#(hope this clarifies some stuff)

[artem1sc0re]

I’ve reached the stage of watch dogs brainrot in which I’ve began to headcanon them as secondary school (highschool) students; including deciding on the subjects they’d do, what they get up to, etc.

I’ve spent the entirety of my week doing this so I hope the brainstorming somewhat stays accurate to the characters (if not criticism is accepted!)

So ermmmmm here’s the appearances

Clarification; I’ve had to make a couple of almost drastic altercations to Ray’s, Clara’s and Sitara’s designs because of uniform regulations; their canon styles are flashy/unprofessional and wouldn’t exactly be good representation of the school, as well as Ray’s hair possibly being too long/disheveled (because uniform regulations where I live are THAT strict that they dress code hair length on boys as well), so I apologise if there’s any inaccuracies with the characters🤧🤧

Here’s their year and the list of subjects they’d do (just as context before you read the transcript):

Aiden is a lower sixth; on his first year of A levels:

A level - Sociology, IT, Chemistry

GCSEs - IT, Double science, Home Ec & H&S

Ray is an upper sixth; studying A2 level:

A levels - IT, Design and technology, Physics

GCSEs - IT, Physics, History, Chemistry, Design and Technology

Jordi is a lower sixth; studying AS level (most of his GCSE subjects were filler):

A levels - IT, Chemistry, Spanish

GCSEs - IT, double science, Spanish, further math

Clara is a lower sixth, studying AS level:

A levels - Art, IT, sociology

GCSEs - Art, IT, design and technology, double science

Watch dogs 2 dedsec:

Marcus is repeating his first year of GCSEs (partially to get another chance at a better score, another part to stay by his friends):

GCSEs - IT, Media studies, History, Politics, single science

Wrench is repeating his first year of GCSEs (his scores were ridiculous /neg)

GCSEs - IT, Media studies, geography, Double science

Josh is repeating his first year of GCSEs (he’s a perfectionist and as much as resitting exams exist, he insists on staying back 1 year):

GCSEs - IT, Media studies, HE, Double science

Sitara is studying the second half of her GCSEs:

(Chosen) A levels - Art, H&S, Media studies

GCSEs - IT, Art, H&S, single science, further math

Horatio is studying the second half of his GCSEs:

(Chosen) A levels - English language, H&S, IT

GCSEs - IT, H&S, History, double science

Transcript for those who cannot read my handwriting:

(Photo 1)

Aiden

- face is always cold so he wears the mask to keep himself warm (and possibly to accessorise)

- cut thumbholes into his jumper/sweater for comfortability (had to get Clara to stitch it evenly)

- has a natural resting bitch face, makes it almost difficult for him to be read emotionally via expression

- if he isn’t revising for chemistry or doing IT coursework during lunch, he’s hanging in the art rooms with Clara

- low-key has a crush on Clara… (Jordi frequently teases him about it)

- confrontational; if it affects him or the people he knows he WILL stand up for himself/them, even to teachers if he has to

- shares chemistry classes with Jordi (who frequently yaps to him in those classes)

Ray Kenney

- has acne w/ growing beard/stubble

- couldn’t style his hair so he stuck with a mullet

- goes to a different school but turns up for shared education classes

- makes a business of selling his study notes (basically photocopying them then selling them)

- IT prefect

Jordi

- definitely was some form of a greasy kid during his first few years but then had the craziest glowup during sixth form -> no one bullied him because of his tendency to bite back. Hard.

- sells contraband around the school building -> no proof that he does sell it as he’s always subtle with his locations, changing around where he sells and hiding his stock pretty well

- the type of guy to shove you ten times harder in the corridors if you shoved him (intentional nor unintentional, and yes, people shoving people in the corridors is quite common at least in my experience 😭😭)

- can be a class clown but the teachers have no reason to tell him off as he gets work done and has surprisingly good test scores

Clara

- is pretty neutral when it comes to the dress code, even subtly bending the rules to her liking

- busy asf doing art or studying, though does appreciate the company given from time to time whilst she works

- shares sociology classes with Aiden

- organises revision sessions for IT with Aiden (and Jordi; he seems like the type of guy to third wheel for the shits and giggles but also to study too)

(Photo 2)

Josh

- NEVER wears his blazer; finding the material to be too heavy

- always wears his beanie; if told to take it off he’ll proceed to put it back on the next class

- always ends up in the SEN (special educational needs) office frequently due to lack of co-operation

Marcus

- ABSOLUTE hype man during exam season

- Always instigates study sessions with the dedsec group

- mostly because he himself barely studies and usually he’ll sacrifice sleep to study

- Debate club member

Wrench/Reggie

- was able to get privileges to wear his mask

- most of the time gets dress coded for his pins or any other accessory he decides to wear almost on the daily

- decorates his blazer and bag with pins and patches

- when given an assistant under the name of ‘entitlement’ even when he declined, it painted him as an absolute ass due to his aggressive behaviour and lack of co-operation

- same as Josh usually ends up in the SEN office due to lack of co-operation

- draws on arms and hands frequently when bored + to retain attention

Horatio

- Similar to Sitara, is the more studious one of the group and makes sure to remind everyone of homework, school events + staff training days

- school council rep

- same as Marcus; is a debate club member

- Seems like the type of guy who’d know a lot about the teachers and would be able to hang around them due to being on their good side

Sitara

- Similar to Horatio; is the more studious one of the group

- has learned ways with bending the rules of the dress code with subtly hiding highlights, piercings and makeup

- Reminds the group about homework but usually sends the answers if nobody has it done

Some extra headcanons:

- Sitara uses sparkly highlighters when making revision stuff

- Wrench gets agitated with crowds in the cafeteria so Marcus helps get his food

- Jordi partnered with Aiden in chemistry classes primarily because Aiden low-key has leverage over him (by leverage I mean he basically knows the location of his batches of contraband)

- Marcus thrives in English language, especially in speaking exams because of his infectious nature and confidence

- everyone asks Josh for help in IT classes due to how good he is at it (they all share the same IT classes)

- if the WD2 dedsec all in separate classes, they have a collective oneNote document to make shitposts on and contact eachother with

- Wrench goofs off at various instances during revision sessions, even singing brainrot or catchy revision songs that pop into his head

- Marcus is NOT subtle with taking his phone out, that guy’s on it during break where teachers can see

- Ray knows what cars the teachers drive.

- Jordi never keeps his opinions on everyone and teachers to himself. Bro would not care if the teacher was right behind him. They call him a motor mouth for a reason

- Give Josh a swivel chair in a computer room and he will NOT stop spinning on it unless the teacher is talking

- if there’s a substitute, Marcus and Wrench watch stuff on YouTube during class

- Wrench doodles on textbooks that get reused (on a novel, he leaves comments and small doodles)

- Sitara vandalises science tables

- when Jordi, Clara and Aiden do revision sessions, Jordi tries to tease Aiden’s feelings towards Clara whilst the both of them drown him out; if he’s not doing that he’s studying with them and being the one asking the questions and shooting one or both of them a shit eating grin when they get an answer wrong

- Wrench does exams in a separate venue

- Marcus cannot study by himself unless he’s with the company of his friends, or unless he’s pulling an all nighter for a subject he cares about

- Marcus and Sitara take the same bus and stop at a local shop to buy sweets and snacks for everybody; tldr they are walking food banks

- Aiden is secretly a choir kid

- Jordi the type of guy to steal his friends’ food if he’s too broke to buy any or if he just couldn’t be bothered

