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#I need every year and character in this show accounted for i'm not even joking

wttcsms · 29 days

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angels like you can't fly down here with me (i'm everything they say i would be), megumi fushiguro ;

pairing megumi fushiguro x f!reader word count 11k synopsis people like him don't get happy endings but megumi fushiguro (foolishly) considers himself to be the exception — after all, he has you. content contains yakuza au, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, breeding kink, slight daddy kink, attempted sa, minor violence & depictions of blood author's note if ur on my ao3, you know this is from 2021!!! my writing has changed up since then, but i'm going to be releasing a revised version of this which will be rewritten and feature more scenes, more worldbuilding, more plot, relationship and character development, etc!! i figured releasing this on tumblr would help me gauge how worthwhile revision of this fic will be, so lmk if u like this au & want to see it become even better <3

Don’t do it.

He repeats the command inside his head again, and then one more time for good measure. (And then another time, just to drive the point across.)

He won’t — can’t; isn’t really allowed to — get into (another!) fight.

(Well, there’s a part of Megumi that knows that despite Gojo’s sing-songy warning of “now, now, Megumi, I don’t need a frequent visitor’s card for the principal’s office”, he doesn’t actually care. All he’s really concerned about — if the mild interest the reckless teenager turned legal guardian shows can even be called that — is whether or not Megumi wins.

And he does.

Every. Single. Time.)

For the most part, Megumi Fushiguro is fairly stoic in general, but to a concerning degree when one accounts for the fact that he’s only ten years old. For the odd three or so years he’s been under Gojo’s wing, Megumi’s mask of disinterest stopped becoming a mask and started becoming a part of him.

(Try as he might, Gojo’s not nearly as funny as he thinks he is. Maybe the connection between them might have been stronger if Gojo was a bit more responsible and if he was actually present, but he’s got his own shit to deal with. Besides, Gojo’s under the impression that what he’s doing isn’t cruel, but rather a means to an end. Megumi’s never going to be able to get stronger if he doesn’t learn how to survive on his own.

After all, being alone and having to fight to survive is the life people like them live.)

The older preteens in the area have a bad habit of picking on the younger students. Because the elementary and middle schools are so close together, the younger students who have the misfortune of walking alone tend to be targets for bullies in need of pocket change or a good laugh. Most of the time, they get both.

As of late, everyone’s favorite target happens to be Megumi Fushiguro, the boy with the messy black hair and indifferent attitude, even when confronted by boys two years his senior and almost a whole entire head taller than him.

Last week, Megumi gave the three older boys dumb enough to harass him for money bloody noses, bruised egos, and a thirst for revenge. That was the first (and supposed to be the last) time he got into a fight (for this school year, at least — something Gojo had told him, while winking). So, even when the trio is back together again, taunting him and trying to get him to take the first swing, Megumi keeps walking forward with his perpetual look of disinterest, those cold blue eyes of his staring straight at the path ahead of him, never paying any mind to the gangly bodies of the middle school boys who keep trying to block him from moving.

Don’t do it.

He tells himself this once more. You don’t want to have to inconvenience Gojo. Then, you’ll be stuck listening to him pretend to lecture you. You don’t like spending too much time with Gojo. He’ll make weird jokes.

The thought of having to deal with Gojo’s presence is enough to get Megumi to unclench his fists.

“Move.”

It’s the first thing he says to the group since they started following him after school. He tells the boy with the brown hair this. The brunet seems to be their ringleader of sorts, and even as nothing more than a ten year old child, Megumi knows that being twelve/thirteen and harassing little kids for sport is a sign of patheticness that will only grow and fester into something darker unless someone beats some sense into them. Obviously, they didn’t learn their lesson from last week.

“Huh? What the hell did ya just say, ya little brat?” The brown haired boy sneers, looking down at Megumi.

School has just let out, so there are dozens of kids of all ages walking down the sidewalk. They’re all aware of the situation happening, but everyone chooses to turn a blind eye to it. Partly because this is such a common occurrence that it just starts to become something that blends into the scenery, but also because there are some rumors surrounding the Fushiguro kid that’s enough to make anyone with a heart of gold reluctant to come to his rescue.

The main rumor circulating around the school is that Megumi Fushiguro has ties to the yakuza. Granted, most kids his age have no idea what the yakuza is, and even those who somewhat know only know through exaggerated definitions from their older siblings. Generally, everyone just accepts the fact that the yakuza is bad, and by default, Megumi Fushiguro must be bad too. Older siblings tell their younger siblings to avoid “that boy” at all costs, unless they want to end up with a finger cut off. Megumi’s classmates huddle together and conveniently choose to look everywhere else but at him when on the playground.

For anyone else, this might have been enough to cause some hurt feelings. Everyone thinks the boy must be some type of stupid to be so oblivious to the rumors centered around him, but the truth is this: Megumi is well aware of what people whisper about behind his back; he just doesn’t care enough to prove them wrong.

And they’re not wrong, anyway.

(For some parts of the rumors, at least.)

Because it’s true — Megumi does have ties to the yakuza. His father, who he can’t seem to attach neither a name nor a face to, must have done something bad. Something bad enough to have him cross paths with Satoru Gojo, the young head of the Gojo Clan, one of Tokyo’s most prominent crime families. It’s the same Gojo who decided to adopt both Megumi and his stepsister, Tsumiki, despite having nothing (so far) to gain from it. After all, why would a teenager willingly assign himself the responsibilities of caring for small children — one who resembles the man that tried to kill him and the other being an ill little girl confined to a hospital bed for who knows how long. All Gojo gets from this deal is a headache, bills, and more problems than necessary.

Megumi’s not really sure how the rumors started in the first place. He thinks it’s because kids his age are easily influenced and have a tendency to run wild with their imaginations. With the rising popularity of gangs from the high school students, this interest seems to have trickled all the way down to the elementary levels. Megumi certainly fits the description of their idea of someone from the yakuza: silent, secretive, scary.

(If they were a little bit older, maybe they would have just seen him as an introvert.)

No matter how ridiculous the rumors get, though, it doesn’t change the fact that the root of them is true: he is connected to the yakuza. After all, he’s being primed and prepped to be someone of value in the clan. Once you’re tied with the likes of them, you might as well just resign to the knot fate’s trapped you with. He’s learned quickly that the only thing harder than getting into the yakuza is getting out.

And because his sister’s and his life both depend on him doing as he’s told, getting out is a funny pipe dream at best and the Fushiguro siblings’ cause of death at worst.

“I told you to move. You’re blocking my way.” Megumi’s tone of voice betrays nothing. Annoyance, maybe, but he speaks flatly regardless of how he’s truly feeling. Gojo says it’s kinda creepy. Gojo also says that being a little creepy isn’t bad.

(Gojo should know; he’s a certified creep in Megumi’s eyes.)

“Oh — so the little boy can speak up.” The boy with blond hair laughs. It’s a nasally sound that grates Megumi’s ears.

He’s not an idiot. Megumi is well aware of the fact that no matter how much he feels like it isn’t true, he’s still just a little ten year old boy. He should be playing with the toy cars Gojo bought him, not worrying about the gritty future that lies ahead. But still, the phrase rubs him the wrong way.

Little boy.

He wasn’t so little when he kicked them down to his height before properly bashing their faces, now was he? Even now, he can feel the anger coming up. He clenches his fists, wondering if he’ll get suspended for fighting right next to school property.

“Leave him alone.”

Another voice appears, but not from any of the boys. No — this time, it’s coming from a little girl on the sidewalk across from theirs. Everyone involved turns to stare at the source of such a command and are greeted with the sight of you with a Hello Kitty backpack. You’ve got a frown on your face that doesn’t match the brightness of your pink outfit.

Megumi recognizes you instantly. You’re in the same class as him. You were in the same class as him last year, too. He tilts his head, trying to figure out what exactly it is you’re trying to accomplish here — and why.

He knows his social standing in the school. If he’s at the bottom, you’re right at the top. A beaming pillar of light, everyone flocks to you like moths after a flame. But you’re alone today, not surrounded by the usual crowd of boys and girls who are often vying for your attention. Seeing you alone enables him to see you more clearly, without all the distractions getting in his way.

You’re small. Shorter than him, and way shorter than the middle school boys. You’ve got a bow in your hair and brand new shoes on your feet. If anybody should be socially aware, it has to be you. Those at the top, Megumi knows, like to remind everyone of their placement. You shouldn’t be here. You should be ignoring him like he’s got the plague, just like everyone else.

All three of the boys start to laugh after sizing you up. The laughter only serves to make you even more irritated, but you can’t speak because one of them is already talking through his laughs.

“Don’t tell me. Is this your girlfriend?”

The group erupts into more laughter, and while Megumi’s expression remains the same as it’s been for the past few minutes, yours only shows your growing contempt.

“She’s no one.” Megumi throws you an odd look, one of neither annoyance nor gratitude for trying to help him out. He uses your presence as a distraction, and he manages to take a few more steps before one of the boys is yanking him back by his bookbag.

“Grab her.” One of the boys says, and the third boy, the one with the messy red hair, starts to cross the street.

Megumi watches as you stay right where you are. Are you stupid? Why won’t you run? The boy still has a solid grip on his bookbag, keeping him in place. He wonders if it’ll be a waste of his breath if he tells you to start running — you probably wouldn’t listen to him anyway.

But then Megumi figures out why you don’t look too frightened, because not even a second before the older boy manages to cross the street to your side of the sidewalk, a man in a suit is running towards you, a scowl on his face.

“You said you were going to the restroom, young lady!” The man scolds you while panting for breath. He surveys the scene, looking at you, and then the middle school boy by your side before turning his head and seeing Megumi in between the other two boys. “What’s going on? Is everything alright? Did they do anything to you?”

“No, Mr. Higashi. B-but—“ Your bottom lip starts to tremble, and even though Higashi is certain that the tears about to fall are fake, the situation itself looks serious enough to the point where he doesn’t call you out on it. “Th-these boys are being really mean.” You let out a high pitched wail that makes the boy let go of Megumi’s bookbag. “They just threatened to attack me and my friend out of nowhere.”

“Your father will be informed.” Higashi frowns, eyeing the guilty boys who look confused and a little shocked at this turn of events. “Mr. [Surname] certainly won’t be pleased to hear about this.”

The middle school boys pale when they hear the man name drop your family’s surname.

After all, it’s the same last name that’s engraved on plaques all over the school, thanking your family for the many donations they’ve received.

You enter into Megumi’s life that way: unexpectedly. He never thanked you for intervening, but it’s not like you did it for the thanks anyway. You did it, you tell him, because you figured he needed some help.

“I had it handled.” He tells you flatly. “Why are you even sitting here? Your friends keep staring at us.”

It’s true. Stories of what happened are already circulating around both schools, and while all your friends spent the whole entire day pestering you for the full story, you chose to keep quiet about the situation. And now, here you are, choosing to sit and eat lunch with Megumi, someone who also knows the true story of what went down but the only one people aren't brave enough to ask.

Your whole entire table of friends keep their heads huddled together as they go back and forth with each other, every one of them sparing glances at Megumi’s table. It makes the rice in his mouth taste stale. He should have just stayed in the classroom to eat, especially if he knew you would be bothering him.

“Gee, is that any way to treat a friend?” You huff, not at all actually annoyed with him.

“We’re not friends.”

“Too late. I told my dad we were.”

There has been one question on his mind ever since that incident. Just who exactly is your father? He’s not stupid; he knows that you must come from a wealthy family. If the buildings and auditorium named after your family isn’t enough proof, the fact that you always have the latest toys, the nicest shoes, the cutest stationery sets — that’s material proof of a spoiled princess.

You continue speaking, and as if you can read his mind, you’re already answering his question. “My daddy’s called a CEO. But the man you saw is Mr. Higashi. He takes care of me when dad’s away at work, and everything I do gets typed up in a report that dad sees every day. He wasn’t happy about what happened, so he says the boys will get in trouble. He told us not to worry, though.” You have a pleased smile on your face, waiting for Megumi to say something in reply.

