Oh. - Blog Posts
you would not believe your eyes, if 10 thousand fireflies, had gay sex before they all died
Me: Oh yeah. I could definitely make this fictional man fall in love with me.
Also me:
BISEXUALS ARE CONFUSED ABOUT THE WAY PEOPLE THINK THEY ARE CONFUSED ABOUT THEIR SEXUALITY.
WHY DO I WRITE IN CAPS?
I AM CONFUSED, NOW.
BISEXUALS ARE NOT CONFUSED
Bisexuals are not confused
BISEXUALS. ARE. NOT. CONFUSED.
BISEXUALS ARE NOT CONFUSED
bisexuals are not confused god this is like the easiest concept ever you piece of shit douchewagon why can’t you just fucking accept it it’s absolutely infuriating
YUBASHIRI
Zoro's katanas visual reference sheet in English (translated by me)
Covers 和道一文字 (Wado Ichimonji), 雪走 (Yubashiri), 三代鬼徹 (Sandai Kitetsu), and 秋水 (Shusui)
Notes under the cut:
You have to open the image in a tab/download it and zoom in to read it, sorry!! I couldn't figure out how to vectorise the text :(
The original tumblr upload in Japanese is here, the sheet itself links to a deleted pixiv site so I have no idea where it was originally from, but it definitely seems to be written by Oda
Please let me know if there are any errors!!
I'm not Japanese nor do I speak/read it, I just used google translate + a lot of googling and wikipedia to look up japanese sword terminology. I can also read kanji so that helped a bit
Some other random notes if you'd like to reference the original post:
柄巻 (tsuka-maki or tsuka ito, lit. hilt wrap): rope wrapped around the outside of the katana
鐔 (つば)* - tsuba, sword guard; generally a round metal plate with a central wedge shaped hole for the blade and if needed up to two smaller holes for the kozuka or kōgai *note: Oda uses the hiragana when referring to the tsuba
柄 tsuka: The tsuka is the hilt or handle; made of wood and wrapped in samegawa (shark/ray skin).
目貫 menuki, The menuki are the decorative metal ornaments the are woven under the tsuka-ito (handle wrapping). These ornaments were originally made to hide the mekugi pins that secure the tsuka to the tang of the blade
鞘 saya: traditional wooden scabbard
腰差し koshi-zashi: something to be worn on the waist, can specifically refer to swords
丁子乱れ, "clove disorder" choji midare – an irregular hamon pattern resembling cloves, with a round upper part and a narrow constricted lower part.
鮫皮 samegawa: the ray or shark skin wrapping of the tsuka (handle/hilt), is wrapped by the tsuka-ito
頭 kashira: The kashira is the pommel on the end of the tsuka.
鐺 kojiri: The kojiri is the end of the scabbard (saya) or the protective fitting at the end of the scabbard
下げ緒 sageo : The sageo is the cord used to tie saya to the belt/obi when worn.
直刃 suguha: straight temper line (hamon)
乱刃 midareba: irregular temper line (hamon)
刃文 hamon: border between the tempered part of the ha (cutting edge) and the untempered part of the rest of the sword; the temper-line.
Temper line (刃文 hamon) designs
Left to right: suguha (straight line), gunome (wavy line), choji (clove), notare (gentle wave)
References:
Japanese Sword Mountings Wikipedia Page
Glossary of Japanese Swords Wikipedia Page
Tsuka-Ito (hilt wrap)
Menuki (hilt ornaments)
(In Japanese) koshi-zashi definition
(In Japanese) choji hamon definition
oh. oh.
how do you write a love letter, keito hasumi
how do you write a love letter? to a place, a time, to you? the whole world stops to listen to a love that sings for itself.
how do you write a love letter? an intangible bittersweetness, the art of language, with each and every word planned and thoroughly reviewed— keito couldn't still put his finger on it. how do you write a love letter? to a place, to a person?
how do you write a love letter? an exquisite longing that held sadness within each letter, and each goodbyes. but another crumpled paper hits the floor— the inked pen hesitates to touch the fresh paper before it. it trembles; with the first motion, he spells your name:
To my dearest,
Often when I imagine you, a love exists inside me. It frightens me. It's as if you were a ghost returning to it's haunt.
how do you write a love letter? handwritten claims of love, desperate to convey the desire that filled his body as much as blood— his hands started writing on it's own. of course those hands are his, but who owns these words writing itself if not love?
