wasn't. she wasn't a red name. she was one of the last yellow names actually she only went red in basically the last episode. she was PLAYING UP being red. she was PLAYING IN to the narrative she was dangerous. but she... wasn't actually on red, and while she's often ATTRIBUTED revenge as a motive, it was less revenge and more a defensive "if you're going to treat me as evil i'll show you evil", if that makes sense.

so like, i could see pearl, in a similar scenario to when she allied with ren and martyn, trying to befriend lizzie. because she would see herself in lizzie! hell, arguably secret life pearl DOES do that! but even mid-arc, worst of herself double life pearl would go "oh you ALSO have a broken heart maybe we can be demons together?" to lizzie i think.

the problem is that i don't know if lizzie would buy it.

SO. secret life lizzie. so the thing is about secret life lizzie is that she is ALSO rejected by the people around her. the difference is, it's not for some perceived quality in her that makes her dangerous; she sort of starts isolating herself first, before she tries to reach out. this is because if i had to attribute a trait to life series lizzie it might be paranoid? ineffectually paranoid, she's not paranoid in a way that's useful, but like. she tends to perceive everyone around her as Weirdos who are Dangerous and Out to Get Her. she's the only sensible one around here in her mind. (note that this is not me assigning lizzie of all people as ACTUALLY the sensible one are you kidding me have you seen that lady. this is me saying this is how she tends to see the world.)

this, in turn, works against her. when she's first trying to get everyone to sleep and then everyone to go to the end--in other words, getting everyone to show up to her party--they don't. and it's not, typically, so much because they personally distrust her. (note the way people talked about lizzie was REALLY not the same way people talked about pearl at all!) it's because lizzie has given them no reason to trust her. she's not an ally, she's obviously trying to do a task, it's possibly a trap, the end is really dangerous, so... thanks but the last party in this series had explosives under it.

the END RESULT is still lizzie being isolated! the END RESULT is still her resentful and alone after no one but joel shows up to her slumber party! but the root causes are a little different. true, you could argue pearl is rejected in part because of her own actions, but it's not in the same way lizzie is. pearl was WILLING to trust, even afterwards, and gets rejected both because of a system that ended up stacked against her and because of one mistake she's not being allowed to make up for. she's persecuted and seen as evil. lizzie, meanwhile, is rejected indirectly, less a rejection of her as a person and more a result of the fact that lizzie doesn't play the social game well, doesn't trust anyone herself, and puts herself at risk as a result of that.

anyway this also adds up with. lizzie was turned red by a horrible careless accident by jimmy. pearl was turned red as part of the final hunt of all the red names on the server, an intentional act. lizzie died first. pearl died last. lizzie was resentful and wanted revenge as a red name, both because of her rejection and because that's who she is as a person. pearl wanted to win as a red name, and her actions as a red name more followed from her already existing actions. pearl was willing to trust and have loyalty, but no one was willing to return it. lizzie doesn't want to have to trust or be loyal in the first place.

the RESULT? i think double life pearl would offer to be friends with lizzie and lizzie would decide that pearl was a crazy person who was mocking her. and which way that ends up resolving to--a friendship, an enemyship, a mutual respect--would be a FASCINATING story to explore from there.

anyway there are people who are better lizzie and pearl experts than me who probably have more to add her and bits of my character interpretation to confirm or deny (lord knows i could have them very wrong i am not good at writing out meta that isn't in the form of a fic) but in conclusion: this too is yuri,

#answered #secret life smp #double life smp #pearlescentmoon #ldshadowlady #BECAUSE THIS ENDED UP BEING AN ESSAY AND A HALF I WILL MAINTAG IT #i don't normally do meta posts but when i do #also god someone write me this fic PLEASE #please i need them to interact PLEASE

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iridescentmirrorsgenshin · 2 months

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Alhaitham referring to kaveh in ways which acknowledge his skill, and kaveh perceiving it as sarcasm, even though alhaitham refers to kaveh in the same ways when kaveh isn’t present is driving me a little bit insane - especially what this prompts the player to question!!

When we first meet kaveh in the archon quest the relationship between him and alhaitham is presented to us as “terrible” (courtesy of npc geoff who introduces kaveh’s return to sumeru city), and the cutscene in the house of daena demonstrates what this entails, being that the two cannot see eye to eye, and, seemingly don’t hold each other in high regard.

Alhaitham seemingly refers to kaveh’s genius in a sarcastic light and kaveh claims to despise talking to alhaitham because of his arrogance.

Looking to kaveh’s hangout, however, when the player has a one-on-one with alhaitham, the player gets a glimpse into alhaitham’s personal understanding of kaveh, and with this, his own views on kaveh.

Within this exchange between him and the player, Alhaitham uses Kaveh’s title without sarcasm, sincerely praising him and his skills, elevating him over ‘less skilled’ architects and asserting that Kaveh should have more confidence in his work.

The reason that Alhaitham does not openly praise Kaveh is stated here, being that “admonitions” will serve no purpose due to people being prone to fall into “similar pitfalls”, and that people should have the right to lead their own life, rather than have it interfered upon by others

The reading here is that even if Alhaitham did openly praise Kaveh, no difference would be made in Kaveh’s thinking. Yet, by refraining from praise, and instead goading, by this logic, this also makes no difference. Therefore, the question is raised, ‘why can Alhaitham praise Kaveh to the player, and not to Kaveh himself?’