[lovesodeepandwideandwell]

ok this is a deeply deeply weird manifesto and i'm sorry but i feel suddenly very burdened to say it so. if you felt like we were friends and i unfollowed you, this is for you. (don't be scared this is not about problems with anyone this is just my mess. that I think is ok to have which is why I'm talking about it)

so I joined tumblr in 2020 when a) the world was isolated b) I had just moved to a new city and was living alone taking Zoom classes in my apartment. what started as a mindless distraction became such a lifeline of connection and friendship! and still such a support as things started to open back up and get busier in 2021, when I was teaching and in class in person but still struggling for close in-person friendships. I know the group dynamic on here has shifted a number of times, as some of you probably experienced from various vantage points. my use of tumblr has shifted too, on and off, as I've needed different things out of it and been in different spiritual and emotional states. and I've kind of come to realize that I probably threw myself in too eagerly in some ways. it was so exciting to have actual friends on here and for them to actually turn into friends in person, that honestly I maybe prized that dynamic too much for what it symbolized over actually valuing the people. I'm sorry for doing that.

anyway, that worked fine for a bit, but as (glory be to God) I've become much more plugged into my in-person community in the last couple years, I've felt more and more emotionally strained. I've taken up a new attitude towards my family that's much more in line with God, but also much more draining as it means I have to just pour out in prayer and love and wait with patient sorrow over some things rather than fighting and defending my perspective as always right and necessary; and then there's the church-related grief my family has gone through over the last year. I've had a very delicate and difficult friendship that pulled up a lot of unresolved stuff from a college situation and felt endlessly wearying at times. I've had another issue from college recur in a way I thought had been healthily resolved years ago. I've had this whole roommate marriage situation that as y'all know is a very weird trial and pressure. My church has been dealing with a strange and tough ongoing struggle that was already stressing me out before I started working there. My small group has been amazing and I've loved connecting with and relying on them more, but that connection also means more fully bearing the griefs of a lot of different people dealing with the different struggles of life. My advisor situation has been so weird and tough, making my academic work really hard, and then this recent church work has been fulfilling but physically and often mentally exhausting. My future location, work, and community is up in the air after a few years of stability. (I really didn't mean to make this a recitation of my woes, but honestly it's really helpful to see it all written out here; helps explain my deep deep exhaustion, I guess.)

If I ever followed you on tumblr, I love you. In a number of different ways. I feel fondness at the thought of you and at your presence; I want to know you more fully; I desire the good for you; and I find my well-being to be, at least a little bit, tied up with yours. That last one is the rub. As I'm sorting through all the callings and duties in my life, trying to identify what counts as changing my tires versus what wears my tires out, I've found that my tumblr dashboard can switch back and forth very unpredictably between one thing and the other. Often it's a delight to come on here and find my friends and the cool things we're showing each other and the joys and sorrows and goofy moments of our lives! But at other times, when what I desperately need is an escape and rest and humor to provide solace from in-person cares, I find myself pricked all over again by the sorrow of the world and the stress of sin--or even just irritated by stuff I find irrelevant or disagree with or don't want to be reminded of.

To be clear, I'm not saying anyone's doing anything wrong on here. The opposite; I love the freedom y'all have to seek out what helps you, whether that's a lot of facts and ideas or a lot of goofy content or recipes or weird TV or music or venting about life or seeking prayer or advice! We all have the freedom and responsibility to determine how to use the tools we have to aid us in pursuing the good, whether the good is a quick laugh or building up virtue. But I think for me, at this point in my life, my duty and calling has swung back towards my in-person connections in a variety of ways, and I have to honor that.

The lie of infinity that the internet offers is just that--a lie. for me, that lie right now is being laid bare in my inability to have infinite care for everyone whose path I cross. I could follow everyone on here whom I'm endeared to, could keep messaging and replying and building relationships, but it would be a lie to think I can offer that love and care to everyone I would like to. In-person friendships are limited by physical proximity and time; online friendships can't be unlimited either. I need to apologize for acting as though they could be, and committing myself beyond my limits; but also, my life has really changed, and I'm not going to be caught either by the lie that online is only worthwhile if it's permanent.

I want to be clear that I value the connections I've had with you. I've loved exchanging mail and phone calls, messaging fun things back and forth, being online at the same time or learning about your day after the fact. Please know, also, that I have gone to war in prayer for you, and I continue to do so. I wish that I knew how to love widely without feeling pulled apart and worn down, by difference and sorrow and sin (mine and yours). I hope God is sanctifying me toward that end. But right now I'm fairly convinced I need to honor my calling to in-person friendships; I need to protect my mind and heart from even little pricks and distractions, so that I can keep my desires in order and use my energy for prayer and Scripture and to do good work and love the people God's made my physical neighbors. I really do love you, and I wish we had infinite time to talk and think together. I'm so excited to be with y'all in heaven forever. And who knows--maybe my life will shift yet again (it's looking likely) and I'll have a ton of spare energy and love and will come sheepishly back looking to connect with you again. We'll see. You deserve love and attention and connection, in person and online, and I'm sorry that--at least as it feels to me--I held out the promise of giving you that and then had to withdraw it.

so. there's all that. My dash is super quiet these days, thwarting my dopamine search but pushing me towards texting friends, towards meditating more fully on Scripture, towards praying over my work and burdens. I hope you can understand and maybe even be glad that, God willing, this is how I'm able and needing to work for the kingdom right now. love you love you

[twigs-sprigs]

an art trade with @galaxygermdraws

(please dont follow me for mcyt content AJHKDKWDW IM A NINJAGO ARTIST I SWEAR) but germ asked me to draw his evilworm designs in exchange for my greenflower designs...so of course.....i do it for them HAHAH here's germ's side!! he drew my boys <33

[qilingxiong]

hi ash, i think i may have asked this before, but from one asian diaspora to another, i was wondering how, if you're able to, you keep up with your chinese practice in a country that's dominated by english (and/or french canadian since ik you live in canada). bc i know a lot of suggestions are like turning your tech to the language you want to learn, put sticky notes on objects with the name in the language you want to learn, etc. but like. i feel like it doesn't matter how much i try and practice bc i'm not in a class, so i don't get it consistently enough, and the rest of my day is filled with english bc, well, that's my first language, and what is needed for my job and every day living. do you have any recs, strategies, or tips? i'm getting desperate; i used to be so much better than i am now. thanks!

hi! honestly, most of my chinese upkeep since i stopped taking mandarin classes (which tbh was relatively recent; this april, and then i'll be taking a cantonese class next term so i can learn to read it) has been a lot less I Need To Practice My Chinese through exercises or dedicated study time, and more just making sure i have frequent exposure to the language that i'm also engaged in. which is a long way to say that basically c-media is how i'm maintaining my proficiency.

i listen to music, i watch dramas and variety shows, look up other vids on bilibili that catch my interest, sometimes read articles, and (very slowly) read fanfic, with pleco open to note new words. just generally scrolling through chinese social media has helped too. having that environment i can immerse myself in helps me learn new vocabulary and practice using what i already know + listening skills, but it also doesn't feel like work or study, just dealing with things i like and am interested in. (this is important for me because i'm so exhausted when i get home every day lmao, if language upkeep outside of class felt like additional Student Time i might have tapped out on attempting it. this way turning on a c-drama at the end of the day just seems like relaxation first and then chinese exposure on top of it).

just by poking through c-drama or fandom things, i know my vocabulary has definitely expanded since i finished my last class, instead of shrunk. even though i watch c-dramas with english subtitles (or chinese and english depending on the platform), i've still picked up stuff from them, and when it comes to things like variety shows i don't rely on subtitles anymore/make myself not. you absorb a lot more of a language than you think just through exposure, imo. although as a caveat for reading specifically, picking up new characters, recognizing them, and reading has been one of the easier parts of learning chinese for me, when it's probably the inverse for a lot of people. i don't know how well just casually reading things will work as a method for others, ymmv.