I'm afraid of the love I have for you. Because I am certain that it will ruin me. And I know that I will let it.
I love you, love you, love you, endlessly— Until the sea reaches the moon, and the flowers reach the sun.
how do you write a love letter? the heart pumps the love from it to the tips of his fingers— with love passing through him, keito wrote his fears, and his confessions. his love had held it's breath to this very moment.
I have longed for you, in my heart, never forgetting a day where I didn't.
But I am afraid that I might spend eternity trying not to need you.
the letter stops—
his fingers tremble; as if he wasn't certain. as if this wasn't a promise.
from your friend, Keito.
Hawks at one point went through a phase were he had a mullet, and you cannot tell me otherwise.
Hawks with a mullet 💕
I’ve read a lot and I mean a lot of Peter in Gotham fics and I’ve read the ones where Dick is Richard Parker and like one where Jason is Ben Parker. So I propose this, each Bat is someone that Peter knows/knew, even if it’s not a main character, they’re still someone that Peter can recognize even if only barley, EXCEPT for Bruce and Damian.
Dick- Richard Parker (obviously)
Jason- Ben Parker
Barbara- May Parker
Tim- Tony Stark (Peter has to resist the urge to call him Dad.)
Stephanie- I was thinking maybe an EMT, or nurse he remembers from his uncle’s shooting? Or maybe even Sue Storm??
Duke- Rhodey
Cassandra- Yuriko Watanabe maybe? I only sort of know her from the Spider-man ps4 game so.
The reason for Alfred/Bruce/Damian not being someone he knows/knew is because there’s no Gotham in his world so there’s no Bruce Wayne.
Isolation on autopilot?
Oh damn, this is super interesting. Relatable, too. From the Coping book:
Robert Sean Leonard as “Claudio” in Much Ado About Nothing (1993).
the five stages of grief
feat: slightly canon adjacent ! shigaraki tomura / tenko shimura
warnings: angst. language. violence and mentions of injuries, major character death, implications to suicide, close to canon events as i could remember, 3.9k read!
cache notes: uhhhhhh this my offer for tomura's bday fic. IM SORRY
m.list
you thought you were experiencing the stages of grief out of order after the war. come to find out, your subconscious knew tenko died long before he physically left you.
DENIAL
— the action of declaring something to be untrue.
"tomura's being weird," spinner sounds upset, but when you look up from your gaming console, his face betrays no emotion. almost like he didn't say anything at all. his fingers push at buttons and he looks immersed in whatever mission that has his attention at the moment.
you want to say i know or something along that line— you can't help it. it's something that runs deep in your psyche to be an asshole back to him. he's never been too cordial with you, but spinner's respectful enough. if tomura likes you, there must be some reason he's keeping you around. the two of you have been toeing the line of being at each other's throats since you joined the group.
instead, you choose to grunt in response. "you're overthinking things," is what you choose to say. because for some god damn reason you can't bring yourself to even think to agree with spinner.
you end up running around in circles in your game, now distracted. what would spinner know about tomura that you don't already know? spinner might be his closest friend— he might believe that he knows tomura fairly well. but you know him on a more intimate level. sure, tomura doesn't tell you everything— you could thank all for one for that.
but what's said in the dark of night, on top of cheap pillows and underneath thin blankets is something you know for sure spinner doesn't.
tomura lies next to you, an arm slung over your waist lazily. he's knocked out cold, his nose twitches with every inhale of a snore. the bed sags underneath the both of you, the sheet is warm with shared body heat.
