Erwin Smith // Fic Recommendations

the most fun a girl can have is finding parallels, noticing patterns, making connections, contemplating

ok i have a plan (gets distracted) (gets distracted) (gets distracted) (gets distracted) (get distracted) (gets d

tw: implied abuse, no curses au

"Can I ask a question?" Yuuji digs his heel into the wood chips as he swings, digging a growing trench behind him. "You don't have to answer."

Ash falls from the end of Choso's cigarette. He leans against the anchor of the swing set, cheek against cold metal, and sighs. Twilight has passed and the streetlights have turned on, giving the playground a hazy, barely lit glow. Yuuji's guardian will start calling soon, but Choso decides the extra time together is worth the future ire.

"I already told you that I'm not giving you a tattoo."

"Aw, damn-" Yuuji clicks his tongue against his teeth. Ever since they met, he's been dying for a tattoo of his own, throwing out wild new ideas almost every day. One day, when he's eighteen and likes an idea for more than a month, Choso will bring him to his studio and comply.

But, not yet.

"That wasn't my question though," Yuuji says.

"Then go for it."

The younger boy takes a deep breath, then lets it out even slower, pulling the tension longer and longer until it snaps.

"Why weren't you... around? Like, when I was a kid and stuff."

Choso takes his own breath.

"Your mom-- our mom." The taste of that sits bitter on his tongue. He never called her mom, even back then. "She was different for me."

And for our other brothers, he adds silently. Yuuji doesn't need to carry that weight yet, the knowledge that he was the exception to it all.

"Why?" Yuuji pumps his legs a little softer, the back and forth motion of the swing slowly dying out.

"I dunno." Choso wishes he had the answer to that. "She was sixteen, did bad things. Don't worry about it."

Finding out about Yuuji wasn't a shock, somehow. Years after Ken had surrendered her children to the state, Choso had received noticed that she had died. The news felt overdue. No tears were shed, no love lost; the group chat of siblings had all agreed not to go to any service, but the day of, Choso had changed his mind.

He had put on his nicest outfit -some thrift store pants that didn't fit and a shirt he stole from foster dad three- and went expecting to be the only one there, the only one willing to say goodbye.

Choso hadn't known about her new family. They hadn't known about him either. It was typical of Ken to leave a mess in her wake.

Turns out, through a series of lucky breaks, the woman had clawed her way out of poverty and into the arms of a rich, but nice man. Her life was easy and sweet, filled with luxuries and love, including a son ten years younger than her eldest.

No one knows why Yuuji was different than the others, why she decided to be good to him and no one else. Mental illness is strange like that, picking and choosing how it pleases.

Yuuji huffs, gripping the metal chains tighter. "But-"

"Yuuji." Choso drops his cigarette and crushes it under his boot. Then, he thinks about the child that will play there tomorrow, shoveling wood chips into their mouths like idiots, and decides to pick it up. He jams it into his pocket. "You have good memories of her. Don't ruin that."

He used to resent how much Yuuji loved her. He was eight when she died, the same age Choso was when he first had to dial 911 for her. That anger had long faded, replaced with a strange amount of pity.

"But I want to know. What she did and stuff." Yuuji's voice jumps high with emotion. "I'm basically an adult, I can handle it."

"You're sixteen."

"Well, mom was doing this stuff at sixteen, so-" Yuuji is seething suddenly, brow furrowed and teeth grit.

"So?"

"So, she was old enough to be doing bad things and I'm not old enough to know about it?" He stands and the swing clatters behind him. He's stocky, yet tall, bunched with muscles that he's built from baseball. On one side of his cheek, there's a bit of chocolate stuck there, a remnant from the ice cream Choso bought him. Below it, there's a rosy hickey on his neck, a remnant of the boyfriend he hasn't told Nanami about yet. He thinks they're having sex, maybe, but doesn't know how to broach the topic without scaring his brother into never talking about it again.

"And you had tattoos at my age, by the way!"

Choso lets him stew in it, huffing and puffing. The blown out edges of first tattoo peek from under his sleeve, the image barely legible now. An older woman gave it to him at fifteen, in the basement of her house. It became so insanely infected that he ended up in the ER a couple days later.

"I'm not a kid. I can handle it." Yuuji states, calm and clear. "I'm not a kid."

A car passes, it's headlights stretching and pulling the shadows across the park. In the changes, Choso can see his mother in his brother, those soft eyes and thin lips and the same slightly crooked nose that Choso has himself. He thinks, maybe, if time was kinder and his father was better, they'd look more alike each other, but then the moment is gone and they no longer even look like siblings.

"Okay."

Yuuji untenses a bit. "Okay?"

"Okay."

"Like, okay, this conversation is done, or okay, I'll tell you?"

"I'll tell you," Choso says, jamming his hands in his pocket. The cigarette butt is there, mushed and still warm against his knuckles. "But not tonight."

"What?!"

"Next time, I promise."

Choso doesn't understand why Yuuji insists on rushing away from innocence, but he knows that he can't stop him. Yuuji will find out about the abuse, the neglect, the other brothers, and the other horrors in some way or another and then things will never be the same.

"Stay a kid just a little longer." Choso resists the urge to ruffle his hair. "For me?"

"Yeah, sure," Yuuji sighs. "One more day."

dearest followers i regret to inform you that thinking with my cunt has once again led me perilously and irretrievably deep into a vast system of underground tunnels

things we need to address:

gen z men getting pulled into alt-right pipelines through andrew tate, joe rogan, elon musk, jordan peterson etc

the gullibility and stupidity of half the country voting against our collective best interests

the broad effect social media has on public and common good

lazy minds and lack of empathy

outside-country interference (trump and elon’s connections to russia and the amount of bots from other countries spreading misinformation)

the long-term effects of AI and rampant disinformation

no i don't want to use your ai assistant. no i don't want your ai search results. no i don't want your ai summary of reviews. no i don't want your ai feature in my social media search bar (???). no i don't want ai to do my work for me in adobe. no i don't want ai to write my paper. no i don't want ai to make my art. no i don't want ai to edit my pictures. no i don't want ai to learn my shopping habits. no i don't want ai to analyze my data. i don't want it i don't want it i don't want it i don't fucking want it i am going to go feral and eat my own teeth stop itttt

Vistims belong to victims, criminals belong to criminals...Apartheid state of Israel are contemporary nazis

i gotta remember this

need to write this supernatural x jjk idea i keep thinking ab......maybe sukuna is yellow eyes...