the thing that i struggle with is getting opportunities to practice speaking, because it's english in my classes and usually with my friends, and either english or cantonese with my family (and i'm not living with them right now). however, i do have a lot of diaspora friends given that i'm in vancouver, and we occasionally dip into speaking mandarin or cantonese. this isn't perfect, but hopefully in future i'll be able to get more speaking experience somehow. what's also helped me with keeping up pronunciation despite these limits is learning to sing chinese songs. singing is one of my hobbies anyway, so i'll use pinyin or jyutping as a guide (getting better at sightreading characters for singing though!) and it's helped me work on certain sounds i had trouble with, and improved my accent. (watching c-dramas even if i don't speak as often has also aided on that front tbh; i listened to recordings of myself from last year and i sound less canto when i speak mandarin now compared to back then, or even earlier this year).

if you want a place to start that i personally think has helped me maintain chinese proficiency, i would choose a variety show you're interested in and try watching it without english subtitles, when you've got free time and want to do something fun. most will have chinese ones you can use to practice reading along with listening, and people usually speak at a conversational enough level that it shouldn't be too difficult to follow along (for ref, after a year and a half of heritage learner mandarin classes at uni i could watch 《我们的歌》/Our Song without english subtitles and understand most of it). variety shows are also really accessible lmao, so many have full seasons on youtube.

tl;dr it's been media exposure for me all the way down since i left classes, wherever i can get it.

not sure how actually helpful all this rambling might be, but this is what i do to keep up my chinese proficiency and keep learning in daily life nowadays! hopefully maybe you or someone else will be able to get something out of it :)

[mc-i-r]

steve counterpart to the eddie one I did awhile back

[icewindandboringhorror]

Hrmm... Revising my game and I feel like there's still sooo much writing left to do, for something that probably won't even amount to much, so.. I do want to narrow my focus more (especially given my health problems seeming to get worse/less energy the past few years), but I'm not sure how would be best to...

I currently have 5 characters as the Main ones with full planned questlines and such, with each character having 6 quests you can do for them. But I haven't really started the writing for the 5th main character. So then I was thinking, if I were going to write 6 full quests worth of content anyway... is it better to allocate that time on just doing a Complete 6 Quests for ONE single character, OR would it be better to do something like.. choose THREE side characters and do 2 quests for each of them? So that people have a wider variety to interact with and sort of sample around (of course with the idea that, once the first version of the game is released, IF people actually care about it enough to make it worth the effort, I would then add additional content to complete those 3 characters stories as well)

-

SO... If you were playing an interactive fiction sort of game centered around talking to & doing quests for a cast of characters (like there's no larger plot, more it's just about interacting with people, every character kind of has a self contained story, the focus is just learning about them and the world and exploring the area) --- Which would you rather have?

(and of course it would be stated up front which characters have only partial questlines, so people don't expect them to have full quests like the others and then get disappointed, or etc. etc.)

Basically, is it better to just focus in specifically on having one fully complete questline? Or for there to be a few stories that are not complete yet, but have more initial options available?

[cvlutos]

Quick question: can half bloods turn humans into vampires? Or do they merely drink their blood for nourishment?

Half-Bloods cannot turn humans into vampires, unless they’re turned into Full-Bloods by a Full-blood or Pureblood vampire. So Half-Bloods only drink for nourishment, even if they don’t need a lot to drink, most HB Vampires eat human food cause they’re body can digest it, other vampires cannot eat human food, included turned vampires. Though they have an incredibly strong urge to drink human blood, but that’s more for fun then needed it to survive.

But beside that minor fact, Half-Bloods are on par with Full-Bloods but are extremely rare due to such similarities and how they feast on not only humans but other vampires aswell. Which is another fact, is that Vampires can bleed but instead of red blood, it’s black, do to it being rotten.

Drinking vampire blood heightens one’s physical and mental strength and abilities. Say that you drink Leona’s blood as a human, without him biting you, (for vampires to turn humans, they have to swap blood, for vampires to swap blood with vampires that act is done within covens to mark lesser vampires as your own if your the Coven leader. Liking giving a name tag on who they belong too, which helps settle disputes between covens and weed out rouge vampires) you’ll gain Leona’s smarts and speed, and whatever other traits. Same with a vampire biting him, the same thing would happen. Though eventually the affect would fade depending on his much blood was drank.

[no1ryomafan]

In my constant brain rotations of “why are people in the west so hard on mecha aside from the fandom can be a bit unfriendly” I think one thing I realized as much as I hate to say is how mecha is sometimes treated remind me of the constant hatred superhero stuff gets.

It’s such a weird comparison because with mecha I do not know what the root of it was-and I’d love to know why but I feel there’s either no clear answer or there is one and it’s stupid-where as for superheroes in the west while there’s still a dedicated community the mainstream audiences have become tired of them due to over-saturation, which I understand, but it’s caused such a massive dismal to the entire genre of it much like mecha.

People think superhero stories can’t have any substance because it’s all about fighting and not about the characters- yet forget the SIGNIFICANT impact they had to so much pop culture. How superhero stories were rooted within comic popularity, how superheroes inspired countless of stories, even so far as reaching japan since so much early anime was taken off of western media which birthed its own genre of superheroes. It’s no different to how mecha help started up the anime industry making it one of the most important genres to japans history, yet most people don’t know it and belittle it.

Yet in superhero story cases it’s even WORSE when people are against it yet then go to see one superhero movie because it’s animated and put it on a pedestal and don’t bother to try other superhero content even though they consumed is no different from the norm. It’s the exact same shit when people watch eva and then think all other mechas don’t compare to it, when the genre always had darker, mature and emotional elements, just only a select few decide to canter to a audience who doesn’t even accept what genre it’s from which makes it all the more frustrating to deal with.

I’m someone who’s hardly into superhero stuff even if some of it catches my eye but it sucks to see that the situation is pretty identical to how mecha is seen, that I can’t help to feel sympathetic whenever I see some comic book fans upset at the mainstream audience even if they too can be a little hostile.

[strawberryicebreakers]

Hello, sorry to bother you but I'm a bit curious about the UHF fanfic you mentioned a while ago. Has it been updated since?

I haven't gotten around to it just yet; I got bit by the ted lasso bug, blinked, and now I'm nearly 40k into a fic with no signs of switching over to a different WIP :(

that being said, it is incredibly nice to see that people want to read my writing :') I do, eventually, want to finish the fic, but with the current WIP I'm working on and the semester starting up [yay college!], it doesn't look like I'll get to finish it anytime soon.

as a condolences/sneak peak, I'll put what I've got so far under the cut. it's about 7.1k, and it is a very, very rough draft, but again, I'm very thankful for the kind words I've gotten from people concerning the fic and want to show it! if you have any questions, feel free to hit me with them :)

Three months in, and Robert still couldn’t believe the station hadn’t crashed and burned. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust George, or Pamela, for that matter, but it seemed too good to be true. It made no sense to him that the same universe that let him flunk out of college and lose every minimum-wage job he’d ever held was the same universe that gave him a television station and said “hey, go nuts!”

It made no sense, but in all honesty, nothing in his life seemed to make that much sense to him these days. Just the other day, he’d had a group of teenagers break into the building in the middle of the night, probably trying to find a place to smoke, and got chased out by some robotic behemoth Philo’d built in the back of his station control room-turned-laboratory, all while having not told anyone he’d come back to begin with. He’d come in the next morning to see the door off the hinges and a hunk of metal with a wagging tail getting behind-the-ear scratches from Pamela.  

Pamela, who was slowly becoming another tally in favor of his life turning upside down. 

Ever since the night Channel 8 went off the air, she’d started paying attention to him, and it was beginning to concern him. Before, she’d said “good morning” and “good night,” or even the occasional question about any plans he might have, but over the past weeks, she’d turned her charm on to the highest setting possible. Despite the weather turning cold, her skirts grew shorter, her heels taller, and she’d started lingering by his desk for much longer than it took to ask him where the Rolodex went. 

Privately, he’d thought that was more of a question for Stanley, not him, but he didn’t want to embarrass her by pointing it out.

All in all, though, he knew he’d have to mention it at some point, if only to soothe his own conscience. The last thing he needed was to find her doodling hearts and “Mrs. Pamela Steckler” in her broadcast notes.