“Okay.” He says, after a while. He only spoke because it seemed like you were waiting for him to. “It doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

“What’s so wrong about being friends with me?” You tilt your head. Everyone wants to be friends with you. And that’s before they even figure out that you live in a real life mansion with actual servants, and that sometimes you’re allowed to eat dessert for dinner. Even without the wealth, you still draw people in, whether it be with your bright smile or cheery attitude.

“Don’t you already have enough friends?” He can’t figure out what you could possibly want with him. Even though Gojo’s got the backing of the clan and enough funds to run the Tokyo underground with cash to spare, it’s not like Megumi is in a position to take advantage of it. Gojo hands him a thick wad of cash every week with a tip to “spend wisely, hehehehe”, and Megumi takes the tip to heart. A majority of the money sits saved in his bedroom, underneath a floorboard he spent a week trying to figure out how to loosen without anyone catching on. (Which was actually easy whenever he realized that nobody seems to really watch him to begin with.) So, he doesn’t look like he has money, and isn’t that what all rich kids want? To surround themselves with equally rich kids?

“I guess.” Your bubbly mood seems to dampen a bit at the mention of the other kids. They like you, sure. But they like each other a lot more. The gap between you and the other kids isn’t noticeable at first, but the novelty of having an endless supply of company has lost its luster. Meanwhile, the glamor of your life only keeps the hoards of “friends” to grow as the days go by. It’s always “let’s have a sleepover at [Names]’s!” or “[Name], we have to go to your house because you have the best toys!”. You wonder if they like you, or the shiny things that they get when they’re with you. “But, it’s not like youhave any friends.”

“I don’t need any.” The response is quick — instinctual. Gojo, even if not the greatest guardian by any parental standards, still presses Megumi to have a proper (or, as proper as it can be) childhood.

(“You know, I don’t care if you bring any friends over. Just make sure no one ends up accidentally getting shot, okay, Megumi?”

Yeah, because that’s definitely gonna push him towards throwing as many parties as he wants.)

People in his position don’t have many friends. It’s hard to, he assumes, because of all the killings and betrayals and power plays.

(And, he’ll soon learn that it hurts a lot less to lose an enemy than it does a friend.)

“Hmm. Okay.”

But you don’t get up from your seat, and he doesn’t tell you to move.

The next day, you’re carrying two bento boxes. The lunches are prepared for you by world class chefs and everything is done in a rather cutesy manner to entice you into not wasting your food. The fruit is cut into pretty shapes, the food has picks with animals on them, and everything is colorful and to your own personal tastes.

You take a seat next to him once again. He looks up for a second, sees that it’s you, and returns back to his meal that looks pitiful in comparison. Leftover rice and some cold meat. You think it’s the same thing he had last time.

“For you.” You slide the second bento you had requested towards him before opening up your own.

“What’s this for?”

“For you to eat, silly.”

“...How much?”

“Huh? All of it, I guess? If you don’t like something, tell me, and I’ll request something different tomorrow.” You don’t quite understand what he’s asking you.

“No. How much does it cost? I'll bring you the money tomorrow.”

“Why would it cost you?” Now you’re really confused.

Didn’t anyone ever teach you that everything comes attached with a price? If it’s not money you want, it must be something else. At least, if Megumi’s judgments are right. (And they usually are.)

“Fushiguro, I brought you this because I want you to eat well and grow strong.”

He wonders what rice shaped like Hello Kitty has to do with his strength.

“Also, so the next time people give you or me trouble, you can fight them, okay?”

Oh. So it’s protection you want. He contemplates what he thinks your request is before popping a piece of food into his mouth. A meal made with care — he can taste the thought that’s been put into it. Shoving his old lunch to the side, he quickly starts eating at the one you brought him.

Okay. So maybe he does accept your offer.

“Meguuuumi.” You whine out his name, messing up the navy sheets of his bed while he sits at his desk, trying to finish his application for university. “I’m bored.”

“Good. Go to your own house then, and leave me alone.”

“You’re so mean to me.” You sigh, turning your head so that half of your face is pressed against his pillow. The scent of his shampoo still sticks to the fabric, and you subconsciously inhale the scent some more. It’s familiar and reminds you of him, your favorite person in the world.

No one believes you when you tell them that Megumi is your best friend. No one wants to believe that it’s true. After all, the two of you look more like a shoujo manga trope than an actual pair of best friends. The cold, inexpressive dark haired male lead with a secretive past he doesn’t want anyone to know about and the bright, bubbly, ball of energy that is constantly clinging to his side. It’s like looking at night and day with you two.

“And yet, you’re still always here.”

You’re still by his side, even when the two of you reached middle school and high school together, and he spent a majority of his time starting (and finishing) fights.

(“Get off of him!” You screamed, yanking on the collar of one of the boys who happened to be trying to grab Megumi from behind. You don’t have the same amount of strength as them, but everyone at this point knows who you are and who exactly your father is. No matter what the origin of the fight is won’t matter; all that matters is that the precious daughter of one of Tokyo’s richest CEOs got caught in it, and that’s enough to get everyone involved into some deep shit.

Immediately, the boy scampers off, and the other boy Megumi was punching into the squeaky clean floors of the hallway begins to thrash around wildly, eyes wide at the sudden sight of you. Seeing you coming from behind Megumi is like watching the sun peek through a dozen storm clouds.

Megumi gives him one last punch, not nearly as satisfied as he thought he would be. Honestly, getting into fights with low level delinquents is beneath him. It’s not just his knuckles and clothes that are getting dirty; by feeding into the school’s image that he’s this young, violent yakuza heir, he’s dirtying the prestige Gojo claims is oh so important.

“Megumi.” He straightens up at the sound of your voice, which usually sounds so sweet, especially when it’s directed towards him. Instead, you have an uncharacteristic frown on your face and you sound… mad. “Let’s go.”

You’ve got a hand wrapped around his wrist, and people part when they spot the two of you making a hasty exit. The teachers aren’t bold enough to cause a scene with you, and the students know both you and Megumi are practically untouchable — one being the spoiled brat daughter of a rich and powerful businessman, the other, a ticking time bomb with ties to the yakuza.

You don’t stop walking until the two of you are in a secluded courtyard at the school. No one goes here, mainly because it’s in such an inconvenient location and there’s nothing but trees and weeds over growing it. The two of you found it within your first week of being here, and ever since then, it’s become your designated spot to avoid prying eyes.

“I thought you were over stupid fights. You told me yourself that they weren’t the type of people worth beating up.” You scold him, forcing him to take a seat on the bench that creaks under his weight. You make a noise as you inspect the drying blood on his knuckles.

If an outsider were to look at the scene before them, they would gape at the unbecoming sight of you on your knees, in between his legs, too close for a duo who claims to be “just good friends”. But there’s nothing inherently dirty in your thoughts. Instead, you’re staring thoughtfully at his hands, inspecting the minor damage done to them.

Megumi swallows hard as he looks down on you. He shouldn’t be feeling like this — you’re his best friend, his only friend. The only person who’s by his side. If you could read in his mind, there’s no doubt that you would be recoiling away from him in disgust…)

You’re still by his side, even when he told you the truth about himself after waiting years to see if you were truly his friend or not.

(“The rumors—” He starts to say, but you shush him, rolling over on your side to face him. The two of you are lying on the grass in your massive backyard, trying to spot a shooting star that’s supposed to be passing by at any second now.

“I don’t care about that.” You tell him. Middle school was a bitch to deal with, mainly because as everyone was in the process of growing up and “maturing”, so did the rumors they spread. Now, the two of you are halfway through your first week of high school. A new school, a couple of new classmates, and new rumors surrounding the odd pair.

“If I told you the rumors about me being someone you should avoid were true, would you be mad?” He’s lying on his back, still staring up at the night sky. He’s not turning to face you, almost as if he’s scared to look at you.

“Yes.” You answer without any hesitation. “At the person who’s spreading that around.” You clarify, poking him on his side to lighten the somber mood he’s setting. “You’re the only real friend I’ve had in forever, Megumi. I don’t think what anyone says about you would change that.”

“What if I did something bad?” Like kill a person. What then? What would you think of him if he told you the full truth: that Gojo told him that he can’t shield Megumi from the dirtier aspects of this type of life. That he’s spent hours after school, hours after hanging out with you and pretending to be a normal teenager, learning how to assemble, disassemble, and then reassemble a gun. That his target practice isn’t glass bottles lined up in a row or sheets printed out with human bodies. What happens if he told you that his target practice was low level scum from rival yakuza clans that Gojo couldn’t be bothered to kill himself?

“Mmm. How bad are we talking? Like, lied to me when you said my Christmas outfit looked good but half my ass was practically exposed bad or committing a felony bad?”

“What if I told you… that I really was a yakuza heir.”

The silence is palpable and especially soul crushing to Megumi as he waits for your reply.

“It wouldn’t matter to me, Megumi.” You say. You know that this isn’t just some type of hypothetical question he’s asking for fun. From his odd living situation to the intense nature of him in general to the fact that he knows practically everything about you, but you barely know the full extent of his childhood traumas despite growing up alongside him, you know deep in your heart that there has to be something going on with him. Something dark enough to harbor stories about him.

“Are you sure about that?”

You reach for his hand in the dark, finding it without really needing to look. He’s not one that’s prone to initiating physical contact, but you found out that he doesn’t really mind when you reach for him first.

“You can’t get rid of me, no matter how crazy or fucked up you think your life is.” You squeeze his hand, still staring at him.

You don’t notice the shooting star flying past the night sky, but Megumi is looking right at it. He knows what he’s wishing for.

For your words to be true.)

You’re still by his side, even when he brought you to his sister’s bedside. She’s sick, afflicted with something no one knows, not even the private doctors that Gojo’s spent millions on. She was still conscious, albeit confined to her bed when the two of you first met, but she’s been in a coma ever since the last year of middle school. You were by his side as he broke down about the news. It was the first time you’ve ever seen him cry.

So, no matter how much it may seem like he’s pushing you away, you don’t budge. For someone smaller than him and definitely weaker, you’re awfully resilient. And while people make the occasional joke, telling you to “blink twice if you need help”, you don’t pay any attention to them. If only they knew the truth: that you’ve got Megumi Fushiguro, heir to a massive yakuza clan, wrapped around your dainty finger.

He’s so whipped that he found himself asking Gojo for a rare favor.

(“College?” Gojo rubs the back of his neck, staring at Megumi. “I mean, I guess it’ll be good for you. Meet a wild party girl, take her to your dorm room, tame her—”

“An education is the whole point of attending, you know.” Megumi interrupts him before Gojo can jump into a story highlighting all of his sexual endeavors with college girls back in the day.

“Eh. I guess.” But then a grin lights up the feature of the man who [kind of/by definition] raised him. “But y’know what I know for a fact.” He wiggles his eyebrows, his glasses slipping down his nose as he tilts his head downwards. “You wanna follow [Name].”)

It doesn’t really matter if he’s not good enough to get into the university you’ve already received an early acceptance for. Because Gojo tries to make up for being an absent father figure, he fills in those empty spaces with cold, hard cash. All it takes is one nice donation, and Megumi’s wherever he wants to be.

Where he wants to be, he realizes, is to be by your side. Wherever you go, he’ll gladly follow. Funnily enough, despite the two vastly different backgrounds the both of you come from, you both have similar means of getting what you want.

Your father had already looked over the list of universities you had in mind, and all you could do was excitedly squeal and start rambling the moment the acceptance letters came in the mail. Despite the fact that your father’s physically absent from your life most of the time, he still tries to show he cares in the things he does for you. If paying off over half a dozen major universities in order to make you happy is something he has to do, he’ll do it without batting an eye.