you can't help but watch his features as he sleeps. if he were conscious, he would've called you out for it. being weird— staring at him while he slept like some sort of creep.
but he also knows that you like to look at him. he'll never know why, but you're quiet when you do it and you keep comments to yourself. so he lets you. only speaking when you need to, or when he needs you to.
tomura stirs slightly, bringing his arm around your waist tighter. the weight and warmth of his skin against yours brings comfort, like always— but a slight twinge of unease.
you have to blink to clear your head. spinner's words are not getting to you. he doesn't know what he's talking about. tomura still looks the same to you, he still acts the same. the tension was subconscious.
"you're thinking' about something," tomura's voice is low and still extremely heavy with sleep. it startles you, but his grip around you tightens when you jump. your cheek warms with the push of his voice. "what are you thinking about?"
your teeth pull at the seam of your lip. normally, the silence would mean you're simply just thinking about what to say— and to be honest, you are. but there's hesitation in this silence, which causes him to open his eyes ever so slightly. he can barely make out your silhouette in the darkness, but he knows you're still looking at him.
"you'd tell me if something was changing, wouldn't you?"
it's tomura's turn to hesitate.
you try to ignore it. "you'd tell me if something was different, right?"
tomura's eyes finally adjust to the darkness and he can make out your expression more clearly. the furrow of your brow and the heaviness set in your eyes. it's such a vulnerable look on you, it's not a look he sees very often.
he forces himself to swallow. "nothing's changing, promise."
"promise?"
in the darkness, tomura doesn't see you lift your hand until he feels your fingertip graze along his cheek. the pressure is gentle, feather-light; reverent almost. you trace the grooves that the scars have made on his features like they are a road map. the destination changes every time, but you follow it with such enthusiasm every single time. tomura's come to accept it, and over time has learned to lean more and more into it.
your touch seems to soften, and in return tomura softens as well.
"i promise."
ANGER
— can sometimes function as a coping mechanism, providing a sense of control or a way to express frustration in the face of helplessness or disbelief.
"this is fucking stupid, tomura," you hiss out while taking an aggressive seat beside him. the motion kicks some dirt up, tomura ignores how some of it lands on his shoes. he keeps his eyes trained on gigantomachia as the behemoth sleeps. in another hour and a half, the two will start fighting again and you will force yourself to follow.
"don't say that," he mutters back. his fingers are carefully bending and twisting a twig into odd shapes, challenging it to break even though it's a fairly young clipping. there's plenty of twigs to choose from littered along the ground around the two of you. when this one finally breaks, tomura will just move onto the next one.
"well, it is," you counter. "you've barely made a dent in the progress. he's not weakening. ujiko is just stringing you along."
tomura's head tilts to stare at you out of his peripheral. he really doesn't want to fight with you on this. you were there when the group got warped to the lab, you heard the entire deal. you know his entire stance on the situation. he doesn't know if this is the lack of sleep talking or the lack of eating— but he's explained it how many times?
"ujiko is not stringing us along, [y/n]. how many times do i have to tell you this?" tomura says. his fingers finally snap the twig between his fingers and he tosses it a couple feet away in front of him before reaching for another at his feet. this one breaks much easier when he bends it. "it's going to work out in the end."
your elbows dig into your thighs as you lean forward. chewing on the inside of your lip, you mutter a bitter sounding "doubtful" and keep your gaze off of him.
there's tension between the two of you. there are inches in between the two of you but you've never felt more far apart.
when's the last time you've touched him? since tomura's held you in his arms? when was the last time the two of you lied face to face in bed together and just giggled about silly things you've seen online. you want to reach out and touch him but something inside of you refuses to. would he even feel like the tomura you were used to?
muscles and scars aside, would he feel like tenko?
you don't realize just how heavy your shoulders feel until his eyes finally meet yours fully, and he looks you up and down. your eyes burn and you realize you've been glaring at his side profile for the past couple of minutes of terse silence. something bitter and harsh has been simmering low in your gut for a while.