He glanced up at the clock and saw that all of a single hour had passed since he’d arrived. He’d started coming in early, around eight in the morning, to make sure the morning rerun segments ran smoothly; if it had the added benefit of getting an hour to himself before anyone else showed up, well, he wasn’t complaining. 

-

The scrape of the door on the tile floor that pulled him out of his reverie told him that someone else had arrived, and the click of a heel announced who it was. 

“Good morning!”

“Hey, Pamela,” he called out. “Any trouble with the drive?”

“Nah,” she said, pulling her coat off and hanging it on the rack. “Just some awful fog. I could barely see the street!” 

Through the lattice, Robert watched her rifle through her desk drawers, pulling out a few pens and her notepad. At his desk, he did the same, and began to look through the show proposals for the spring schedule; not reading them, just counting the envelopes. “Anything interesting to cover today?”

“The uzhe,” she said. “The shelter’s doing a PSA for families looking to adopt a pet for Christmas and I get to go down and get fur all over my legs.”

“Look on the bright side, Pam,” he said. “You get to play with puppies, and George and I are stuck down here, puppy-less. You have to admit, one seems a lot more fun than the other.”

She turned, swiveling her chair over to look at him through the lattice. “You saying you want to come down with me, Bobby?”

“No,” he said, a bit too quick to be polite. “No, I -, uh, I’ve got to stay up here. Keep everything in line, you know?” He held up the papers to her with a shrug. “You really think George wants to read these?”

He sent a quick prayer up, hoping she hadn’t seen George all but club him over the head the other night when he’d mentioned splitting the proposals in half and reading them separately. Reading what the people of Tulsa wanted to see on the TV was half the alleged fun of the job, and reading them together, laughing about it, made it borderline bearable.

She stood, walking over to his desk and perching on the edge. “Come on,” she said, smiling. “It’s me, you, and a bunch of cute little animals. What’s not to love?”

“I said no, Pamela.”

She huffed, crossing her arms. “You’d really rather be here?”

“I really would rather be here,” he said. “I can’t ditch work to hang out with you.”

They sat in silence for a moment before Pamela looked down at him, smiling. 

“What?”

“I mean,” she said, curling a lock of hair ‘round her finger, “if work’s the problem, we could always hang outside of work hours. Grab dinner, maybe a movie?”

“I -”

“I think Back to the Future two’s playing at the theater near my place. You ever see the first one? I always thought the guy who played Marty, the Fox guy, was pretty funny. He’s on Family Ties, too, and -”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I just -,” he sighed. “I just can’t.”

She pushed herself off his desk, and he saw her face begin to flush. “I don’t get it,” she said. “I mean, I’ve got a job, I’m nice, and frankly, I’m not too bad to look at, so what’s your deal?”

 “Well, I’m your boss, Pamela,” he said. “Pretty sure that’s illegal.”

“Fine,” she said. “If you weren’t my boss, would you date me?”

“No, but -”

“You got a girlfriend?”

“No -”

“Then what gives?” She slunk down into George’s chair with a groan, threading her hand through her hair. “I mean, is it my voice? My makeup? Shit, do I wear too much makeup?”

“You’re beautiful,” Robert said. “And your voice is fine, Pam. We wouldn’t put you on the air if it wasn’t.”

She huffed. “If it’s none of that, then what is it?”

“He’s gay, Pamela.”

They both jumped, nearly falling out of their chairs.

“Fuck, Philo,” Robert cursed, “how long have you been there?”

“Long enough,” Philo mused. He hummed while he worked, some odd little tune Robert couldn’t place while sticking a screwdriver into what looked like three batteries taped to a piece of glass. “And Pamela has an uncle like you, Robert. She wouldn’t have been rude about it, had you told her yourself.”

“How do you know about my uncle?” Pamela asked. “I haven’t said anything about him to you, or anyone here.” She turned, looking back at him. “He’s right, though.”

“Philo, you can’t say stuff like that,” Robert wheezed. He felt his heart racing under his shirt as if he’d run from one end of the station to the next, and tried to get himself to calm down.

For what it was worth, the older man looked genuinely confused. “I can’t?”

“No, you can’t,” he said. “Some people wouldn’t take that information very well.”

He considered it for a minute, then nodded. “My apologies, Robert.”

“Just don’t do it again, okay?”

“You have my word.” He pressed a hand to the right side of his lab coat, and gave a slight bow. With that, Philo walked away, returning to the back of the station to do god knows what, and left Robert alone with Pamela, who stared straight at him.

He knew she’d have questions; hell, he still had questions, sometimes, and it would be better to get the awkward part over with. “Whatever it is you’re trying to figure out how to ask, just ask it.”

“If you liked girls, would you like me?”

“For God’s sake, Pam.”

She giggled. “I’m sorry, I had to ask!” 

“If I wake up tomorrow wanting to date a woman,” Robert said, smiling despite himself, “you’re the first on my list.”

“Yes!” She pumped a fist in the air. “I knew it!”

“Any man would be lucky to have you,” he said. “You could choose any man you’d ever met, and chances are, they’d treat you like a princess.” He picked up the papers that had fallen from his hand when Philo’d appeared. “Not me, though. Maybe not Stanley, either.”

“You think he’s gay?”

“No,” he said, unfolding the first proposal. “I just think you can do better.”

-

She stayed with him until other employees began to trickle in, and by half past noon, they nearly had a full house. They were still missing George and a few others, but he wasn’t too worried; he’d heard George come in late the night before, and figured he probably wouldn’t drag himself into the station until the last minute. Cameras wouldn’t go live until they started filming some of the upcoming week’s segments at two, but it was nice to hear people moving out and about, typing out a new script or whatever it was they got paid to do. They’d hired an entire new rotation of employees, a good chunk of which were people who wanted to see their shares in the station put to good use, and they had an entire team of high schoolers acting as interns, doing side work for some sort of class credit. Technically, he and George were supposed to give them assignments, grade them, the whole nine years, but if he was being honest with himself, unless one of the kids managed to break something that actually mattered, he’d give them all A’s and call it a day. 

Life’s hard enough without some asshole in a tie trying to make it worse, he thought, watching one of them follow Stanley around as he mopped. 

Everything had grown to become so much more professional since they’d started revamping the station; between the new employees, broadcasting gear, and business cards that said “Robert” instead of “Bob,” he finally began to feel like an adult.

The phone at the front of the office gave out a short, shrill ring, and Pamela answered. After a moment, she held the receiver away from her mouth. “It’s for you, Bob!”

“Coming,” he said, halfway out of his desk already. There were only two types of calls they got: serious calls that required either him or George, and Pamela’s social calls from friends who realized that, unless she was on their television, she was available to talk. 

He lifted the receiver to his ear. “Robert Steckler, Channel 62.”

“I’m in hell, Bob.”

“George?”

Next to him, Pamela gave up any attempt she’d made at trying to look disinterested.

“Hell, Bob.” George repeated. He spoke slowly, as if he had to pull the words out of himself to say them loud enough to hear through the phone. “I’m in it.”

“What’s wrong?”

This time, Robert couldn’t hear the mumbled mess that came out of the speaker. 

“What?”

“My glasses broke.” George sighed, loud enough to be heard over the speaker, and despite the situation, Robert fought back a grin at the dramatics. 

“How’d that happen?”

“I didn’t put them in the drawer last night when I came in. Knocked them off the nightstand when I got out of bed since I didn’t remember they were there, and the second I put my foot down -”

Robert winced. “Crunch?”

“Crunch,” George echoed. “I just got off the phone with Visionworks. They’re doing a rush order for me ‘cause I might’ve mentioned I needed them for station work -”

“George -”

“which isn’t technically wrong, y’know, and they said the earliest they’d be in is Friday, so until then, I’m out of commission for anything that requires me behind the wheel of a car.”

“Got it,” he said. “I’ll be there in ten or so. You need me to help you down the stairs?”