It’s the same thing on Megumi’s end. Granted, Gojo’s means are more along the lines of using money as a lubricant and then death as an inevitable. Money talks, a gunshot to the head silences. Nobody can accuse anyone of taking bribes if said accused person is in a grave six feet under.

Sometimes, Megumi wonders how you’re just so oblivious to the fortunate circumstances in your life. You chalk up a lot of your father’s wishes as just “good luck”. In school, you’re placed on a pedestal, revered as some goddess-like, otherworldly being. People are practically tripping over themselves, running towards you for a crumb of your attention. Anyone sane would gladly wield this power and use it for all its worth. Not you, though. Not you, who’s kind and considerate and completely clean from the corruptness that plagues everyone else.

Megumi knows good and well that he’s not a hero — couldn’t be farther from it, if he’s being honest. He doesn’t feel a moral obligation to go out and rid the world of all evil. (It’d be hypocritical, he thinks, considering the fact that he’s most likely belonging under the evil category himself.) From a young age, he’s already known and come to terms with his fate. He’s going to train and learn from the best, and eventually, he will succeed as head of the clan. That is his purpose. That right there is the reason why he’s still alive today. That is why he can find himself sitting at his desk, submitting an application that’s already guaranteed to be followed up with an acceptance letter, ready to pretend for four more years that he’s normal.

“D’you think college will be fun?” You ask him, making yourself comfortable in his bed.

“No.”

You laugh at that. You like Megumi for a lot of reasons, and his honesty is one of them. Despite the fact that he likes to keep most of the darker details of his life to himself, you know that he would never lie to you. In a world full of people who are constantly lying, it gets tiring trying to figure out who’s real and who’s fake. It doesn’t help that you want to believe in everyone either. If you didn’t have Megumi loyally staying by your side all this time, you doubt you would have made it this far in your life without anyone taking advantage of you and your kindness.

“My dad said I can finally get a boyfriend when I go to college.” You say this fact so casually that Megumi almost — almost — gets fooled into believing that this is not a cause for concern. Almost.

“Oh.” He’s at a loss for words. He knows that it’s inevitable; that one day, you’ll find a guy you like and want to get closer to him. He knows that you’re not always going to be by his side, and he knows that it’s going to happen because he’ll have to push you away eventually. The older he gets, the deeper he’s burying himself into his grave. He doesn’t want you to get caught in the crossfire.

It’s not like boys have never tried approaching you before. People have spent years thinking that you and Megumi were a couple, and then after finding out from you that the two of you are nothing more than “best friends”, boys were still hesitant to talk to you. The glare Megumi would give them from behind your shoulder acted as a strong enough deterrent.

“I know. Now the only problem is finding a guy who’ll actually wanna date me.”

“They all will.” The words leave his mouth faster than he can even think about them. He’s not wrong, though. Every time the two of you are out in public together, he sees people shooting quick glances at you, at your ass, at your bright smile. The looks they give are predatory, dangerous, even. If it’s not your looks, it’s your shining personality that draws them all in. And if that’s not good enough, there’s always the enormous wealth attached to your last name. That’s the key to getting them to stay.

“You can be so sweet sometimes, you know that?” You giggle, glad that he’s still typing away on his laptop. If he were to look at you right now, he would see that you’re reacting way too positively to such a lackluster compliment. It’s not like he listed reasons on why anyone would ever want to date you, so he probably could just be complimenting you to make you happy.

(That’s just the excuse you’re going with. You know your best friend — that means you know that he would never say something he doesn’t truly think or believe.)

There’s a secret you’ve been keeping from him. A secret so big that you think you might’ve been keeping it from yourself, too. Something so big that your body simply can’t contain it any longer.

You like Megumi.

Of course you do. You keep telling the whole world what great friends the two of you are. You talk to him about your dad all the time (which must mean he’s important, because you rarely get to speak to your dad, so you have to choose your topics of conversation wiseley). You trust him more than you trust yourself. Ever since middle school, you’ve been telling yourself that you liking Megumi isn’t anything to be ashamed or confused about. You like him because he’s your friend, and you’re supposed to like your friends.

And then you came to terms with the fact that you like Megumi beyond the borders of friendship.

It starts with you seeing him the way other girls must see him. You’re not blind, you know. It’s obvious that Megumi is far from ugly. If he wasn’t so intimidating, you’re sure he would have had his fair share of confessions, too. Megumi’s pretty, although calling him a pretty boy wouldn’t do his character justice. He’s got lashes people pay extensions for theirs to look like, and the prettiest dark blue eyes you’ve ever seen, and his hair, which he doesn’t put forth any type of effort in, always looks good whereas the same hairstyle would look messy on anyone else.

It’s not just his looks, though. Even if you look like the type of person who would judge others based on such shallow standards, you didn’t approach Megumi simply because he’s attractive. He’s… interesting. He’s got this reputation for being a delinquent, and maybe all the fights on his school record prove it, but he’s surprisingly respectful. He’s the type of guy who gets up from his seat to let an eldery woman have it. He loves animals. He’s honest and sweet despite his seemingly stoic nature, and he’s so oblivious to just how good he is.

Maybe it’s because he’s so blinded by the light that is you. You, with your cutesy bento boxes that used to be made by your team of personal chefs but are now made with your own manicured hands. You, with that bright smile of yours that he wants to always see because god — he thinks he would be willing to destroy the whole world if something were to ever make you so upset. You’re kind and beautiful and everything people write love songs about. You’re so good, and he’s nothing like you.

He’s nothing like you, because he highly doubts that you spend your time fantasizing about him like he does with you. It’s wrong, he thinks. And dirty, and disgusting, and vile. You’d hate him, he’s sure of it, if you knew what he thinks about late at night. That he sits on his bed with his cock pulled out from his shorts, leaking with precum as he strokes himself to the thought of you. Do you not see him as any other guy? Despite your lack of experience, surely you know just how dirty boys’ minds can be? You’ve got to be conscious of the fact that he’s any other guy, right? So, why — why — do you always roll around in his sheets, letting your sweet perfume stick to his sheets. Your tiny tops and skirts are always clinging tight to your body, and you never feel the need to readjust your clothing when it rides up. Do you not see him trying his hardest to look you in the eyes when the two of you are talking, despite the tantalizing sight of your skirt bunching up, exposing the smooth skin of your thighs?

Little does Megumi know (and if you have your way, he’ll never find out), you spend nights in your room, whining and trying to stuff your cunt with the same fingers that painstakingly made him his lunch. He’s your best friend since childhood. He looks at you like you’re an angel, and you don’t want to destroy that image by revealing just how dirty you really are. How every time he gets so close to you, you subconsciously bring your thighs together, trying to rub them together in a poor attempt to relieve some tension. He’d be disgusted with you, you’re sure of it. Maybe even betrayed.

Besides, it would never work out. Megumi doesn’t see you the way you see him. He might look at you with a soft look you’ve never seen him give anyone else, but that’s because you’re his only friend. It’s not like he’s harboring any hidden feelings for you, and just because you’re so convinced that there’s no one better than Megumi around, it doesn’t exactly mean that you won’t feel this way about anyone else.

Megumi’s got a rather monotone cadence with his voice, so you’re not too surprised by his seemingly unethusiatic response to you saying you’re now allowed to date. Still — there’s a slight pang of disappointment when you realize that he doesn’t sound jealous at the prospect of you dating someone else.

You decide right then and there that the healthiest thing to do now is to just bury your feelings for him deep inside your heart, to tightly pack in all those pesky feelings and store them away so you can make room to allow others to fill in his space.

gumi <3: where are you? gumi <3: i’m feeling tired and i have an assignment due tomorrow. i’m going home. gumi <3: you know i wouldn’t leave without you. cmon [name]. let’s leave now

Megumi frowns at his phone. He can clearly see that all his messages are being delivered, not to mention that he’s already called you twice and has been sent to voicemail twice. He can be patient when he wants to be, but right now, he’s getting a little pissed.

You know that he doesn’t like parties, and you know that he doesn’t hang out with the same people you do. He also knows that you don’t even really like most of the people you surround yourself with, so whyyou suddenly decided to do a 180 and reestablish your throne as the head of the social pyramid, he doesn’t know.

Lately, things between the two of you have been a little… weird. Sometimes he catches you staring at him with a sad smile on your face; one that you immediately replace with your usual one when you realize he’s looking right at you. Despite him asking you if everything’s okay, you vehemently deny that there’s anything wrong, and you’re quick to change the subject.

He thinks he’s losing his best friend, his only friend. And maybe it only hurts because he’s grown used to your presence in his life. Maybe it hurts because you’re his friend. But he knows the truth. It hurts because he’s losing you.

Did he do something wrong? Did he accidentally somehow reveal the extent of his feelings for you? Did you suddenly decide that maybe associating with someone like him isn’t something you’re meant for? Do you…

Do you hate him now?

It doesn’t matter. Maybe it does, but not right now. Right now, he’s more focused on getting the hell out of this stuffy ass living room, filled to the brim with drunken young adults and people he couldn’t care less about. The only person that matters right now is you, and he’s on a mission to find your location.

He’s got this ominous feeling in his gut, like something bad is about to happen. He’s Megumi Fushiguro, for fuck’s sake, so bad things have a habit of following him wherever he goes. But still, he’s made a personal promise to himself that no matter how bad things get, you’ll never get caught in the crossfire. He’s willing to die to keep that vow.

If you don’t reply to him, you most likely have a good reason. He doesn’t want to be clingy, is pretty damn certain he doesn’t even have a right to be, but he’s still worried about you. He’s pushing past the wall of sweaty bodies, trying to catch a glimpse of your hair color, the waft of your perfume, the familiarity of your laugh, but he can’t catch a single crumb of you anywhere.

You’re nowhere in sight, and he’s immediately filled with dread.

He yanks a guy who’s coming from upstairs.

“Ow, man, what the fuc—”

“Is anyone else up there?” Most of the time, the parties are restricted to just the first floor, with the unspoken rule being that only the upstairs should be used for people trying to fuck or to use the bathroom (or, people trying to use the bathroom to fuck). You’re not anywhere downstairs, and if you were simply using the restroom, you would have been back down here by now.

“Shit, I don’t fucking know.” The guy squints at Megumi, as if trying to see if he knows him or not. With the way his expression pales, Megumi comes to the conclusion that the guy might not really know him, but he knows ofhim. Gojo says that with the right reputation, the two concepts are practically synonymous. “But I heard a guy ‘n a girl, I think, walk past the bathroom. I don’t know who, though!”

Megumi lets go of the boy’s shirt, and he’s quick to run off before Megumi can give him any more wrinkles in his shirt — or do something much worse.

He’s thinking. Odds are, it’s probably not even you. With so many people roaming around this house, it’s likely that he just missed your presence. Your phone could have died, so that explains why he can’t reach you.

He finds himself heading up the stairs anyway.

It’s fine. He tells himself. You’re fine. You’re okay. Nobody would dare to touch a single hair on your head unless they want to suffer directly at the hands of Megumi. People around campus call him your guard dog, and it’s not necessarily a nickname he hates.

The atmosphere upstairs is vastly different from the one downstairs. There are no lights turned on, and all the doors to the rooms are closed. He hears a flush coming from one end, and out walks a tipsy girl who’s staggering a bit. There are only so many doors to choose from, and he doesn’t really want to accidentally walk in on two people trying to have sex, but the need to confirm your safety outweighs any possible embarrassment he may suffer from, so he continues on his mission.

The first two rooms are revealed to be empty, leaving just one more. Megumi takes a deep breath before trying to turn the handle.

It’s locked.

His gut is telling him something isn’t right, but he’s forcing himself to chalk it all up to paranoia. He curses under his breath, wondering why he even let you out of his sights for a single second.

Because he didn’t want to seem clingy. Because he didn’t want you to have any more reasons to keep on pushing him away.

He decides to call you one more time, and as he’s listening to the dial tone, he hears a faint sound coming from the other side of the locked door.

