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marginaletchings · 1 year

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fandom advice from someone who has been an active participant since the 90s*:

*- I am aware some folks have been active in fandom since long before that, you pedants don’t need to crawl out of the woodwork at me.

* * *

Learning to shut up/not say something is a very valuable skill, and it’s #1 on this list because I like dramatic irony. You don’t always have to comment on something that upsets you, even if/when you are right to do so. Sometimes you need to realize even if/when you are justified and correct, it’s better to just... stop. Learn to pick your battles. Most hills are not worth dying on whether you’re in the right or not, and that’s something that I’m still learning to keep in practice. But trust me: It is well worth the effort and it will cut down 90% of the drama in your fandom life, and life in general.

Try to step back and reread someone’s comment or whatever in good faith, not bad. Stop assuming the absolute worst of everyone around you. Even when someone says something stupid, going at them with pitchforks and torches is going to do nothing but cause unnecessary public drama and misunderstandings. Are some people worth calling out publicly? Sure! And are many others putting their foot in their mouth and don’t need to be pilloried? Absolutely! I don’t know how to tell you all this, but many of us, especially fandom folks in their 30s/older are still working on un/re-wiring some old shitty microaggressions and patterns of behavior. No, the time you grew up in isn’t “an excuse”, it doesn’t make Saying the Stupid Thing unhurtful; and yet, dogpiling someone who otherwise has a chill track record still makes you an asshole. You can’t say “intention doesn’t matter” and then publicly lambast someone for a recent Tweet they didn’t think enough about making. Don’t get me started on people freaking out over Tweets someone made 7-15+ years ago. There was a LOT of cultural change in the 2010s, please allow people to have personal growth and move the fuck on.

If you have a problem with something someone has done/said, once or twice or several times, but they appear to have a decent track record otherwise? JUST TALK TO THEM. Send them a DM. Be like, “hey, I noticed [x thing]. [x thing] was [hurtful/upsetting/disappointing] to see because [y reason(s)]. I feel this could have been [handled/said/expressed] better. Are you willing to talk about this? Thanks for listening.” Yeah sure there will be people who react poorly--and I guarantee you, there will also be plenty of people who genuinely don’t want to be hurtful to others either.

Learn how to apologize graciously. No matter what your intentions were, and even if someone is reacting very strongly to something seemingly innocuous--learn to apologize. Swallow your pride. Even if someone is being rude, and shitty, sometimes all they want to hear is an acknowledgement of their sense of having been done wrong. The best you can do is offer something along the lines of, “I am sorry [person’s name/handle], I’m sorry that what I [wrote/said/did] was [hurtful/harmful] to you. I’ll do my best to avoid [writing/saying/doing] [thing] again, and I’m open to feedback if you have any on what I could’ve done better. Thanks again for reaching out to me about this.” It shows that you’ve taken the time to sympathize with how they’re feeling, you’re not making excuses or making it all about you/your feelings, you redirect the conflict into a positive forward progression, and finally, you show graciousness and thank someone for their time, humanizing their efforts.

Learn how to accept people’s apologies. Don’t be a nitpicky asshole. (See advice #1 & #2.) Sometimes you need to thank someone for their apology, mayhaps offer critcism as calmly/constructively as you can if they ask for it, and then step away. Also, if they don’t ask for criticism, don’t dump an essay of it onto them. You can even offer to give it to them with the caveat that it will only happen once you and they have had a chance to cool off and mull things over. Not all conflicts need to be resolved in the immediate moment and most of them CAN’T be anyway.

Try to understand that even if you do your best at all of the above, sometimes people will never be happy, and you are allowed to calmly take your leave from situations once you have communicated to the best of your ability. Then refer to advice #1.

Remember when engaging in disk horse/discussions to consider the “yes, and...” principle: listen to and get on the same page with their line of thinking, then expand upon it so you don’t leave the other person hanging, or leave them with the burden of the discussion, or give the impression of shutting the discussion down. If you don’t understand a person’s line of thinking, then ask for clarification. Conversations/discussions are just two people writing a back and forth dialogue and what makes conversing more difficult than writing a script (ime) is you don’t know what the other person is thinking, so you need to do your best to communicate as deliberately and levelly as you can. There is a progression to talking to people and should be a forward movement. If someone says, “I think it’s interesting how many wars the United States has had with its current allies” and you reply, “The American Continental Army fought the British in the American War of Independence”... that... doesn’t offer anything, there is no movement, and seemingly you have failed to give the other person the benefit of the doubt that the AmRev is one of those wars to which they referred. Now you’ve left them with the awkward burden of trying to redirect the conversation or just disengaging entirely. A better way to respond would have been, “Yeah, absolutely! I’m interested in the American Revolution in particular” which first shows that you have listened to what they said, enough to pull a specific thread from their thought, and now you have expanded on it by relaying one of your own thoughts/feelings which will give the other person incentive to either say something about that war, or to ask you their own questions. In short: You have showed someone that you heard them, and are now giving something in return for them to expand upon. It’s the difference between talking with someone and AT them, and doing too much of the latter can be extremely offputting for everyone around you.

#fandom #fandom advice #disk horse #long post #tl;dr #discussions

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imthebadguyyy · 3 years

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Loved your first fic of Lewis!💛

Can you make one where Lewis Hamilton and Y/N have a fight and have been living separately and then Lewis comes to meet Y/N one evening and makes an excuse that his toothbrush is with Y/N? And then Lewis confronts Y/N that he knows Y/N still love him but won't admit?

* I know this is a very specific prompt. Bare with me. I just wanted more Angst/ Fluff with Longing for each other and Deep feelings and keep it Non-explicit. *

A/N - I'm so glad you liked the fic 😊

We're Meant To Be

Pairing - Lewis Hamilton x Reader (female)

Fandom - F1

Summary - After a messy fight, you don't know where your relationship stands. But when love is that strong, an argument can't stand in the way.

Warnings - Angst, fighting, swearing

Angered shouts. Tears of frustration. White noise. Desperate pleads. And then silence. That's what your neighbours would describe if they were asked to describe what they had heard from your house. An argument that seemed to have started over nothing, had blown up into a full scale fight. When had it become this bad? Only yesterday, you two had had a date night at home, with movies and wine. Everything was perfect. But then, suddenly everything seemed to go down a downward spiral.

Your relationship with your boyfriend had always been calm, it had been the type of love where you just loved each other with all your hearts, where fights were an incredibly rare appearance. You were both working, and he was away at races most of the time, so usually, you didn't waste time fighting, something that was an unnecessary waste of time in your opinion. But then, something had just switched for a second. It was after the race in Baku, and it hadn't gone well. Lewis had been heartbroken, after coming P15, and had heavily berated himself for it. To make him feel better, you had taken a couple of days off work. to just be with him and give him company to feel better.

It had been on the third day of you spending time with him that he had made an offhand comment that had struck a nerve with you. "I wish you could be there at race weekends more often. It's like you don't care enough about the races" The comment had pissed you off, to put it lightly. "What do you mean, I don't care about the races? I watch all of them Lewis, I'm always supporting you" you had practically seethed at him. "Don't get all huffy, darling, all I'm saying is that the other girlfriends and wives come quite often, but you only come to like three races a year" he had said, already regretting his words. "Maybe that's because I have a job?! I work for my living, and I love my job. I don't have time to fly around the world to accompany you to your races, and its damn hard to get leave off of work anyway, I was lucky to even get a week off of work, and you want me to be there every weekend? It's not possible for a working person, Lewis" you had said, anger bubbling in your voice, pulling away from him to sit up straight. "I know, I just meant-" "No, I know what you meant. I'm sorry I can't always be there, and don't you think I feel bad when I can't be there for you ?" "I know you do, I shouldn't have brought this up. But can you come for the next race?" He had asked, not looking at your eyes, regretting the answer. "I... can't. I have a really big meeting coming up and-" "And you can't come I get it"

And he had just left. You had felt your heart shatter, hating yourself for being so harsh with him. But it was true, you were a very hardworking person, and you had worked damn hard to get to where you were, successful at your job, one of the best in your field. It took years of hard work and perseverance and you were proud of it. But a part of you also knew that Lewis didn't deserve any of the crap you had given him, and you also knew that he was right, the other guys had their partners to support them during various race weekends, and you only showed up to one or two of them. He was well in his rights to tell you that. And you hated how it had ended.

You all alone, in your house, in a cold and empty bed, in a quiet house with silence that was much, much more deafening than words ever could be. It was heartbreaking, to see a future you had dreamed of just shattering in front of your eyes, dreams of having a family of your own with him fluttering away like wisps of smoke, the burning flames leaving only a heartbroken mess of a human being behind. Was that what it felt like? To be burned and left to turn to ashes, when a person that knew exactly how to ignite your flame just left you to burn away? To have someone who could ignite your all consuming passion, and turn you to putty in his hands, who could mould you back into shape, leave you to melt into a liquid through his fingers to just lay on the ground, a sad, broken, person.

And here you were, lying on your bed, the sheets that had warmed the both of you on cold nights, or been home to your pleasure laced activities now offering only some of the warmth it used to, cold and unforgiving, as you turned your pillow for the fifteenth time, neither side cool anymore. Even the pillow didn't want to forgive you, the sweat settling in on your neck again, beads of sweat running down your forehead again. The pulled curtains shielded you from the over bright sunshine, your damp hair sticking to your shoulders and neck. Your eyes, red rimmed and tired, shut to protect them from the faint light in the room, the tiredness not permitting you to even open them to look in the dim light of your room.

Somewhere near you, your phone buzzed again, for what felt like the hundredth time in three days. It had been three days, three long, painful days since you and Lewis had fought and not seen each other, and those 72 hours had ripped a part of your soul out. You had spent those three days in bed, your leave days still saving you from getting out of bed and dragging your body to office. Was your relationship over? Were you never going to meet the love of your life, the man you were destined to be with again? Sighing, you rolled over, pushing the damp strands of hair away from your face. Using strength you didn't know you had, you pulled yourself up, feeling your head spin.

Slowly, you made yourself walk into the kitchen, grabbing a piece of bread and popping it into the toaster. Then you splashed some water on your tired face, shuffling over to the bathroom to brush your teeth. After finishing your toast, you peeled off the sweaty shirt you had pulled on when he had left, realising with a pang that it was Lewis's nightshirt you were wearing, a purple one he loved. Dropping it into the laundry basket, you turned on the shower, stepping under the warm shower. The warm spray untangled the knots in your matted hair, as you soaped your body and hair, fresh tears rolling down your cheeks as memories of your showers together with Lewis came flooding back, as heartbroken sobs wracked your form again.

An hour after the not so great shower, you found yourself in another shirt belonging to Lewis, the bed in fresh sheets and covers, your pillow finally cool on both sides. You were clean and refreshed, albeit heartbroken, waiting on your takeout Chinese food and ice cream. Just as you lay there, scrolling through your Netflix account to watch some episode of FRIENDS to help you keep your spirits up, the doorbell rang. The thought of flavourful Chinese food and ice cream was enough to lure you out of your bed again, bare feet padding across the wooden floor to go to the door. You grabbed your wallet, opening the door, to find not your dinner, but Lewis, at the door, in one of your favourite sweatshirts on him. Did the clothes make you feel better? No. In fact, it just shattered your heart further.

"What are you doing here?" was the predictable line that left your lips. "I um, I left my toothbrush at your place. Can I have it back?"

"I beg your pardon? You left your toothbrush? You came back for a toothbrush, but not for me? Is that all I mean to you?!" you said, anger and a hint of sadness creeping into your tone. "You do mean a lot to me" he replied in a sigh. "Look, I didn't actually leave my toothbrush. That was a lie, and wow, I'm just realising how stupid that sounded, I'm sorry" His words were met with silence. The sadness in your eyes said it all. You were upset. Of course you were. "I don't have any toothbrushes except mine, so please leave" Before you could shut the door in his face, he pushed it back open, stepping into the house on his own.

"No do not come in here, please just get out!"

"No" was his frustrating reply. "What do you mean no? I said get out of my house!" "Not until we stop fighting and talk about what the hell happened!" Lewis yelled back, matching your tone. "Why the hell do you care?!" "Because I still love you damn it, I always have, and this stupid fight cannot, and should not break us apart!"

Your burst into tears. Sliding down against the wall, you buried your face in your hands, the sweatshirt arms covering your face as you sobbed. In an instant, Lewis was walking across to you, strong muscled arms wrapping around your shaking frame. "I'm sorry" you managed to blubber out, "I thought it over, and I don't go to support as often as I feel I should, and I'm sorry"

"No my darling, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said all that to you. You work so hard baby, and I'm so proud of you. And I know that you try to come whenever you can, and I love you so much for that. I'm sorry, and I never shouldv'e asked you to prioritize my passion over yours" rubbing your shoulders softly, he let his chin rest on top of yours. Sniffling, you let your head rest on his shoulder. The soft hiccups that left your lips broke his heart even further, something he hadn't thought possible.

The last 3 days had been pure hell for him. He had missed you, God, he had missed you. He had missed having you in his bed in the morning, tracing patterns on your bare skin. He had missed leaving kisses on your soft cheeks and hands and on your cute nose, missed smiling against your skin as you giggled. He had missed you playing with Roscoe, the doggo following the both of you around the house. Even Roscoe had missed you, sniffing around the house for your familiar smell, cocking his ears up and looking at his dad questioningly.

He had missed your perfume, the scent filling his senses, intoxicating him in the best way possible. He missed you curling up to him, playing with his hair or tracing his tattoos, leaving little kisses around the compass tattoo, tracing his 'Still I Rise' tattoo, missing the goosebumps that would rise on his skin when you traced Michelangelo's Pieta on his skin, and kissed the family and faith tattoos on his sternum. He missed you everywhere, and it had taken three days for him to realize that your presence grounded him. Your presence was something he needed, not to survive, he had done that before, he needed you for his happiness.

And having you in his arms, crying over what he had said? It shattered his heart. And he wanted to just fix everything, to bring everything back to normal. Stroking your hair softly, he kept his lips pressed to your ear, whispering soft "I love you's" and "I'm so sorry baby's" and "I'm here for you's" into your ear, feeling his heart lighten ever so softly when your sniffles decreased and your grip on yourself relaxed.

Moving up to meet his eyes, you moved so you were at eye level with him. "So we're both idiots who are sorry?" You murmured, running your hand up to his collarbone. With a soft laugh, he nodded taking your hand into his, rubbing his thumb over yours. "Fighting sucks" he mumbled pushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "It really does" your replied, moving so you were straddling his waist. "Let's never do that again, and let's just make a schedule. We can figure out when you can come and visit me, and I'll just deal with the fact that my ethereal girlfriend won't grace the race tracks every race weekend-" "It all sounds lovely but all I want right now is your lips on mine" you interrupted, bringing a smirk to his lips.

Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to yours, hand moving to maneuver your head closer to his, your hands moving up to cup his cheek, as your traced his jawline, his thumb running over your waist. Breaking apart softly, he let his forehead rest on yours. "I love you" he whispered softly. "I love you too" you mumbled back. Before he could lean back in, the doorbell rang again.

"Damn it. That's my chinese food and ice cream" you sighed, smiling when he laughed. "Was it that bad?" He asked, letting you get up to open the door. "Like you wouldn't believe it"

After getting the food and paying for it, you set two plates on the table and put enough on your plates. "You know what the worst part was about fighting?" "What was?" "Not waking up to you tracing my tattoos" "Aww that's what you missed?" You giggled, walking up to kiss the tattoos on his hands. "I really did. You're cute and adorable and you're all mine. That's why I don't wanna fight. Let's keep it that way" "I love you so much" "I love you too"

***

A/N - I'm so, so sorry I took so long to write this, I really suck at angst, and I hope this is what you wanted, the last thing I want to do is give you subpar work 😭😭

Anyways, have a great day 💙

#lewis hamilton #f1 #formula 1 #sir lewis hamilton #sir lewis #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton imagines #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton blurb #f1 x reader #f1 imagines #f1 drivers x reader #f1 drivers imagines

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qqueenofhades · 3 years

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Hi. I’m curious. What did you mean by “women who read fiction might get Bad Ideas!!!” has just reached its latest and stupidest form via tumblr purity culture.? I haven’t seen any of this but I’m new to tumblr.