"this is more than machia, isn't it?" tomura asks in a low tone. there's a warning laced in between each syllable, you'd be dumb if you didn't notice the tone shift. but when do you not challenge tomura? he will deny it until the day he dies that it's one of his favorite things about you.
however, it is AFO's least favorite thing about you.
tomura still continues to fight with enabling this kind of behavior, or just not engaging at all. AFO tells him that you're a problem. a hindrance. you can't be trusted. you're going to do something big and take him away from his goal and everything is going to go to shit because of you.
tomura's known you for how long? he's seen you change in so many ways. you've burned through so many costumes, you've cut your hair in so many gas station bathrooms. there's a certain twinkle in your eye whenever you look at him that's never changed.
tomura hasn't seen that sparkle in months.
tomura hasn't seen so much aggression behind your eyes since the day you two met. you clearly don't audibly make it known, but you're upset with him. why else would you glare at him like that? why else would you look at him like he's not the same person at the moment?
it it because he's not?
maybe somewhere deep inside of you, you've already figured it all out. you just haven't pieced together all the parts yet. tomura isn't sure that your denseness is a blessing, or a curse in disguise.
tomura is still silent in front of you. the longer your gaze is deliberately met by his, the stronger the feeling of hate bubbles in your gut. your hands clench and unclench at your sides and your knuckles ache with tension. is this tomura you're feeling hate towards? surely it's not. you've been mad and angry at tomura before, yes.
but you've never hated him.
"this better be worth it," you manage to hiss out. your teeth grit so hard you can hear them squeak when they grind against each other. you force yourself to stand and move— away from him, away from him. white hot tears are beginning to well up, your eyes are burning and you'll be damned if you let him see you cry.
somewhere inside of you tells you tomura would comfort you if you did start crying; but a larger part of you tells you that you're wrong. why would he comfort you if he were the source of the tears? why would he apologize for the pain he had caused when that was the plan from the start?
BARGAINING
— attempt to negotiate or make compromises.
you had a violent realization when the tides had turned in the final war. aside from being aggressively pinned into the dirt, the fact that you were so easily overwhelmed in a matter of moments had your head spinning in ways that the concussion you were given didn't.
you smelled and tasted iron. there was blood pouring from your nose and mouth contributing to the taste and and scent, and the blood loss was starting to make you delirious. you were seeing double. there was a knee pushed between your shoulder blades and your wrists were being sliced open practically with how tight the cuffs were.
spinner's voice crackled in your ear. "[y/n], shigaraki needs help—"
he's cut off and racked with coughs and sputters. you try to ignore the stabbing pain in your spine, your cheek pressed into the gravel. the rocks are being pushed so hard into your skin that you know there will be indents. "what's wrong with tomura?"
when spinner doesn't answer, your heart practically throws itself against your rib cage. there's ringing in your ears, drowning out the rest of the screams and shouts of other villains and heroes fighting around you. drowning out the voice of the hero above you that only shoves his kneecap further into your back once he feels you squirming underneath him.
you didn't want to admit that you were right when the heroes split everyone up that something would go wrong. you no longer had eyes on tomura; and he to you. though you were sure he wasn't thinking in the same sense that you were when it all happened. was that part of their plan? to separate tomura from you?
you don't care that the last interaction with him was a screaming match. you don't care about the selfish words that came out of your mouth, or the cold tone he had used on you. or that tomura didn't look like tomura at all. didn't even resemble tenko either.
"spinner!" you practically scream into the dirt. the tears fall freely from your eyes but you don't have it in you to acknowledge them. they feel like fire when they fall, mixing with the blood and dirt already embedded in your skin into some grotesque mess around your mouth. "iguchi!"
your mind races. not a single thought connects properly, your body buzzes with new motivation to get out. the scream that leaves your mouth is raw and so painful that even the hero above you pauses with the force of his restraints. you can feel your quirk starting to overload your senses, clogging the sensors in your body with power and strength that it cannot handle.