A quiet chuckle came through the speaker. “I’m not your Grandma Ruth.”

“Yeah, but you’re both bordering on legally blind,” he replied, teasing, “so what’s the difference, really?” 

“Just for that, I’m throwing myself down the stairs. Have fun running U-62 on your own, Bob.”

“I will,” he said, and hung up the phone. He reached over, grabbing his coat out from underneath Pamerla’s and sliding it on. “I’ll be back in about half an hour,” he said, looking at her. “Try not to let the power get to your head.”

“You’ll come back, and they’ll be feeding me grapes,” she said. She lifted her legs, crossing them at the ankles atop her desk and leaning back like a queen on her throne. “His glasses broke?”

“Shattered, from what he told me.”

Pamela clicked her tongue. “Damn,” she said. “No spares?”

“Nah, neither of us have that kind of cash.”

“Well,” she said, flicking through the Rolodex, “at least we know his address.”

“Of course I know his address,” Robert said, feeling through his pockets for his keys. “We live together, Pam.” He found the keys, kept on an old keychain his dad had given him when he first came back to Tulsa.

Behind him, Pamela gasped. “Oh,” she said, eyes wide. “Oh, I get it now!”

He whipped around, hands up in alarm. “Not like that!”

“He’s not -,” she asked, then stopped herself. “You two aren’t -?”

“I don’t think,” he said, lowering his voice, “that George knows that being gay is an option, much less, well.” He waved a hand at himself. “So please, Pam, don’t mention it in front of him.”

She mimed zipping her lips shut, throwing an invisible key in the small garbage can by her feet. “My lips are sealed.”

-

The fog had grown stronger during the hours he’d spent in the station, and Robert quickly learned that Pamela wasn’t lying when she’d said that visibility was zero to none. His car was barely more than a lump of blue-gray, even though he’d parked in the closest line of spots to the building that morning. 

At least the roads were clear. The last of the lunch rush was still trickling back to their places of employment, but overall, the drive back home wasn’t too painful. He’d grown up around this type of weather in the winter, the days where you couldn’t see more than two feet in front of you followed by enough snow or ice to make it a hazard to anyone who didn’t know to look at the road when driving. Every year, car accidents littered the roads from December to mid-March, all because barely half of the town’s driving population consisted of Tulsa natives, and the other half was a combination of out-of-towners, the elderly, and teenagers that got their license that year. 

The very first winter they’d lived together, he’d had to go rescue George from a ditch eight miles from the apartment at ten o’clock at night; he’d tried driving home from his girlfriend’s house and lost control when his wheel hit the ice. It was the same winter where the heat went out, and George’s uncle Harvey managed to save their asses both times. He’d paid for the repairs on the car, and “had a guy” who came out to fix the heating, not just for their apartment, but for the whole building, at no cost. 

They’d met Kuni about a week later when he’d come by to give his thanks after he’d realized that the landlord hadn’t been the one to fix the heating, and he’d brought a Tupperware full of something his wife had made for them. Robert still didn’t know what it was; it’d been strawberries covered in some sort of soft, chewy coating that neither he nor George recognized. Whatever it was, though, was incredibly good, and after trying it, they had to count the individual pieces and divide them in half in order to make sure it was a fair split.

Whenever Kuni had a particularly loud class or a student who decided to try their luck punching through their walls, he brought the same dish over. It was partially apologetic, but mainly a “thank you for not reporting me to the landlord”-type gift, and with Harvey Bilchik’s various connections able to fix anything for free, neither young man ever even considered actually going legal with the various property damages they’d collected over the past four years. 

He parallel parked in his spot on the street, leaving the key in the ignition to keep the car warm while he was gone as he left the car. He took the stairs two at a time, reaching the door quickly and opening it, knowing George would’ve left it unlocked. 

At first glance, the apartment seemed empty. Both bedroom doors were shut, as was the bathroom, and the main room showed no signs of life. He stood still, not even breathing, and felt a small, irrational fear that someone had broken in and kidnapped his roommate creep into the back of his mind.

A small sigh coming from the couch gave him his second near-heart attack of the day.

Nearly camouflaged against the cushions sat George, hunched over with his head in his hands. If he’d worn anything else, he would’ve been visible, but the combination of the brown curls and light blue suit jacket made him a chameleon in their home. 

The sheer unhappiness that radiated from his friend, combined with the MAD poster above his head reading “what - me worry?” made him have to fight back a laugh. “You ready to head out?”

On the couch, George sighed, purposefully loud, and lifted his head. He stared forwards as he spoke, not even turning to face Robert. “I think you might actually need to help me down the stairs.”

Robert could count on one hand the amount of times he’d seen George without his glasses throughout the four and a half years he’d known him. He put them on first thing in the morning, and taking them off was the last thing he did before bed. Hell, he’s pretty sure he’s seen him leave the bathroom after a shower with them fogged up. The few times he’d seen him sans glasses were always temporary; despite the fact that he was a man in his twenties, he kept his glasses safer than his car, wallet,  and comics collection combined.

“That bad?”

George turned his head, lifting his bangs to reveal a bright red line going from his right eyebrow to his hairline. “I, uh, missed the bathroom door. Met the frame instead; turns out she’s a real mean lady.”

Curious, Robert lifted his hand in a Girl Scouts salute that would make his little sister proud. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

George glared at him. “You’re evil,” he said. “You know that, right?”

“I know,” Robert said, smiling. He held out his arm, palm facing the ceiling, the same way he’d always done for his grandma. “Come on, we’ve got about half an hour before the station burns down.”

“Fine,” George said. He reached out a hand, but instead of taking him by the elbow like Robert expected, took his hand, lacing their fingers together. “If you lead me off the stairs, I’m dragging you down with me.”

“Got it,” Robert replied, hoping his voice didn’t sound as strained as it felt when the words came out. 

He could feel the other man’s pulse, a slow thrum, through his fingers as he led them out the front door and slowly to the stairs, with George clasping the railing with his free hand the entire way down. It seemed as though the weather had grown even colder while he’d been inside, making him all the more aware of how warm his hand was with another wrapped around it. 

Logistically, he knew it wasn’t anything, but he was human, and it had been nearly three years since he’d been in a relationship, let alone held hands with someone. The weight of it was comforting; it was solid and steady, only verging onto tight once they’d made it to the bottom few steps. 

Thankfully, they made it down without any event, and Robert led them to his car, stopping at the passenger door. “Your carriage, ma’am.”

“Oh, you’re such a polite young man,” George said, finally cracking a smile. “If I’d known you were here to help, I’d have brought a dollar with me to tip you!”

“I’m just glad to be here for you in such a trying time.”

George took his hand away, opening the door and sinking into the seat. Still in the cold outside, Robert wasted no time in making his way to the driver’s side and climbing inside. He looped his arm around the back of the passenger seat, checking the street for cars behind him before pulling out onto the main road. 

They made it out to the highway before either of them spoke.

“Can you still do the Town Talk segment tonight?” Robert asked. “”Cause if you need me to, I can do it.”

“I can deal with it,” George said. “I know how much you hate being in front of the camera.”

“I hate being in front of the camera as Bob-o the Clown,” Robert corrected. “I’m fine being on air as Robert.”

George shifted in his seat, looking over at him, or at least looking in his direction. “You’re really sticking with Robert, aren’t you?”

“Yep,” Robert said, popping the ‘p.’ “Sounds more professional, which means the other channels take us seriously.” George snickered. “Only if they haven’t seen the shows we’ve greenlit.”

“Speaking of,” he said, turning onto the side road leading to the station, “we’ve got a new batch of proposals for spring. The people of Tulsa have spoken, and they want more insanity in the writer’s room.”

“Don’t tell me you read them without me.” George whined.

“I didn’t,” he said. “Just counted them. We’ve got about twenty, give or take.”

“And how many slots do we have open on the schedule for next spring?”

“Like, two.”

“Phenomenal.”