Oh man. You really want to get me into trouble on, like, my first day back, don’t you?

Pretty much all of this has been explained elsewhere by people much smarter than me, so this isn’t necessarily going to say anything new, but I’ll do my best to synthesize and summarize it. As ever, it comes with the caveat that it is my personal interpretation, and is not intended as the be-all, end-all. You’ll definitely run across it if you spend any time on Tumblr (or social media in general, including Twitter, and any other fandom-related spaces). This will get long.

In short: in the nineteenth century, when Gothic/romantic literature became popular and women were increasingly able to read these kinds of novels for fun, there was an attendant moral panic over whether they, with their weak female brains, would be able to distinguish fiction from reality, and that they might start making immoral or inappropriate choices in their real life as a result. Obviously, there was a huge sexist and misogynistic component to this, and it would be nice to write it off entirely as just hysterical Victorian pearl-clutching, but that feeds into the “lol people in the past were all much stupider than we are today” kind of historical fallacy that I often and vigorously shut down. (Honestly, I’m not sure how anyone can ever write the “omg medieval people believed such weird things about medicine!” nonsense again after what we’ve gone through with COVID, but that is a whole other rant.) The thinking ran that women shouldn’t read novels for fear of corrupting their impressionable brains, or if they had to read novels at all, they should only be the Right Ones: i.e., those that came with a side of heavy-handed and explicit moralizing so that they wouldn’t be tempted to transgress. Of course, books trying to hammer their readers over the head with their Moral Point aren’t often much fun to read, and that’s not the point of fiction anyway. Or at least, it shouldn’t be.

Fast-forward to today, and the entire generation of young, otherwise well-meaning people who have come to believe that being a moral person involves only consuming the “right” kind of fictional content, and being outrageously mean to strangers on the internet who do not agree with that choice. There are a lot of factors contributing to this. First, the advent of social media and being subject to the judgment of people across the world at all times has made it imperative that you demonstrate the “right” opinions to fit in with your peer-group, and on fandom websites, that often falls into a twisted, hyper-critical, so-called “progressivism” that diligently knows all the social justice buzzwords, but has trouble applying them in nuance, context, and complicated real life. To some extent, this obviously is not a bad thing. People need to be critical of the media they engage with, to know what narratives the creator(s) are promoting, the tropes they are using, the conclusions that they are supporting, and to be able to recognize and push back against genuinely harmful content when it is produced – and this distinction is critical – by professional mainstream creators. Amateur, individual fan content is another kettle of fish. There is a difference between critiquing a professional creator (though social media has also made it incredibly easy to atrociously abuse them) and attacking your fellow fan and peer, who is on the exact same footing as you as a consumer of that content.

Obviously, again, this doesn’t mean that you can’t call out people who are engaging in actually toxic or abusive behavior, fans or otherwise. But certain segments of Tumblr culture have drained both those words (along with “gaslighting”) of almost all critical meaning, until they’re applied indiscriminately to “any fictional content that I don’t like, don’t agree with, or which doesn’t seem to model healthy behavior in real life” and “anyone who likes or engages with this content.” Somewhere along the line, a reactionary mindset has been formed in which the only fictional narratives or relationships are those which would be “acceptable” in real life, to which I say…. what? If I only wanted real life, I would watch the news and only read non-fiction. Once again, the underlying fear, even if it’s framed in different terms, is that the people (often women) enjoying this content can’t be trusted to tell the difference between fiction and reality, and if they like “problematic” fictional content, they will proceed to seek it out in their real life and personal relationships. And this is just… not true.

As I said above, critical media studies and thoughtful consumption of entertainment are both great things! There have been some great metas written on, say, the Marvel Cinematic Universe and how it is increasingly relying on villains who have outwardly admirable motives (see: the Flag Smashers in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier) who are then stigmatized by their anti-social, violent behavior and attacks on innocent people, which is bad even as the heroes also rely on violence to achieve their ends. This is a clever way to acknowledge social anxieties – to say that people who identify with the Flag Smashers are right, to an extent, but then the instant they cross the line into violence, they’re upsetting the status quo and need to be put down by the heroes. I watched TFATWS and obviously enjoyed it. I have gone on a Marvel re-watching binge recently as well. I like the MCU! I like the characters and the madcap sci-fi adventures! But I can also recognize it as a flawed piece of media that I don’t have to accept whole-cloth, and to be able to criticize some of the ancillary messages that come with it. It doesn’t have to be black and white.

When it comes to shipping, moreover, the toxic culture of “my ship is better than your ship because it’s Better in Real Life” ™ is both well-known and in my opinion, exhausting and pointless. As also noted, the whole point of fiction is that it allows us to create and experience realities that we don’t always want in real life. I certainly enjoy plenty of things in fiction that I would definitely not want in reality: apocalyptic space operas, violent adventures, and yes, garbage men. A large number of my ships over the years have been labeled “unhealthy” for one reason or another, presumably because they don’t adhere to the stereotype of the coffee-shop AU where there’s no tension and nobody ever makes mistakes or is allowed to have serious flaws. And I’m not even bagging on coffee-shop AUs! Some people want to remove characters from a violent situation and give them that fluff and release from the nonstop trauma that TV writers merrily inflict on them without ever thinking about the consequences. Fanfiction often focuses on the psychology and healing of characters who have been through too much, and since that’s something we can all relate to right now, it’s a very powerful exercise. As a transformative and interpretive tool, fanfic is pretty awesome.

The problem, again, comes when people think that fic/fandom can only be used in this way, and that going the other direction, and exploring darker or complicated or messy dynamics and relationships, is morally bad. As has been said before: shipping is not activism. You don’t get brownie points for only having “healthy” ships (and just my personal opinion as a queer person, these often tend to be heterosexual white ships engaging in notably heteronormative behavior) and only supporting behavior in fiction that you think is acceptable in real life. As we’ve said, there is a systematic problem in identifying what that is. Ironically, for people worried about Women Getting Ideas by confusing fiction and reality, they’re doing the same thing, and treating fiction like reality. Fiction is fiction. Nobody actually dies. Nobody actually gets hurt. These people are not real. We need to normalize the idea of characters as figments of a creator’s imagination, not actual people with their own agency. They exist as they are written, and by the choice of people whose motives can be scrutinized and questioned, but they themselves are not real. Nor do characters reflect the author’s personal views. Period.

This feeds into the fact that the internet, and fandom culture, is not intended as a “safe space” in the sense that no questionable or triggering content can ever be posted. Archive of Our Own, with its reams of scrupulous tagging and requests for you to explicitly click and confirm that you are of age to see M or E-rated content, is a constant target of the purity cultists for hosting fictional material that they see as “immoral.” But it repeatedly, unmistakably, directly asks you for your consent to see this material, and if you then act unfairly victimized, well… that’s on you. You agreed to look at this, and there are very few cases where you didn’t know what it entailed. Fandom involves adults creating contents for adults, and while teenagers and younger people can and do participate, they need to understand this fact, rather than expecting everything to be a PG Disney movie.

When I do write my “dark” ships with garbage men, moreover, they always involve a lot of the man being an idiot, being bluntly called out for an idiot, and learning healthier patterns of behavior, which is one of the fundamental patterns of romance novels. But they also involve an element of the woman realizing that societal standards are, in fact, bullshit, and she can go feral every so often, as a treat. But even if I wrote them another way, that would still be okay! There are plenty of ships and dynamics that I don’t care for and don’t express in my fic and fandom writing, but that doesn’t mean I seek out the people who do like them and reprimand them for it. I know plenty of people who use fiction, including dark fiction, in a cathartic way to process real-life trauma, and that’s exactly the role – one of them, at least – that fiction needs to be able to fulfill. It would be terribly boring and limited if we were only ever allowed to write about Real Life and nothing else. It needs to be complicated, dark, escapist, unreal, twisted, and whatever else. This means absolutely zilch about what the consumers of this fiction believe, act, or do in their real lives.

Once more, I do note the misogyny underlying this. Nobody, after all, seems to care what kind of books or fictional narratives men read, and there’s no reflection on whether this is teaching them unhealthy patterns of behavior, or whether it predicts how they’ll act in real life. (There was some of that with the “do video games cause mass shootings?”, but it was a straw man to distract from the actual issues of toxic masculinity and gun culture.) Certain kinds of fiction, especially historical fiction, romance novels, and fanfic, are intensely gendered and viewed as being “women’s fiction” and therefore hyper-criticized, while nobody’s asking if all the macho-man potboiler military-intrigue tough-guy stereotypical “men’s fiction” is teaching them bad things. So the panic about whether your average woman on the internet is reading dark fanfic with an Unhealthy Ship (zomgz) is, in my opinion, misguided at best, and actively destructive at worst.

#long post #anonymous #ask

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alicenttully · 4 years

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You know with how often people bring up Sansa going to Cersei as some ultimate betrayal of the Starks, you’d think they’d remember that Ned went to Cersei too. And it wouldn’t matter if Sansa told Cersei they were leaving because she wouldn’t have known anything about Ned discovering the incest without him literally telling her what he knew and giving her time to hatch her own plan. It’s Ned’s mercy that dooms him and it’s much more narratively satisfying than it would be if it was all Sansa’s fault than if Ned has literally no influence over his own story. Ned also puts his own men into the city watch, leaving his personal guard very small. Ned has much more influence than his 11 year old daughter.

Oh, and when Ned first tells Sansa and Arya that they’ll leaving KL, Sansa says this, “I’ll be good, you’ll see, just let me stay and I promise to be as fine and noble and courteous as the queen.” Ned literally knows that Sansa idolizes the queen and says literally not one word to her about Cersei not being trustworthy. Sansa is an 11 year old girl who’s upset about leaving a place she liked with tons of things she’d always dreamed of, so she goes to someone she thinks will let her stay. Ned never once warns her against Cersei the way her warns Arya even though he knows that she thinks the queen is perfect.

Once she had loved Prince Joffrey with all her heart, and admired and trusted his mother, the queen. They had repaid that love and trust with her father's head.

Sansa didn’t go to Cersei out of some devious need to betray her father or to see him hurt. It was an act of rebellion - an 11-year-old child seeking the help of a trusted authority figure because she doesn’t understand what her father is doing - because as it’s been pointed out, Ned failed to properly communicate with Sansa just truly how dangerous their situation was. I’ve seen people argue that he did when he told Sansa that he wanted her and Arya back for their safety- but looking back at the chapter (Sansa III) he says nothing to Sansa about his mistrust of Cersei Lannister, thus the explanation he gives is in fact INSUFFICIENT. And I’m sure someone will counter this by saying “well, he was her parent. She should have just obeyed, explanation or no.” And I’m sorry, but I don’t agree, and it’s because of this -

Sansa must wed Joffrey, that is clear now, we must give them no grounds to suspect our devotion.

Sansa had every right to a proper explanation given that her father betrothed her to Joffrey with the intention of using it as a cover to investigate the Lannisters for murder. If Arya who wasn’t in the position that Sansa was as the betrothed to the future king deserved honesty, then so did Sansa. Also, because as it’s been raised before as to why Sansa continued to trust Cersei after the Trident- it’s been pointed out before that despite everything that happened, nothing happened to Sansa and Joff’s betrothal. From Sansa’s perspective, she was still excepted to marry into this family. Consequentially, it is no wonder she ended up romanticising the Lannisters again, rather than face the horrible truth about who they really are. It’s why she insists Joff is nothing like his father, that “old drunken king” even though there are several parallels between Joffrey’s behaviour at the Trident and Robert’s at the tourney feast. Such actions don’t paint her as stupid. They reveal her as human - after all, how many of us have lied to ourselves? Sansa isn’t alone in this. Ned lies to himself about Robert- taking a while to truly accept that his friend has changed. Tyrion lies to himself about Shae. Both were also much older than Sansa, who was a child.

Furthermore, if Sansa going to Cersei was truly so instrumental in Ned dying then you would think the show’s decision to cut it out would have some sort of effect. Except it doesn’t really. Ned still goes to Cersei (who is already planning her own shit) Littlefinger still betrays Ned, Janos Slynt also betrays Ned, Ned still sends much of his guard away causing him to be more vulnerable. It’s almost like Sansa going to Cersei had little to no impact at all, other than her becoming captive and Arya going on the run. If you want to blame her for the death of the Stark household then fine as it was just meant to be them and the girls going home, but again I can go back to Ned and ask why the hell didn’t he appoint guards for his daughters, given how dangerous he thought KL was, to prevent such a situation. Because if your daughter is telling you how much she admires the queen (the woman you distrust) then that may be a clue you need to keep an eye on her. Also regarding Ned- he was actually planning on staying in Kingslanding. He wanted the girls back in WF, but he said nothing about himself. So hypothetically let's just say the girls did get sent away, certain factors will still exist. Robert will still die, Littlefinger will see betray him, Renly a possible ally, will still be gone. Joffrey will still go mad at Ned declaring him a bastard, and Cersei will still arrest him for treason. In the books, Ned falsely confesses to treason in order to protect Sansa (paralleling his decision to lying about Jons parentage in order to protect him) However even without Sansa’s life being in jeopardy, the outcome IMO would still have been the same. One, Varys obviously has his own agenda and I could very easily see him persuade Ned to confess in order to prevent his son Robb from going to war-

"Robb is only a boy," Ned said, aghast.

If Ned falsely confesses to treason in order to protect Sansa who is “no more than a child”, then it is very easy to see him do the same for Robb to protect him from having to go to war, that he saw only as “a boy”. I always found that interesting he would say that, given that this is the same man who tells his wife their three year old son “won’t be three forever”. And yet here faced with the prospect of his other son going to war, Ned is horrified. It’s probably all coming back to him - how he also went to war for the first time when he was not much older than Robb. Neds chapters showcase the trauma that he suffered because of it, which furthers my belief that he would try to prevent Robb from experiencing that. Thus Ned still “confesses”, and he still dies. Because nothing has been done to remove the fact that Joffrey is wildly unpredictable that doesn’t listen to his counsellors (theres a reason why Tommen is regarded as more controllable) or the fact that it has been strongly implied that LF might have had some influence on Joffrey suddenly changing script-

His queen mother stood beside him in a black mourning gown slashed with crimson, a veil of black diamonds in her hair. Arya recognized the Hound, wearing a snowy white cloak over his dark grey armor, with four of the Kingsguard around him. She saw Varys the eunuch gliding among the lords in soft slippers and a patterned damask robe, and she thought the short man with the silvery cape and pointed beard might be the one who had once fought a duel for Mother.

The High Septon clutched at the king's cape, and Varys came rushing over waving his arms, and even the queen was saying something to him, but Joffrey shook his head.

You know whose behaviour isn’t described here? Littlefinger’s. There is no description of LF acting shocked or panicked. That’s very telling.

tldr: sansa is not to blame for her father’s death. it was various other factors that ultimately ended up dooming him. sansa went to cersei not because she wanted to “betray” her father, but because she trusted cersei. it was a horrible situation in which a child’s trust was taken advantage of in the most wretched way, and its time the fandom stop blaming sansa for it.

#sansa stark #sansa stark defense squad #sansa #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones #got #asks #lmafo didnt mean for this to get so long

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iamanartichoke · 3 years

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The show stans seem like they don't have brains and just consume what they get without zero critical thinking and get mad when people have common sense.

This feels very baity, anon. I'm not gonna bash the people who are 100% positive - for one thing, it’d make me feel hypocritical since the biggest issue I have with fandom wank is the amount of unwarranted bashing of others just bc they don’t share the same opinions. (Admittedly, I can be snarky and/or passive-aggressive bc said bashing makes me feel very defensive, both of myself and my like-minded mutuals, but that’s a separate thing than bashing people just for the sake of it.)