"shuichi," your voice does not sound like your own. your forehead meets the dirt because you think you can reach him with your voice through the ground. "where is tenko?"
you want to believe that spinner had just run into a little problem and was just letting you know that tomura needed backup to finish the plan. you want to believe that he just needed help for a big finish. tomura would reach out to you personally if things went wrong, wouldn't he? he still cared about you like that, didn't he?
tomura had AFO's strength now. he was more than capable of holding his own; there's no way he needed actual help. there's no way, right? there's no way.
how would you even get there in time to help him? what higher being do you need to plea to in order to get you to tomura's side before something worse happens? would that supreme being even listen to you? were you so beyond saving that not even god would help you save the one you loved? or was that privilege only reserved for heroes?
your quirk was draining your stamina. you were feeling weaker and weaker; the idea of begging to god was sounding more and more like a good idea.
anything to get to tomura.
even with your vision gaining the vignette— darkening more and more as the seconds passed. you could not feel the oxygen going in through your mouth or leaving through your nose in short, harsh puffs. you'd do anything.
you'd do anything to see tenko again.
DEPRESSION
— a common mental health condition characterized by persistent sadness, loss of interest, and other symptoms that can significantly impact a person's ability to function.
the next time you see spinner, he is dressed in orange. it matches yours, your numbers are far apart but you are treated the same. it's mid spring in the courtyard, the sunlight feels like it should burn your skin the longer you stand out in it.
this time outside is mandatory. you'd rather still be in your cell— away from the cherry blossom scent, away from the petals that fall so delicately onto the asphalt.
away from the harshness of spinner's gaze the moment his eyes find yours.
your hair had been trimmed short. you tried to wrap it around your throat at one point so the orderlies buzzed it all off a week after you had been thrown into prison. the bags under your eyes have darkened over the months. you've been to solitary more than once after your night terrors had turned violent and you tried to attack your cell mate.
spinner doesn't look any better than you do. his actions are fueled by rage as he crosses the courtyard to stand in front of you.
"he's gone," his voice is full of hurt and pain. as if your shoulders weren't heavy enough, the weight of his tone adds more pounds that you decide to selflessly take on. "everything he fought for, [y/n]."
you're far past feeling anything at this point. you know what the media is painting tenko as. what they're painting the league as a whole as. what could you do about it? there was only so much that you could attempt with eyes on you at all times and a trigger itching to be pulled if you moved too fast.
"he didn't sign up for this."
"i know," your voice is dull and almost lifeless. you don't have the balls in you to meet his eyes at this point anymore. you've admitted to yourself that spinner was right all those months ago when he first noticed something was off with tenko.
"he died a hero, [y/n]!" his voice raises.
you don't know if he was talking more to you, or himself.
"i know," your voice repeats like a broken record. it breaks on the last syllable and both you and spinner cringe at the sound of it.
"we could've— should have done something," he forces out. you can audibly hear him swallow and your own throat mirrors the noise as you swallow a painful sound of your own. "to save him. he should've destroyed society. he could've changed the world."
your voice is barely audible when you speak next. you blink back tears, but they end up falling anyway. "i know."
ACCEPTANCE
— learning to live with the loss and finding a way to move forward, even though the pain may still linger.
the tip of your boot meets a tuft of grass. the grave in front of you has not been taken care of, there's moss and weeds that line the cement. you can still see the faint outline carving of his name, however.
tenko shimura.
even though there's no remains underneath the gravestone, this isn't his official burial spot— but this is your spot for him.
only a select amount of people know about this spot. your parole officer, mr compress— spinner. the three remaining league members still alive. they don't question the location. they come, give their moment of silence and leave.