-

A little while later, they pulled into the station’s parking lot, and Robert was glad to see that no one had taken his spot while he’d been gone. He parked, taking the keys out of the ignition and slipping them into his pocket. 

“You want my help again?” Robert asked.

“I think I’m good,” George said, “but thanks.”

“Alright,” he said, unconvinced. There were a few steps leading up to the door, and he didn’t want to see George eat concrete when he knew neither of them had dental insurance. They were still trying to get that all squared away, but the steps for registering a business with the various insurances wasn’t the easiest thing in the world, especially when neither of the bosses had ever had insurance to begin with.

They left the car, and Robert watched, wary, as George made his way to the front door, both hands splayed out in front of him. He followed close behind in case he managed to hit something and fall backwards, but to his pleasant surprise, neither of them hit the floor. 

“Good afternoon, Stevie Wonder,” Pamela said, seeing them stumble through the door. “Had a nice drive?”

“If he’d driven, we’d be wrapped around a tree right now.”

“Very funny,” George said. He’d narrowed his eyes, but it wasn’t exactly clear if it was out of annoyance or if he was just squinting. “Make fun of the blind guy when he can’t see you well enough to punch back.”

“With your gangly limbs? Honey,” Pamela said, “I don’t think you’d manage to land a hit. Even if you could, you’re too sweet to hit a lady. It’s a mystery how no one’s snapped you up yet.”

He looked over at George, who stayed quiet, fiddling with the cuff of his suit jacket. “Someone has,” Robert said, perplexed at the silence. “His girlfriend, Teri Campbell. And before you ask,” he said, cutting Pamela off, “yes, like the soup.”

“Must’ve been born under a lucky star,” Pamela mused. “Rich girlfriend and a steady job at what, twenty-two?”

“Twenty-five,” Robert clarified, then paused. With the chaos of the first weeks at the station, he realized he’d never actually asked her, or anyone at the station, something as basic as an age. “Wait, how old are you?”

Pamela hummed, setting her pen down. “How old do you think I am?”

Robert laughed. “I’m not dumb enough to fall -”

“Twenty-seven,” George answered. He looked at the other two, who stared back at him. “Her birthday’s in April.”

“How do you know that?”

“It’s on her paperwork, Bob.” George said, the way one would expect to hear “duh” tacked onto the end.

He cocked his head to the side, surprised. “You read that?”

George mimicked him, cocking his head to the other side. “You didn’t?”

“I’ve been meaning to get around to it,” he mumbled, feeling his face heat up. 

“Stanley’s thirty-two,” George continued, pointing at the janitor as he swept the floor near Robert’s desk. “Raul is forty-four -, no,” he corrected, “sorry, forty-eight. Kuni’s fifty-one, and Philo never actually filled out his papers to begin with.”

“Is he allowed to do that?”

A loud BANG! rang out from the back room. 

“I say we let him do what he wants, and in return, we get an on-site engineer who’s willing to host a show without extra pay.” 

He eyed the back room’s doors, taking note of the odd green glow that shone from the porthole windows. “That’s fair,” he said. 

Together, they made their way to their desks, sitting down just in time to avoid the crowd that pushed their way in seconds later. 

The live studio audience had arrived, and they were loud, almost overwhelmingly so. They couldn’t wait to see the people they usually saw on small boxes in real life, excited to participate in the shows they watched with family and friends. Parents with children they’d pulled out of school for the day as an early Christmas present were shown by Pamela to the largest spare room-turned-sound stage, the one with yellow walls and bleachers to fit all those coming to spend a day at Stanley Spadowski’s Clubhouse. A smaller, noticeably older crowd, directed by the interns, were ushered to Town Talk’s half-living room set-up, all the way across the building. 

The other shows filming — Secrets of the Universe, Raul’s Wild Kingdom, and You Bet Your Pink Slip — wouldn’t film until after the first two, and luckily required no such audience. Raul chose to film on-site at his apartment complex, Philo hated the idea of anyone in his lab space that didn’t explicitly have to be there, and Pink Slip was shot at whatever place of employment had someone willing to, as the show’s title suggested, bet their pink slip on something insane. 

One of the interns, a short, dark-skinned girl that was one of the first to sign up for the job, rushed over, the rubber soles of her Converse slapping against the linoleum. “Mr. Newman?”

George glanced up at her. “What do you need, Gloria?”

 “Mrs. Nichole wants you in make-up for your segment,” she said, rushing through the words. “She wants to try something new with your hair for the episode, and told me to tell you to,” she paused, focusing, “‘get your ass in the chair and don’t complain like you always do or she’ll shave your ‘stache next time.’” She grimaced, then added, “her words, not mine.”

“I’m not letting her put glitter on me again,” he muttered, standing up. He smoothed out the creases of his jacket, and straightened his tie. “I’m still picking pink flakes out of my sheets and it’s been a full month.”

“Last I saw, she had the eyeliner out,” Gloria said, “so I think you’re safe for today.”

“Don’t jinx it.”

Gloria left, spinning on her heel so fast it could’ve left a burnout, running back to Nicole’s hair and makeup station, operating out of a converted bathroom they’d found when planning out the station’s space, once they’d realized what was on the horizon. George followed her lead, not wanting to incur the wrath of Nicole, especially if his hair was at-risk of retaliation.

“Hey, George?” Robert said.

George stopped, and looked back at him. “Yeah?”

“Break a leg.”

George smiled back at him. “You know I will.” He turned back around, not wanting to lose Gloria in the hallway.

A moment later, after Robert had gone back to sorting through the bills they’d received for the upcoming week, a quiet thump! could be heard to those who knew to expect it.

“I didn’t mean it literally,” Robert called out.

“Oh, go to hell, Bob.”

-

Seven o’clock came quicker than he’d expected; between paying the bills, fielding calls from Raul’s suppliers, then having to speak to one very confused, very new-to-town police officer who’d seen Raul unloading a komodo dragon out of a van, and placing Philo’s order of calcite, dolomite, glass squares, and a bottle of hydrochloric acid, he didn’t have the time to, well, check the time.

“You planning on going home soon?” Pamela asked, packing up her purse. Around them, the station was nearly deserted; the camera crew left to film the next segments at four-thirty and the interns left at five, leaving only a skeleton crew at Station U-62. George had locked himself in the writer’s room, saying he needed the quiet to think of the next week’s Town Talk. “News segment finally wrapped, so I’m out of here.”

“Yeah,” he said, packing the last of his papers away into his desk drawer, “just waiting for George.”

“Mhm,” she said. She grabbed her coat off the rack, slipping it on and zipping it tight. “Can I ask you something?”

“Depends,” Robert replied. “Do you want to come closer and not shout it out?”

Pamela rolled her eyes as she made her way to his desk. “How long has George been dating that girl, Carrie?”

“Teri,” Robert corrected. “And, Christ, I don’t know. They’ve been on-and-off for as long as I’ve lived with him, why?”

“Just curious,” Pamela said. “How long have you two lived together?”

“Four years. Five this April, if that helps with whatever timeline you’re plotting out in your head.”

She pursed her lips. “Curious,” she repeated.

Robert sighed. “Fine, I’ll bite. What’s so curious about them?”

“They date for four, probably five years, and he still hasn’t popped the question?”

“With their breaks, they’ve probably only dated two years, to be honest.”

“And that! I mean,” she said, throwing a hand in the air, “if the guy I was with still didn’t know if he wanted to marry me after five years, even after seeing what life was like without me, I’d find myself someone who knew they wanted me.”

“Hey,” Robert interrupted, trying not to get upset, “he’s not leading her on, if that’s what you’re trying to imply. He’s a good guy, Pam.”

“I know, I know,” she reassured, “but it’s weird, right? I mean, is he breaking up with her every time they have a spat, or what?”

“I never said he was the one breaking up with her. In fact, every time they’ve broken up, Teri breaks up with him, and he doesn’t ever see a new girl. Ever. He just mopes around and waits for her to take him back.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Robert confirmed. “It’s kind of sad.”