It’s a phone ringing.

He presses his ear against the door, trying to make out any more sounds he possibly can. Is it still a coincidence when the phone stops ringing right as Megumi is greeted with your voicemail message of “sorry, I can’t come to the phone right now, but you probably should’ve just texted me!”

Without the annoying dial tone distracting him, Megumi can listen a little more clearly to what’s going on. There’s… there’s someone crying.

The voices are muffled, but he can make out bits and pieces of what’s being said.

“—fuck up… crying like a damn bitch… want this.”

He’s heard enough before he’s banging his shoulder against the door.

“OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!” He’s screaming, hitting it again. There’s a chance, the voice of reason inside of him is saying, that it’s not you that’s crying behind that door. Even if it wasn’t, Megumi still wouldn’t have stood by idly. But instinct is telling him that it is you, and that’s enough cause for him to bang his shoulder against the door once again. He hears a scream, and a male voice cursing.

The force of his body banding against it is enough to have the door really test the strength of its lock. Megumi’s never been the bulkiest person in the world, but he’s still got some defined muscle to him. The door is creaking, almost bending to his will, but he fumbles in the dark for the gun safely tucked away by his side.

It’s a gift from Gojo. To speed up the process when something needs to be done quick is what Gojo said it was for. He’s never used it in such close proximity to you, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

No silencer. He forgot the fucking silencer. With the deep bass rumbling from the speakers, he doubts anyone would be able to hear the gun go off anyway. He aims for the handle, pulling back the safety, and fires once, then twice. With a foot aimed at the door, he kicks at it, pleased to see the way the abused door finally bends to his will.

The open door reveals a scene that makes Megumi see red: you, with tear stained cheeks and your clothes bunched up and strewn across the floor with a guy Megumi vaguely recognizes as someone sharing the same Econ class as the two of you — Mahito.

“You fucking bastard.” Megumi practically lunges forward, tossing his gun to the side. He doesn’t see reason, is numb to common sense at this moment. All he feels is the need to hurt this fucker. To make him bleed, to have him on the brink of death, to see the light of life leave his dark eyes.

Mahito is fast, but even he couldn’t imagine the speed that Megumi would possess when pushed to the edge. This is different from the fights you’ve witnessed during school. This is something entirelydifferent.

The first punch has Mahito wincing in pain. The second, third, and fourth ones are thrown back to back, and there’s no time given to recover, no chance to gain the upper hand. He’s falling down, and Megumi’s on top of him, drawing back his fist only to slam it against him again and againand again.

Megumi knows he’s got something fucked up inside of his head — what other explanation is there to reason with why he finds this bloody violence so satisfying? His knuckles are bloody, and he can’t tell where Mahito’s blood starts and where his own ends. There’s a wild grin on his face, one that you’ve never seen before. You’re not sure if it’s a trick of the shadows, but the feral expression on Megumi’s face transforms him from your loyal best friend to something monstrous.

“‘Gumi, st-stop.” The words stumble out of your mouth as hiccups, but you don’t miss the way Megumi’s raised arm freezes in its higher position before he slowly brings it back down to his side. He’s breathing deeply, and all is silent in the room.

As if the sound of your cries is enough to snap him out of his daze, it’s almost scary how fast his mood shifts. Just a second ago, he was hellbent on beating Mahito to a bloody pulp, and now the darkness drowning those blue eyes of his is practically gone. He makes his way to the bed, each step hurried but still hesitant. Do you even want to be near him right now?

You answer his question with some more small sobs. “‘Gumi, I—”

“Shh, it’s okay, [Name].” He’s picking up your clothes from the floor, ready to help you get dressed. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

“Megumi.” His name seems to be the only thing you’re capable of saying right now. After he helps you get dressed, he’s thrown off guard when you cling to him, with your arms wrapped around his neck and your wet cheeks pressed against his shoulder.

The moment the two of you are exiting the room, both of you far too wrapped up with the other to pay him any mind, Mahito lets out a laugh before groaning at the pain Megumi inflicted.

The two of you don’t know what you just started, but no worries — Mahito has the means of ending it.

It’s only a matter of time.

You’re too good to be true.

You won’t listen to him when he tells you this (you never do), but he swears you’re a fucking angel or something otherwordly. There’s no other possible explanation for just how breathtakingly beautiful you are, or how you’re the only thing consuming his every thought. Despite the fact that all the blood on his hands has reached an amount that he’s sure he’ll never truly be able to wash it all off, you don’t shy away from his touch. As a matter of fact, it seems like you’re keening for it.

“‘Gumi.” You mewl out, sticking out your tongue to lap at the precum on Megumi’s thumb.

You’re well aware of just how dangerous your boyfriend (the title makes you giddy every time you refer to him as that) is, but you know him. You know that the hands of a killer are the hands of your lover, and most of the time, you have a hard time believing the awful things he’s had to do with them. Because right now, those hands that are meant to be weapons are handling you with care, touching you so gently, you would have thought you were made of glass and ready to shatter.

“Look at you, all spread out for me. What happened to my precious, shy little girl, huh?” He removes the hand that was cradling your face back to his cock, stroking his length, the saliva from your tongue acting as a minor lubricant. The first time he fucked you was the first time you’ve ever had sex with anyone ever, and it had been the start of an addiction. You love Megumi. You love everything about him, from his character to his tenacity, all the way down to his cock, with its red tip that’s sticky with pre and leaking out more as he stares down at the obscene position you’re in.

Your face feels warm as he stares down at you, his eyes darkened with a mix of love and lust that you don’t think you’ll ever get used to being on the receiving end of.

“Need you, need you so bad, please, ‘Gumi—” You’re staring up at him, giving him your best doe eyes.

“Fuck.” Just the sight of you beneath him, completely bending to his will, whining out for him to pretty please fuck you has him ready to cum right on the fucking spot. He’s pressing the tip in, his breathing faltering just the slightest as the warmth you provide envelopes the most sensitive part of him, nearly causing him to lose all self control right then and there.

You let out a cry as he pushes himself deeper in you, making himself at home in your gummy walls, one hand gripping your hip and the other holding onto the headboard.

“You feel so good for me, baby, shit.” He hisses, waiting for you to adjust, impatient but willing to bear it if it means it’ll feel better for you in the long run. After all, there’s nothing he wouldn’t do, nothing he wouldn’t endure, just to ensure your happiness.

“Mm — ah — please.” There are still tears welling up in your eyes — precious girl, he hasn’t even began to properly fuck you, and you’re already tearing up? The sight of you completely and willingly at his mercy is enough to get him to start rutting his hips against yours, the satisfying sound of skin slapping against skin resounding and bouncing against the walls of his bedroom that is starting to feel more like the both of yours.

“Y’feel so fuckin’ good for me, baby.” He groans, his pace quickening, the thrusts getting sharper and rougher with every roll of his hips. You’re powerless against his strength, and this type of easy submission feels so natural, feels so good, when it’s him that’s taking advantage of it. “You’ve got the sweetest pussy, y’know that? I could fuck you forever.”

His praise goes through one ear and out the other with you, but your heart swells up to twice its size. Even if you can’t focus on the words all too clearly, you’re still aware that Megumi’s probably praising you. You can come to this conclusion because he’s always praising you. He’s always so sweet, so gentle, so loving — when it comes to you, that is.

“Hng — daddy!” You can’t help but let out a high pitched moan as he hits that sweet spot inside of you that makes you buck your hips up.

There’s no way you don’t know what you’re doing. Clenching around his cock like that, making those cute little noises that he can’t help but want to hear all the time, and then calling him that.

“Daddy, daddy, daddy.”

Forget igniting something within him; you whining for him, calling him something that’s the root cause of all his childhood traumas… That’s like dousing him with gasoline and tossing a lighter at him. He’s going to burn through all his energy, channel all this dark, feral energy, and use you as the one unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end.

He fucks into you so deeply that if your eyes weren’t shut tight, there’s no doubt that you wouldn’t see the unmistakable shape of his cock outlined against your tummy. The headboard is banging against the wall, and the squelching sounds of him roughly thrusting in and out of your sopping cunt is so lewd and so dirty that if you had any room to harbor a single ounce of shame, you would be downright embarrassed.

“How about you make me a daddy, huh? How about I fuck a baby in you?” He won’t lie and say it’s not something that’s never crossed his mind. The thought of your stomach round with a life the two of you created is enough to get him to continue with this near-brutal pace he’s set forth. “Doesn’t it sound nice, baby? My baby giving me a baby, what—” He grits his teeth as you tighten up. “—a fucking dream.”

“Baby. Wanna have your babies.” You cry out, tears spilling out and wetting your cheeks as your arms find their way to his neck and broad shoulders, trying to pull him in closer. The heat building up from within you feels like you’re about to fucking explode. “‘Gumi, I love you, Iloveyoupleasegimmeababy—'' Your words are practically unintelligible as you slur them out, the words sticking together as you cum all over his cock, all that pleasure that has been building up now physically tangible, if the white ring encasing his cock every time he pulls out is evidence.

“Fuck! You feel so fucking good. Always so fuckin’ tight.” He’s reaching his own end, and you’re just lying there, trying to recover from such an intense orgasm but unable to as your too sensitive walls clench around the constant intrusion of his cock. Spurred by your little love confession and his mind imagining his daydreams coming true — you, as his cute little housewife, taking care of the kids the two of you made together — he finally shoves himself as deep as he physically can, making sure that as he cums, nothing will spill out.

“‘Gumi.” You whisper, your head resting against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart. “Did you mean it when you said you wanted to start a family?”

He’s silent for a minute.

“I wouldn’t mind starting a family with you.” And he means it. He knows this life isn’t one meant for children — look at how he turned out, for god’s sake — but he thinks that for you, he can do anything. Even make a family work out. As long as it’s what you want, he doesn’t mind how hard it may be.

You snuggle closer to him, burying your face in the warmth of his chest. “Good.” You mumble. “I wanna start a family with you, too.”

Megumi feels… at peace. Like he’s got the whole entire world in the palm of his hands. He wraps his arms around you, and realizes that no — right now, he’s got his world right in his arms.

Mahito likes to play with his food before he devours them whole.

Humans are just so… vulnerable. Even the coldest people have a heart; it’s only a matter of whether or not they find someone warm enough to defrost it. Megumi Fushiguro, for example, likes to walk around this world, acting indifferent and claiming to follow his own moral conduct, only to give himself the biggest weakness he could possibly harbor: you.

He still remembers that party. He still remembers the way you were dressed like a little slut, completely oblivious (or maybe you were just acting coy) to the wolfish stares all the guys were giving you. He had the same class as you. Seen the way you clung to Gojo’s charity case, as if the ground would swallow Megumi whole if you let go of him. You’re cute, and you scream naive virgin, and that’s precisely why Mahito wanted to take you to that bedroom and have his way with you.

And then, your infamous little guard dog bared his teeth and pummeled him into the hardwood of a stranger’s bedroom floor.

Grudges are cancerous. If you don’t deal with it right away, it develops into something worse. It takes over all your internal organs, ruining you ‘til the only thing you can focus on is getting revenge. And the longer you wait, the more vengeful you get. It doesn’t become a matter of ruined pride or reestablishing honor — it becomes about inflicting the most pain one possibly can. It becomes about suffering — about transferring your pain, your anguish, onto someone else.

Mahito isn’t the type to hold grudges, but for Megumi, he’ll make a special exception. He wants to see just how well trained the boy is; after all, he’s been taken under the wing and supervision of Satoru Gojo, the myth himself. Surely, his student must be nearly as skilled, right?

It’s been a long game of watching and waiting on Mahito’s end. A lot of lurking in the shadows and gathering intel. It’s a lot more boring than he anticipated, but today’s the day where all his hard work finally comes to fruition. Megumi Fushiguro is going to regret ever interfering with him that one fateful night. The burning humiliation he’s felt has long since fizzled out, but since he’s already been set on the path of orchestrating Megumi’s destruction, he figures it only makes sense to see it through. You only can let go of a grudge after you get your proper revenge.