For another thing, though, I don’t think that this is the case, for the most part. Yes, sometimes I do see takes that make me go o_O or how did you end up with that interpretation?, and obviously it frustrates me if I feel that someone’s meta or whatever is only skimming the surface of what’s really there (ie, claiming Loki needs to make amends for his actions but not holding anyone else to that same standard). It is further frustrating to see people express appreciation and praise for one film’s portrayal of Loki and then in the same breath insist that Loki’s characterization has been consistent throughout all the films (bc you can’t have it both ways; saying you like the more mellow, fun version of Loki [which is fine] and prefer it over the angsty, more villainous version of Loki implicitly acknowledges that the characterization has changed from one film to the next, and I don’t know why some people just refuse to admit that??).

All of these things are frustrating and fuel discourse/wank, and it’s a pattern that seems to be repeating itself as we approach the series and all of it is very tiring. But I’m not going to sit here and say that stanning the show means a person doesn’t have brains or has zero critical thinking skills. Often there are lazy critical thinking skills at work (in my opinion), but sometimes it also just does come down to interpreting media in a different way and I’ve never begrudged anyone that. The interpretations may frustrate me, but the person does not (unless they are being antagonistic on purpose).

tl;dr: I have zero issue with anyone who is excited, who is stanning the series, who is unabashedly praising what we’ve seen so far, etc. Someone else enjoying the series doesn’t affect my own enjoyment or lack thereof. Someone else enjoying the series doesn’t mean they’re brainless or stupid.

The only thing(s) I have and have ever had issue with is:

- the insistence that one must be endlessly positive in their consumption of new fandom material

-making the fandom spaces hostile to those who are upset and/or have grievances with the new fandom material

- the implication that one can’t think for themselves/isn’t a “real fan” if their opinions don’t align with what Tom Hiddleston puts out there as “Loki meta” (for lack of a better word).

- sending anon hate and/or taking people’s tagged posts and circulating them for no other reason than to mock the opinions those people have.

I hope that makes sense?

#asks #a nonny mouse #charlotte replies #fandom wank #loki series: just drink what's in the glass

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theforgottendaydreamer · 3 years

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For the fanfic requests thing, I finally decided what to ask you.

A TsukkYama sickfic where Tsukishima got a fever after training too much and has nausea and dissociates a lot, so Yamaguchi tries to help him and take care of him. Nothing sexual obviously but I want there to be a tender and soft moment between them where Yamaguchi tries to bring Tsukki back to reality. Make it as long as you are able to and be as whump as you can. ❤

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS REQUEST! I’m absolutely in love with your idea, when I first read it I had to stop and take a deep breath because every little part of me was screaming. Hopefully this will be close to what you had in mind! Thank you again @theark-ofvoid for sending a request :)

Fandom: Haikyuu!!

Pairing(s): TsukkiYama (Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi).

Word count: 2893 words.

Tags: fever, vomit, exhaustion. Set shortly after the Tōkyō Training Camp Arc. Rated G.

一

He should have left with the others. He knew he should have. He was well-aware that this was eventually going to kill him, he knew that pushing his limits was stupid, that it wasn’t going to make him better. But Tsukishima kept going. Minute after minute, he insisted on perfecting his serves, his spikes, his sets; he’d run laps until his legs began to feel like jelly, wobbling dangerously under his weight. He’d worked hard to make his fingertips reach higher, to have stronger arms, to dive in case he were to receive a ball, if that would have meant not losing a point. He’d been running himself to the ground for two weeks straight, every day, even on the weekend when the gym was closed and he could only workout in the tiny backyard. Even Kageyama and Hinata, who were known to always finish a little late, had started to leave the gym before him.

But unlike those two, Tsukishima needed this. He needed to work harder, he needed to get better. Bokuto had been right, after all: Tsukishima liked to pretend that he didn’t like volleyball, that it was just a hobby of his, something he did to blow off some steam. However, deep down, he knew the truth: he was weak. He was too weak. He’d tried to downplay his weakness as simple indifference, but Tsukishima knew that the only reason why he didn’t show just how much volleyball meant to him was because, after all this time, he was still weak, pathetic, a child that couldn’t get over his trauma.

And Yamaguchi wasn’t happy about it. He’d been keeping a close eye on his boyfriend ever since he’d noticed just how off he’d started to look: surely enough, his arms and legs were more sculpted, but the spectacles couldn’t hide just how sunken his honey eyes were, nor how his complexion had taken a sickly grey tinge over the course of the past two weeks.

At lunch, Tsukishima would eat his usual, tiny portions of food, though Yamaguchi would always ask him to finish his too, pretending that he was full and that he didn’t feel like throwing the food his parents had made for him away like that. He’d maybe leave a couple of spoonfuls of rice, or some vegetables, or a banana he’d barely even touched, asking Tsukishima to finish those for him. Sometimes, the blond would comply, but Yamaguchi had noticed that his boyfriend had began to act annoyed at his requests, so he’d stopped doing it, and limited himself to observing the boy.

Today was not different.

“Tsukki,” he called, sitting on the sidelines. Everyone else was gone already一 they’d left at least an hour ago一 and the moon was already shining up in the sky, stars blinking faintly in the distance, hidden beyond flimsy clouds. Yamaguchi pulled the sweatshirt tighter around himself, drawing his knees closer to his body.

“Tsukki, we should go home.” he insisted. Tsukishima didn’t even react to the voice, and instead he kept juggling, sending the blue and yellow ball higher and higher. The rhythmic, dull sound of flesh hitting synthetic leather was almost unnerving to Yamaguchi, but Tsukishima had completely tuned it out.

Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. D-

The ball fell on his head with a muffled thud, but Tsukishima didn’t wince. Instead, he crouched down to grab it, expression unreadable. Normally, he would have clicked his tongue, or kicked the ball, or reacted in some way. But he didn’t, and for Yamaguchi, that was the last straw. The green-haired boy got up from his spot and paced toward his boyfriend; he grabbed at his arm, grip delicate but firm. As soon as he made contact, however, Tsukishima flinched violently, immediately pulling away, wide-eyed. He blinked, slow and sheepish, squinting slightly and wondering why the hell his glasses weren’t doing their job.

Yamaguchi repeated the action, albeit more slowly. “Tsukki, enough! It’s late, we need to lock the gym up and leave. Now.” he said, not leaving room for discussion. Despite his hard expression, Yamaguchi’s guts twisted and knotted uncontrollably, the sensation that something was definitely not right sending shivers down his spine.

Karasuno’s number Eleven swallowed, thick. He glanced around, and Yamaguchi couldn’t help but notice how his boyfriend looked like a deer in the headlights. A very warm, suddenly-too-pale deer in the headlights, now that he noticed. The shorter boy moved his hand that was resting onto Tsukishima’s shoulder up, placing it on his forehead; he pulled away in an instant, gasping.

“Tsukki, y-you’re burning up!” he fretted, “You know what, that’s it, I’m taking you home right now. Stay here, I’ll go grab our stuff. Don’t you dare touch another ball.” he hissed, thought he wasn’t angry, but more like, scared out of his mind. Before Yamaguchi could help Tsukishima to at least sit down, the latter whimpered, and he froze.

“I d-don’t... m’not...” Tsukishima stuttered out, voice weak. His eyes were shut tightly, almost painfully as he tried to stop the world from spinning around him. “I th-think一”

And just like that, his head ducked, and he almost headbutted Yamaguchi in the chin as he collapsed forward with a thick, burning retch. The putrid scent of half-digested food and bile spilled from his lips and nose, tears of exertion and agony pooling at the corner of his eyes. The sick soiled the floor and his shoes, and little specks of refuse ended up onto Yamaguchi’s too, but he didn’t care.

“Fuck一 Tsukki! It’s alright. There, get it all up, come on.” Yamaguchi fretted, trying hard not to lose his composure, “What's wrong, Tsukki? What is it? Where does it hurt?” His sweaty palm was pressed against Tsukishima’s damp, forehead, too hot for comfort, while the other hand of the freckled boy rested between his boyfriend’s shoulder blades, rubbing in what he hoped would be considered as comforting patterns, “You're doing amazing, it's alright, just take a deep breath for me now. Easy does it, you're okay, I'm here, baby, I'm here. You're fine, it's fine, it happens, d-don't worry.”

Tsukishima’s body spasmed as he gasped for oxygen whenever his mouth wasn’t busy spewing the content of his upset stomach, clenching painfully. He felt too hot, too unsteady, disoriented if not for the physical contact of Yamaguchi that somehow helped him to cling onto consciousness. Just barely, that is.

“...ki, hey? Can ... me? Tsukki!?” called a voice from somewhere above him, and it was lined with panic, but his fever-addled brain didn’t really register any of that. The blond groaned, shutting his eyes tightly and pressing his soiled lips in a thin, trembling line. A wet burp escaped his mouth, but he didn’t bring a fist up to conceal it, and instead sank forward again, bringing up another wave of vomit.

The world around him felt like a broken carousel, its hinges screeching and clanking loudly and making his head pound. Everything was going around and around in dizzying trajectories, taking him along for the dizzy ride, and it was loud, nauseating. Sweat dripped down his forehead, and the white shirt he was wearing stuck uncomfortably to his pale skin, drenched in salty sweat. Something一 someone was moving him, talking to him, but he couldn’t focus on it, he couldn’t bring himself to care, now.

“...shima please, please answer me! Kei!” called Yamaguchi. He was gripping at Tsukishima’s wrists tightly, leaving shallow marks on his boyfriend’s skin as he unconsciously dug his short nails into it. The honey in Tsukishima’s eyes had been replaced with a darker shade of yellow, and his pupils were blown like he’d been in the dark for too long. He didn’t seem aware of Yamaguchi’s presence, he didn’t seem to hear his boyfriend as he called his name repeatedly, urgency evident in his tone, and he didn’t seem to understand as the freckled boy bolted to the clubroom only to return a minute later, phone held in the crook of his neck as he spoke. Tsukishima watched with blind eyes, passive, unfocused gaze falling somewhere behind the pinch server.

“...r mother’s gonna … soon, you’ll be alr… hear me? Tsukki, pl...” he heard him say. He couldn’t quite understand the words, but he felt grateful. And scared.

He coughed weakly, “Ya-ama..?”

“Tsukki!” Yamaguchi beamed, trying to catch his gaze, eyebrows arched in fear, “Tsukki, I’m here. You’re okay, you’re- you're alright. It’s just a fever, there’s nothing to worry about!” he explained, mostly to himself. “Stay with me now, alright? Your mother’s going to pick us up in a few minutes, and she asked me if I could stay with you for the night since she has a nightshift to cover. Is that okay?”

Tsukishima blinked, lips quivering as he tried to compose a somewhat cognizant thought, and failed. He let his fuzzy head loll forward, limp against Yamaguchi’s shoulder.

“Hurts.” he slurred, shivering. “M-messed up.”

“No, no, shhh, you didn’t mess anything up. You didn’t mess anything up, Tsukki. Stay with me now. You’re here with me, I won’t leave you.”

Tsukishima whimpered. “Dunno wha’s happenin’ t’me.” he mumbled, “M’sorry.”

“You don’t have to be!” Yamaguchi screeched, maybe a little too loud. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he added, voice lower, “it’s alright, it happens. You just need to get this under control.”

“Ca-an’t.”

“You can. You can. You’re too hard on yourself, but you can work on it. We can work on it.” Yamaguchi explained, rubbing at his back to ground him when he noticed how shifty his boyfriend’s gaze was getting. “Tsukki, hey, hey. Don’t go yet. Listen to me, okay? Listen to Yama.” he said, “I’m sorry this is happening to you一 man, you’re scorching. B-but we’ll fix this, yeah?”

Yamaguchi cursed himself. He’d seen it coming, he knew it was going to happen and he didn’t do anything to stop it, to stop him from hurting himself like that. His grip around Tsukishima’s shoulders tightened, and he shifted closer to the boy. His eyes were still open, but he didn’t look entirely conscious. This was worrisome, to say the least.

“Tsukki, you with me?” the pinch server asked. “Do you feel like you’re going to be sick again?”

A shrug.

“Okay, okay, that’s fine. Just stay with me.” he insisted, “You’ll be okay soon, we just need to…”

To the middle-blocker, Yamaguchi’s voice sounded as if he was speaking from underwater. Or maybe, Tsukishima thought, he was the one that was drowning. It felt like it. But he also felt like he was melting. How could he melt underwater? That sounded… funny.

“Tsukki..?” Yamaguchi called fearfully, eyes wide and filled with horror as the boiling boy chuckled for no apparent reason. He was almost too scared to prop him up.

And the blond was fully-intentioned to reply, to explain why the image that he had in mind was amusingー Yamaguchi was surely going to find it hilarious, too. He opened his mouth, voicing out a shapeless mutter, before the grey that had been clawing at his vision since he'd collapsed decided to take over him. He felt so heavy, all of the sudden; his limbs were in agony, and his head pounded. Tsukishima briefly wondered if he had some painkillers in his bag, before he inadvertently tilted to the side, world tipping, going dark. And then, he knew no more, dragged under by an infinite void.

By the time that Ms Tsukishima arrived, a few minutes later, Yamaguchi was an absolute mess; he’d tried to keep it together, for his boyfriend’s sake, but when Tsukishima had collapsed after giving only the tiniest, most pitiful sigh as a warning, he’d lost it. Ms Tsukishima, already dressed up for her shift that was going to begin soon, had found her son laying on his side, as the kind boy who was always next to him kept running a hand through his matted hair and calling out his name, voice broken. His eyes were red-rimmed and shiny with tears, chin twitching as he stifled soundless sobs.

The two of them had then managed to drag Tsukishima's lanky body out of the gym and haul him into the car. Yamaguchi had grabbed Tsukishima's phone and had called him, placing the device on the seat of the car, and taking his own with him as he went to rapidly clean up the mess, while Tsukishima's mother went to retrieve the bags. That way, the freckled boy and Tsukishima's mother could feel a bit less guilty about leaving the unconscious blond alone in the car.

They were both back in the car less than five minutes later, and Tsukishima had not regained consciousness in the meantime, nor during the drive. Yamaguchi could only run his long, shaky fingers through the damp hair, and pray. Tsukishima's boiling head rested on his thigh as he rested, lost into a fitful sleep.

ー

When he came to, he felt... just as bad as before. Worse, maybe.

Tsukishima didn't want to wake up, but consciousness seemed to be willing to forcefully drag him back to the land of the living without his consent, and there was nothing he could do when his senses slowly returned to him. The pain did too, and suddenly the middle-blocker realised just how worse for the wear he'd had it.

“...ki?” someone called. The voice was low, warm and familiar, and it made him feel at ease. He wondered whose voice it was.

“Tsukki, baby?” came again, and this time, this time Tsukishima knew. His eyes blinked open without him telling them to, not managing to unclose past slits; the form before him was blurry, its outlines faded and unclear. Something was wrapped around a handー his hand, he reminded himselfー and it was warm and soft, though slightly wet.

“Y-Yama.” Tsukishima croaked out. The room around him started to become more familiar to his burning eyes, and the blond came to the realisation that the place he was in was his own bedroom. With his free hand, Tsukishima felt the clean sheets, and grabbed a fistful of them, grip weak and unsteady. He inhaled, slow and deep, taking in the scent of lavender of the pillowcase; with the little strength he'd left, he somehow managed to lift his and Yamaguchi's hand, and put the freckled boy's against his lips, planting a soft kiss, allowing himself to whiff at the scent of strawberryー Yamaguchi had started using cherry body soap ever since he'd discovered that he reminded Tsukishima of a strawberry when flustered, apparently. He found it cute.

“How are you feeling, Tsukki?” Yamaguchi asked, voice gentle and barely a whisper.

A half-choked groan was all he got in response. The pinch served hummed.

“You're running an awfully-high fever. It got to 39.4°C earlier, but I think it’s a bit lower now.”

