a concept: Victor usually wakes up first in the mornings. So when Yuuri wakes to find Victor cuddled against him, breathing slowly and steadily, it’s a pleasant surprise. He brushes his fingers through Victor’s hair and Victor instinctively moves closer to him, gravitating towards Yuuri’s touch whether conscious or unconscious.
They have to leave soon, so regretfully Yuuri whispers to him in Japanese, trying to wake him. Victor hums, still asleep, and tangles a leg in between both of Yuuri’s. Yuuri kisses his forehead and his chest aches with unconditional love that could reverse the turn of the Earth, that could part the ocean, that could put out the embers of the sun. Five more minutes won’t hurt anyone.
I drink milk every day because my doctor says I need it to grow. Kind of like I need this calcium rush in order to make my bones stronger so I stop cracking them so easily. Preventing them from ever reverting to the weak, knobbly knees of last summer when a boy I had a crush on. Had a crush on, crushed me. Like a pulp. Into grains. Like a spoon grinding up soggy cereal swimming at the bottom of a bowl. I wake up in the middle of the night, remembering I didn’t drink 3 glasses today, and run to the refrigerator in my socks and chug it straight from the gallon, barbaric and yearning like a schoolgirl hitching her skirt up too high, and picture the white flowing through my veins. Softening me. Rounding me out. Giving me curves. I get a brain freeze instead and pray I’ll stop crying over spills and that I can sleep with this cold lurching in my stomach.
Maybe one day my hair will stop being so limp in the heat, but I don’t think that kind of thing can be anticipated, so I just have to wait. Girls like me live in the back of an un-air-conditioned convenience store, ratty sweatpants, tight tank tops, and crawl out with week-old receipts bursting from their pockets. Like glued ribcage kind of girls, like elastic hair tie, red marks around the wrist kind of girls. The cashier doesn’t mind when I snag a magazine from the rack and browse through it without paying because no matter how hard I try, I end up looking pre-pubescent anyway. And they let things slide. For a girl like me, at least. I’m saying, lopsided bun, wide eyes, a mouthful of crooked teeth, stars pulling them into their places, I was always too scared to get braces. The cover has some headline about how to enlarge your breasts naturally, which I think might be useful, and another about how to communicate effectively with others without saying hurtful things, which makes me laugh. I flip to the back to check my horoscope and eat that prophetic, adolescent shit catered to the teenage soul up like Eucharist laid under the tongue. Swallow down a spoonful of March’s: “Prepare to face some stress this month, but that’s okay! You’ll be able to get through it and find time to relax.” I want to rip out the page and shove it into my bra, like keeping these soft, meaningless words close to my chest will make them seep into my heart and change me. Stop making me think so much, fill my brain up with Arizona tea and static instead. But I’m cheap, and I shove the magazine back. I think my chest will stay flat forever.
I seek healing. Mending. I’m fingernails deep, sitting in the back of a subway at 3 a.m., pressing crescent moons into the leather seat, trying to dig up salvation. You can’t find that here, you can’t find that in the cracks between the tiles, you can’t find comfort in the ground up cigarette butt stamped into the floor. I’m wishing against this fogged up glass I could say anything, anything that would make sense for once, so someone could help me. Like please, my mind is bending in backwards, like please, I don’t think this underdeveloped chest can take any more of this resentment or it’s going to explode through my ribcage, out of my flesh, like please, I don’t want to hurt anymore. And it’s not my fault that I launch myself around like I’m in some sick little competition, pretending I don’t care, like I’m having the time of my life. Of course I’m not, of course I’m not, I don’t think having your hands shake and your brain go fuzzy whenever you think a little too much is fun, something to be documented for the world to see. I guess I’m different from other people that way, I’d rather people think I’m having a good time than actually have one without anyone knowing. I wish I knew how to sew, so I could stitch up my fibrillating heart, no matter how sloppy and crooked, but the needle jabs my finger as the subway lurches left, and I bleed, I bleed, I bleed.
My mom told me not to walk naked in front of the altar. Disrespectful, she called it, and even though I agree, sometimes I test my divinity and emerge from the bathroom, the steam from the shower wafting off smoke like the incense in its pot. Young god, skin tinted green from fake gold. Young god, empty stomach, fruit scooped out of its rind, leaving me seedless. This hatred has roots, and I don’t know whether I want to dig out my insides with my hands or fill myself up until I’m close to bursting. I let people think the scratches on my knees are from a night of alcohol and a boy tugging my hair. Of course, it’s that and not child worship on a scratchy rug, not begging for forgiveness, not praying for glamour and glory, not hoping for. Of course it’s not hoping for something better.
he has an older sister who ran off with a lover when they were young. She visits sometimes to give his kids too much sugar and encourage them to do wild shit like express themselves. Of course you can finger paint on the walls Genji.