“Has he ever dated another woman?”

“I don’t know, I’d have to check his diary,” Robert said, half-kidding. It wouldn’t surprise him to find out his roommate had an actual diary. “Why do you suddenly care about George’s dating life?”

“Well, since you’re off the table -”

If someone had thrown a bucket of gasoline and a lit match onto him, Robert still would’ve felt the cold creeping up his spine. “Pamela, you can’t -” “I’m kidding!” Pamela laughed. “Sheesh, I wish I had my camera!” She wiped a tear from the side of her eye, taking care not to smudge her mascara. “I’m just trying to learn a little more about my bosses today, is that a crime or something?”

“Go home before you send me into a stroke, Pam.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” she said, gathering her purse under her arm. “Drive safe tonight, ‘kay? I don’t think the next managers will let me wear what I want on air like you two do.”

“I will,” he said, “and same to you; drive safe.”

She waved, then let herself out, closing the door quickly to keep any of the afternoon’s snow from floating in. 

With his papers safe and secure, he locked his drawer and walked down the hall to the writer’s room. It was the one of the only rooms they used that was actually created for the purpose they used it for, though without an official writing team, it was rarely occupied. George tended to flit inside when he needed the quiet, and any staff who doubled as writers would go in and out in pairs depending on what they were working on.

He knocked on the door, three quick beats. When he didn’t get a response, he inched the door open. “George?”

The man in question sat at the long cherrywood table, one hand twirling a pen, the other lost in his curls. “What’s better,” he said, not looking up, “local grocery stores already stocking Valentine’s Day merchandise before the month’s over, or the movie theater’s highest grossing films for this year and what they say about the people of Tulsa?”

“Movie theaters,” he said, leaning against the door frame. “You ready to head home?”

At the table, George scratched “TULSA MOVIE THEATERS” in large, blocky handwriting, making the lines thick enough to see, even without his glasses. “Definitely,” he said. 

He got up, but as he walked toward the door, Robert noticed something on his face. “You’ve still got eyeliner on,” he said, staring at his eyes. 

“Got to chat with the local punk scene,” George said. “They’re a pretty nice bunch, once you stop gawking at them.”

“Good to know,” he said. “It -, uh, it suits you.”

“The eyeliner?” George asked. “I’d agree with you, but I couldn’t see it when Nicole did it. She nearly put me in a headlock though; apparently, I’m squirmy.” He made air quotes with his fingers around the last word. 

“Pamela thinks you’re gangly, and Nicole calls you squirmy,” Robert said, tsk’ing. He opened the front door, holding it for George to exit first. “What does Teri say about you?”

“Bad things, probably,” he muttered, reaching for Robert’s car. He laid a hand on the hood, trailing his fingers on the metal as he found his way to the passenger door. It was quiet outside; Philo usually took care of the station’s graveyard shift, which let the rest of the crew go home at a semi-normal hour. There were only two other cars in the lot aside from his, and he knew one belonged to Stanley while the other was probably Philo’s, though he’d never actually seen the man leave the property line.

Robert came up behind him, unlocking the door, then went to his own side, quickly getting inside and turning on the ignition. He turned the wipers on, clearing out the light dusting of snow they’d accumulated during the day, then reversed, clearing out of the lot before the car had begun to warm up. He reached over, clicking on the radio, and for a few minutes, they drove in silence, only broken up by the soft sounds of Sinatra’s Christmas album.

They made it all the way to the main road before Robert’s concern won out. “Hey, is everything okay with you? Between the glasses and -,” he didn’t want to say “not mentioning your girlfriend to Pam” out loud, so he settled on, “your general demeanor, you’ve been really off today.”

George hunched deeper into the seat, shoulders ‘round his ears. “I’m fine,” he said.

From the driver’s seat, Robert felt his hands grip the wheel a bit tighter than they usually did. He was well-accustomed to George’s moods; he knew everything from the giddy delight he had when the newest issue of MAD came in the mail to the slightly self-destructive depressive tendencies that came with Teri calling it quits, but the quiet sadness, the quiet anything, was never a sign of something good to come. “You sure?”

“I’m sure,” George said. He stared straight forwards into the empty night, deliberately avoiding Robert’s gaze. In all their years of living together, he knew George only did that when he was hiding something. He had a shit poker face, mainly because whenever he lied, as rare as it was, he did so while refusing to look at the person he was lying to. 

Robert knew he wouldn’t talk about it on his own, but he’d wanted to give him the chance. Now was the time for him to take out the pliers and pull it out of him. 

He decided to try for the most obvious cause first, then work his way down. “Is it about Teri?”

The thud of George’s head hitting the headrest told him he’d struck gold on his first try. “She wants me to spend Christmas with her family.”

“And that’s -?” Robert trailed off, waiting for George to fill in the gap.

“Not good,” he said. “It’s not bad, either, but I -,” he groaned, threading a hand into the tuft of hair that’d started hanging loose from the rest as months went by with no haircut, “I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to go.”

“Well, why not?”

George scoffed. “Her family hates me, Bob,” he said, voice thick. “All they see me as is the guy that’s terrorized their only daughter for five years. One Christmas isn’t going to change that.”

“It could.” Robert turned off of the main road, pulling onto the side street they lived on. “People are weird about the holidays, especially people like Teri’s parents. They get all holy ‘bout it, wanting to forgive those who trespassed against them,” he said. 

It surprised him; it’d been years since he’d said the Lord’s Prayer, but he still remembered it, at least partially.

“They’re going to want me to go to church with them, and I’m going to embarrass her, again, in front of her parents. I don’t know the words, or the customs, or -,” he spiraled, waving his hands as he spoke, “when to stand up and sit down, and I -”

“George, relax,” Robert said, keeping his voice calm. “Half of the entire Christian population only goes to church on Christmas, Easter, and for, like, funerals and weddings, if they go at all. You’re not going to be the only one there who doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

“Teri’s parents are Catholic,” he said. “Not Christian, I think.”

“It’s basically the same thing.” He swung into his spot, and turned the car off. “Just mumble through the prayers, don’t take the wafer or wine, and you’re good to go.”

“I don’t think I’m even supposed to go into a church,” George mumbled. 

“Why,” Robert asked, “afraid you’ll burst into flames?”

He knew it was stupid, but it got a laugh out of George, and that’s what he was aiming for. 

“Very funny,” he said, monotone. He reached for the door handle as the car’s engine died.

Together, they left the car, standing in the cold. It was nearly pitch-black outside, save for the streetlights, which cast a warm amber glow onto the pavement below. A few patches of ice remained solid, mostly on the road, but a few scattered on the sidewalk, one of which was too close to George for Robert’s comfort.

“Hey,” he said, stepping over the ice to the other man. He held out a hand close enough for George to see. “Grab on.”

He expected some form of protest, whether it be outright refusal or stubbornness, with or without a comment mentioning how he was a grown man, but like that morning, he said nothing, just stretched his hand out, wrapping his fingers around Robert’s.

Carefully, he guided George up the stairs, taking his time after seeing more patches of ice hiding on the steps. He waited until the front door was open to let go, putting the hand that had held George’s against the small of his back instead, ushering him inside. 

“You can get first shower,” Robert said. “If I make Kraft, do you want any?”

“Yeah, I’ll take some,” he said.

“Try not to slip and break your head open.”

Robert watched as George stretched out his arms, making sure he didn’t run into any door frames again, and kept his eyes on him until he saw the bathroom door shut. Satisfied with the knowledge he wouldn’t have to hunt around for the first aid kit, he reached up to the wire shelves, grabbing one of the twenty-odd remaining boxes of Kraft mac ‘n’ cheese he’d bought at Costco a few months back, and turned on the burner.