“M'sorry.” Tsukishima mumbled. Yamaguchi didn't even need to ask why, and the blond knew it. Karasuno's number Twelve let his shoulders drop, and he stood up from the chair he was on, and sat onto the mattress, feeling it sag under his weight. He delicately rubbed Tsukishima's cheek, before he started to cradle his hair, careful not to pull any strands. Only then did Tsukishima realize that a damp cloth had been draped over his forehead. Through fever-fogged eyes, the blond could still see how sadness lingered in his watery gaze.

“You don’t need to do this to yourself.” he simply stated.

“M’sorry, Yama. I don’tー I didn’t think…” he trailed off. He still had a high fever, and his thoughts were scrambled also due to the fact that he had no energy in him right now.

Yamaguchi exhaled softly, “Scoot over.”

“Wha’?”

“Come on, Tsukki, let me lay down a bit.”

Tsukishima did as he was told, moving a few centimeters to the right so that Yamaguchi could get under the blanket next to him; he didn’t lay down entirely, and let Tsukishima move his head to rest on his chest, hearing the rhythmic thumping of his heart.

“Don’t do that ever again. Please.” Yamaguchi whispered, “That was scary, and I don’t want you to go and almost kill yourself like that. You don’t need to.”

“I need’a be b-better.” Tsukishima croaked out, “If I c-can’t block, m’notー the team won’t wa-ant me. I jus’ wanted to be good enough.”

The hand that was cradling his sweaty hair stopped moving, and Tsukishima barely kept himself from whining at that. “You’re already good enough, Tsukki, and even better than that. You’re you, you’re good just as you are.” Yamaguchi said, stern, “The team will always want you. We need you, Tsukki, and not only because you’re a good player, but because everyone likes youー yes, even the other first-years, don’t start.”

Tsukishima chuckled despite himself. “M’really sorry, Yama.”

“It’s okay, just… don’t do that again, please. That’s all I’m asking.” Yamaguchi breathed out, voice soft. He leaned over to plant a soft kiss onto Tsukishima’s warm forehead, the salty sweat moist against his lips, Tsukishima leaning into the tender touch. “Now rest, I won’t go anywhere.” he said.

The blond could only breathe out the umptenth apology, before he was enveloped in the darkness once again. But this time, he was safe.

一

(reposted and edited on my ao3)

#i'll accept 4 more requests :)#1k followers requests #haikyuu sickfic #haikyuu!! sickfic #request #tsukkiyama #tsukishima kei #yamaguchi tadashi #sick tsukishima kei #haikyuu!!#anime #manga #fanfiction #do not repost on other websites

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snowdice · 4 years

Text

Gaps in His Files (Part 12) [Relabeled; Refiled Series]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Logan/Patton

Characters:

Main: Logan, Patton

Appear: Remy, Virgil (but only in the epilogue)

Summary:

Logan Berry has learned many things the last 10 years: a lot of math and physics, a bit of humility, and how to be a hero being just a few. Through his education, his experience teaching, and his exploits as the superhero Bluebird, he’s changed in a lot of small and large ways. He has recorded these changes in well-organized documents and files. He’s even had to create two new file designations: a red one for files about his moonlighting at Bluebird, and a light blue one dedicated to his boyfriend, Patton.

When Bluebird is targeted by a memory device and all of those 10 years of progress suddenly disappear, Patton Sanders and Logan’s extensive files are left as his only resource to get those memories back. But what is Patton supposed to do when there are clear gaps in his files? And what does he do when he is one of them?

This is set 25 years before Sometimes Labels Fail though it’s story is completely independent of it and it is not necessary to read that one first.

Notes: Superhero AU, memory loss, past child abuse, past child neglect, unhealthy ideas about ones place in relationships, emotional suppression, self-deprecating thoughts, medical procedures mentioned, very brief unhealthy views of sex

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

This one is very heavy. Patton is spiraling hard and expresses some very unhealthy deep seated views of himself and his role in relationships. So be warned and if you want to wait to read this, feel free. Basically all of the warning in the notes apply in this one except medical procedures.

Patton’s back ached from falling asleep on the floor next to the couch once again the night before. It had been horribly quiet in the apartment in the last 24 hours since Patton returned from the hospital to find Logan gone. He didn’t know what to do.

They’d defaulted back to looking through the files that they’d already pretty much read through at this point and Patton was starting to wonder if there was even any point. They’d looked through the red ones last night and the green ones this morning before rotating back to the blue ones which were now spread all over the coffee table.

Patton had snagged one of the fluffier blankets from the closet and curled up under it, but it didn’t make him feel any better. In fact, he might feel worse because he couldn’t keep insisting that Logan pet it like he normally would.

Logan didn’t even seem to care enough to voice his obvious unhappiness with Patton. His silence just made Patton feel worse and worse and made his thoughts spin and spin. Logan was tapping his fingers against the table thinking about something. Usually Patton would respond to that action with patient fondness, but today it just made him want to curl up into a ball wondering what he was thinking. Patton’s mind kept returning again and again to that place it had been in on and off the last two months except that place was getting darker and darker every time he came back around to it.

Ever since the rejected proposal, Patton had tried to figure out what it was about him Logan didn’t like. He’d tried all sorts of things. He’d tried not inviting himself over to his apartment as much, not being as pushy about Logan taking care of himself, offering sex less, offering sex more, not being as pushy about spending time with him, being more quiet, letting him decide what they did on dates, not talking as much about his job, not depending on him as much when he was stressed, not crying in front of him when he was overwhelmed. He’d tried. He’d tried so many things.

The problem was Logan. Or at least Logan before.

What Logan hated most in life was change and he’d clearly gotten used to how Patton naturally acted over the years. Thus, he kept getting distressed when Patton tried to change something.

When Patton avoided his apartment for over a week, he’d asked if Patton was mad at him and then since Patton had that Saturday off, he’d managed to cajole Patton into spending all day in Logan’s bed napping and cuddling.

The not pushing him to care for himself had only lasted a few hours. Patton knew it had to be annoying, but he couldn’t stop himself from reminding him to eat breakfast and Logan hadn’t seemed mad when he’d started back up. He’d even brushed a kiss across his cheek when Patton handed him a plate of bacon and breakfast potatoes.

He seemed to be able to tell when Patton wanted to have sex with a startling amount of pinpoint accuracy, like he had Patton down to a science. When Patton wanted it, but didn’t start something, he initiated it himself and he looked at him with abject confusion when Patton tried something when he didn’t want it.

He showed up to the hospital to take Patton to lunch in the cafeteria when he didn’t mention meeting up for lunch because he assumed the reason was that Patton was too busy that day. He pushed when Patton didn’t speak much, citing that he was worried something was wrong and he insisted on his input on dates before he’d move forward with any plans.

Patton had kept quiet about his job for three days before Logan had gone and talked to Remy behind his back to ask if something was wrong at work. Under pressure from both of them, he’d spewed out the buildup of stress all over the place. And it was so hard. It was so hard not to cry about it when Logan pressed soft kisses to his cheeks and temples and asked him if he was okay.

But now Logan wasn’t used to Patton and wasn’t set into patterns that he probably didn’t actually like, but just allowed because he wanted to be nice to Patton and was used to it. The problems with Patton were becoming apparent every time Logan side eyed him.

Patton had been hoping that maybe he could figure out from this version what parts of Patton he really did not like. Then Patton could hold more firm about getting rid of those things once Logan got his memories back. He’d definitely appreciate it after an adjustment period. That is if Logan even wanted him after this. He hoped he’d at least give Patton a chance to fix himself.

Patton was good at pretending. He knew how to cut pieces of himself off to get people to love him back. He’d had a lot of practiced. Make sure to do your homework at the dinner table at mom’s house so she knows you’re not being lazy. Cook when you’re at dad’s house so dinner is ready when he gets home from work, but make sure you’ve cleaned up by the time he gets home, so he doesn’t see you cooking. Don’t let grandma cook potatoes; she doesn’t like them and will blame you for them being on the dinner table. Never turn on the television at mom’s house; it rots the brain. Make sure the television is on the sports channel by the time dad gets home. Don’t touch grandma’s remote no matter how loud the volume is. Sit up straight for mom. Don’t cry in front of dad. Be quiet for grandma. Pretend dad doesn’t exist for mom. Call dad’s new girlfriend mom. Don’t try to correct grandma when she calls you by your dead grandfather’s name. Get good grades. Get into a good college. Get a job that pays well. Don’t complain. Don’t get in trouble. Don’t be gay.

Patton knew how to do it all. Logan had never asked it of him. Never, not once had he told Patton that he needed to fix himself or that he had to change for him; he deserved it more than any of them.

“We’ve talked a lot about me,” Logan said surprising Patton out of his churning thoughts especially since he had barely spoken all day. “but what about you?” he asked. “Tell me more about you. Tell me about our relationship. Why do you want to be with me or at least the me with my memories?”

“I…” Patton started. “There are a lot of reasons.”

“Then tell me one.”

Patton bit his lower lip. “You read my papers.”

“Your papers?”

“I’ve written a few research papers and you looked them up and read them and tried to understand them because you wanted to be able to talk to me about something I was interested in. That was the first time in my life that someone looked at me and it felt like they actually wanted to know me. And you kept doing things like that. You remember my coffee order and bring my favorite sandwich to the ER even when you know I’m in surgery and I can’t be there to see you so you just leave it with someone else to give it to me when I’m done. You eat the stupid cafeteria food at the hospital when I only have time for a 30-minute lunch just to spend time with me and after the first time we had sex, you got up early and cooked me an omelet because you didn’t know how to cook anything else. You try to find ways to help me feel better when I’m upset even though it doesn’t come naturally to you and you’re willing to throw popcorn in my mouth from across the room with your powers just because I ask even though you think it’s silly. You once took me on a picnic to a park 5 hours away because I mentioned how much I loved it when a group of us went there on a retreat during medical school even though you don’t like eating outside because of the bugs. And you didn’t even complain… well, I mean, you did complain, but only enough to make me laugh, not so I thought you really resented being there with me. When we go to parties and I say I want to go home, you pretend to get a migraine so we can leave early and sometimes we end up having sex in the car outside. And even though you complain about how annoying you think Remy is, you know he’s my friend so you still make a point to make an effort with him and hang out with him even when I’m not there. So…” he swallowed. “Yeah.”

“You really love me,” he stated, eyes intent on him and unreadable.

“Every part of me loves you Logan,” Patton said, gripping the soft blanket in his fingers. “You can have whatever pieces you want.”

“Whatever pieces?” he echoed.

Patton forgot for a moment that the man in front of him did not have context, that he didn’t and couldn’t understand what Patton was asking. “Look,” he said. “I know there is something wrong with me. I know there are parts of me that annoy you or make you angry, but if you just tell me what they are I’ll change them.”

“You think I don’t like all of you?” Logan asked.

“Clearly not!” Patton said, standing up suddenly and throwing the blanket off onto the ground. He paused and took a breath, forcing his tone to be calm and clinical, like he did when he got too emotional at work. “Look at this,” he gestured to the piles of files in front of him: blue, green, and red. “This is everything from your personal files to your work files to the files for your alter ego, but where am I? You have the receipt from the first fast food order you bought with your credit card, the invitation from your five-year high school reunion that you didn’t even go to, and your sixth-grade report card. But there is nothing in here about me. Not really. I am not important enough for you to keep. But I can be if you just tell me how. I can be whatever makes you happy. If you love me at all, I will rip myself apart until I’m what you need.”

Logan looked him directly in the eyes. “If I love you, I don’t want that.”

Patton blew up. “Then what do you want, Logan?!” He snapped his mouth closed and looked away, tears that had been building since Logan had lost his memory, since Patton’s marriage proposal had been rejected, since his mom had first called him stupid because he’d gotten a B on a math test in the 5th grade, springing to his eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t…” he swallowed and stood, a picture of calm. “It has been a stressful couple of days,” he said, flicking a tear off his cheek. “I think I need to go back to my place and rest for a while. I’ll come back tomorrow morning and we can… I don’t know, try aromatherapy or something.”

Before Logan could say anything more, Patton beat a hasty retreat.

Want to read more? Click below!

Part 13

#sanders sides #logan sanders #patton sanders #logicality #tsss #superhero au #memory loss #past child abuse #past child neglect #emotional suppression #self deprecation #gaps in his files #labeled universe #relabeled; refiled #adriana writes #unhealthy views of sex

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theres-a-goldensky · 4 years

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26 + 2 Various BL Series Fic Recs

Fandoms included in this fic rec list: Love By Chance, TharnType, Until We Meet Again, My Engineer, 2 Moons, HIStory3: Trapped (plus a bit of bonus Theory of Love and WHY R U?)

I’ve found a handful of good fics for all of these tiny pairings that I am newly obsessed with, and I thought I’d share them with you if you’re also looking for something good to read. Please, if you have recs of your own, point me in the direction of any other good stuff!

As ever, feel free to reblog and check out my other rec lists for the following fandoms:

The Untamed list one and two - various pairings, mostly Wangxian

IT chapter 2 list one and two - Reddie

Good Omens - Aziraphale/Crowley

Or just head over to my bookmarks on AO3.

(All recs are complete) (I’ve noted pairings, length, and rating, but not any warnings or additional tags.)

** denotes personal favorite

LOVE BY CHANCE / THARNTYPE

1. the count up series by sweetiejelly - Tin/Can - ~34,000 words, explicit - A fix-it fic post-canon where Tin and Can slowly work out their issues with some missteps and learning along the way.

So two weeks later, when Can first does it, Tin doesn't know what to do. For the longest while, he just turns off his phone screen. And then turns it back on.

good night, tin. it's been a while but i promised to say good night. so, good night, sleep well.

Every damn time the text is still there.

In the end, Tin deletes it.

The next morning, Can does it again.

good morning, tin. looks like rain today. don't forget your umbrella.

Tin deletes it.

The texts keep coming.

2. ** LBC Aftermath series by Mara - LBC/TharnType crossover- ~6700 words, mature - Were you too horrified by Techno’s ending in LBC? This author feels your pain and did her part to get some justice for Techno. This fic has zero sympathy for Kengkla, which I deeply appreciated. This will help you work out some of your anger. It features LBC!Techno and the TharnType versions of Tharn and Type. Mind the warnings, since this deals with the serious consequences of Kengkla’s actions.

Kengkla stayed at the house through the morning and Techno was so jumpy he nearly leaped out of his skin every time Kla looked at him or talked to him. Even though Kla had explained what happened and how he wasn’t upset to be dating, Techno still felt weird. He kind of wished he remembered what had happened. A guy should remember how he lost his virginity, right?

Kla grabbed him in a big hug and Techno froze, managing a weak grin when Kla pulled back to smile at him. “I’ve got to go home now. But I’ll call you later. Let me know if you go somewhere.”

“O-okay.” Techno stared as the boy let himself out the front door.

3. 5 + 1 by strokeofluck - Tin/Can- ~3600 words, rated general - This is a sweet story about the times when Pete sees Tin having feelings for Can.

Pete weighed his options as he glanced back and forth between Tin and Can. Can didn’t seem to be bothered by the whole thing, he even had a shy smile on his face. Or at least, Pete thought it was a shy smile, he had never really seen this kind of expression coming from Can before.

He could let this whole thing go, he supposed, but he didn’t really want to. It was time for him to finally say to Tin: I told you so.

“You were born in Bangkok,” he said, casting a wide net and hoping Can would find himself caught in it.

Can did.

4. That Testified Surprise by Mara - Techno/Tharn/Type - ~7000 words, mature - This is a LBC canon rewrite that stars the TharnType version of all three characters. Type realizes something is not...quite...right with Kengkla and invites Techno to stay with him and Tharn instead of going home drunk.

Pouring Techno into the passenger seat, Type sat down in the driver’s seat and pulled the phone out to check it, entering the passcode. (The passcode was the birthday of Thai national football team captain Siwarak Tedsungnoen, of course. Duh.)