"i feel like i should leaves flowers or something this time," you say to the empty air around you. your hands clench around nothing in the pocket of your hoodie. you kick at the tuft of grass again and sigh to yourself. "you hated flowers."
there's a tree that offers some shade a little off to the side. you're surprised that it's still standing, surprised that the gnarled old bark still tells stories to people who won't appreciate them. the roots are as old as time. the branch you fell off of when you were younger still hangs low and off kilter from it snapping under your weight.
it's been years since the war. you were lucky enough to finally get put on house arrest after a good couple of years. your parole officer sits in a car just a couple yards away— waiting. watching. though he knows you won't make a run for it. you've been on a streak of good behavior since gaining the privilege of visiting your makeshift grave for tenko.
"i uh…" your hand rises and rubs at the back of your neck in an awkward fashion. your hair had been kept short— a turning point. a way of admitting that you've changed; that times have changed. "i apologized to iguchi. finally."
that he was right. he saw the signs before you did.
"i miss you," your teeth pull at the corner of your mouth. you know you won't cry. you feel like you should— for the past few times you've visited you've ended your visits early due to the sobs that have racked through your body. "iguchi's right. you were a hero to us."
as soon as the words leave your mouth you hate how they sound.
"you are a hero, i mean. you're my hero. our hero."
yeah, it sounds cringe. awkward and unfamiliar in your throat. it's the truth, you've known it for years now. you realize you don't say those words out loud enough— that's why they feel so… weird. coming out of your mouth.
you make a promise to say it out loud more often.
the tip of your boot meets the concrete gravestone in front of you again in a lingering touch. you offer a final sniffle, the only sign you give that you're about to let go of your emotions. "until next time, yeah? promise it won't be months from now."
you turn on your heel and shove your hands further into the pocket of your hoodie.
"promise."
© accidentcache do not repost, translate or alter my work without permission. all rights reserved.
accidentally got myself into a situationship because I thought he wanted to talk about Spider-Man
“they were flirting with you” and how was i supposed to know such a thing when everyone speaks in codes and puzzles
Heart, that’s where I wanna settle down for good
Too many writers are using generative 'AI' to make their book covers, so I've written a guide on how to make your own cover for free or cheap without turning to a machine.
If you can't afford to pay an artist, you CAN make your own!
I hope this is a helpful overview that covers the basics and points to some free resources.
PART 1
last floor, toodles fell while running to the elevator with her dad. Rodger finds her in bad shape.
very bad shape.
before we cut to Alexandria (Manberg era cabinetduo)
1.
Between you is a desk and, an hour later, a wall, and your brother- let’s call him your brother, because you do not have to like your brothers, but you have to have them. And he is here, your brother.
2.
Between you and your brother is a desk and on the desk, paper that you pass over the distance, seventy centimeters, ten seconds each to write until the things you say to one another to hide what you really mean fill the page from corner to corner, side to side.
3.
Learning how to read between the lines is a lot like learning how to make bullets, or how to stop a baby from crying, or how to stop your friend from crying when he looks like he’s about to: you don’t, really, but one day you find yourself just doing it, probably doing it wrong. I’ll keep you safe: I’ll (I) keep (will) you (fail) safe.
4.
Here's your brother sitting on the windowsill with his heels tucked in, staring at the smoke he blows into the wind like he wishes that were him. He does, but it's just one of hundreds whispered into dandelion seeds that will invariably land on barren asphalt. Your brother is someone whose wants are countably infinite and does not realize it.
5.
You know three ciphers in total. One's for babies, one you teach your friend, the last you show your brother. It's numbers all the way down, signaling lowly your prevailing existence. Three, one, seven, eight. Shadows in the hallway. Five, five, four, nine. Shift. Lights under the door.
6.
Your brother finds a radio. Has a radio. Had, a radio. It’s yours on Sunday mornings and in the afternoons on weekdays. You spin the dials until you’re sure there’s only static, then you take it all apart, slowly. The sound travels through the air, unseen and unfelt. You leave a whisper in the transmitter.
7.