When Alhaitham praises Kaveh’s work within Kaveh’s hangout it is through there being no record of issues in the reconstruction of port ormos, which is something kaveh states first - in this context, alhaitham notes the work as an “impressive achievement”, which kaveh assents to, as there is no standing in which this can be debated. Kaveh cannot resent a compliment steeped in fact, even from alhaitham

The problem, then, is rooted in alhaitham’s delivery, which relates to their core issue of miscommunication. Referring back to their exchange in the House of Daena, it is observed that Alhaitham uses similar descriptors of Kaveh to Kaveh, similar to the descriptors he uses to the Traveler in Kaveh’s hangout, however, Kaveh perceives these words as sarcasm.

This highlights the miscommunication between them and can aid in answering the question why Alhaitham cannot be open with Kaveh, as he will be misconstrued.

Through Alhaitham’s repeated elusions to Kaveh when he is not present and his open esteem of Kaveh and his work to the Traveler, Kaveh’s assertion that Alhaitham holds him in a negative light is proved incorrect. This serves to highlight the miscommunication between the two, causing the player to question why they hold such contrasting views of the other.

Clearly, there is a reason why Alhaitham cannot openly express his regard of Kaveh to Kaveh, but this reason is obscure to both kaveh and the player.

In terms of queer subtext it’s pretty interesting that alhaitham’s high regard for kaveh is shown within the surface text and yet the reason for this secrecy is never made explicit within the story’s surface and is only to be inferred from alhaitham’s and kaveh’s character stories.

In terms of the two functioning as mirrors, the fact that the knowledge that alhaitham cannot outright compliment kaveh 1) is not only due to their past argument and lost friendship and 2) is also due to his awareness that kaveh cannot accept goodwill, is only obtainable by reading both kaveh and alhaitham’s character stories shows how intertwined they are as characters - you cannot fully understand one without the other

(Update: For more analyses like this, the essay this is taken from is now uploaded! It can be accessed here and here as as a pdf <3)

#haikaveh #kavehtham #kavetham #alhaitham #kaveh #okay i think my thoughts got derailed in the end but pretend they didnt #some of this is from the essay and you can probably tell because of writing quality #but i think it is so interesting that what alhaitham chooses to share with the player clearly highlights his regard and respect for kaveh #but his reason for hiding it from kaveh has to be inferred by digging into their lore #and when you realise that alhaitham doesnt want to cause a repeat of their past argument by encroaching on kaveh’s fortified boundaries #it only shows how MUCH alhaitham cares about him #im sick!!!#they make me sick!!!#and also that part in kaveh’s hangout when kaveh says he’s so used to sarcasm he cant tell what genuine praise sounds like #my boys #you need to talk #I AM BEGGING!!!!

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raspberrysmoon · 5 months

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i will never be done defending just for once as one of the best songs ive heard from starkid so far. ive flipped through a few of the older non hatchetfield musicals and its STILL towards the top of my list. maybe its because shes ME in another world. if id switched schools earlier, or been "too gay" or "too smart" for the boys in fifth grade. if my shoulder had never healed and i had to quit dance years too early. just for once is a gorgeous, incredible representation of what it feels like to watch everything, even your own life, happen, watch it all from the outside, and never be able to take charge of it.

ruth fleming is a wonderful, weird, gross character and not enough people are cheering for her. in this essay i will

#i WILL write the essay #i think i could #anyway my brain is consumed and jfo makes me cry #love this show #raspy rambles #starkid #npmd #nerdy prudes must die #also all of the songs are good #just saying #this whole musical is gorgeous #i just really love ruth and her little arc #and her death #perfect and gorgeous is every way #ruth fleming #ruth npmd

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lorephobic · 5 months

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literally nobody asked for it, but here's my list of saltburn essays that i've slowly been drafting over the course of the last week which WILL be required reading for anybody trying to engage with me about this movie. my very personal saltburn 101 syllabus just dropped

A Wolf in Deer's Clothing: Saltburn's Attempt at Innocence

an examination of party costumes and our character's last attempts to masquerade as something they're not: felix—an angel, all-forgiving and all-knowing, something to be worshiped; and oliver—a prey animal, prey to class-divide, prey to saltburn, prey to felix.

thoughts about oliver specifically are loosely organized in my #bambi tag

A Midsummer Night's Mare: Farleigh Start as the Ultimate Victim of Saltburn

a farleigh character study, about the ways he was mistreated and manipulated at saltburn, about fighting to stay alive and the scars left behind by knowing when to give in

alternatively titled "QuickStart", may be adapted into a conclusive essay specifically focusing on oliver and farleigh's relationship

The Eye of the Beholder: On Saltburn's Voyeurism & Violence [working title]

how wealth and class pushes the catton's toward the volatile reality of being able to look, but not touch. on desire and the lack thereof, and portraying yourself as an object to be desired

may end up as two separate essays on wealth and aestheticism but i'm pushing toward a conclusive essay about the intersection of the two, which i feel is at the heart of saltburn

alternatively titled "Poor Man's Pudding: A Melvillian Approach to Saltburn's Class", again, may be adapted into it's own essay

Gender-Fluid: A Study in Sexuality and Saltburn's Desire to be Dry

a deep dive into the bodily fluids of saltburn and how oliver upsets the standard of men who are just so lovely and dry. on the creative choice to lean into the messy wetness of sex and desire and the audience's instinct toward repulsion

a celebration of the grotesque and an examination of why we would label it as such

least developed of the four, heavily inspired by @charnelpit's lovely post about the fluids in saltburn

if anybody is actually interested in any of these, i can work toward something closer to a finished piece instead of just bullet points and quotes in a google doc, but mostly this is so i can share my very brief takes on a multitude of themes in saltburn that have been haunting me

edit for people seeing this in the future: all posts about my essays are being organized into my #saltburn 101 tag if you’re interested in following these through to development!