Fuck, it looked like Nic had been either texting or calling every 20 minutes since they got to the bar. What was up there?

Scrolling back through the evening’s texts, Type scowled harder. Loving brother or not, this was fucking creepy. Going back farther, it looked like it was a pattern. Did the kid do anything other than pester his brother about his whereabouts?

THARNTYPE

5. everything he wants by minkit - ~5100 words, explicit - Type accidentally ruins one of Tharn’s shirts and agrees to do whatever Tharn wants to make up for it. Which means it’s porn stretched over the bare bones of a plot, and it’s great.

Tharn’s hands moved across the bed, slowly, inch by inch and it was frustrating because Type knew they were heading to him, but Tharn took his sweet time. And then they were covering his hands and Tharn’s face was mere centimeters from his and Type could barely breathe. It took everything he had not to lean forward and capture those lips that also belonged to him, but he had a feeling if he tried, Tharn wouldn’t let him. He had that look on his face and Type knew what it meant.

He knew he was in for a long rest of the night.

6. You’ve Got Mail by perthbysaint - ~7800 words, explicit - Type sends Tharn nudes at the most inconvenient times.

A selfie? From Type? Tharn was thanking all of his lucky stars as he happily taps to load the image. The picture loads and Tharn’s phone slips from his suddenly lax grip. Convinced he couldn’t have just seen what he thought he just saw, he picks his phone up hastily and stares very intently at the picture.

It’s a mirror selfie, obviously taken in a changing room, but that thought comes secondary to thighs. Type is holding the camera in front of his face to take the picture, shirt clenched in his other hand and pulled up slightly to show off the shorts. The fucking shorts. He had seen Type in his soccer gear before and yes, Type has most definitely asked for the wrong size and Tharn is more grateful than he’s ever been for anything in his whole life. The shorts are riding up so high they can’t cover more than a few inches of skin, Type’s smooth, powerful thighs on full display. On the inside of his left thigh, there’s a tiny purple mark peeking out from under the bottom of the shorts. Tharn knows exactly what it is because he was the one who left it there just two days ago when he sucked marks into Type’s thighs for a half-hour before he slung Type’s legs over his shoulders and ate him out until Type was sobbing fat tears and begging Tharn to let him come.

7. pet names series by LokelaniRose - ~50,000 words, explicit - A series of post-episode fics that gives us the sex that the show only hinted at, starting with the shower scene.

Tharn prides himself on his self-control. All his passion and intensity is saved for his music, when he’s safely behind a drum kit and can let it all out. He’s never been as irritated by anyone else as he is by Type and all his playground bullying nonsense. Something about the other boy just shakes something loose inside him, rattles at Tharn’s iron discipline until he has to grit his teeth constantly not to just – what? Kiss him? Kill him? Tharn has enough composure (and pride) to put up a front that’s all smiles and wry amusement, but really he regularly skips between one of two daydreams – twisting Type’s head off or fucking him into the ground.

(Tharn is absolutely not going to admit to the third set of daydreams, of curling up around Type when he’s cold or cheering him on at matches or bringing him home to meet Tharn’s father. Nope, no, definitely not.)

2MOONS SERIES

8. ** The universe where we do not commit reckless, unlubricated buttsex by startledoctopus - Forth/Beam - ~8700 words, explicit - This is a great story about Beam giving in and trying to seduce Forth the same way he seduced all of those girls in his past. This Forth is great, and the story retcons their first time to something far more pleasant for Beam.

"We're heading into a unit on disorders of the spine and I need to review my basic skeletal and muscular anatomy. But it feels stupid to keep studying these weird-looking diagrams and drawings." None of this was, strictly speaking, factual, but an engineering major wouldn't know any different. Beam gathered up all his bravado, walked behind Forth, and began rucking up his shirts as if this were completely normal.

"What! I..."

"Shut up, I need to look at a real back so I know what I'll be looking at as a doctor." Forth let him take the shirts off, glancing back at him several times but giving in meekly to Beam's stern look. Forth shuffled the papers some more.

"All right. Okay, um...Ah!" Beam smirked at Forth's reaction as he ran his thumbs down the nape of his neck.

9. Good Things Come To by sweetiejelly - Ming/Kit - ~4300 words, explicit - Kit gets drunk and reveals more of his feelings for Ming than he probably means to.

"Hmm." Kit closes his eyes and leans his head back on the headrest. "Ming, Ming, Ming. Do you know your name's a kiss? I'm kissing the air everytime I say 'Ming'!" Kit pops his mouth and it pops Ming's mind a bit. "And then I think about kissing you. Why do you make me think about you so damn much? You're so annoying, Ming. No one's ever..." and Kit leans to the side, almost like he's going to conk out or throw up, only to straighten back up. "... made me this crazy."

Oh shit. Ming doesn't know what to do with all of this information. He knew somewhere deep down that Kit likes him. Kit's eyes can't lie. Kit's mouth can't either, the cusses coming out whenever he's keyed up and flustered, and then there are his kisses.

10 + 11. ** how to fail flirt your way into his heart (a guide by Kit) and a little conversation (and a little action please) by sweetiejelly - Ming/Kit - ~30,000 words, explicit in the second part - This story makes a tiny plot divergence. It has Kit put a little more effort into finding out if Ming is really into Yo and then from there, it loosely follows the plot of the show with some key differences. I really enjoyed this.

"Can I have your number?" Kit mentally face-palms. Why? Damn Pha. Damn Beam. Just damn everything, ugh. He has never flirted in his life. Pin asked him out, okay? He doesn't know how to do this. "I'm Kit, Phana's friend," he says, trying to make it less weird.

"I'm Ming. And of course, P'Kit!" Ming flashes him an easy grin and holds out his hand.

Oh right, the phone. Kit shoves it at Ming, nearly hitting him in the chest. Great, he's acing this.

Ming smiles at him, bemused or confused, probably both, and brushes his hand, totally unnecessarily, over the back of Kit's hand as he takes the phone. "In case of emergency, right?" Ming looks up at him from under his lashes and boy, this nong is brazen.

12. ** In Control series by LokelaniRose - Ming/Kit - ~27,000 words, explicit - Kit struggles to tell Ming that he wants something other than the careful, gentle sex they’ve been having. Ming discovers that Kit has some anxiety and panic problems. He also discovers what helps him feel better. [spoilers: these two things are connected.] I love how attentive and caring Ming is throughout this series. The anxious Kit also rings true to the character we saw on the show.

But now that Kit is fretting over things, he might as well fret over this as well. So Ming is great in bed. And let’s be honest, Kit probably isn’t. He hasn’t had a hundred previous partners – okay, tiny exaggeration, but still – and doesn’t know all the fancy moves and techniques and tricks…and just like everything else, in bed Ming is somehow casual and sincere at the same time. He never seems to want anything except what Kit wants, is always happy to do whatever, to take his time making slow, gentle love to Kit. Kit knows that he always comes at least – he secretly really likes it when Ming comes, he’s not quite sure why – but what if there’s more that Kit could be doing, to make it better for him? If Kit was better in bed maybe it would make up for being a shitty boyfriend in other areas, one who can’t be nice in public or talk about his feelings.

UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN

13. another nightmare fic by itsmylifekay - Win/Team - ~2300 words, not rated - Team tries to sleep without Win and it doesn’t go well.

Team’s room feels suffocating, the air too thick and the space too dark and the covers sticking to his skin with sweat. His breaths are too loud in the quiet, but the quiet itself is deafening. It reminds him of the water. The muted sounds. The frantic pounding of his heart. (The same one he feels now echoed in his chest.)

Flashes of the dream come back to him unbidden.

Everything is too dark, too bright, no way to see what way is up or what way is down. He’s trapped. Can’t get out. Can’t breathe.

14. ** Different With You by blackrose9212 - Win/Team - ~6900 words, teen - It’s open swim week, which means that the swimming club offers free lessons to any of the students who would like to participate. Team doesn’t understand why his teammates hate it so much - until he does. Great jealousy in this one from both sides.

“Nice to meet you,” the boy gushes. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’d like to join your group. Auntie said there needs to be at least three people, and no one was sitting across from you two. I’ve been paying attention so I already have ideas. Is that okay?” Team watches as he pulls out his books and drops them onto the table, pushing them a little farther out so they’re nearly touching Win’s notebook.

Team shrugs. “Sure, that’s fine. I don’t think Win has been paying attention so I’m glad you have an idea of what’s going on.”

Win hits him lightly at the back of the hand and Film giggles behind his hand. “Oh, no, P’Win looks very smart. I’m sure he’s been listening.” He looks at Win and smiles a little, blushing when Win gives him a smile back.

Team looks between the two of them. Then back at Film, who’s watching Win leaf through his literature textbook like he’s never seen anything so beautiful, and then past Film at the table he left from, where he sees three boys, laughing behind their hands and making cooing faces.

15. seven hundred thirteen by Kiranokira - Win/Team - ~6800 words, mature - Win spends two years abroad in England, and he and Team have to navigate a long distance relationship. It’s very sweet and written very true to life.

“I kind of hoped you were going to show up at the airport tomorrow morning and chase the plane,” Win says. He kisses Team’s hair, lingering there to memorize the fresh, clear scent.

Team says, “Is it weird that I thought about doing that?” and Win feels him smile against his shoulder.

It’s late, nearly nine thirty, and Win had plans of how to spend tonight that can’t be realized anymore. He wanted to invite Team to dinner with his family. He wanted to play video games with Team and View. He wanted to talk about London with Waan and Team. He wanted to include Team in his family’s warmth in some small way, to make him feel less lonely.

He can’t do any of that now but he still wants to sneak Team upstairs and have him in his arms all night. He wouldn’t, but he wants to. It’s been a month since he moved off campus permanently, and weeks since he was last able to spend a night alone with Team.

16. ** You Can Cry by Kiranokira - Win/Team - ~19,600 words, mature - Win goes missing while on vacation with some friends. Team is left at home trying to handle it. I like the way the author built up to the accident happening. They did a good job creating tension and showing us exactly how Team felt about Win. And spoilers, this story has a happy ending.

“You’re going to fail out of university,” Team tells him. “You’re not really going, are you?”

Win rolls onto his side and perches his cheek on his hand. “What if I say yes?” he asks. “Will you miss me?”

Team’s warning look is more venomous than usual. “Not at all,” Team says, and Win smirks because that isn’t true and they both know it. “You still shouldn’t go. What if you miss the flight back? You’ll fail out and I’ll break up with you for being a dumbass.”

The very recent phenomenon of Team acknowledging that they’re a couple has its usual melting effect on Win’s heart.

2GETHER

17. ** Love Songs on Our Skin series by Kari_Kurofai - Sarawat/Tine - ~15,700 words, explicit - A soulmark AU where Tine is born with the notes to a song that hasn’t yet been written wrapped around his chest. I enjoyed how Tine’s obliviousness in the show carries over to this fic.

Only Mr. Chic would have a song no one had ever fucking heard of permanently etched on his chest. For fuck's sake .

Still, he waves it off, and he tries not to look too closely at other people's marks. Tries being the key word. He doesn't envy the elegant watercolors of a guitar pick and an open novel he catches sight of on the wrists of some couple's interlinked hands when he's in town. And he certainly doesn't envy the dude he once saw in a coffee shop with the words " I hate you " scrawled across the back of his neck. But yeah, okay, he might be a little jealous of the people who are lucky enough to have something as simple as their soulmate's name on their skin. That definitely isn't fair.

"Why couldn't it at least have been a Scrubb song?" he asks the mirror as he wipes it clear shower-born condensation. The mirror and him are well acquainted with this conversation by now. In fact, the mirror sees the stupid mark more than anyone, so it might as well put up with his equally stupid questions. "It could have been 'Together.' Just think of it, how romantic it would be to meet some cute girl's eyes after bumping into them at a concert, my favorite song playing . . ." He draws a nail over the winding bars of the music on his chest, frowning. "That would be so much easier."

18. Drown Your Sorrows by HyacinthsSoul - 2gether/Theory of Love - Sarawat and Third meet at a bar and bond over being in love with oblivious men.

“No, he’s an angel,” Sarawat says. “Unfortunately he’s a very stupid, very straight angel.”

“Mine’s stupid too,” the other man admits. “But definitely no angel. I’m Third, by the way,” he adds, offering a slender hand to shake.

“Sarawat,” says Sarawat. “Can I buy you another? I think we’re drinking the same thing, although I can’t remember what it’s called.”

20. ** Your Body Is My Instrument by Kari_Kurofai - Sarawat/Tine - ~12,000 words, explicit - This fic does a good job doing what, in this reccer’s humble opinion, the series failed to: showing Tine attracted to Sarawat. There’s great first time sex and some fun sexual tension. Plus, we get to see them switch off, which is extremely rare in BL. And most importantly: hand kink.

It starts innocently enough. Or, well, innocently enough for a guy whose first words to him were, “Keep looking at me like that and I’ll kiss you till you drop.” So, you know. It starts kinda like that.

They’ve been officially dating for a grand sum total of three days and altogether not that much has changed. Except that Sarawat touches him more now. Normally this would be fine, no big deal, right? But Sarawat has magic, evil hands, and apparently all he has to do is glance Tine’s way to deduce the exact right places and ways to touch Tine to drive him up the fucking wall.

And the worst part is it’s almost never the same place or the same way twice, and the only warning Tine ever gets is that sneaky little glint Sarawat gets in his eyes just before he does it, the bastard.

MY ENGINEER

21. Cool Boy(friend) by HyacinthsSoul - Ram/King - ~22,000 words, explicit - So this is technically a WIP, but each chapter feels like a completed fic without a cliffhanger or anything. This is a very sweet, comfortable story about King and Ram getting to know each other as their relationship develops.

In the selfie King sends, he’s holding up a full shot glass while someone’s arm reaches into the frame to hand him another kind of drink, something tall with a straw and a paper umbrella. Ram frowns. Whose arm is that? The person is wearing a red long-sleeved shirt, which doesn’t match what any of their friend group was wearing, and the engineer bar doesn’t offer table service.

Frowning, Ram looks back through the previous photos until he spots a detail he’d overlooked before: a red-shirted man at a neighboring table. He’s visible in the background of two or three pictures taken by Tee, and in each of them he’s staring intently at King.

Not that it’s any of Ram’s business. Not that he cares.

HISTORY3: TRAPPED

22. it’s too late (to turn back now) by stebeee - Tang Yi/Meng Shao Fei - ~7200 words, general audiences - Canon divergence fic where Tang Yi pushes Shao Fei away after he saves Hong Ye in order to try and protect him. Shao Fei reacts to that about as well as you’d expect.

“Tang Yi, what do you mean-“

“I think you’ve fooled around for long enough,” Tang Yi interrupts, his voice cold, nothing like the man who had dabbed at his lips with a cotton bud last night, the man who had smiled at him when he made the cannon joke.

“You’ve disrupted my life, and the life of my family and friends in the past few weeks, Meng Shao Fei. This has gone for long enough,” he continues, unwavering. “I don’t want to have anything more to do with you. Take a good rest here in the hospital, and I’ll get someone to pack up your things back at the house. Jack will deliver it back to your apartment.”

23 + 24. ** just waiting, waiting (on you) and between you and me by stebeee - Tang Yi/Meng Shao Fei - ~16,000 words, general audiences - These are stories about how Shao Fei and the rest of the gang deal over the years when Tang Yi is in jail. Found family fics are my jam, so I loved this.

The thing is, it’s been almost three months of this. 90 days, give or take. 2,160 hours. 129,600 minutes. And more than 7 million seconds of this — not having Tang Yi at his side.

Shao Fei wonders for a moment if he will ever stop seeing Tang Yi in every corner of the house. When he comes down the stairs in the morning, some part of him expects to see Tang Yi standing at the kitchen island with a bright smile, asking him if he wants jam with his toast that morning. Shao Fei sees Tang Yi in that apron he loves, cooking at the stove when he fixes himself dinner, alone in the spacious kitchen. Seeing Tang Yi’s favourite blue bathrobe, Shao Fei can almost see Tang Yi leaving the bathroom, his hair all wet and falling over his eyes.