-

He’d just finished divvying up the pasta into two bowls when he heard the water turn off in the bathroom. He hunted around for a minute, searching through the drawers, then the dishwasher, until he came up with two clean forks, and set them in either bowl. He brought both bowls to the small hunk of wood they called a coffee table, sitting down on the couch and turning the television on. 

“CBS is doing a M*A*S*H marathon!” Robert yelled. “You down?”

The bathroom door opened, and George shuffled out. From the corner of his eye, all Robert saw was a mass of light gray; after all the times he’d seen the other man do laundry, he knew that George had a tendency to buy his sweatpants and hoodies in matching colors, so seeing just one hue wasn’t out of character. 

Robert patted the cushion next to his. “Come on, it’s dinner and a show.” He shoveled a forkful of macaroni into his mouth and cranked up the volume.

The couch groaned as George dropped down beside him. “Which ep’?”

He watched for a minute, trying to place it. “Think it’s the one where the guy gets the Dear John letter,” Robert said. “God, imagine how much that would suck. You’re fighting a war, the only thing keeping you together is knowing you’ve got someone to go home to, then -” he turned, looking over to George, and - “oh my God, George.”

“What?” George asked, confused. 

He couldn’t help the snort of laughter that came out, but he tried to smother it as best as he could. “I’m sorry,” he said, chuckling. “I’m sorry, it’s just -, you look like a raccoon, dude. Did you use anything to remove the stuff Nicole put on?”

[arolesbianism]

Yet another beautiful day to have the Maxwel tag blocked (can't see half of the posts in the Wendy tags)

[abyssaldyke]

My mother read arguably my best story and gushed about it but didn't understand it (thought it was about how work destroys people) and when I explained to her that it was kind of about that but more about how a gay fascist is still a fascist she was like I think I like my interpretation better howling at the mooooooonnnn

[tacochippy]

??? Plenty of straight women believed and defended Johnny Depp (despite all the evidence that he was an abusive piece of shit)

A lot of women have internalised misogyny and inherently believe men over women

You see it all the time in fan spaces

These things can be true simultaneously !!

I know this is a thing that happens because it happened to my dad. His job? Lost. His friends? Left him. Nobody (other than our family, which is more than most can say in this situation) beleived my dad when he said he would never do that to my mother or to his kids. My dad would never do anything like that, to anyone, for many reasons. I know this for a fact.

Its a thing that happens. Its not every time (heavens no), but it still happens. Lots of women get beelived immediately.

It also doesnt need to be brought to court! Its mostly just rumour spreading, from whst ive seen firsthand and been told.

Women dont beleived often, but when they do if theyre lying it causes all sorts of problems.

And btw, i am saying this as a sexual absue victim who didnt get help for years because nobody beleived her. So i have seen and been through both sides of the story.

[snowangeldotmp3]

hello hello :) i was thinking about your spider-nance au (loving it so far, omfg nancy was raised in the rainbow room and she is investigating it and- so very intrigued by it!), and then i got a bit confused: is it set in hawkins? if so: how does her travelling suited up work... because like spidermans whole thing is swinging from tall buildings, and, well hawkins lacks that feature

(i am also asking this because i had thoughts on my own spiderman au and then got stuck on "what's the use of how spiderman travels if its not in a tall as hell city, oh but if you change the setting the vibe completely changes" so i'm curious about how you've gone about this!)

hello!! and good morning! i love talking abt spider-nance lore so thank you so very much for this ask!!! :)!

nancy investigates the rainbow room in this universe because it’s similar to the Red Room in the black widow comics (not exactly, but you get the vibes! child assassins and all that!) but she wants to investigate this as nancy, not as spider-woman and i’ll tell you why!

so, this au is not 100% set in hawkins. there are time skips BACK to hawkins, but the ‘present’ in this au is set in boston! in the past in hawkins, nancy was already the spider-woman. she got bit by the spider when she was 16 and in high school. then the Goblin shows up about a year or so after she’s become the spider-woman. to make a long story short: goblin kills barb, nancy kills goblin. when she does this though, she gives up the mask. and she swears she gives it up completely, the spider-woman isn’t needed anymore and she doesn’t have to be a superhero.

(i should clarify that this is really a mix of all of the spidey lore that i’m aware of + infusing it into nancy and making it her own. she’s a very different spidey compared to peter parker or even gwen stacy or anything!)

anyway; fast forward to boston, now. nancy hasn’t been the spider-woman in years. and she’s happy (sort of) like that. just trying to survive her senior year of college. but of course, some shit goes down that forces her (albeit reluctantly) to put the mask back on.

so most of it takes place in boston, which is how the swinging works. i wanted it to be in a city but not one as big as new york, but still pretty big. and the buildings are big enough that she could swing off of them and everything!

but i will tell you: because it’s been a while (roughly 4 years) since nancy’s been the spider-woman, she has to re-learn how to web swing. in this au her webs work like tobey maguires, her body just makes them now. but she’s rusty and out of practice so it takes a few tries before she’s back to a decent swing style!

thank you again for this ask! like i said i love talking about this stuff and spidey lore in general and if you ever need someone to bounce ideas off of, i’m always happy to help! :)

[moophinz]

The news has come out. Does Majima will be in Y8?

Ugeki seems to be really excited about it and that’s lovely to see. He really likes doing this, working alongside Kuroda, and all that other stuff. Nice for him get more work here.

My only personal disappointment about the news of his role being small here is that it makes me wonder who’s going to be in Kiryu’s party then… I had been assuming it would just be the old guard as I have nothing else to go off of :’D But this is also keeping in theme with how ever since 3 ended, Majima has been given side roles minus Dead Souls and Ishin. Really, I have so many questions and am wondering even more about stuff in general after learning that.

[godsense]

i just wanted to add a note here and one that i'll also highlight in my rules / carrd eventually is that my portrayal of mantis is linked to @st4rlord & @titandotter i've been writing her off and on since 2021 and she's a very special muse to me, and i've considered her low activity but with the gotg surge, i'm more comfortable writing her publicly! my portrayal is comics based, but very headcanon based since gotg comics get very confusing at times!

[mr-tony-stark]

// closed starter for @siberianwarriors

Tony had felt lost ever since waking up from his coma. The last eight years had worn him down, and he felt like a raw nerve. First there had been the break up with Pepper. Then there had been the whole Accords and Avengers break up. Then there had been the snap. Then Natasha and then the fight against Thanos where he'd snapped his fingers and turned it all back.

He thought he'd died in that moment. Part of him had wanted to. He was tired and sick of losing everyone. Only he'd woken up a few weeks later, his right arm amputated and burns up his right side. He thought he might be relieved? It was hard when there so much pain to feel real relief. Mostly he was just exhausted.

He'd designed himself a new arm using his nanotech, and he'd moved back to the Avengers Tower. The only problem was the person who he had blamed for so much of what had gone wrong, the person who had killed his parents, who he had seen choke the life out of his mother with his bare hands, was living there too.

Tony had been avoiding him. Partially because he was a little worried about what he'd do if he actually saw Barnes now. But partially because he knew that the super-soldier unlikely wanted to see him as well.

You see, the worst part of all of this - the absolute fucking cherry on this shit sundae, was that Tony knew it wasn't Bucky's fault. Tony knew that Bucky had just been a pawn in some fucked up universal game of chess. He knew that his reaction during the fight in Siberia where he'd just wanted to hurt Bucky and Steve as much as he was hurting, was an overreaction. He knew that Bucky was probably blaming himself. But that didn't change the fact that seeing him didn't hurt. And it didn't change the fact that Tony needed someone to blame and Bucky was the easy choice.

Tony had been self-medicating a lot since he'd got home. He'd been drinking more than he had back before becoming Iron Man in the first place. When he'd emptied his bar upstairs he went down to the common floor to see what was stashed down here. Unfortunately, he wasn't the only person to have the idea. When he stepped into the room, Bucky was already there.

Tony froze and clenched his new metal fingers against his side. "Didn't know you'd be here," he said.