He’s been leaving Megumi all sort of taunting, teasing threats any chance he gets. Mahito’s got nothing but disgraced yakuza members on his side; those who have committed acts vile enough to get them kicked out of what is essentially a group of criminals. He knows how to be twisted — hell, twisted might be the only thing he knows how to be.

Killing girls that resemble you and sending him the photos. Taking videos of you when you’re out in public alone. Leaving voicemails for Megumi, ones that leave him pale faced and unable to breathe as he listens to how Mahito wants to tortue you.

Megumi’s been on edge for the past few months, unable to explain to you why. It’s why you don’t understand why Megumi won’t let you go back to your car, even though you left your phone in there.

“I’ll go. Or, we can go together.”

“You have to wait for our coffee! And besides, I don’t even know where I left my phone. It might not even be in the car, but you’ll just waste your time searching for it if it’s not there.”

“So then why do you have to go look for it?”

“Because it’s my phone? Also, I reeeeeallly don’t wanna have to wait for our coffee, so I figured looking for my phone in the car would kill some time.” You give him that sweet smile of yours that he loves so much before waving him goodbye. “I’ll be back by the time our order is ready, pinky promise!”

At the end of the day, it’s all luck. Mahito realizes this as you happily skip out of the crowded cafe, headed towards your car to search for your phone. He doesn’t know why you’re returning back to your car, doesn’t even really care. All he knows and all he cares about is that you’re headed there alone. And while you’ve been alone plenty of times, he’s never had an opportunity quite like this one. A chance to finally detonate the bomb that’s been lying dormant underneath your car, ready to be activated at the press of a button. He could’ve killed you plenty of times already, but it’s not enough to merely murder you. He wants to make it a spectacle, sure, but he also only cares about one audience member watching: Megumi.

From where he’s hiding, blending in with the rest of the customers from the bakery across the street, he’s got a decent enough view of Megumi, who’s sitting by the glass windows, watching you with furrowed brows as you unlock the car door.

Mahito can’t help the cruel smile that spreads across his face as pushes the remote connected to the bomb.

Nobody expects to hear the loud, resounding boom of something exploding. The surrounding cars parked next to yours have their alarms going off like crazy; it’s nothing but high pitched, blaring noises blending together to create a disruptive harmony. People are screaming, someone is on the line with emergency services, and—

—your precious car is set aflame, reduced to a burning pile of scrap metal no salvage yard will take.

In this moment, Megumi Fushiguro’s world crumbles to ashes.

#megumi fushiguro x you #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi fushiguro x y/n #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #megumi x reader #angst #fluff #one shot #drabble #smut #megumi smut #jjk smut #jjk imagines #yakuza au #THIS IS SO OLD IM CRYING #like rereading it... omg what was i ON???

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jordanrosenburg · 3 months

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Argylle - A Breath of Fresh Air

**Spoilers Ahead**

I just got back from seeing Argylle with a friend. I knew I had wanted to see it because I like a lot of the actors in it, but I had seen the trailer so many times that I felt like I had already watched it.

That trailer couldn't have prepared me for the unadulterated fun I was about to have. Every other line out of Sam Rockwell's mouth was laugh out loud funny. What kept me drawn in, though, was the editing. The splices between Rockwell and Cavill was seamless. I know with modern technology, they easily could have greenscreened a lot of it, but it still must have taken a while to film all the same fight scenes in the same exact way to make the cuts as seamless as they were.

The score and soundtrack were brilliant. Between the funky tunes used for the fight scenes, and the dramatic notes used during what would be dramatic in a regular spy thriller, had me enjoying every minute. I will be looking up the soundtrack playlist on Spotify and listening repeatedly.

Henry Cavill is no stranger to playing a spy. In between Superman movies, Cavill starred in The Man from U.N.C.L.E. The latter was another movie that didn't mind being silly and wasn't afraid to have its comedic moments. Because Cavill has played so many daring roles over the years, where he's been the hero or the brute or even just the eye candy, he was the perfect fit for Argylle. You can tell he was having a blast, and not taking things too seriously. The audience isn't supposed to take it seriously either. The Argylle books in the movie are a personification of how cheesy those sorts of books and movies can be. The eye-rolling puns, the use of a femme fatale, and crude jokes.

Back in the day, that's how most James Bond movies were. They had their serious moments, but Bond was a cheeky spy who liked to fuck and crack wise with his villains. He was suave and sure of himself and a badass. But there was a transition in the 90's when the Austin Powers movies started rolling out. Now, I'm a huge fan of Austin Powers movies, I'll watch them any time, any place. But those movies, being replicas of the old Bond films but with more humor, outlandish sex, and over the top puns, made it difficult for the new Bond films to be silly. Suddenly, they were getting more and more serious, with more and more over the top action scenes and explosions.

Argylle brought back the silliness and the goofiness, and the ability to laugh at itself. Suspension of disbelief, etc etc. Sometimes you just need to sit back and let yourself enjoy the ride. Throughout the film, as the layers kept being peeled back, I kept thinking, "What is this movie?!" I can usually figure out what's going to happen, but the twists and turns in this film kept throwing me off, and that kept me in my seat and having fun.

There's a scene where Bryce Dallas Howard's character, Elly, thinks she's seen her parents die in cold blood. Rockwell is driving her somewhere in the south of France, and he asks her if she's okay. Howard, astonished, asks, "Am I okay? Am I okay?!", and then she started crying. This made me lean over to my friend and say, "all of us @ Elmo the other day", and we burst into hysterics. (If you're unfamiliar, Elmo's X account posted asking how everyone was, and there was a surge of responses of people using memes to show how not well they all are.)

A little more than halfway through, we find out that Elly's real name is Rachel Kyle. She had gotten into a bad accident on a spy mission and had no memory. The bad guys brainwashed her into thinking she was someone else, and it worked. The Argylle books she wrote as Elly, were really just memories coming back to her. We were made to believe her books were predicting future events, but really, it was the past. Samuel L. Jackson explained that to her. Rockwell then had to calm Howard down and get her to settle into the information. Slowly, Rachel remembers who she is. She hasn't lost all of Elly, but she makes it seem like she has in order to complete the overall mission.

Rockwell thinks that Howard has double crossed her, but in a very Knives Out fashion, she explains that she knew if she shot him in the chest in just the right spot, he wouldn't die. We learn that the two were lovers back in the day. Not only did he feel betrayed, but he was heartbroken. Later on, she double crosses the bad guys, finds her cat, then finds a room with all the weapons she could possibly need to get out. Rockwell finds her there, and they're able to hash things out. She assures him that they're on the same side.

This leads into one of the most incredibly choreographed fight scenes I've ever seen. You can tell the actors were having an incredible time. Smoke pours into the corridor and the two come out shooting. While throwing in body rolls and other dance movements, they take everyone out. This also included Howard lifting Rockwell up, much like how Dua Lipa was lifted up during the beginning of the movie by Henry Cavill, spread eagle. The shots used every time there was a lift like this was not subtle. We get it, it's an innuendo for sitting on someone's face. And it was funny every single time.

Then the next fight scene happened, which gave Howard a moment to shine. They were trapped in a room that was slowly filling with oil, so they couldn't shoot their guns. She remembers she's actually good at ice skating, and puts together makeshift skates. She sticks a knife into a gun, then rushes out like a hockey player. I thought I was going to pass out from laughing so hard. It was the perfect mix of hockey style skating and figure skating. Were these scenes filled with CGI and body doubles? Yes. Did it make them less fun? Absolutely not.

Everything works out in the end because of course it does. Her ending is given to Argylle and Wyatt. Personally, I think Henry Cavill and John Cena should have kissed, they were clearly in love. I thought they would have since Rockwell and Howard kissed. All of the scenes paralleled one another, so why couldn't that one? I digress.

For one last big laugh, at the end of the movie, Howard is back to pretending to be Elly the author, and is doing a book reading of the final Argylle book. She's taking questions from the audience, and she calls on a man. He stands and knowingly smiles. It's Henry Cavill, only he has a curly mullet and a southern accent. What is it with British actors and doing southern accents that brings me so much joy? He says, "I don't have any questions, but I'm sure you have a couple for me", and winks.

There was a post-credits scene. It was supposed to be the actual Argylle book's first film adaptation. The scene takes place in a bar called The King's Man. An Easter egg thrown in by director, Matthew Vaughn, who has also directed the 2021 film by the same name. We couldn't tell if it was serious or not, but I'd love to see a movie based off the fake books. I think mostly because the writer, Jason Fuchs, and Matthew Vaughn, should definitely team up again.

Even though there were parts reminiscent to other spy movies, this is one of the most creative movies I've seen in a while. This is my favorite kind of satire. There are so many movies that are just remakes of remakes of remakes these days. It feels like there are no original ideas left. So, this was a breath of fresh air. It was so funny and so brilliant with a star studded cast. I bet this movie was so fun to work on, you could just feel that energy radiating from the actors. There were some slower parts, but that's to be expected. For the most part, my attention was kept. It was one of those movies where I left thinking, "I can't wait for this to come to streaming so I can watch it again".

I don't think Howard is the strongest actor, and some of the plot between the good spies and the bad spies was a little confusing. I found a lot of that hard to follow, maybe that was supposed to be on purpose. Most spy movies aren't always clear on what the main issue is.

Anyways, if you're looking for an escape from the cold, or an escape in general, this is definitely the movie to see.

#argylle #henry cavill #bryce dallas howard #sam rockwell #samuel l jackson #john cena #dua lipa #matthew vaughn #jason fuchs #brian cranston #bryan cranston #catherine o'hara #movie review #film review #universal pictures

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fandomanimatic-tournament · 6 months

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Fandom song animatic tournament: Side A Round 2

The other side - The Greatest Showman Musical

"Don't you wanna get away from the same old part you gotta play? 'Cause I got what you need, so come with me and take the ride It'll take you to the other side"

How bad can I be? - The Lorax (Movie)

"How ba-a-a-ad can I be? I'm just doing what comes naturally How ba-a-a-ad can I be? I'm just following my destiny How ba-a-a-ad can I be? I'm just doing what comes naturally How ba-a-a-ad can I be? How bad can I possibly be?"

Remember that we're voting on how Iconic they are for ANIMATICS, not for the song itself. In order to make things fair, the tone and mood of the song should not affect how iconic it is (for example, a serious song should not be considered more iconic than a joke song just because it's serious)

Propaganda and animatic links of the songs under the cut:

The other side - The Greatest Showman Musical

Propaganda:

uhhh i never watched the greatest showman but the song goes HARD and its cool as fuck to see how ppl portray these opposing tropes & characters in their animatics

Obnoxious as hell but without it weed be down so many homoerotically charged interactions. The enemies to lovers people would be quaking

it was so popular even i wanted to make an animatic of it 😭 (i never did cause i didn’t even have a stylus at the time but i think that was for the better)

Luz and Hunter. Grian and Mumbo / Etho and Bdubs. Hawks and Dabi. I'm sure I'm forgetting something

oh my god??? the homoerotism of trying to convince ur enemy to join ur side??? whats there not to love?

The only objectively good song in The Greatest Showman deserves some respect, god damn it. Also it's a very catchy way to show a character's betrayal/character changes in general.

The song just overall slaps and also it's great for showing characters having a conflict with one trying to convince the other to join the opposing side

its very character driven, so no wonder its very popular. almost every fandom ive been in has an animatic of this song.