25. amuse bouche by sarahyyy - Jack/Zhao Zi - ~2400 words, general audiences - This is more of Jack seducing Zhao Zi through food and attention. So basically an extension of the show. Mother hen Jack is the cutest.

“Jack?” Zhao Zi murmurs blearily. “Why are you here?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” Jack shoots back, herding Zhao Zi back into the house. He checks for Zhao Zi’s temperature with the back of his hand. “Fever?”

“Just the flu for now, I think?” Zhao Zi says.

Jack purses his lips. “Have you had anything to eat?”

“I had some bread earlier?” Zhao Zi says, but he also looks shifty enough that Jack mostly takes it with a grain of salt.

26. Absolutely Nothing Goes Wrong by anon - Jack/Zhao Zi - ~4500 words, teen - This is an AU where Zhao Zi is the son of a rival mob boss, but he’s still, you know HIMSELF. And when his father says he’s useless, he decides to prove him wrong by seducing Tang Yi’s second-in-command. It’s absolutely adorable.

The man pulled him by the arm, resisting Zhao Zi’s attempts to unhook his claws without causing a scene.

“Hey, stop grabbing me!” he shouted, as the other man played deaf.

“While I admit this is a very loud bar, I didn’t think it was quite so easy to mishear what this young man just yelled straight into your ear,” a newcomer who’d witnessed their conflict said lightly as he walked up to them. His words were accompanied by a wide, almost chilling smile. Zhao Zi blinked once and the odd peculiarity of that smile vanished, leaving just a regular smile in its place. He must’ve just been imagining things under the harsh shadows of the dimly lit bar.

AND +2

Because I’m shameless, I’ll add my own two fics to the end, if you’re interested.

WHY R U?

27. Sorry A Thousand Times - Fighter/Tutor - ~3200 words, explicit - This is a canon divergence for the series finale. I needed more catharsis after the intensity of episode 12.

Tutor narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists at his sides. He took a deep breath. “How many times do I have to tell you to leave me alone before you listen?” he asked. I don’t know how many more times I can bring myself to say it.

“Only once,” Fight said and then added, “if you mean it.”

Tutor crossed his arms over his chest and said, “What makes you think I don’t mean it now?”

The corner of Fight’s mouth turned up and he took a step closer. Tutor stumbled back until he was stopped by his legs hitting the edge of the bed. Fight reached out a hand and gently ran the back of his fingers over the line of Tutor’s jaw.

Until We Meet Again

28. Dream On - Win/Team - 8900 words, explicit - Takes place alongside show canon, so that we see how the bed sharing began and how Win and Team’s relationship developed over that year.

“Do you want to do well tomorrow?” Win asked, throwing one of his legs over both of Team’s.

“Yes,” Team said as he did his best to put some space between them on the tiny mattress.

“Then you need to get some sleep. I’m helping.”

“How is this helping?” Team demanded.

“Would you stop…” Win said, shifting closer every time Team pulled away. “Five minutes, Team. Just be still for five minutes, okay?”

113 notes · View notes

gumnut-logic · 4 years

Text

That Musical Voice

Title: That Musical Voice

Author: Gumnut

15 Jul 2020

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: He had fallen, he knew that much.

Word count: 2700

Spoilers & warnings: Virgil whump

Timeline: Season One

Author’s note: Nutty’s Fandomversary 2019 Fic Twelve. For @weirdburketeer who asked for Virgil and Struggle so long ago and I haven’t written a thing specifically for her in all of these two years, so I put a quick hold on the current Fandomversary to revisit her missed prompt from the last one. I hope you enjoy it. ::hugs you so much:: Thank you for your amazing support throughout these two years, you have been just wonderful to me ::hugs you even more:: Please note that John crawled into this more than expected, I hope that is okay. I have no control over these things.

Many thanks to @onereyofstarlight @scribbles97 and @vegetacide for the reading and cheerleading ::hugs::

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

He had fallen, he knew that much.

The lights in his helmet blinded him and a fumbling hand found the switch that turned them off.

He closed his eyes.

“Virgil!” John’s voice was sharp in his ear and it sparked sluggish neurons into activity.

Wha-?

“Virgil, respond!”

He managed a grunt and forced his eyes open.

His world was blue ice.

It was beautiful. He stared. Sculptured arcs, white through to deep blues in the dim light. Water was running somewhere, trickling like tinkling bells. He was lying on a narrow ledge in a narrow crevice. This was probably bad, but the fog in his mind was fixated by beauty.

“Virgil! Status!”

John was upset. Why was John upset? This is a wondrous place.

“Virgil, Scott and Gordon are on their way. Please respond.” Johnny was pleading.

“J-John? ‘S beautiful.”

“Virgil!”

“S-sto’ yelling.”

There was silence for a moment and Virgil let his eyes close again. His head was so foggy he needed to sleep it off. He drifted.

Only to be yelled awake again. “Virgil, please!”

“Huh?”

“Oh, thank god.” John sounded worried.

“Wha’ss wrong?”

“Virgil, you fell down an ice crevice.”

He did? He forced his eyes open again. So beautiful. “‘S beautiful.”

“Virgil, medical status?”

Medical status? Uh? Flat on his belly, he couldn’t see anything but the blue of his fingertips. Fingerless gloves were a mistake. Useful, but a vulnerability. He really needed to remove them from the uniform pattern assembly. He had been meaning to do that for some time, but...time. God, he was tired.

“Virgil?”

“Wha-?”

“I’m reading some injury. What is your status?” Gentle. Johnny was being gentle now. Why was that a worry?

“You ‘kay?”

“I’m fine, Virgil. How are you?”

“Tired.” He let his eyes close again.

“Virgil.” It was almost sung, like Gordon at his most annoying. But this was Johnny. Johnny was kind and smart and always there.

“Mmmhmm.”

“You need to stay awake, Virgil. Scott is coming.”

Scott. Scott knew what to do. Always did.

“Virgil?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you in pain?”

Pain?

That prompted him to move.

His chest and left leg screamed at him. His breath vanished. He must have said something because John was calling his name again.

Oh, god, ow.

“Virgil, are you there?”

“’m there.” It was more a whimper than anything else.

Another exhaled breath of relief drifted over comms. John must have a shit of a time up in space just watching and being unable to do anything. The thought pushed a few neurons into more rational thinking. He had to do what John said because he didn’t want him to worry. “Sorry, John.”

Sorry.

Damn, he was tired.

He closed his eyes again.

Only to be shaken awake.

What?

“Virgil.” There was fear in John’s voice.

What was scaring his brother?

The ice beneath his fingers shivered. Huh?

“Virgil, you need to get out of there. Scott’s not going to make it in time.”

What? Scott was always on time.

“Virgil?”

Focus. John needed him. John was scared. Little brothers shouldn’t be scared.

“’m here.” He spat something out and red splattered on the inside of his helmet. Shit. That can’t be good. The medic in him activated, listing off causes.

Shit.

“Virgil, can you move?”

“Uh, not without pain. May…may h-have busted a rib or two.”

The ice under him shivered again. What was doing that?

“Virgil, you’re going to have to climb out. The glacier is unstable and the area is still experiencing tremors.”

Tremors. The thought sparked more thoughts. He had been fishing a climber out of a glacier after an earthquake. New Zealand.

“Climber safe?”

“He’s on Thunderbird Two. You were retrieving equipment when a tremor collapsed the ice you were standing on.”

“Tha’ sounds stupid.”

“It wasn’t, trust me. Do you have your ice pick?”

Ice pick? Moving sucked. He didn’t want to move.

“Virgil, do you have your ice pick?”

God, John knew how to nag. But John was worried. John shouldn’t be worried.

He moved his arm and felt around, hissing between his teeth when his ribs complained. But his hand landed on the cold metal of the tool he had been holding when he fell. He forced his cold fingers to curl around the implement and pull it close.

His eyes closed again without permission.

“Virgil?”

He forced his eyes open again. “John?”

“Do you have your ice pick?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Repeat.”

Sigh. “Yes, John.”

“You had your crampons deployed before you fell. Do you have your grapple gun?”

Grapple gun?

He clung to the ice pick and felt around again. Ice. Cold. Crumbled fragments. Sharp slivers that hurt when his fingers encountered them.

“No grapple gun.” It was a pain-filled exhale.

John didn’t respond immediately and Virgil took the opportunity to drift into a painless oblivion.

The ice beneath him shook and groaned. He startled as the movement triggered whatever the hell was wrong with his left leg. His gasp must have hit orbit because John started calling his name again.

“Virgil, you have to get out of there. Climb!”

Climb? Are you kidding?!

He could barely move!

But his decision was forced as the ice beneath him suddenly cracked and began sliding downwards.

Not good. Not good! He gripped his ice pick as training and reflexes were shoved to the fore.

He moved without thinking and his whole body screamed as the ledge fell away beneath him. One arm whipped out and dug the pick into the crevasse wall. It bit hard as his body fell and impacted with the ice.

Everything whited out.

“Virgil! Respond! Virgil!”

His little brother’s voice drew him back.

God.

Oh, god.

He forced clarity and found himself on a sharp slope of ice, once again on his belly, but this time gravity was attempting to drag him into the dark depths below. The soft glow of ice was no longer beautiful. It was more of a maw desperate to swallow him.

“Virgil! Answer me!” John sounded terrified.

“J-hn.”

Everything hurt so much.

“You have to climb, Virgil. Climb, please, big brother.” Such pleading couldn’t be ignored. He…he…had to…had to…oh, god…John, I can’t…hurts. He squeezed his eyes shut and moisture leaked out the cracks. But he was aware of his choices. Climb or die. The maw below gaped at him.

He couldn’t do that to John.

Couldn’t.

“Scott’s nearly there. Gordon’s with him. You just need to climb a little, Virgil, please.”

Climb.

He forced his right leg up. The crampon on his boot dug into the ice and took some of the weight off his arm. His ribcage complained at every movement. His left leg hung useless. He had no idea what was going on down there other than a few smears of red on the white blue which he wasn’t acknowledging. Scott would fix it.

Scott fixed everything.

Gordon.

The thought of his little brother seeing him like this was enough to bring his left hand in contact with the ice searching for a handhold. The cold burnt, but at least it wasn’t quite numb yet.

Yet.

Fingernails bit into frozen water and with a grunt Virgil inched himself up a little.

He wriggled the ice pick out of its purchase and, trying not to scream, whacked it back into the slope higher up.

A strangled whimper escaped anyway.

“I’m here, Virgil. You can do this.”

John believed in him.

He wanted to cry. He honestly didn’t know if he could do this. But John was his little brother, he couldn’t fail his little brother.

Couldn’t.

He dragged himself up again, grunting. All those workouts, all that training, and it came down to this.

The will to make it happen.

The slope trembled under him.

No. Please, no.

He dug his boot into the ice again and pushed up.

Up.

Fingernails in ice.

Pick out and digging in.

Pull up and try not to scream.

He failed that last almost every time. His ribs whited out his vision and he almost lost it.

Almost.

But John was there. His little brother urging him on. Only a voice, but so much more. John’s voice was always a soothing presence. He loved talking to John. Late at night when his brother couldn’t sleep so far up above Tracy Island. Virgil used the excuse to check up on him, but in reality, he just wanted to talk to John. He missed him.

John was made for the stars. They were his home and Virgil would never not encourage him to pursue his dreams, but he missed his brother. His quiet, gentle brother with the voice that should be singing. They were five, but there was always one missing and Virgil ached sometimes for his little brother’s absence.

“Love you, J-hn.”

“Virgil?! Talk to me! Scott’s on approach!”

Such alarm in that beautiful voice.

Virgil let his helmet contact the ice and just clung to the cliff face.

Breathing hurt.

He spat red.

That was not good.

As if to urge him on, the ice shook again.

He had to move, but he didn’t know if he could. “John, I-“

“Virgil Tracy, you move your ass now!”

The anger and fear in his brother’s voice startled him.

“I’m not losing you, big brother, not this close. You move and you move now!”

Virgil blinked and realised the ice was lighter here. He looked up and was surprised to see a patch of blue sky above. A roar swelled from beyond that patch. A familiar roar.

Scott.

Gordon.

He pulled the ice pick out and reaching up, sunk it in again. It bit in strong.

His whimper trembled in tune with the vibration of the ice beneath him as the glacier shook again.

Snow fell over the lip of the crevasse and dusted his helmet.

“That’s it, Virgil. Not far to go now.” There was hope in his little brother’s voice.

Can’t disappoint a little brother.

He pulled himself higher.

And again.

A shadow blotted out the light and a deeper, authoritive voice joined John’s.

Scott.

Oh, god, Scott.

He almost fell limp with relief.

That shadow became his big brother, became arms that held him, a safety line, an emergency upward ascent as the cliff face finally cracked beneath his finger tips and began to slide, threatening to take him with it.

Everything hurt.

Everything screamed.

John’s voice.

Scott’s voice.

Gordon pleading with him as he drifted away.

-o-o-o-

“’Mutton yesterday, mutton today, and blimey, if it don’t look like mutton again tomorrer,’ said one of the trolls.

“’Never a blinking bit of man flesh have we had for long enough,’ said a second. ‘What the ‘ell William was a-thinkin’ of to bring us into these parts at all, beats me – and the drink runnin’ short, what’s more,’ he said jogging the elbow of William, who was taking a pull at his jug.”

Virgil frowned. The three trolls. Bilbo was watching the three trolls.

“William choked. ‘Shut yer mouth!’ he said as soon as he could. ‘Yer can’t expect folk to stop here for ever just to be et by you and Bert. You’ve et a village and a half between yer, since we come down from the mountains. How much more d’yer want? And some time’s been up our way, when yer’d have said ‘thank yer Bill’ for a nice bit o’ fat valley mutton like what this is.’”

John’s accent was perfect. The familiar words sculpted out the scene in his head and he anticipated the drama that he knew was going to happen next.

His little brother’s voice sketched out the action of Bilbo and the dwarves being captured and Virgil just enjoyed it. It was a long moment before the question of why John was reading to him actually occurred.

It stopped him in his tracks.

He was lying in a bed. Most of his body was numb and his head was foggy.

John had such a musical voice. He could listen to it for hours. He really wished his brother would sing more often. Their mother used to sing and John had inherited that from her, but he refused most of the time. Virgil thought it was a travesty, a wasted talent. But it was John’s choice.

The trolls turned to stone as Virgil began to realise a few important facts.

The bed wasn’t his.

It smelt like hospital.

He tried to draw on his most recent memories and came up blank. This was disconcerting and increased his heart rate. A rapid electronic beep was the result.

John stopped reading. “Virgil?”

“Mmmhmm.”

A scuffle off to his left. “Can you open your eyes?”

Could he?

A slow blink and light flooded in. He squinted. Ugh.

“Hey, there you are.” There was a smile in his brother’s voice and Virgil forced his eyes to open again to confirm it.

John was standing over him, complexion pale and drawn, but smiling. There were dark smudges under those turquoise eyes.

Virgil frowned. “Are you okay?”

John’s half-hysterical laugh at those words had Virgil widening his eyes. His brother touched his arm and squeezed gently as his other hand reached for his collar. God, that shirt still sucked. “Scott, Virgil’s awake.” There was a mutter of acknowledgement and John’s gaze fell back to Virgil. “It’s good to see you.”

Virgil blinked. “What happened?” Something had obviously happened. John looked like death warmed up.

His brother didn’t get a chance to answer as the door flew open and a mess of an eldest brother tore into the room. “Virgil!”

Virgil stared at Scott. He looked awful. His usually perfect hair was askew. He had canyons under his eyes and their blue was dulled by exhaustion.

“What the hell happened?!” Virgil tried to sit up.

And failed spectacularly. Both Scott and John reached out to hold him down, but they needn’t have bothered, his body wasn’t working. That alarmed him even more.