And there’s a memory, his lanky arms tucked between his knees, head against the open door of the van with a cigarette between his teeth; this other not-brother of a man who has never promised safety in so many words as the walls he built says I don’t do it inside because it’s not good for the baby. Says you (I) keep the (don’t) bad shit (want) outside (them) the walls (to) because it’s (see) not good (this) for who you love.
8.
Between you and your brother and the desk and the walls is not enough space. Too dark, too hot, choked out and the wallpaper too sticky. Too many shadows without form nor sight. You know, I don’t care if you smoke inside. He definitely doesn’t. The sunlight in the window feels solid, like it could hold your brother when he shrugs, stubs the cigarette out on the stone exterior, and looks down like he’s thinking of jumping.
9.
He won’t do it, you know. Your brother doesn’t look at you, looks at where the smoke has disappeared, wishing he could be like that: something with less of a heart and not so much desire. Something that doesn’t hit the ground when it’s thrown out a window. He won’t jump, even though he’s always thinking about it. You have to push him. Or better yet, leap and watch him dive after you.
10.
You conclude the fear comes from the lack of escape, because everything else has begun to slide over you. A boy holds the door open. A man. Whatever. On paper your brother draws a blueprint you can’t understand. He draws the lines tender, the way you make a bed when you’re waiting for someone to come sleep in it. Slides it over. The pen he holds out is an open question.
11.
We can have something better than cheap takeout every day and we can go out to eat on our lunch breaks and you know, I can always learn how to cook and teach you, too. It’s a good thing to know.
12.
Is it love? Do you throw someone from two stories up and watch their bones break below you and shout at them I love you? Do you need to? Don’t they know? Looking up at you. They know. They know. The only difference is who of us got here first.
13.
Say the building's on fire. Say the doorknob's melting. Say you take to the heat better. There’s a hand in yours, paper crumpled in your palm. Take it, smooth it out, do the math in your head. One, two, three, four, nine. I struck the match. I’m sorry. Suddenly it’s just you, and the window is gone.
14.
He turns the bitterness over, splits it apple-seed white at the core. Did you notice he’s no taller than you? Not even a little bit. Between you is a desk, and you trace the ring of water damage on its surface and wish you were the type of person who could crack it. For a long moment that is your only wish. Place your fist in the center of the ring. It fits. Now imagine swinging.
15.
It’s a summer night and you can’t hear the buzz of the flies in the room over all the shouting. It’s summer, so there’s always flies. You don’t even know where they come from, just that when you’ve finally managed to kill the two there’s a third hanging around your leg. Like they know where the rot is. Like they’re born here, young larvae chewing their way out of the wallpaper, tasting blood.
16.
He’s your brother, which you are comfortable with because you do not have to like your brother. You do not have to love him, and neither he, you. You have to have him. You have to not blow smoke at babies (who can bear nothing). You have to buy food when there’s none and you have to make the necessary phone calls. You have to be quiet, and be loud, and quiet again. You have to lock doors, turn off the lights except the one in the hallway. Until you don’t. Until you’re gone.
17.
One more thing. If you jumped, he'd jump after you. And if you walked through the front door?
Wake up every midnight for three years straight to unlock the front door. Wake up every morning at six to lock it. Wait until it gets unbearable, then wait until the unbearable becomes easy, becomes nothing. This is how we survive, long past the moment we think we should have.
18.
Your brother has one leg over the windowsill and he leans back, telling you to come look. Look at the wide ledge jutting from the side of the house. The air is so still. He holds your hand when you follow him onto the ledge. Streetlights start to come on. You can see all of them, signals pointing to far and distant places. Further than your sight goes. There’s a car downstairs and soon there will be nothing between you, and that car. What (where) will (will) you (you) do, (be?) then? Your brother is on your left.
This, this is what I can give you.
The boys seen arriving and departing from Incheon airport to possibly film BV4??
⚜ House of Cards by sugamins ⚜
Originally I was only planning on drawing one piece of fanart for this fic but one piece turned into two and then two pieces turned into three and well… whoops