Animatics with the song:

Creepypasta Marble Hornets

Karmaland

BNHA Villain Deku

The Owl House

The Promised Neverland

She-Ra

How bad can I be? - The Lorax (Movie)

Propaganda:

it’s an evil bop

I need everyone to go watch How Bad Can I Be? By Public Spam Account. The best animatic every, plus the song is perfect for any villain character and came from a movie deeply important to tumblr lore

...the only propaganda i have for this is the time two years ago when a zine team gave andrew francis like $50 to sing part of it in the voice of morro ninjago thanks to a joke about onceler morro. someone did animate it if that helps at all

Animatics with the song:

DSMP

Hermitcraft

Darkstalker Animatic

DeadCells The King Animatic

MBIT ENTJ Animatic

Please be cautious and read the title, description and warning cards on the animatic videos if you decide to watch them. If you've got specific triggers I'd recommend even more caution when watching animatics of fandoms you don't know, since sometimes canon-typical themes don't get warnings.

#fandom animatic tournament #tumblr poll #tumblr tournament #tumblr tourney

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nicnavarrocage · 5 months

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MS Paint Fan Adventures I'm thinking about and working on

I need to learn how to make an MSPFA account correctly, since any easy way doesn't work. But here goes the list!

Pre-Homestuck Inspired/Custom

My Little Pony is a retelling of the entire G4 MLP series in the style of an MS Paint Adventure, and not the Homestuck kind. I haven't watched the show since the start of this year and I gotta analyze every single scene from "Friendship Is Magic Part 1" to "The Last Problem" in order to get the story just like the show plot. It's currently in progress, but I didn't speed it up nor have I resumed it that much.

Camplife centers around 4 men in a camping site, eventually making way to a whole little town in a forest area. I've already done a few pages of it and have planned future events out of the comic, which I'll get to. It's planned to be half user controlled and half author controlled.

Homestuck Inspired

TGWTGQuest is about every member of the Channel Awesome community (Excluding the controversial ones, but even then they have to be mocked) and a bunch of bullshit adventures they partake in, mostly centered around the Nostalgia Critic. This might be more of a well-made shitpost than a real adventure because Channel Awesome's content really sucks. But hey, I began writing the planned pages for it! (I guess I have no clue how to make an MS Paint Adventure right, skull skull)

Caraku Levhat is about a young oliveblooded detective who resolves a bunch of federal issues and vast errors near and around the city he's in. The titular protagonist will probably have that Darkwing Duck personality if I can actually write that down.

The narration will be entirely built as a 1st person perspective from our main character, meaning everything that's told will be coming out of his own, hard-boiled words.

I can't read Homestuck so I'll just get some research outta the MSPA Wiki to help me be accurate a bit.

Jokes

Imagine a really bad gaming comic in the form of an MS Paint Adventure, minus the MS Paint and plus the Photoshop. Buckleyquest is basically most of the Ctrl+Alt+Del's comics (I have a terrible sense of humor so I can't tell if they're funny or not) that can be controlled through user input or author's choice. It has the same artstyle as the comic, albeit the first few panels, and sometimes, I have the potential to mock Ctrl+Alt+Del and its author in the fan adventure. It's gonna be the stupidest one I've made.

Dooj, simply put, is Homestuck, except a simple command will either change the storyline, change a character, add a character, or fuck everything up completely. And what's the command? DOOJ. Other commands made up as a weird word will also be included, such as MOOK, intended to revert the comic to its original story, and FOOP, which pauses the story automatically, shifting to the MSPA Reader's perspective.

Dooj may also include mockery against Homestuck, mockery against Andrew Hussie and his friends, sometimes shit I hate to write out, and cameos of characters and scenes from other webcomics.

I'm also making a similar project called KATEDREW MITCHUSSIE'S MAGNUM OPUS, which will mock Homestuck: Beyond Canon and will have a similar premise to DOOJ.

I was also planning to make a Jerkcity adventure but that would probably be controversial.

#mspfa #mspfanventures #ms paint fan adventures #ms paint adventures #homestuck #comics #plans

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clonehub · 11 months

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The risk of being forcibly labeled as pro or anti something is why discussions on racism in works on both of a character and meta and textual and literal level get shafted so easily.

Also personally i do despise pro/anti divides for every damn thing, it juvenile as nick said, it's needlessly polarizing, and in all honesty what the fuck does it mean to be "pro" a show ship or character or "anti" a show ship or character? Those labels make sense for being pro and anti abortion, for instance, because that is a real phenomena with real impacts and material harms and means of being actionable about them. If you're pro abortion you march, you legislate, you organize in favor of abortion rights. It's a legitimate position with legitimate philosophy to back it up.

But when people apply something like that to fandom, it becomes not about ideology but about frankly very trivial things like ships or characters or groups in a tv show. The neverending pro/anti Jedi debate comes to mind, along with a worrying lack of nuance and painfully obvious lack of a "solution" to the stance that doesn't negatively affect the interpretation of every other event in Star Wars or outright justify/deny genocide (or that doesn't baselessly accuse the "other side" of believing the Jedis genocide to be okay).

Now that basically any and all critiques about fandom get shoved into oversimplified positions of being pro or anti fandom (or the things within fandom), people (especially Black people) get forcibly labeled as activists of varying types, especially by racist white people who then want to criticize our activist actions as if they're in any position to be doing so. What also happens is that people think critique for something = outright hatred for the thing, to the point where if hypothetically given the power, the assumption is that the "anti" would zap the thing they don't like from existence.

Ive had this issue with tbb stans who take my critiques of it's racism as a personal issue that can only be resolved by destroying the show -- basically, I'm "anti tbb" even though I think that's a weird way to position anyone's opinion about a text when the critique in question is about racism. I've joked about just cancelling the show before of course, but I've also quite plainly stated that if the series wasn't super whitewashed and wasn't ableist and wasn't antisemitic, I'd be a fan of it (mediocre writing aside). For years my position hasn't been "cancel the show" it's been "change the show".

This difference isn't taken into account by people who can only view any opinion through strictly black and white lenses of supporting everything something has to offer (and thus seeing no issues in it, at least not serious ones) and hating everything something has to offer, and thus thinking it needs to be scrubbed from memory rather than fixed. This has led to even hardcore tbb stans being terrified of critiquing the writing in the show (not the racism) because people so frequently leave no room for critical analysis of any kind that doesn't reaffirm and support what's being presented in the series (or what's support by the fandom, even if not by canon).

I've been flipping back and forth between racism and gen critiques. For the record, me personally I'm not pro or anti anything. I have my opinions, i understand nuance, and there's definitely shit that i hate that I'd rather not see. I've never once subscribed to that model of fandom interaction outside of maybe (MAYBE) tagging something anti tbb, and that was more for engagement and for the sake of the tbb stans who somehow keep following me.

#ch posts #its all over the place but itll do

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lediz-watches · 1 month

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Podcast: Weird Medieval Guys

Another podcast, because it's consumed my brain over the last week.

Weird Medieval Guys started as a Twitter account (go off, Musk), but is now also a bi-weekly podcast starring Olivia (the Twitter creator) and Aran (the historian she bribed with a platform to rant about Constantinople). Every couple of weeks, they gather together on Olivia's living room floor to academically gossip about medieval life, loves, and nonsense.

Because people have always been nonsensical, and that's amazing.

I found it through another podcast that I will one day do a post about (I need to... come to terms with why I love it) called We Can Be Weirdos, in which Olivia came on and caught my attention with her passion for the legal debates people got into about heraldry, and her willingness to admit that medieval people were just as petty and ridiculous as we are now.

Because that's the thing, and which I think this podcast shows so well: people have always just been people.

The world we exist in has evolved. Technology has marched on, our ways of interacting with each other have changed, and we have different values, different things we consider important, but we're still the same, really. We think of the past as this noble and dirty and incorruptible space, but people were making sex jokes and lame puns for a hundred thousand years. We aren't special just because we can blast our lame humour to seven billion people at a time.

But anyway.

Each episode of the podcast takes the form of a loose essay, Aran lecturing Olivia (or occasionally vice versa) on some topic about the medieval period, and don't get me wrong - they are lectures. There are stupid jokes, Aran loves to play different characters, Olivia giggles constantly, and the point of each one is that medieval people were Just Like Us, but Aran is an academic talking about research. Yes, his area of expertise is a later period, but the skills remain.

And to be clear, I am a recovering cultural studies student who until recently has been out of academic life and away from other academics for over a decade. But I suspect this is not a podcast you can walk into without some academic-adjacent background. They discuss articles and a lot of their humour is based in inference and the kind of irony you see in people who debate reality for a living.

But they are also redditors, and Twitter natives, and talk about their subjects as 'based'. Aran loves to call people King and Queen. They bring their subject matter to the now.

The most recent podcast was about medieval Welsh bards, and they read out a rap (flyte) battle between two of them (Olivia's bard totally won, I don't care what you say), and finished on the DIRTIEST poem I have ever heard (seriously, ugh), and it taught me a lot about Wales' history, which I've never really known much about, so thank you for that. But it was great to hear all this poetry and these poets and put them in a context where you can strip back the language and see them for the frustrated, young, often horny, very human people they were. Also I loved the owl poem and must search it out because I grew up next to koala tress and boy, I feel you.

The episode before that was about medieval animals, and while it was fun to hear about hedgehogs and the bestiary, it also contained a beautiful insight into why we use animals as narrative devices. The only downside is that I'm still on the edges of the Hellverse fandom and started analysing furry culture and honestly, no one needs that in their life...

But my FAVOURITE episode so far is part two of their Constantinople episode, where they described the Ottoman leader Mehmed as so... painfully human. Even as his soldiers ransacked a once-glorious city and he chased a mad dream, he was just so lost and passionate and terrible and... Aran described him so beautifully, I was just swept up in the story.

So yes. Although there are a few hiccups along the way (please please please go back and fix the episodes with the overlapping voice tracks it hurt my ears so bad), if you have even a passing interest in history or culture or what makes humans human, check out this podcast.

Because we're just people. We've always just been people. And that's amazing.

#podcast #weird medieval guys #historical academics #people as people #we're just innocent men #that's unrelated unless you think about it too hard #seriously though aran's obsession with constantinople gives me life #I didn't catch the potato joke but I get it #you're dorks and I love you

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tellthemeerkatsitsfine · 1 month

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I was slightly disappointed to get to the August 2017 episodes of the Elis and John radio show, and find that they took a couple of weeks off at that point, so we only got two episodes with John broadcasting from Edinburgh. Which is entirely understandable and he was very busy doing an award-winning hour full of jokes and the cynical inclusion of emotional heft, but still, I wanted to know what it was like. I enjoyed the little audio diary he gave us every week during the 2015 Edinburgh Festival, and enjoyed the two weeks we got from 2017 even though we didn't hear from the end. I enjoy it when a radio show becomes an audio diary from the Edinburgh Festival. Howard and Richardson in 2007. Lee and Herring in 1994. Bit of history.

My interest in that particular type of history is why I very much need to thank @oxymoronish for alerting me to the fact that the internet still has archives of something that could not be more perfectly tailored to my interests. Edinburgh history. Specifically, Chocolate Milk Gang-era Edinburgh history. Festival diaries. John Robins being young and pointlessly intense and a bit annoying but also full of youthful earnest wonder that's borderline sweet. Apparently during the 2007 Edinburgh Festival, John Robins wrote a blog for Chortle. I have been told that this blog once included video clips, including video of the knife he kept next to his bed, and I am of course furious that I have been denied video footage of 25-year-old John Robins showing us the knife he kept next to his bed to ward off Scottish intruders, but it's all right because there are so many textual diary entries to be getting on with. I have of course saved the PDFs.

Opens with a story about losing So You Think You're Funny in 2005, getting drunk with the other competitors and getting glared at by Dara O'Brien for quoting Father Ted too loudly, tells this story as though it's one of when he was an obnoxious kid and he's glad he's now more mature and not like that, even though this is only two years later and he then goes on to describe himself being similarly annoying throughout the 2007 festival as well. Goes into a story about how he'd planned to not drink all month but that lasted 13 hours. Then how he came up two days early to save nine pounds but the extra two days ended up costing him a lot more than that, and then a story about buying a human skeleton on eBay as a gift for his girlfriend. Classic Robins.