“Hey, Virgil, look at me.” And John was holding his gaze. “Take a breath in.”

Virgil blinked, his heart beating a mile a minute, but did as he was told. His body responded like a creaky and numb old machine.

“Now let it go.”

He did and melted into the bed, suddenly exhausted.

His eyes darted back to his wreck of an eldest brother. “What happened?”

“You fell into an ice crevasse during a rescue. Broke a few ribs and mangled your left knee. There was some bleeding.”

His medic brain filled in the gaps. “Bad?”

Scott’s eyes dipped a moment and Virgil’s heart sank. His brother looked like he had been through hell and back. “I’m sorry.”

That did it. “Are you kidding me?!”

“What?”

A pale hand reached across the bed and touched his big brother’s arm. “Scott.”

The man visibly deflated. “Not your fault, Virg.”

Virgil’s eyes searched his brother’s face. What the hell had happened?

“Virgil.” John’s soft voice drew his gaze to the other side of the bed. “You’re going to be okay. It’s going to take some time, but you’re going to be okay.”

“Okay.”

Scott dropped heavily into the chair beside the bed, his head dropping into one hand.

“Scott?”

His big brother reached out and grabbed his bandaged fingers and squeezed tight. Scott refused to look at him, his face hidden by his hand.

Virgil’s heart clenched.

It had been bad.

The need to apologise rose to his lips again, but a tug on his other arm drew his attention back to John. A subtle shake of his head and Virgil remained silent.

Another glance at Scott sitting beside him and he squeezed those fingers gently.

John dragged over his chair and sat down again, not once letting go of Virgil’s arm. He picked up his tablet and a moment later, resumed reading ‘The Hobbit’. Virgil stared at him a moment as he let the words wash over him.

He still didn’t remember much, but there was something about his little brother’s voice, something leading him on, pushing him forward, making him do what needed to be done.

He watched those turquoise eyes track text and those lips translate it.

And speak with that musical voice.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds #Virgil Tracy #John Tracy #nuttys fandomversary

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hxney-lemcn · 4 years

Text

Jerk

Word Count: 1,500

Pairing: Solomon x reader

Fandom: Obey Me!

Warning: Lots of cussing, slight angst I guess

Master List

≑≑≑≑≑≑

((Y/n)'s p.o.v.)

I was irritated at the fact that I was summoned by some stupid human. I looked him over with a glare. He had white hair and grey eyes which was unusual, for a human that is. He wore a black long sleeve shirt with a black cape with a star pattern. He also wore a pair of matching black skinny jeans and a belt.

I crossed my arms as I waited for what this stupid human to tell me why he summoned me. "Make a pact with me," He spoke out with a smooth voice.

"What's in it for me?" I asked raising an eyebrow. He smirked at me like he knew he had this in the bag. What a smug bastard, I want to not make a pact with him out of spite.

"Oh I don't know," He said trailing off looking around playing dumb, what a dick, he's just wasting my time. "Just all the money you could want."

I was shocked at that claim. All the money I want? Is my pride really worth that? Jeeze hanging around Mammon is getting to me. Yet it was an enticing offer, I couldn't just pass this down, I could run this sucker dry and then some.

"Is there a catch?" I asked watching him with suspicion. I could feel the smugness coming off him in waves and I could tell that he thought he had an advantage on me.

"I only pay you a certain amount after you do a job for me," He explained crossing his arms.

"Hmm," I hummed placing a hand to my chin while thinking. "I still have my freedom to accept or deny the jobs you'd want me to do."

He nodded in understanding, "Is this a deal?"

"First what's your name?" I asked placing a hand on my hip.

"Solomon."

"Okay Solomon, you got yourself a pact with me!" I smiled holding out my hand for him to shake.

He shook it and also gave me a smile, "It's nice to work with you (y/n)."

ওওও

That exchange happened a few years ago. I made quite the coin off of him. Our friendship was...complicated. He was a dick most of the time so I would act bitchy back, but we had some nice moments. But when he ended up being an exchange student at R.A.D. and he gained many pacts in only a few days. At first me and Asmodeus were the only ones but he was powerful.

I wanted to bash myself in the head for having feelings for basically my coworker/boss. I felt like he only cared for my power after he came down into the Devildom. I was only one of the many demons that he had at his disposal. He never acknowledged me in person which pissed me off. Yet my anger always did turn into sadness. I MEAN WE LITERALLY SIT NEXT TO EACH OTHER IN SOME CLASSES!!!

The reason why I was thinking this is because I was currently sitting next to him right now. I glared at the chalkboard, a vice grip on my pencil as I wrote down the lesson furiously. I glanced at Solomon only to see that he was looking at me and the fucking smirk on his face made me want to slam his head onto the table.

HOW THE HELL DID I FALL FOR THIS PRICK?!

"(Y/n)," He said trying to gain my attention. "I have a job for you."

Oh so NOW he wants to talk to me?! After all that time? He can go suck Asmo's dick. So I just didn't reply and focused on the teacher.

"Are you upset about something?" Solomon asked resting his head in his hand. If he doesn't shut that mouth of his I might do something I'll regret. When I didn't reply he took initiative to talk some more. "Did I do something to anger you?" He wasn't even being sincere that fucking asshole.

"How about you take a fucking hint and shut the fuck up," I growled out glaring at him.

"(Y/n) that will be detention!" The teacher shouted making me groan out in frustration. Then the prick next to me laughed...I don't think I like him like that any more, I fucking hate his guts. Man this was the last class of the day too.

The lesson was over and everyone left the classroom...except me and Mammon. Well at least I was with a friend. Solomon had the gall to ruffle my hair before leaving. Yet I couldn't help but get flustered. What is wrong with me?! After 20 minutes the teacher fell asleep making Mammon look at me with a mischievous look in his dark blue eyes.

"Lets get out of here," He whispered loudly giving me a devilish grin.

I returned it and stood up, "Let's go."

We made our way out of the class and left the school. We walked to the shopping district because if he went home Lucifer would punish him. I window shopped sense I didn't have much money...stupid Solomon. Mammon would spend so much money at all the shops which made me laugh. He's never going to change.

"What's up with Solomon and you?" Mammon asked randomly making me choke on air.

"What do you mean?" I asked placing my hands in my pockets.

"Well Asmo won't stop going on about how cute of a couple you two would be," Mammon started. "Then you looked so pissed off when you were talkin in class today."

"Of course I was pissed off!" I shouted getting angry again. Jeeze why am I only angry now a days...oh yeah fucking Solomon. "He had ignored me since the day he stepped foot into Devildom, and then when he does talk to me he just wants me to do his dirty work! He's a fucking asshole!"

Mammon started to laugh his ass off at that moment, so to release some anger I slapped him in the back of the head. "OI! What was that for?!" Mammon shouted, his laughter dying down.

"Stop laughing at me!" I yelled back.

"Well if what I overheard Asmo talking about is right, just talk to Solomon," Mammon shrugged.

I looked at Mammon skeptically, "Mammon giving advice? Is it the apocalypse coming?"

He glared at me and I raised my hands up in defense laughing a bit.

ওওও

Me and Solomon both sat in his room. I was going to do what Mammon told me...but Solomon wasn't helping. He kept teasing me and it was getting on my nerves. I was GOING to tell him how sad I was when he 'forgot' my existence but the way he was being so rude made me want to never talk with him again. Why am I even doing this? Why do I care so much about this human? Why can't my feelings just go away?

"So you want to take that job I assume," Solomon spoke up cutting the silence.

"I HATE YOU!" I shouted, my emotions getting the better of me. He looked surprised and disheartened at what I said which made me confused. "You ignored me for weeks! WEEKS! and then you have the audacity to ask me to do a job?! What the fuck is that about?! I thought we were friends but I guess I'm just another demon in the long list of pacts that you have." I ranted feeling the sadness kick in when I finished.

"Oh," ...oh? Really? That's how he responds to my heartfelt rant? I clenched my fists, stopping myself from punching him. "I didn't know you would be so affected by that."

*𝙎𝙢𝙖𝙘𝙠*

I slapped him. Oh god I didn't mean to. I mean it felt good to get the anger out but I felt more guilty. The look he had after I did it drove that guilt deep into my veins. His grey eyes filled with intense guilt and...love? His lips were pulled down in a deep frown and he kept his head to the side from the impact.

"I-I'm s-s-sorry," I apologized feeling tears creep up. What is wrong with me?

"Don't be, I deserved that," Solomon said bringing a hand to touch his red cheek. "I just don't know how to express my feelings and I was getting advice from Asmo."

"Express your feelings?" I asked in confusion, some tears slipping down my face.

Solomon lifted his hand and wiped the tears away, "I'm in love with you, I never meant to hurt you the way I did." I let out a gasp as my body felt warm. My mind was fuzzy and my heart beating so fast I was afraid it was going to escape. My tears were gone and I felt super giddy.

"I love you too," I mumbled feeling a blush rise to my cheeks.

"I know you do."

This boy is going to be the end of me.

#solomon #solomon x reader #solomonxreader #obey me #obeyme #xreader #x reader #fluff #fanfic

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pennyserenade · 3 years

Text

FIRST LINE GAME

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

tagged by my favorite domestic slut sister: @astroboots

PUBLISHED WORKS:

scenes from a marriage (javi fic): The designs of misfortune carve themselves in the woodwork that is Colombia, marking and scarring a beautiful country for the sake of one man’s empire.

(a/n): i wrote this on a whim one night while just trying to write for the sake of writing and look where it’s got us.

freedom is just another word (frankie morales fic): Sometimes, Frankie could not stand himself. Really, despise himself.

(a/n): i did this one because i’m cruel and a slut for angst

ungodly hour (agent whiskey fic): Her knees rest on his forearms, and she pushes his shoulders into the ground beneath him, earning a groan as his head bounces lightly off of the ground.

(a/n): i wrote this one because i just wanted to write but i didn’t wanted to take a break from scenes. also, i was listening to the ungodly hour album and it makes me feel like a bad bitch so i had a desire to character a leading character that was one.

NOT PUBLISHED WORKS:

the world is yours (maxwell lord fic): Step ahead into the past. It was a meaningless, get-rich sentiment stamped on the box of each Polaroid camera they sent out, one that she’s seen a million times before but never felt the depth of until now; Maxwell has said it, willing away the accent she loves, and she knows that this is exactly what they’ve done: They’ve stepped back into a joyless, oppressive past in order to preserve some inkling of a meaningful future.

(a/n): this will probably make a debut after i finish scenes and get somewhere with freedom. the step ahead into the past bit came from a poster at my work that i saw while i was on break. this is gonna be a fic exploring the beginnings of maxwell’s desire to be something, and i hope it covers the struggles he goes through a bit better than the film. also, i’m not gonna make him the villain as much as i am going to make him the anti-hero, because who can deny that michael corleone wasn’t a baddie once or twice hm ?

strobe lights (unpublished maxwell lord fic): It was a concoction of heavily artificial music--the sort that drips in materialism and would bling if sound was tangible--and Maxwell’s insistent stare that made her do it.

(a/n): this will probably never see the light of day because it has a no real meaning, but it’s older than any of the other stuff i’ve written for the p. characters. it was made before i created this blog, and just something that got the wheels in my head turning again.

scenes from a marriage (a very very early draft that i didn’t end up liking, javi fic): He had forgotten. Or she thought he had forgotten. She couldn’t be sure yet, but the hours kept ticking away, and he hadn’t shown up yet. Javier wasn’t ever the most timely man, but he was never this late.

a/n: what are my fics, if not angst preserving?

mama, you’ve been on my mind (a fic not belonging to the pedro fandom at all, but a story about two characters that my friend created): Something had gone taut inside of Henry the day he found out that Mari had gone missing. He’d worked hard to conceal it from Stella, expressing adequate amounts of concern and worry and frustration, but he never showed the absolute panic that rattled him to his very core. He didn’t want to upset her. Stella was a great woman, but no one could stand the shade of pale he would get when he was by himself, or the way he sobbed quietly thinking about her at night in the bathroom when he was alone and Stella was asleep. He hid it from her, something he had never, ever done with Stella, because he knew that this grief was more personal than he ever wanted her to know about.

(a/n): my friend gave me henry to write with her, and we attached pedro to his face to him, but the main story is about mari, a girl who henry had married when he was a younger. they divorced later on because they both came to the conclusion that mari loved women more than she ever would love him, but he never, ever stopped caring about her. mari eventually ends up getting murdered by one of her patients (she’s a therapist) because she rejects his advances, (but i promise the story doesn’t end there, because mari is very, very cool and my friend is such a bad ass writer, i just don’t want to give it all away). anyways, this takes place shortly after mari has gone missing. at this point, it has been about tenish years since henry and mari have split and he’s remarried to stella, a woman whom he loves dearly. henry and mari remained friends, and he’s not taking it well.

untitled mando fic: His first words to her had been these: It had to be done. They were muttered with such commitment and unwavering faith, she knew that he was a man who truly believed in whatever dogma he abided by.

(a/n): this was the first thing i was gonna publish on here but everything i wrote felt odd and out of place, and i think i need a bit more time to set on this one before it goes anywhere.

let it be: (a story i was writing for a school contest but never finished): There came an awful, tightening sensation in the middle of her chest, so strong it felt like she was about to double over there, in front of all of these strangers.

(a/n): this was gonna be a story about a young woman who has just found out she was pregnant. i set it during the day that the beatles played there rooftop concert because i liked the idea of this young woman being surrounded by many people who’s eyes were glued to the sky because the beatles are playing their brand new fucking album, and she’s just coming undone. this is gonna expose me as a beatles stan and that’s okay.

diane’s a friend of mine (a story i didn’t remember writing until just now, doing this): It had all started with Diane, a woman who had loved him so passionately that he’d dated her twice. Diane was an intelligent woman with the tendency to date men who were far below her, and he wasn’t the exception as much as he was the rule. He remembered the way she didn’t mind his desire to be and do nothing on Sunday mornings, and the kind way she would trace his nose and smile approvingly before saying, “You’ve got the nose of greek gods, Francis.”

(a/n): this must’ve been written during my al pacino phase a couple of months back, and i think, as i scan over it, this is the story i wanted to write about an actor who has spent his entire life as someone else, just a plethora of different characters, so when he eventually retires, he begins to struggle with who he is. i think i wanted it to be told through the stories of women he’s loved during those years, because it’s the only time he remembers being himself.

untitled roman sionis fic: roman sionis reminded frankie terribly of fredo corleone. he was void of that pure innocence—that essence of goodness that made fredo such a lovable character—but he had the stupidity. it was a stupidity that stopped him from being something more.

(a/n): i have written about thirty roman sionis drafts but none of them amounted to anything. i think the character is neat, and had a very big ewan mcgregor phase.

an untitled fic set after the events of the panic in needle park, if anyone of you has seen that: This is where I am. This is where my stuff is. The wind was biting this morning, reddening Bobby’s cheeks as he stood on the sidewalk waiting for Eileen.

(a/n): this was definitely during my al pacino phase, it’s about how bobby gets clean and has started life with another woman because he couldn’t stay with helen because they enabled each other too much. if i’m ever gonna do anything for any of you please let it be to turn you onto al pacino’s movies in the ‘70s. all of them are fantastic, and the panic in needle park the first installment. this movie lead to al giving his famed role as michael corleone later on, and it covers a lot of topics i didn’t expect, like drug addiction and poverty and i just think al pacino is amazing in it. i cannot believe that his first movie. here’s the link to the trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watchv=0ahe2zepONg&ab_channel=JulienPinault. drug tw and needle tw.

okay i think that is all i have and i know it’s not twenty but i can’t find any more.

tagging: @mourningbirds1, @disgruntledspacedad and anyone else who wants to do it because i think you’re all neat and lovely.

#misc.#tag games.

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sunflowercanyonx · 4 years

Text

There is nothing that angers me more than hypocrisy. Being a 1D fan for 5 years and now a solo harrie. I see it all the time.