He liked sweets he kept a stash in his office.
God damn he loved his wife
it was a kind of business marriage, probably arranged for him, but they were lucky and fell in love. She was super funny?? It surprised him she seemed so quiet and reserved in meetings between their families he was not expecting dick jokes on the first date
They worked wonderfully together, he was a practical businessman and she was ruthlessly clever and charismatic. A perfect team the family had never done better.
She died having Genji. His father never blamed him though.
God damn he loved his kids!
He was always busy but still a damn good dad. He never ignored his kids and tried not to tell them “not now” if he could help it. He took every opportunity he possibly could to go out and do fun kid stuff with them. He’d do Hanzo’s hair for him and help him with his homework. He’d let Genji paint his nails and scribble on papers he didn’t need, just please, not the walls again.(Hanzo’s responsible attitude developed quite early. Think like, 4 years old following Genji while he crawls around, just kinda herding him away from things he shouldn’t touch. Probably making a face and sighing like he’s too old and tired for this, even tho he is doing it completely by his own will.This was helpful for poor busy dad.)
He told his kids stories before bed almost every night. Even when it was just Hanzo. When they were a little older and he pulled that “once there were two dragons who were grounded because they stayed out past curfew” Genji told him he should have ditched the family and written children’s stories. He low key liked the idea.
There’s a picture of his wife on his nightstand and he talks to her sometimes. About things that are stressing him out, about how smart Hanzo is or how Genji looks exactly like her.
He tried not to put excessive pressure on Hanzo, but Hanzo would just make up for it by putting pressure on himself. This is a little bit frustrating, he doesn’t wanna say, “maybe you shouldn’t aim so high”, but he hates to see Hanzo so stressed out trying to reach the bars he set for himself. He appreciates that Genji seems to take care of and support his brother, tho.
He never pushed Genji to accept his role as heir to the family, but he did try to convince his son that there was a nobility in what they did. Even if they dealt in weapons and drugs and death, they provided jobs and second chances to unfortunate people, they were fair with their justice and they protected their city.
He was constantly at odds with his wife’s older and younger brothers, who joined the family’s council of elders when they married into the family. The pair of them were greedy and underhanded and blamed Genji for the death of their sister. They went behind his back and gave the poor kid shit all the time.
He always has been and would still be very proud of his kids.
I’m kind of jaded about the SU c/rit/ical thing. So like disclaimer, if you’re a fan of the show providing legitimate criticism, that’s one thing. I respect that, like, a lot! But I’ve seen “su cr/iti/cal” blogs complain about such trivial things, down to (literally) inconsistency in Pumpkin’s tongue texture. I feel like at the beginning there was actual valid criticism, but now it’s just turned into a hotbed of negativity.
I think the problem is that some people feel like ragging on something for its flaws somehow demonstrates that you’re more objective or enlightened than those who choose to celebrate the good things about it. But how can you provide a valuable critique of something you’ve already decided you hate? In my opinion, if you find it impossible to acknowledge anything good happening in the show, you’re pretty much just as subjective as someone who is incapable of acknowledging its flaws.
The thing that I mostly don’t like is that when a fan of the show says “I don’t like su c/ri/tical’”, their immediate response is to say “foolish sheeple^tm, you special snowflakes are unable to take criticism about anything you like. these damn millennials !!!” Which is so ironic, because like, that’s just a weak response that gets tossed out by people who claim to be “critics” but are unable to handle when anyone says “hey, that’s a dumb argument and here’s why.”
I do really appreciate that they keep the criticism in their own tag rather than just the general SU one, though, so like, props. They can keep doing their thing, they aren’t hurting anyone. A lot of the time w/ ships and stuff, the actual ship tag is just filled with hate, so it’s nice that these guys don’t post their stuff in the main tag.
also–in case you’re worried this is suddenly gonna transform into a Discourse Blog^tm or something, worry not lol, we are returning to your regular programming right after this post. I just have gotten a lot of messages about this and feel like I should voice my thoughts about it \o/
guys remember when Zarkon told Keith that he fights like a galra soldier?? What if the team uses that to their advantage and asks Keith what would he do in the galra’s position and then they try to work around it like a Team™