Two references to fantasy novels (a mention of listening to the Lord of the Rings audiobooks, and comparing hanging out with older comedians in Edinburgh to getting sorted into Gryffindor). Several instances of that thing John Robins like doing on the radio, slipping quickly into character when he complains about something and then right back out of it, which it turns out works less well in text where we can't hear the voice change. A running thread of obsession with the TV show 24. Complaining that Brook's Bar, which he misspelled, is overrated and the only redeeming part of it is you can stare at Simon Amstell. Quite a lot of spelling mistakes, on this blog that he published on Chortle, coming from a guy who, on his radio show, occasionally makes fun of Steve Bennett's inability to spell. Which I enjoy, because I am also amazed that Steve Bennett gets away with running a professional website while not knowing how to write, but it does make it more hypocritical when it turns out that John Robins has contributed spelling errors to Chortle (I am not a hypocrite because no one pays me for my Tumblr blog so it's fine to spell things wrong on that).

One account of how he got to chat to Tom Binns and was very excited about that, so I'm just going to pretend that's not there, like I do every time on the radio show that John and Elis plug Russell Brand's radio work (that one's objectively worse, as no one knew about Tom Bins in 2007 but I think people knew about Russell Brand in 2017, though obviously John and Elis were just told by Radio X that they had to cross-promote). Anyway, the Binns story does lead to John saying: "I never saw stand up as an option until I was 21, but new I had to be involved in comedy, and that was because of Bottom, Lee and Herring and Armando Iannucci et al." Which I found interesting - I mean I knew he was a huge Partridge fan, but it's interesting to hear him specifically mention Stewart Lee as a person he liked, back in 2007.

Selected my walk on music etc today, which is all very minor yet exciting. I'm increasingly aware that my preparation for Edinburgh this year has been more financial than artistic. Unfortunately due to the nature of gigs in July it was easier to make nice money than play nice gigs. June/July is a hard time if you're A. unsigned and B. not doing a solo show, as there are no uni gigs, a lot of places just do previews for hour shows and you've no lovely agent to sort you out weekends at nice clubs. But such is life. At least i can eat like a king if i perform like a cockend.

I don't know why I'm so fascinated by the logistics of Edinburgh performing, but I am and I like how many little bits like this are in there to let us know how that works. Older and wiser John Robins does sometimes tell stories about his early comedy years, and said stories make it sound like it involved a lot of picking music and being bitter about not having an agent, so this tracks.

There's one part where he gets somehow locked into his bedroom while drunk, can't get out when hungover the next morning, pees in a bin due to not having bathroom access, goes on a brief and entirely unnecessary tangent about whether the Scottish accent is sexually appealing, and then it escalates very quickly to sleeping with a knife beside his bed in case whatever intruder locked him in his bedroom comes back to murder him. Classic Robins.

There are multiple parts where he mentions that he's going to slow down on the drinking because the festival is too long to be doing too much drinking, always immediately followed by more stories about drinking a lot. Classic Robins.

A whole lot of complaining about places being too loud and too crowded and too busy. Used the word "schmoozing" to describe a thing he does not like to do. Classic Robins.

Oh, at one point, during the first week of the festival, he suddenly tells an absolutely insane story of a fellow comic (whom he goes out of his way to not name) got much too drunk, made an idiot of himself at the bar, went outside, yelled some anti-Scottish abuse at some locals, and then story escalates very quickly to where the locals start beating him up and John and some friends intervene and pull him out of there covered in blood. What the fuck? How have I not heard John tell that story before?

It’s the kind of thing you only imagine doing when you’re brain won’t sit still at night; “God, imagine if I shouted ‘Fuck you all’ at a funeral, or went to a Millwall game and called them all fags”. It’s not just social suicide, but increasingly physical suicide that I am watching. As the punches and kicks are thrown we wade in to stop the trouble, in the slightly awkward position of being totally sympathetic with the people who are kicking the shit out of him. One minute they were buying chips, the next being called “foreign cunts” and being told to “speak English” in their own country. He didn’t mean these things, but says them to achieve the desired effect: self destruction. As Burgess said, and never truer than now, “destruction’s our ode to joy”. As we break it up, and shelter our colleague away from the gathering crowd, tears fall from his battered face, and now I properly see myself in his little boy lost eyes. I know that burning need to feel something, anything, other than what you’re feeling inside. In a former life I’d have put my fist through a door, or smashed a bottle or jumped through a shop window, something more controlled than letting half a dozen drunk Scots administer the punishment. “We need to get on top of this”, I say to him, and beating in my head is that statement, like a fucking beacon; “the law of love says ‘you are enough’” to be honest this guy is more than enough. But somehow I need to show him that like Phil suggests, he himself, is all he needs to do whatever he wants. That release, the blessed release that comes from being half killed by an angry mob can be found inside you, the law of love says so.

I was about to post the "What are you two fucking talking about?" reaction image here, but that would be disingenuous, as I fully understand what he's talking about here, I understand it extremely well (though I'd like to be clear, I have never yelled "foreign cunts" at people just for eating chips). The difference is that I wouldn't admit that (not on a blog with my real name attached, anyway), while dramatically quoting poetic language used by Anthony Burgess and Phil Kay. What the fuck, John?

Phil Kay was on his mind due to a story from earlier in the post of how he'd been to see Phil Kay's show that night, which is absolutely classic Robins:

It does begin, however, with some of the most beautiful prose I’ve heard in a comedy show. So much so that I have to take out my notebook to write down the statement “the law of love says ‘you are enough’”. Unfortunately Phil sees me do this and takes me for a reviewer. “He might be a journalist” I look up “bang, you’ve missed a bit of the show” he says. I’m wearing headphones round my neck and he riffs on that for a while then moves on. But by now my face is burning and I become his point of focus after delivering set pieces. I feel terrible for the pressure he now seems to think he’s under when there is no need, “I’m not a reviewer Phil! I’m a fan! I’m a worshipper!” but I stay quiet, sit back, and enjoy his remarkable talent.

Older and wiser John Robins is still awkwardly pretentious at times, but I don't think he could ever reach the heights of the earnest absolute mess of pretension that was younger John Robins. Pulled out his notebook to copy down a particularly deep quote during a comedy show, then repeated it back in dramatic fashion while rescuing a guy who was getting beaten up for abhorrent behaviour. Good God.

There's a lot of gushing about how great Pappy's is, mentioning Matthew Crosby in particular, and quite a bit about how great Jon Richardson is. Including relaying a comment from Daniel Kitson about Jon making good comedy, which is odd because I realized as I read that that I'd assumed Daniel Kitson did not like Jon Richardson's comedy, though I have absolutely no idea where that assumption came from and it is probably incorrect so I'll get rid of it. He might have made some comment or other on some old radio show and the sentiment stuck in my mind even if the quote didn't, but it is probably not representative.

There's one part where he gets upset because he lost an "Alan Partridge rap-off" to Matt Forde. He does not explain what a rap-off is, but from context, I think it's a trivia contest of some sort. Or possibly a battle of impressions. Though I don't see why he'd expect to beat Matt Forde at the latter.

And so to the Dome for a drink with Jon Richardson, Sinha, Alex Horne and Rob Deering. If you can name four nicer people to spend your time with then I want to know.

Aww.

The blog posts follow a basic, expected trajectory of starting out exited, getting tired and worn down as it goes along, ending up slightly sick and bitter, then at the very end, rallying back to positivity and getting a bit sappy and sentimental about how great it was and how he's sad he'll never get to perform with those same Comedy Zone partners (Joe Wilkinson, Carl Donnelly, Barry Dodds) again. Ends on:

Here are my top five fringe things: 1. Being told that Matt Crosby had described the ‘Lost Vagueness’ launch party as “a total cunt museum” 2. Doing ‘On Heat’ with Russell, Mark and Jon. Just like old times. 3. Dan Atkinson ending his show by saying “ladies and gentlemen, outside there is someone collecting for an AIDS charity, so PLEASE… don’t give him any money” 4. Pappy’s 5. Richardson getting nominated. 6. Oh yes, and telling a drunk woman heckler who tried to chat me up that "I'd rather fuck a window"

At one point he gets absolutely furious at some people who did an improv performance art piece.

How can you be so vomitously earnest in the face of overwhelming evidence that 'contact improvisation' is, in fact, merely a misspelling of 'look at us, our personalities are made of toilets'? Twelve hours!? TWELVE FUCKING HOURS. You should get the if.commedies panel prize for having the gall not to take your own lives.

The above quote is about 20% of the full rant.

In terms of Classic Robins pointless intensity, nothing is going to beat quoting a poetic Phil Kay line to a man who's just behaved abhorrently and then been beaten up. But I'd like to enter in the "pointless intensity" collection the way he described the time he had a good gig, got too excited about it while drunk after the gig, and then felt bad the next morning for getting too excited:

I didn’t go round telling everyone I was awesome, I was just far too confident in banter to people I don’t know well enough. What a tool. What’s annoying is I like to think I have quite a wise comedy head, in terms of the theory and dealing with the ups and downs, but alcohol, adrenaline and relief are a dangerous combination. It’s just hard to expect people to see that any cockiness only exists in my words, not in my eyes.

What a line. I'm going to start going around telling people that cockiness only exists in my words, not in my eyes.

There are lots of little stories about hanging out with other comedians and watching other people's shows and performing with other people, and I did notice, at some point, that not a single female comedian is referenced in any of the blogs. I'm not saying that as a mark against John Robins or anything, I don't think he was intentionally avoiding them. Just an interesting sign of how much the comedy industry has changed, because I don't think you could write a story about comedy at the Edinburgh Festival today without mentioning any female comedians (not unless you were intentionally avoiding them, anyway). There weren't nearly as many of them back then. Though there were definitely some. You'd think at least once John might have watched Josie Long or something. I think the only women he mentions are his stage manager and some agents at one point.

To be fair, I guess we don't know the makeup of whatever group was doing the performance art piece that made John Robins say "I know deep down there is a nagging feeling you can't quite put your finger on, it's been bugging you for years but you can't get to the bottom of it. Well it took me exactly four seconds to recognise that feeling as being one of total and utter self loathing for carrying on with the charade that you are not a total and utter quim-rag-mouthed charlatan." (I have now quoted more of the rant, but that's still not all of it.) It's possible that there could have been women in that performance art group, so it's not fair to assume he didn't mention any female performers.

John does also mention getting angry and doing rude hand gestures at some comedians for doing rape jokes, so that's nice.

There are a bunch of interesting stories about the comedy itself, performing on/compering a mixed-bill gig instead of doing his own show (Comedy Zone), the ups and downs and figuring out the right rhythms on different nights. The wild fluctuations in crowd numbers and how that affects things. How to know if an environment is better for crowd work or material. One interesting bit, I thought, where he tries some more structured stuff that he thought he could turn into a full hour for the next year, and then realized that you can't do that at a club-style gig where no one wants it.

The whole thing is just so very very relevant to my interests, thank you again for sending it to me, @oxymoronish. Thank God for the internet archive.

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lunarsilkscreen · 3 months

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The Problem with Fame (and money)

Have you ever been in a position where you were famous, and didn't know it? (BEFORE IT GOES TO MY HEAD.)

Imagine all of a sudden, a lot of theoretical dollars get sent to your YouTube bank account.

<aside>Theoretical Dollars is a South Park '08 reference, before YouTube and social media paid their users for good content, you could suddenly get famous. And people just assumed that meant you had $$. Despite being flat broke, and just having a lot of "Likes".

Even today, especially with the "Got paid by Musk on X" jokes; laymem assume that online persona's make *bank*. Who paid them? You?</aside>

That wasn't really an aside this time, it's kinda important.

Even today, you could have like 40k karma on Reddit, and all of a sudden; people think you can do whatever. You can pay for everything! Make everybody's troubles go away.