I want to address the recent situation on twitter. For years, Louies and Larries have dragged people off their accounts and manipulated them. They play the victim constantly. In fact if someone in harry’s fandom ‘messes up’ they are brutally attacked. However there is a pattern if one of their update accounts is insensitive they have this ‘it’s okay!! you did nothing wrong’ energy. They preach mental health and only apply it to themsleves. They call us toxic just for promoting Harry and ‘bragging’ about his sucess. I used that word because in their eyes if we’re proud of harry we’re rubbing it in his face because he came from the same band that louis did.

This has been going on for years. Here are some examples of when larries/Louies took it too far.

Starting off with the most recent and drive for this post, @/HSDaily on twitter. HSDaily are a group of girls running one of the most popular harry update accounts. They have good representation within their account consisting of LGBT+ members and Black girls.

I won’t say job because i’m aware, stan twitter is not a job however they do work extremely hard. Their ‘role’ on the account is to provide updates but with their large following, also promote Harry and his music. So when they asked harry’s fans to do a tiktok challenge on Tiktok the other day louies were not happy. They thought this was stealing Louis’ fans ideas and unfair because it was meant to be a ‘louis’ thing.

Firstly, i’d like to say that every artist and their fandoms promote stuff on tiktok. But secondly, Harry is not in one direction and neither is Louis. So why,,,, does this take the attention of Louis? surely if you have confidence and faith in your face it wouldn’t matter what other artists are doing. Tell me why hsdaily lost thousands of followers in 24 hours but a popular louis account that was exposed for tweeting child porn barely lost any? @/KingLWTPromo btw. BECAUSE they don’t care about real issues. They only care because it’s a harry account. they associate all harries as toxic and want to bring him down so much because he outshines their fav. They preach about not comparing them yet everything harries do they have an issue with.

Louies are mad at HSDaily (which includes black people) For not stanning Louis. They are a harry update account. They are not obliged to do anything wirh your fav. And if he makes them feel uncomfortable you don’t have a right to overstep their feelings. They are so mad one individual even went out their way to make false claims agaisnt hsdaily.

I don’t know what people expected out of making these claims. OF COURSE they were going to defned themsleves. If someone was calling you homophobic wouldn’t you do the same? I’m currently unaware on this girls situation as there has been rumours going around. Some are saying she faked her suicide, some aren’t so I won’t comment on that. However she made a fake claim against hsdaily. they defned themsleves. And now they are getting the blame for her apparent ‘suicide’ ?

I’m sorry whAT. these people are preaching be kind and mental health is important yet have trended hashtags and instantly put the blame on hsdaily. The sad thing is this is nothing to do with the girl. This is them hating the idea of Harry and his platform. They hate this account has so much attention and is even followed by the official HSHQ account. They aren’t even cancelling this account for the right reasons. The sad thing is this all started because they were upset over hsdaily doing a tiktok challenge for HARRY.

statement from hsdaily below:

I think the fact that Louies are blaming someone else for someone’s suicide says it all. What does that say about you as a person? stop preaching for people to talk about mental health if you’re degrading and pulling someone else done. Stop saying shit then ending your sentence with TPWK and thinking it justifies what you’ve said.

These Louies and larries attack people, attack harry, attack harries then when these people defend themsleves they are always ruled out as the toxic ones and i’m so sick of it. it’s so babyish. 11 year olds.

The following screenshots show a pattern of when these people have done this to big platforms in the past. they are vicious and toxic if you don’t agree with them. One even involved larry... harry and louis don’t even agree with your ship and you don’t treat them like that so why would you treat an innocent man like that?

This has to be noticed. These people are constantly calling Harries toxic yet NEVER take responsibility for their own actions. This is so embarrassing for them. They really don’t care that they have tantrums over stupid shit all the time and drive people off their accounts and away from what makes them content.

I’m so done with arguing with them. I’m so done with them making everything about harry deeper than it is. Making his fans out to be bad by just supporting him. I’m so done with them associating Harry with a non existence ship and i’m DONE with the way they treat people and get away with. You think because your fav talks to people like shit as a joke it’s a personality trait.

There is no care for the way these people have mentally affected others. There is absolutely nothing I can say to sort it however because they’ll never stop. they constantly have an issue with harry having his own fans. so from this point forward we move on.

we ignore their tweets

we block them

we don’t give them the attention

giving them attention is affecting too many people now. they get away with so much shit, but that’s Louis’ fandom. harry has harries who are here to support him. if they want to support harry, good for them. But the more we leave them alone the less attentjon they’ll get. Louis can’t make a charting song. If so many of them can put this energy into hating trending hashtags and being vicious surely they could put that attention into streaming their fav? i mean there seems to be lots of them on twitter yet silence on the charts.

I have no words for what’s happened over the last 24 hours. I wish louies cared about important issues and had morals but they don’t. Harries are successful in calling harry out when they need too.

Stop driving people of their accounts because they don’t agree with you. weirdos.

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butterflyinthewell · 4 years

Text

I’m going to tell you the story of why I love Godzilla.

When I say not to make fun of an autistic person’s special interests, I say it from a place of deep understanding and pain. For me, an autistic SpIn is like being in love, or (for the aro folks out there), it’s like being with your best friend ever and it just feels so comfortable and good.

Sooooo in January my dad mentions wanting to watch KOTM with me. Any excuse to watch KOTM is good, so of course I jumped on it. We watched Godzilla KOTM. It’s the movie I spent all of 2019 talking about from January to May. I got it for Christmas 2019 because mom knew I was going to want it as soon as the first roar hit the screen in the theater. (I took her to see it as a Mother’s Day gift, she liked it too.)

Lemme tell y’all something: when I was a young kid, my dad got me into Godzilla. Starting when I was around 5, he told me the stories of the movies he’d seen (the whole Showa era and Godzilla 1985). So I knew about Godzilla, Rodan, Mothra, King Ghidorah, Minya, MechaGodzilla, Gigan, Hedorah, Megalon, etc long before I ever saw them.

My dad said “these are important characters.”

Then he started renting the movies when he felt I was old enough to not be scared by them (age 7 in 1987) and pointed out who was who.

And my first ‘real meeting’ with Godzilla was the same as the people in 1954, when he popped his head over that hill and roared that haunting sound I never forgot, and I was hooked forever.

I loved it. I loved all of it. Dad warned me about the ending of the ‘54 movie, so I wasn’t surprised by it, but I still cried! He got me over it by showing the the rest of them, as if to go “see, he’s okay!” Then dad warned me that Godzilla was ‘the bad guy’ again in Godzilla 1985, but didn’t tell me how it ended. I was reaaaaally upset when he fell into that volcano. I probably cried about it for three days. That scream still hits something in my soul.

My favorite childhood Godzilla movie is Godzilla’s Revenge. It’s the first Godzilla movie I ever owned. I loved Ichiro’s dreams of making friends with Minya, outsmarting his kidnappers and standing up to his bullies. I even tried to pick up Monster Island using a little portable am/fm radio I had as a kid. It didn’t work, all I got was static, but I sure tried! 😋

I wanted to be an island lady like Saeko from Son of Godzilla who could call monsters for help. I wanted to be a cyborg like Katsura, except I would use MechaGodzilla to make friends with Godzilla instead of trying to hurt him.

Anyway...

Dad’s interest in Godzilla stuff kinda dropped away as the 90s hit and my autistic traits began to make me deviate more and more noticeably from my peers. I had seen all the Showa era movies, so he stopped telling stories because there weren’t any more to tell.

My love for Godzilla carried on into the Heisei era and beyond. Dad acted like I should “leave that crap behind” when I kept buying movies and talking about them to him. He didn’t want to watch them with me or look at pictures in the Godzilla Compendium I picked up.

I didn’t stop my enthusiasm for Godzilla, I just stopped sharing it with dad. I kept at it through high school. I sobbed over Godzilla vs Destroyah because I thought that was the end of the franchise, and I can’t even mention what happened to Godzilla in that movie. If you’ve seen it, you know.

In the year 1998 the rumblings for the ‘98 movie started around New Years, so of course I made noise about going to see it. Because GODZILLA, y’all!

Well, dad surprised me and took me to see Godzilla ‘98 when it came out. I had been bugging about going to see it and he kept giving me a hard no, then had me convinced we were going to a baseball game that night instead. I did nothing to disguise my boredom or hurt in the car, and it broke when we pulled up to the theater. Okay, he pulled a fast one on me and he said I did an emotional 180 spin, but it was worth it. (I still like that movie, but I don’t call that creature Godzilla. I call him Zilla or GINO instead.)

Literally right after that my dad would get mad if I talked about Godzilla. He griped that I was “so obsessed with that stupid monster” and that I needed to grow up. I was almost 18, and I had, just not the way HE wanted, I guess...

Godzilla 2000 came out. Dad grudgingly took mom and me to see it, and I finally got to live my dream of seeing a legit Toho Godzilla movie in theaters. I was yelling and clapping (as were other people) and just had a huge blast. In the car, he told me to knock it off when I talked excitedly about what I liked in the movie. He slapped down all talk of Godzilla.

I still continued to be a fan. When more Millennium era movies came out, I grabbed them when I saw them on the shelves. I got everything from Godzilla vs Megaguirus to Godzilla: Final Wars in a little Japanese shop my dad found near where he worked at the time. I was in my early 20s then. I also got some figurines from that store: a Heisei era Mothra, a Heisei era King Ghidorah and a Millenium era (Final Wars) Godzilla. Dad rolled his eyes when I walked out with them in my arms.

And so began his weird pattern of indulging my interest, but getting upset at me if I talked about it. I was discovering the online fandom at this point, so I had another outlet, but still, it used to be our thing, and his behavior really stung.

I only discovered there were more movies in the Millenium era becuse I happened across GMK on HBO and realized I didn’t recognize that Godzilla suit or the setting.

Then I missed the ending because of a very badly timed phone call. But I was like “omg more Godzilla movies...hey dad, can we go to that shop?” (And then I was like a dragon with treasure when I came home....)

I grabbed the two Kiryu movies first because a certain fanfic author in the fandom had written some Mechagodzilla fanfics where Kiryu (Kiryuu in her stories) was sentient and sexy af. The idea of the original Godzilla being brought back as a robot was amazing and that author basically took the idea and ran it to another level. She’s the reason I headcanon the 54 Gojira as Heisei Godzilla’s dad.

ANYWAY, I got all caught up on the Godzilla movies and blew up to a boiling fan girl froth when the 2014 movie got advertised.

I took mom to see that becuse dad’s Parkinson’s had advanced so far that he couldn’t go out much anymore. Mom likes Godzilla movies and sci-fi in general. While she’s not as into it as me, she enjoys them for the entertainment. We both liked G2014, so I got it for Christmas.

We watched it with dad as a family, he said it was okay.

Through 2016 and 2017 I was rattling on about Shin Godzilla. Got that as a late 37th birthday gift because it came out on dvd a few days after my actual birthday. I watched it for the first time with dad, and he complained the whole time and kind of ruined the experience for me, which pissed me off. HE was the one who wanted to watch it with me, now I wish I watched it alone instead.

2019 came, KOTM happened. So that brings me to sitting down to watch it with dad. I was excited see his reaction to the monsters he introduced me to in childhood realized with modern cgi effects and all. I love seeing things that remind me of happy times in my childhood, and I thought those memories were fond for him, too. So I watched, waiting for him to recognize Mothra, Rodan and King Ghidorah.

He said nothing when they came onscreen. I got engrossed in the movie and sort of forgot about it, but when it was over I bounced up and asked, “Wasn’t it cool to see the guys you told me stories about when I was 5?”

I thought back while I waited for him to answer. I thought back on the stories, the fun and the movies.

I thought back on how my love for this character has grown, and how in KOTM it was physically realized in that painful moment when Ishiro Serizawa looks up at Godzilla with such reverence and lays his hand on his snout. I feel like that was Dougherty telling all the fans he sees their love for Godzilla and gives them that one singular, intimate audience with the big guy through Serizawa. Because who wouldn’t want to give him a pat on the nose and thank him?

The director of KOTM understands what Godzilla means to the fans. He understands how they feel and what they want. In my mind he gave it in spades.

But my dad...

My dad, the man who taught me enough to get me into Godzilla forever, looked at me in the eyes and said, “I don’t remember any of it. They’re not that important anyway.”

“These are important characters.” Much younger dad said to much younger me.

“They’re not that important anyway.” Older modern day dad said to older modern day me.

I thought my heart had stopped and my soul fled through the floor. This franchise, these characters he brought to me with such enthusiasm, something that grew into a lifelong love, meant nothing to him. It was as if he gave me a diamond and later told me it was worthless glass to him. Godzilla was and still is a huge part of my life and who I am, and dad acted like this “us” thing I thought we bonded over during my childhood didn’t matter to him.

It’s almost like he expected me to take passing interest and then move on, but because I’m autistic and because I relate to Godzilla so much, my interest turned into love and respect for the character, what he represents and the messages he has sent throughout the years.

Part of who I am is shaped, literally, by Godzilla, something that started because my dad told me he existed. And in a sentence my dad took that root from my childhood and ripped it out because he decided it was a worthless weed.

It’s not my love for Godzilla that was ripped out. It’s the love I thought my dad felt for me when he was telling me all those stories and showing me the movies. I’m sharing this because I love Godzilla, because I love what he represents and means to me, and I thought my dad shared it with me for the same reason. This is a very autistic thing...I’m sure autistic readers can feel my love for Godzilla just by reading this.

I thought my dad did, too, once.

But no. There was no love at all like I thought there was, so I was not pouring my love into an ocean that still existed, I was throwing it into a black hole.

Dad didn’t care to remember Rodan, or Mothra, or King Ghidorah. He didn’t care to remember what all that meant to me during my childhood because he doesn’t and never has cared about my feelings.

He doesn’t care about my feelings.

He wants me to shut up about Godzilla.

I will not.

I love Godzilla. I don’t need dad’s approval anymore. I will turn 40 this year (2020) and there is no stopping what began 35 years ago. The plant that grew around the root dad planted is shaped like me now, and like Biollante I will keep blooming because Godzilla was my first love fandom-wise and that admiration and love for him stands on its own.

Dad no longer has a say.

But, my God, my dad has this remarkable ability to tell me something is important when I’m young and then claim it isn’t so many years later. He’s done it for a lot of things, but hearing him say Godzilla isn’t important after instilling his importance into me at a young age just...gutted me...and it gutted me as much as the time he asked me what I did to make kids bully me when I was being bullied as a teen.

I got bullied because I’m autistic. I existed. He said it was my fault for being that way. I was a newly diagnosed teenager when he said that. It was 1995, ironically, the same year Godzilla vs Destroyah came out.

And I was an adult when he ripped at that root of Godzilla he planted in me.

Godzilla was the last part of my childhood that he hadn’t sunk his abuse into, but he finally did in January of 2020. Now there is no part of my life untouched by his emotionally abusive crap.

It shouldn’t hurt like this. I feel ridiculous to be hurt so deeply, but I can’t keep pretending that I’m not hurt by it anymore.

I will get over it. My absolute love and respect for Godzilla is something my dad can never destroy no matter how much he tries to shit talk about it. I’ve let him ruin so many things, but not Godzilla.

Godzilla will never be a trigger for me. He is an anti trigger. On this day of April 19, 2020, I’m realizing he is the protector my dad failed to be.

To all parents of autistic kids, be careful that you don’t belittle the things you said were important when they were young. Don’t introduce something that becomes a special interest, say it’s important and then belittle it when they grow up.

Even if you don’t think it’s important anymore now, even if you think it’s silly now, even if you didn’t know they were autistic at the time and would dive in like that, it may still be important to them.

It may become their safe place. It may become treasure.

Don’t try to destroy that safety. Don’t treat it like trash.

#actuallyautistic #special interest #godzilla #emotional abuse #gaslighting #dad issues #swearing #ableism #gifs #long post #tw emotional abuse #tw gaslighting

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