This gets even more problematic with the fact that people who can make a profit off of other people's fame (your tabloids, your TMZ, your X personalities who *do* make money from outrage content.)

And people who don't know they're famous get hurt for it. Or sometimes benefit from others starstuck-ness without knowing it.

Despite *only* having 40k reddit karma myself, I've had to tell people that no, I'm not internet famous. Not even Reddit Famous. I deleted my account because of old friends who thought I was a walking ATM machine (as opposed to atmospheric or "at the moment")

No bruh.

My own mother constantly asks for handouts. I can't call her a bad mother; but the only thing she sees me as is what she can get for free: bus driver, cigarettes, pocket change, and free home repair.

Despite only having enough to live off of.

And none of these people *fully* understand how money actually works, or how a paycheck works. Which is really sad for anybody above the age of 25. (And sometimes younger.)

If you need a couple thousand a month to make food and bills; you should understand its the *same* f* concept for anybody else you know. And despite being able to do math; they refuse to do that; think like a rational adult, that every person has monetary needs that need to be met. And just keep seeing people as a way to get their next fix. (That is; free stuff, not necessarily free drugs)

"I'm not looking to adopt a 30+ year old at the moment. You need to grow the duck up."

I've literally been harassed by people that I know for not spending money on them; and spending money to start a business. They see the *new* things they don't have.

Even if it just trinkets and collectibles from when you were young. (No I know why, they see graded Beta Magic Cards on pawn stars and they think *every single MTG card is $$*) f*ing commodification.

I seriously don't understand people's thoughts processes.

Well actually. I do.

See, Melin Shoot seems to be mediocritcally known in certain circles. (That's me, I'm Melin; everybody thinks its a stage name.that I use professionally. DESPITE ONLY EVER HAVING BEEN ENLISTED MILITARY PROFESSIONALLY FOR A DECADE.)

And I didn't know that. Cuz nobody told me. Even today people think their own weird thoughts. Like *how much money I must've made for showing up on somebody else's stream*

It sounds like I'm fluffing up my own fame. I'm talking about being a minor character, a very minor character, everywhere... And people *think* I have more pull than I do.

I don't. I absolutely don't.

And yet for some reason; there's this strange way people act around me. As if I *was* somebody famous.

If you can be harassed for being mildly associated with Fame. And people can make money off of you without you making any money for the same: I cannot imagine how awful it must be for those who are *actually* famous.

$*. Imagine being famous for giving the president a blowjob and then just not being able to get a regular job after that ...

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echoing-oursong · 1 year

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hi kat!! i hope you're having a good day!! <3

also, i read this post you reblogged and got to thinking about steve's parents and the fanon interaction with them and... i think maybe i'll just get into my point because wow. it's... a mess honestly.

(also no pressure if this is too jeavy a topic or anything! feel free to ignore/delete.)

so i'm heavily aware that we've barely seen anything from steve's parents. we only have scraps of info about them to work with. but i also rhink that, in this show where every other child/teen character has parents who appear or are spoken about, steve's have rarely been mentioned and have never made an appearance. the mentions are usually nothing good - implications about his father being a jerk and also the literal way he fell down a flight of stairs as a BABY???? like yeah that's a "joke" (hate the duffers so much right now) but that's... not putting them in a great light and while i don't trust the duffers with steve's character at all, i do think that there few instances and the absence of his parents says enough - they aren't there.

with this being said, i hate the fanon interpretation of this. because rarely ever does anyone actually make this realistic. if his parents are addressed, then it's mostly some absurd account of abuse that doesn't match up with canon and leaves me feeling sick because 1. it's unnecessary and feels like trauma porn and 2. it sends the message that abuse only is abuse, or abuse only hurts, when it's something extreme. rarely do i ever see fic authors or just people discussing steve in general who address the actual canon of his situation, which is neglect. and people can say "oh he's 19 by s4, he doesn't need his parents" but as a 19 year old right now, i can say you still need your parents, if not now more than ever.

another side of the horrid ways people cannot seem to read canon is that i saw a few posts floating around that said it would be "so funny if steve's parents were just normal people and he called them assholes because he's dramatic." and i truly cannot stand this. this may be the worst take i've ever seen. like not only is that fucking weird to say, but like. the neglect is LITERALLY there??? you do not have to do mind hula hoops to see it. it basically sends the message that "abuse victims who have faced neglect are dramatic and aren't as valid as worae abuse victims" and i literally seethe with rage at this thought. like... i can't even explain this. i'm pretty sure i had to block the person who sais that because not only were they saying that but they also had THOUSANDS of notes and it just. i can't do it 😭

anyway this is all inspired from how i read the whole "fell down a flight of stairs as a baby" thing and came to the realization that that DEFINITELY says something about his parents, espscially tied back to rhe little bits of evidence we have :/

Omg thank you so much and I also hope you’re having a great day :) also sorry this is late I’ve been working on an essay and studying a lot lol.

Also this does not feel like a heavy topic and it’s actually something I want to talk about so glad I get to talk about it with you. Okay so about Steve’s parents: yeah like we’ve barely heard from them and they only come up in little one lines said by Steve. And I do think it is interesting that out of all the parents that have made appearances it is a little bit off putting that we’ve never actually seen his parents (to me I feel like that means that Steve’s parents just aren’t in his life that much). Yeah like with the falling off the flight of stairs - it’s just not putting them in a good light at all. (I also hate the duffers for that ‘joke’) and like you as I’ve already said lol - to me it just means that Steve’s parents aren’t there.

I also hate the fanon interpretation of it all. Yes omg people barely make this realistic at all! Like you said sometimes they just make it too abusive. And you’re right about the points like people either make it to be almost too much where it seems like trauama porn and about the message that abuse is only abuse if it’s extreme. I really never figured out why this was something I didn’t like and you worded it perfectly. I also agree heavily as a 19 year old that you still need you parents on you life.

Omg I had seen those exact same posts about how Steve was being dramatic and it’s just soo weird. And how ‘funny’ that would be and it’s like no it’s genuinely not funny at all. And you’re right like the neglect is still there and yes it definitely sends that message of what you said! You said it perfectly because it just reeks of that. The whole thing about Steve being ‘dramatic’ really puts a bad taste in my mouth just based on that principle and the fact that Steve is a family person. He loves family and he’s dreamed about having kids and etc and yet he’s still saying shit about his own parents. Like I genuinely think that’s glaring that he’s willing to do that. And talk about his parents to other people! He’s not just talking to his parents but he’s willingly telling people that he cares about that his dad is a dick. And they also don’t even say anything back about it! They’re not acting like steve is over reacting (except for maybe Nancy in season 1 but also Barb went missing and she was pre-occupied with all of that soo) but like Robin doesn’t even say anything about it - she just kind of accepts it and she tries to cheer him up. And this was even before Robin saw them as friends. Glad you blocked that person though and damn I can’t believe they had thousands of notes on it.

I love how this all became inspired by that and yeah like that one like that they added in honestly says so much about Steve’s parents and the neglect. Which is why I fucking can’t believe that the duffers then made Steve say that he ‘needed a thump on the head’ and that Nancy was the one who gave him that and then he thanked her. Everyone’s talking about how Steve talking about wanting kids to Nancy was bad however this whole talk of him being like ‘I’m glad you thumped me on the head Nancy’ made me honest to god want to fucking scream. I was actually fucking screaming the first time I watched it and I felt like dying. Also lol that became ranty but yeppp I agree with you heavily about the topic of Steve’s parents and how fandom doesn’t deal with it in the best way.

#answered asks #thanks so much :)#sexybabystevie

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urlbending · 1 year

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2022 Year End Fic Review

in the words of a very ancient internet joke, better nate than lever!!

1. What is your AO3 account?

My ao3 is lookatallthemoresigive, because that was my tumblr url at the time i created my ao3. I desperately need to change it but I'm having trouble coming up with a new one and am worried if i switch I'll lose brand recognition, which is hilarious bc my MO is to write a fic or two for a fandom and then bounce

2. How many words did you write total in 2022?

I wrote 8,487 published words, but i have at least 7k unpublished. There is a very long rangshi capture the avatar au that been languishing in my drafts for over six months that im hoping to finish up and post this year. I am not a particularly fast writer because i obsess over every word i use, but I've found that with practice im getting faster and better at writing more

3. How many fics did you publish in 2022? How many multichapters vs oneshots?

I published 4, which is about my usual (a couple of random scattered fics + yuletide). They're all oneshots of varying length. My new years resolution is to write 5 fics this year!! I'm holding myself to it. One day I'll write a complete multi-chapter fic, but it's not currently in the cards.

4. What was your longest fic? Your shortest fic?

Longest: a kyoshi novels fic about hei-ran, 바늘 구멍으로 하늘 보기

4,441 words that i agonized over, including the title. I'm super proud of this fic.

Shortest: your hair never falls in quite the same way, a locked tomb missing scene fic clocking in at 890 words.

I honestly had a pretty quick turnaround time writing this one. After i had a lovely and overwhelming response to a rangshi drabble in 2021, I've been trying to be better about posting fics regardless of their length. Sometimes, hitting 1k or even 500 words is not necessary to tell a story

5. What was your most popular fic? Your least popular fic?

Most popular: kiss you too hard and follow you west another quick turnaround, this is a rangshi fluff fic so i’m not surprised

Least popular: Shinrin-Yoku, my gen character study yuletide fic for a video game that came out in 2020. I'm not losing any sleep over it. Its currently at a 15% kudos to hits ratio which good!

6. What fic didn’t perform as well as you thought it would?

Listen, I died on some weird hills last year (the love interest’s mom needs more of a backstory!!!!), so any response is a good response. I guess I was secretly hoping your hair never falls would usher in an era of camilla/nona fics bc i was certain it was going to be a thing, but the book came out and crushed those dreams. I still maintain nona had a crush on cam!!

7. What fic performed way better than you thought it would?

바늘 구멍으로 하늘 보기 because as I mentioned above, it was a character centric fic focused on a minor character. glad the kyoshi novels fandom appreciates milfs!

8. What was your favorite fic you wrote from 2022?

This is turning into a whole arc. I love the nona fic dearly, it makes me happy every time i read it, but im so proud i pulled off that hei-ran fic. Writing a character arc is not easy or as instantly gratifying as making two characters kiss. I knew I was pouring my heart (research into ancient Korean tea ceremonies for half a scene! Politics! Asking @funnefatale to bug fandom friends for Korean sayings for me!) into a work that simply might not be received. Also, I finally came out to my mom around the time i was writing this for unrelated reasons, and this fic reminds me of that 💕

9. What was your favorite fic that somebody else wrote in 2022?

by land, by sea, by dirigible, @firstelevens' amazing c&d/tfatws fic which gave me everything i needed for BOTH shows. A two for one, can you believe!!

falling (for you) like snow on christmas, a warrior nun ava/bea hallmark au. I watched a lot of hallmark type christmas movies last year, and this fic delivered on the coziness these movies provide and the chemistry they usually don't. Also, it relased daily during the week leading up to christmas, corresponding to the days in the chapters, which was super fun to experience in real time.

10. Tag your friends to do this year-end fic review as well!

@funnefatale @isabrella and anyone else who wants to do this meme!

#thanks for the tag Zainab 💕#je converse #fic year in review #the best fic i read in 2022 was unsentimental by foxbones #so damn good #but it was published on 2021

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fandomanimatic-tournament · 4 months

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Fandom song animatic tournament: Bracket 1 Side A Round 3

The other side - The Greatest Showman Musical

"Don't you wanna get away from the same old part you gotta play? 'Cause I got what you need, so come with me and take the ride It'll take you to the other side"

How bad can I be? - The Lorax (Movie)

Baby Hotline - Jack Stauber

"I contend that your drinking eye has never opened I insist somebody will die, and I hate hoping Wishing that the pills let you cry, and I hate coping Someday I will go back outside and see her, okay"